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Coming Together: Among the Stars a charity anthology in aid of Stills disease - read my story 'Gyozo's Mate' This is currently out of print. AlternatePress are considering publication. The link is to the Audio Book version. Including my story The Adventure of the Empty Box - from The Lost Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes Carnal Machines IPPY Gold award winning anthology including my story 'Doctor Watson Makes a House Call' from the Lost Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes Anthology of sexy stories about seductive spies that outdo 007! Read my story Maxwell's Demon A full length novel that begins 'No sexual experience required' but ends up....well you really should find out! Captivating Research- #2 in the exciting and sexy Research series of full length novels Lustcraftian horrors Anthology : Read My Story, Dunwich. Click for more

Dark Erotica

Is what I call edgy Erotic storytelling without the Romance

We can run, but we can't always escape our...obligations

The Stories in this Anthology were all written in 2011

Ancient Obligations FREE READ BELOW

Be My Guest

Quiet Day in the Happy Chef

The Price

The Surgeon General Says

The Pole

All are dark and some are tinged with sadness, horror and not a little madness. All are Red Hot erotica that burns the emotions and raises the blood pressure.

These stories are not for the weak minded!

The Anthology is too hot for Amazon, and is no longer available from Smashwords: Click on the cover image to know how you can access these unique tales

Ancient Obligations

Essemoh Teepee © 2010/2011

Something brushed across her nipple in the dark, something cool and textured but insubstantial, ethereal.

‘Their back,’ Mari-Elena thought and lay very still, waiting.


The cottage in the Cotswolds had been just what she had been looking for; isolated in the chocolate box countryside just a short drive to Evesham and the urban comforts of the town. Mari-Elena taught art in a Manchester suburban high school and had rented the cottage for the summer vacation to be alone and paint. The rent had been very reasonable and the agent appeared anxious to close the deal so she had pushed for and got even better terms.

There was no one special in her life now that Joachim had left six months ago... They had been lovers for the last of the three months she had known him. He had returned to his native Berlin, to the wife and two children he had only told her about when they had said goodbye. Mari-Elena still had difficulty constructing a sentence that contained Joachim’s name without inserting the word ‘bastard’.


They were moving under the sheets, sliding over her skin, down one slope of a breast and up over the other.

It was a feather light sensation that left goose bumps in its wake, hardening her large nipples. It felt as though an impossibly large hand was holding one breast and squeezing. Another slid down her stomach, searching. Her body trembled in anticipation, her thighs parting to invite more.


Mari-Elena was from a traditional Greek background, leaving home in Crete nearly five years ago now. She had run away from her heritage and the pressures there, come to Art school and was remaking her own life in the UK. She found it difficult to shed old inhibitions and make easy friends. There were too many secrets she was afraid might slip out. Her mother’s constant chiding voice took many years to silence in her head, made her years as a student very lonely. It was even more difficult to put down fresh roots as she avoided the support of the Manchester Greek community. She had a horror of slipping beneath the inevitable all enveloping, stifling blanket of her culture. The expectations of her people were too heavy a burden. She didn’t want to carry that ancient load.

There had been sparse friendships and rare lovers after University. To be left alone had been her experience and only real desire.


The cottage was pretty and the garden and surrounding countryside an inspiration. Her paintings since arriving here were light and fresh, full of colour and movement. The only darkness in the idyll was an abstract sculpture of an animal hulking in the centre of the ornamental lawn.  The grass cut in an odd irregular, maze like design. The gardener who came to lovingly tend the plants and keep the turf clipped to perfection said very little.

“Mornin’”, “’T’art’noon” was pretty much the extent of their communication. He would lovingly polish the sculpture till it gleamed in the fading sun. He reminded her of the old farmers she had seen back home, tending the terraces of timeless olive groves on the steep mountain slopes.

Mari-Elena didn’t like the proportions of the piece or the dark bronze in which it was cast. The metal seemed to flow under her palm like the flesh of a living creature the one and only time she had touched it. The shape and form nagged at her, made her head ache if she thought too long about it. There was something powerful and overwhelming about its sculpted planes, a suggestion of bestial potency. It dragged up too many old dreams and bad memories from her childhood back on Crete.


