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Is what I call edgy Erotic storytelling without the Romance
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 Surgeon General Says
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
Essemoh Teepee © 2010/2011
Something brushed across her nipple in the dark, something cool and textured but insubstantial, ethereal.
‘Their back,’ Mari-
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-
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-
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.
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.
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-
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.”
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-
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-
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-
“Ah, there you are.” Mari-
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-
It was Mari-
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.
“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-
“Waiting for what?” Mari-
“A mate.” The old woman replied.
In her dark times, at her loneliest; Mari-
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-
Joachim would do that too, to feel himself as he slid within her.
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-
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-
“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-
“Yesss, so good.” She whimpered
‘Mussst be ready.’
The phantom fist fucked Mari-
“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.”
“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-
An unexpected fourth presence grasped Mari-
“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-
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-
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-
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.
“YOU ARE MINE NOW, YOU WERE ALWAYS TO BE MINE.”
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-
“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-
Would you like to have been in Mari-
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.