It is the freedom of being his that I feel, and this is the only independence I will ever need again. Topside, my behavior would probably be viewed as concupiscent, but here there is no shame in desiring to lie with my husband, to feel the freedom of being filled by him, the shape of him within me breathing new life into my indentured soul.
I do not know if he engages in these private assignations with any of the others, and I do not like to dwell on the thought. The time we spend together in the shadows between the torches belongs to us alone. I belong to him, and I was fated to be his bride. I realize when we arrived back in the heart, where the others are, that I will likely never join in their hysteria-fueled bacchanal. The temple where I served had no such ritual; I have never witnessed the ecstasy of the maenads, nor have I desired to join their ranks. I do not begrudge the others, though, if this is their way of celebrating their marital rite with him.
It is not for me and will never be for me, but as long as I wander, I have the security of knowing he will always find me. If I am to end my days in this maze, at least I know there is someone here who will notice when I am gone.
“Ithinkweneedto take a break,” she gasped. His hand had moved up the back of her thigh, finding its way beneath the edge of her skirt in such a way that it would not have been immediately evident on the fish-eyed camera lenses around the room. He’d moved beneath the edge of her panties, working a thick finger into her.
“You’re dripping, Dr. Bowman.” While she normally prided herself on her poker face, Gwen was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her knees from buckling as he fingered her, giving her clit the friction it needed at last and stroking her inner walls. She could feel his cock against her, swollen like a club, and she wasn’t sure if they’d be able to wait to get home before finding relief.
“Your office doesn’t have cameras, right? Youdohave your own office, don’t you?”
“It’s like a broom closet,” he chuckled, cutting off on a groan when she tightened around the finger he’d worked into her, reminding him of the way she’d squeeze his cock, given the chance. “But itisa camera-free broom closet. I’m a little disappointed to hear the exhibit isn’t holding your attention.”
“I love the exhibit, babe, I do . . . but Ireallyneed you to fuck me. I don’t think I can look at one more minotaur cock painting without pulling yours out.”
His low laugh was a rumble of thunder against her, the pressure against her clit increasing, the other arm around her doing the bulk of the work holding her up.
“You seem a little on edge,” he hummed. “Are you going to come on my fingers right here in the middle of the exhibit? Or would you rather I leaned you over one of these plinths and filled your pussy the right way? I’m not sure this is academically appropriate, Dr. Bowman.”
Gwen whimpered, wanting exactly what he described. She wanted to feel like one of these ancient brides, being bred by her big bull with her ass in the air, wanted him to pump her full . . . but she knew the security made such a scenario impossible.
“I’m going to pull your cock out if you don’t take me somewhere to fuck me right now, Madoc. Is that what you want to happen? I’ll stroke you right here in the middle of the exhibit. I’ll get down on my knees and suck until you empty those big balls all over one of these frescoes. Will you be able to live with yourself knowing you came all over a priceless artifact? The janitor will clog up their shop-vac trying to clean up a lake of cum, and you’ll be known all over town as the minotaur who splooged all over the museum.”
“Oh, enough!”
She smiled in triumph as his shoulders shook in laughter, breath hitching when he sucked clean the finger that had just been inside her.
“Fine! We’ll take a fuck break. You can’t even get through the same exhibit school children have been looking at all week because you can’t control your horny. I hope you’re proud of yourself. Don’t blame me when you’re finishing the exhibit bow-legged.”
She squealed as he led out the way they’d come in, her heart flip-flopping briefly again as they passed the case containing the iron manacles. His officewasa broom closet, probably hastily cleaned out and requisitioned once he’d been hired, but its lack of spaciousness didn’t stop him from dropping his ass on the edge of the cluttered desk, hooves planting wide on the tiles as he opened his pants.
“I was promised someone dropping to their knees to suck,” he reminded her, pulling his cock free.
She wasted no time following the directive. His balls were fat and full, hanging heavily in a soft pink sac, and she focused her attention on them first. Gwen loved the nearly-transparent fuzz that covered them, feeling like she was mouthing at plump, juicy peaches as he groaned, licking and nipping at the soft skin, pressing her tongue into the seam that separated them until they lifted and bobbed. His cock had already swelled out of its ivory sheath, dark pink and riddled with veins, and as her hand pulled up its length, she twisted, giving him the friction over his head that she knew he enjoyed, gratified by his groan.
“Sounds like you’re enjoying the effects of my horny,” she pointed out, twisting her wrist again. “Or at least, your cock sure is. Do you think the original brides stroked their minotaur this way? Do you think they lined up to take their turn on his cock? Or was it a free-for-all? Do you want to go back out and look at more vases, or do you want to show me how the minotaur fucked his brides?”