The countryside charm had actually begun to ease her pain and humiliation and made her think slightly less violent thoughts about her ex lover. Joachim had been wonderful when they had first met. He had been enrolled in a post graduate psychology course for teachers. She had attended a series of seminars for art teachers. They had met in the bar of the University students union. He knew Crete from several holidays and she was lonely and hungry for company.

He was not tall but his shoulders were broad with slim hips and well-defined muscles. She learned that he had been an Olympic class swimmer in his youth. Mari-Elena could still recall how his lithe hips fit neatly between her parted legs. Her fingers remembered the feel of his bunching shoulder muscles under her clawing hands as he moved above her.

His cock had filled her, stretched her; something few lovers had managed. She had over heard her grandmother once say to her mother, “It is our lot to be dissatisfied. Our lineage needs great big men to be happy.”

Mari-Elena was not supposed to be listening so could not ask any questions. It was only much later that she understood what her grandmother had meant.

Joachim would slowly penetrate her, drawing out that first delicious stretching. She had loved to hold him, feeling his thick shaft slip into her. Her encircling fingers enjoying the hot skin of his cock slipping wetly between them. Joachim’s thick curving hardness had stroked over her special spot with each thrust. The friction of his uncut foreskin on the pulsing walls of her sex would draw her to back arching orgasm time and time again.


There were two of them now; four hands, soon there would be six hands. She felt the moistness grow to a slick wetness between her legs. The invisible visitors explored every swell and valley of her writhing body. Her breathing grew deeper, more ragged as an unseen hand probed and parted her slick warmth. The feel of them as they slid into her made her back arch and a small moan escape her parted lips. Her nipples were being tortured, pinched and pulled so they ached. Fingers found her every sensitive place and stroked as she was penetrated further. Mari-Elena drew her knees up to her waist and spread wider for them.


After the first few days at the cottage she had been woken by odd sensations every night. It always began the same way. Light touches on her skin caressing and stroking. It felt like trailing fingertips were tracing circles on her trembling body.

At first she had been distressed thinking there were insects or worse under the bedclothes. Then she had been a little scared after she realised there was actually nothing in bed with her. Finally she had come to welcome their sensual presence.

The disembodied hands seemed to have the slender fingers of women, she could not be sure, and they moved independently of each other. They stroked along her torso and around the sensitive tops of her legs. There was no point in trying to see what they actually were. Mari-Elena had snapped on the light the first few times she had been visited, throwing back the bedcovers to find nothing touching her olive skinned body.

They left and did not return when she did that. Now she lay, unquestioning, silently accepting in the dark summer nights, being caressed by invisible hands. As her strange visitors drew her closer to satisfaction; she would remember the feel of Joachim inside her. The combination of sensation and memory would bring her to a writhing climax.


With every day spent at the cottage her painting became more energised, more experimental. Looking at her work at the end of the first month she found that in every piece of late she could discern an outline of the powerful timeless sculpture in the garden.

In her long walks more and more her thoughts would turn to erotic paths and it was usually her German lover that would fill her mind. The pain of his careless treatment of her tempered by the effect his body had on her.

Joachim’s blond, blue eyed Nordic looks had been almost the opposite of her dark Mediterranean complexion and glossy ebony hair. When they had eventually become lovers he had said that he liked to see the contrast of their skins against each other. Mari-Elena had never confessed to him her own erotic sensation at watching his pale cock, glistening wet with her arousal repeatedly burying itself in the dark wet curls between her widespread legs.


“Ah, there you are.” Mari-Elena sighed into the night.

What felt like a third pair of hands had joined the others roaming over her skin. Both her nipples felt as though they were on fire after being rolled between strong fingers, pinched and pulled to aching hardness. The stiff length of them chafed almost painfully against the cotton sheets covering her now writhing body.