He’d already teased her cunt into readiness, and she clenched as his dome-topped cockhead was exposed, one pump after another, squeezing him over his swell until pre-come oozed over the edge of his foreskin. She yipped in surprise when his big hands tugged on her arms, lifting and spinning her, reversing their positions. Gwen sucked in a breath, clutching the edge of the desk as he loomed over her. She was tall, taller than most human women, her own minotaur blood seeing to that. Her mother was the daughter of a bull herself, and despite stressing over the years that Gwen could fall in love with whomever she wanted, there had been something in her bones that echoed when she’d met Madoc, an undeniable attraction that owed, she thought now, to those dutiful first brides. “Are you going to devour me?”
Madoc smiled, his hands closing over her wrists as she backed up into the desk. His arms were solid with muscle, tenting around her until she was trapped, as helpless as the tributes of old. She already knew every corner of his body and had mapped every inch of his skin with her lips. She knew how he took his eggs and preferred brand of detergent and that he hated talking on the phone . . . but there was something about this game of pretend, something primal that quickened her pulse.
“I am,” he confirmed, horns cutting through the air as he leaned over her, pushing the mountain of papers back and sliding her to the center of the desk. “You belong to me. A sacrifice. A supplicant. Mine to devour.”
She mentally cataloged the direction in which her panties were thrown as his head lowered, his wide, rough tongue licking a broad stripe up her sex, dragging against her clit in a way that made her toes curl. She understood how the myth of the tributes being eaten was started, she thought, for if the labyrinth’s minotaur ate out his brides half as well, they probably bragged to anyone who would listen. The texture of his tongue against her clit made her writhe; the way he sucked on it made her vision go fuzzy. Gwen gripped his horns as he devoured her, her hitching breaths cresting into a moan when she tightened and released against his mouth, his hum of pleasure at her gush on his tongue vibrating through her.
She barely had time to recover before she was being lifted, her legs over his arms as she was lowered onto the glistening head of his cock. She was built to take him, her anatomy designed to be bred by a big, well-hung bull . . . but every time was like the first time when he speared her, stretching her open, his mid-shaft swell pulling a strangled moan from her throat.
Gwen closed her eyes, imagining the purple dress she would wear, the way he would lift her on their wedding night, filling her until she bulged with the shape of him, coming inside of her over and over until she dripped in his seed. Her clit rubbed against his front in this position, his cock dragging against her inner walls, and she felt the curling pressure within her beginning to give way to a spine-rattling orgasm, so close . . . when he pulled out of her, she nearly sobbed.
“I’m going to come,” he groaned, setting her back on the edge of the desk, ignoring the way she clawed furiously at his arms, “and in case you were unaware, we’re not at home. The night janitor isn’t a splooge mopper and the museum doesn’t have a sucky-sucky machine. I don’t want it running under the door.”
“Why do you have condoms atwork?!” she exclaimed in wonder when he produced a large, gold-foiled square from his desk drawer.
“I bought them when I picked up the eye drops. I don’t know how careful you want to be before the wedding, and I just thought . . .” His voice trailed off as her shoulders shook with laughter, watching him unwrap the prophylactic. The condom rolled over his thick shaft swell, the reservoir at the tip resembling an empty sandwich baggie. He was right, they should be a bit careful before the wedding . . . but she hated the way the huge reservoirs felt within her and would rather take her chances. After all, they were looking forward to children . . . but he had a point, she conceded, not wanting to have to run to the ladies’ room for paper towels to prevent the rivers of his release from running under the door once it poured out of her.
When he turned her to lean over the desk, bracing his body over hers, Gwen was certain she knew exactly how the women in the maze must have felt. Even if they were terrified upon their arrival, which she was certain they were, and even if they were uncertain in their futures, which they certainly couldn’t have known — there was safety inthis. The familiar, comfortable weight of him atop her, the heaving breaths, the eye-crossing pleasure . . . Gwen was positive they felt safe when they were with their Minoan prince, for there was nowhere else in the world that felt safer than Madoc’s arms, and nowhere else she’d rather be.
When he came, the pressure of the condom filling was enough to tip her over the edge, inflating like a balloon, and she clenched, clenched around the shape of him hard enough that it was a wonder the condom did not pop within her. His deep groan seemed to rattle the desk beneath her, not as exciting as a marble plinth on the exhibit floor but more than satisfactory for an evening tryst. She continued to clench around him as he poured into her, her own orgasm extended by the way the condom inflated with every pump of his big balls into it. She felt the moment he finished — a slight slump of his shoulders and a drop of his weight, his deep sigh warming her like a comfortable, familiar blanket. The pull-out sent a ripple up her back, the sloshing condom tied off like a particularly threatening water balloon.