A teasing touch at her groin made her open her thighs even wider and lift her pelvis off the mattress. The soft pouting lips nestled amongst the silky curls were being parted by firm fingers. The manipulation of her sex revealed her wet velvet depths to the ever deeper explorations of unseen fingers on invisible hands. The long slender digits penetrated her, seeking and finding all the concentrations of nerve endings deep inside her.

“Oh my God, sooo good.” Mari-Elena groaned as the hands worked on her, always stretching her, filling her, possessing her.


Mari-Elena in moments of quiet solitude would often return in her mind to a meal one damp March evening. They had eaten together in the pub near the University campus. Joachim had come back to her flat for coffee and conversation. A night like many they had shared before but this night he had kissed her. The taste of him had been very male, somehow spicy, the heat of his expert tongue quickly warming her.

It was Mari-Elena who had dropped her hand to Joachim’s lap. Her slender artist’s fingers grasping and massaging his maleness, feeling his arousal through his pants. His gentle hand had crawled slowly from her waist to cup her generous breast. His crushing palm pressed on her prominent nipple, making her catch her breath against his soft lips eating at her mouth.

Their lovemaking had been gentle to begin with, as they explored each other, discovering how to give one another satisfaction. As they grew to know and understand each other’s needs and desires, their coupling grew fiercer, harder; challenging each other to greater effort in what became over the next few weeks the arena of her bedroom.

She blamed herself for losing those sensual battles. She reasoned that her ready submission was the reason for his leaving her, why he lost interest. She explained away the pain of his betrayal and callous use of her by choosing to denigrate her worth in the sexual contest. This self recrimination was assuaged by her solitude and these sensual night visitations.

Her neighbours here in the little hamlet were happy to chat and tell her the best places in Evesham to shop or eat and gossip generally, but they would never visit her in the cottage. They did not seem to want to talk about the cottage its owners or discuss the previous tenants when she asked about them.

“They didn’t stay long.” Was all she could get out of them.

One day she was drinking tea with one of the oldest inhabitants, a woman in her eighties who had spent her whole life in the village. She had been painting in the field nearby and the offered tea and homemade cakes had been too much of a temptation that chilly day.

The conversation had turned to the cottage she rented and the bronze sculpture.

“It’s always been there you know? The Beast.” The old woman said suddenly.

Mari-Elena nodded as though she knew what the woman was talking about, encouraging her to say more.

“Even before there was any village; like the white horses cut into the hillside turf, or the Rude Man. It is old, and there are those that say it was put here to wait.”

The old woman sipped at her tea held in a trembling frail hand. Mari-Elena knew all about ancient things. Her childhood landscape had been full of such objects. In Crete the past and present were as one. Her grandmother had once told her that time was more like a lake than a road. Then and now were all there, in the lake rather than stops along the way of a road. She had said that we bathed in the lake and time encompassed us, touching us at all points.

“Waiting for what?” Mari-Elena asked.

“A mate.” The old woman replied.


In her dark times, at her loneliest; Mari-Elena would recall how she would always succumb first to Joachim’s athletic coupling. Washed by crashing wave after wave of back arching, hip writhing spasms she would give herself up to the sensual pleasure of climax. Deeply wrenching orgasms that shuddered through her body to escape her mouth in howling screams of ecstasy as her head whipped uncontrollably from side to side.

Joachim seemed able to control his body to such an extent that he was able to reduce her to helpless inarticulate whimpers. Orgasm after orgasm would thrash her body and mind until she was near unconsciousness.

Only then would he thrust hard and deep, forcing his considerable cock fully inside her as he emptied himself into her. His ejaculation would pour forth a prodigious gushing flood of semen that could not be contained by a condom. Sperm would ooze out over her belly afterward as they lay together, breathless and sated amid the soaking sticky crumpled sheets. Only after he left for Berlin did she begin to rationalise his interest in her. Mari-Elena came to believe that she was merely exercise for him. Sex was just a way to keep his muscle tone and maintain his stamina; a multi gym for him to masturbate in.

Mari-Elena had begun to hope that with Joachim she could find safety, surrendering to him and fulfilling him as he fulfilled her might protect her from the past and the future. She was at the age when her mother had told her she was most vulnerable. When he suddenly left she feared that she was exposed. Without a lover to satisfy her need she wondered if distance was sufficient protection.


Mari-Elena felt the familiar pressure of orgasm building in her core as the invisible hands took her once more. She was wide open to their probing fingers, the sheets already very wet from her sweat and come. She gasped as what felt like a thumb, entered her ass, penetrating much deeper than a human thumb could possibly reach.

Joachim would do that too, to feel himself as he slid within her.

Mari-Elena came, crying out into the night. Both her hands clutching at her aching breasts, her hips rose from the bed as she rested on her shoulders and feet, a bridge of sensuous pleasure in the dark. A stream of fluid arched from between her legs, her ejaculation powerful and her pleasure extreme.

Her strange night visitors usually left when she had climaxed a few times, as though their task was done. They would leave her to the liquid sensations of rippling aftershocks and then deep, sated sleep. This time it was different.

Five of the spectral hands worked at her still shuddering body, the sixth eased three stiff fingers into her sopping sex. The stretching was exquisite as the knuckles pushed at her labia. Her want was very great, Mari-Elena wanted to feel as full as possible and spread her legs wider, feeling the tendons in her groin stretch. Pushing down with her pelvis onto the piercing hand, she wanted to take the fingers even the whole hand deeper.

Her groan was from her soul as a fourth finger wormed in her alongside the other three. The urge to press down was instinctual. Mari-Elena wanted it all inside her. Gripping her knees with her hands she spread herself even wider, utterly exposed and open.

“Fuck. Please, all of it!” she gasped into the darkness.

It was as though it had heard. She felt a thumb tuck into the palm of the hand partly inside her and it forced even deeper. The hand was a blade of hard flesh and bone that stabbed into her tightly stretched channel. Impaled by the fist Mari-Elena pushed against the arm and took it deeper.

“Yesss, so good.” She whimpered

‘Mussst be ready.’


Mari-Elena barely heard the susurrating whispers in the darkness.

The phantom fist fucked Mari-Elena. It pumped her with a firm power that brought even more orgasms from her heaving form. It dawned slowly on her climax soaked mind that this was what her grandmother had been talking about the night she had eavesdropped. Words of great importance softly spoken, said to her mother.


“She will need to be prepared, you know that. To delay her training will be to condemn her. If she is not ready it will be bad for her, she might not survive. Then some other poor family will lose daughters.”

Mari-Elena had not heard her mother’s words but her voice had been clearly pleading.

“Ne, Ne, I know it is difficult but you should have let the Christophalou brothers ease her to woman hood on her last birthday.”

There had been more urgent words from her mother but only her grandmother’s words were clear.

“Rather the Big Brothers than the farm where I was trained.”


The memories that she had suppressed, the real reason she had run from the island were flickering in and out of her mind. The breakdown and her wild panic came back like a misty dream. Her grandmother had died and her mother had retreated with Mari-Elena to the old woman’s mountain farm. Schooling her daughter at home, keeping apart from the family, such an alien thing to do in her culture. Living together in an isolation that, for a while was bliss, the brief few years passed. Then the illness took her mother suddenly. On her deathbed the words coming from her lips terrifying Mari-Elena. The horror of her ancient heritage blinded her, pushed her away from everything and everyone.

An unexpected fourth presence grasped Mari-Elena’s ankle as the others took her remaining extremities, pulling them firmly to the corners of the bed. The bedcovers were roughly torn from her soaking wet body. The sweat pooling under her heaving breasts, trickling into her armpits and dribbling down between her buttocks, suddenly felt as though it was freezing on her skin.

An ice-cold wind blew across her trembling stomach and she wriggled against her unseen bonds.

“What’s happening, who’s there?” She gasped, terrified in case someone or something answered.

Instead she felt a massive presence fill the room. The thrumming air seemed to solidify into a shadowy shape and loom over her. She could see nothing substantial and there was no audible sound. Mari-Elena somehow knew a terrible elemental essence was there above her.

She screamed as her hips were gripped by immensely strong hands. Pinpoints of pain studded her buttocks and thighs with a painful pressure, like claws.  What felt to be huge thumbs dug sharply into each side of her pelvis. Mari-Elena screamed again as she was pulled upward from the bed, her arms and legs dragged taught.

A deeply disgusting, cold and slimy sensation crawled between her thighs. A monstrous tongue lapped at her wet frill of hot flesh, curling against the erect nub of sensation at her centre.

“No, don’t touch me.” Mari-Elena pleaded, not fully understanding to what she was speaking but suspecting that in the dark locked areas of her mind she knew.

 Deep in her subconscious connections were being made. Something was here, something she had been running from. It had found her as it always was going to. There was nothing she could have done to escape it. The lake of time lapped against all shores, past and present were as one. The beast in the garden was a marker for the beast in her bedroom.


Mari-Elena thought the voice sounded how she imagined a bull would if it could speak.

The tearing penetration when it came was just how she imagined it would be. How it was for the women in her heritage. How it had been, all those centuries ago, on that sun soaked island with a dark labyrinth at its core.

The creature fucking her was not really a surprise.

Her grandmother’s dark of night tales had been truth not fantasy. She had always suspected as much. The odd two fingered horns gestures of other village children were just the symptoms of what she had sought to escape, what her mother had tried everything to protect her from. She now knew there was no escape, there never could have been.

The agony and ecstasy that tore through her tortured body was the servitude of her line to the Minotaur. Her body was wracked by pleasure so extreme that she felt close to death. The immense cock plunging within her stretched her beyond anything she had experienced. It impaled her again and again. The heavy hard breath bellowing from the enormous chest filled her ears. Mari-Elena was overwhelmed. Her awareness shrank to the sensations of being fucked by the great Bull Beast. Every thrust felt near to tearing her apart, splitting her as it penetrated beyond where any human male could. She felt that she was floating; floating on a thundercloud of sensation, erotic, sensual and all encompassing. To open to such raw potency, to experience this ultimate maleness was raising her to an ecstasy she had never imagined. Her climax was mind shattering. She felt her consciousness fragment into thousands of tiny sparkling motes, driven apart by the creature’s implacable thrusting. Mari-Elena became in that moment the mate of the Minotaur.

“My God, My Lover I am forever yours.” Her words were beaten in grunts from her by the deeply breaching thrusts of the Master of her line. It was as though her surrender brought on a redoubled assault. The Minotaur lifted Mari-Elena completely from the bed. The monstrous part human, part bestial body arched and thrust at her helplessly writhing form. Huge paw like hands around her waist pulled her onto its iron hard phallus fucking her like a rag doll.

Mari-Elena opened her eyes and stared into the amber glare of the Minotaur’s orbs. The pupils split like a cat yet with a terrible intelligence glowing behind them. She could feel yet another orgasm being beaten from her. This was to be her future, her curse. She would be the mate of the beast as her mother, and grandmother had been. All the long line of her female ancestors had been in service to the Minotaur all through history. They were the whores of Knossos, sating the creature so it would not rampage and take those girls and women who were unprepared. The price of safety for the many was the violation of the few.

Mari-Elena had stopped running. She had stopped trying to hide. What her mother had not said was that it would feel so good!

-The End-

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Would you like to have been in Mari-Elena’s place? Would you like to experience the overwhelming erotic power of the Minotaur? You can do just that through the power of Directed Erotic Visualisation© The story Ancient Obligations is the inspiration for the unique Audio Experience ‘Minotaur’s Mate’ Find out more by clicking the cover image

Feed Back on Minotaur's Mate


Sunday, 2016  |  Kim

The gruff voice of the minotaur sent me over the edge. I came so hard I pulled a muscle in my neck. Now every time I turn my head I'm reminded that the audio was so good. A little tylenol will take care of the muscle then I'll definitely have another rendezvous with the Minotaur. Another favorite audio for my list.