The Knight and the Acolyte Book 8 Chapter 8 Impaled by the Minotaur
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Son Of The Minotaur Ch. 01 free porn video
Some things are just so weird that they have to be written down. Normally I wouldn’t bother, but this is too weird. We actually call this a ‘true lie’ in my circle of friends, something that while true it sounds like a lie anyway. Well, here’s my true lie.
Guessing from the fact that this is an erotic story archive you are reading this from, yes this is about sex. First, let me tell you a little about myself. My name is Joe, simple and easy. I am a very hairy man, always have been from the moment I hit puberty. The church I grew up in had a running joke that I was proof of evolution. I have thick black hair on my head, arms, eyebrows (not uni-brow), legs, chest, and even some hair on my back. Remember the tape of Bigfoot in the woods walking? Not that bad, but jokes have been made.
If there is a god I guess he/she/it decided to compensate. My metabolism is on the high side and I naturally put on muscle very easily. I’m not one of those muscle bound freaks you see on TV that you just know is on steroids, but only because I limit my weight lifting to 30 minutes a day and twice a week. I’m also I believe the best way to describe it as ‘freaking huge’. I ended up whopping 6 feet 9 inches tall with 270 pounds of rock-hard muscle. My little soldier is even more impressive, just over 13 inches long when at attention and almost 6 inches in circumference. That’s about a half of an inch short of the world’s largest medically confirmed erection, I checked. I also had no idea what side of the family it came from. My parents, a nice mid-western couple, adopted me at birth. It never really bothered me much, but as it turns out it should of.
In high school they gave me the nickname that stuck with me for the rest of my life, ‘The Bull’. Yes, I even played football to complete the stereotype, but it was more along the lines I was just shy of shanghaied into it. I was recruited practically at the last minute, two weeks before first game. I got my nickname at practice for obvious reasons and not quite so obvious made apparent by the football pants. I probably would have gone on to fame and glory, I admit it was more fun them I expected but I stopped. I stopped because in my first game I almost killed a guy. I felt guilty, quit the team, and even visited the guy a couple times. The first time he was understandably pissed but after that first time it was like he thought I was his best friend. I found out later that he had told his story to a few nurses that didn’t believe him until they saw me. He worked this too his advantage and lost his virginity too an amazingly hot nurse. I guess I was forgiven.
The funniest part is, you’d think a guy like me would have an easier time getting laid. I don’t blame the ladies at all really, but it always went something like this in high school and college. A potential bedroom sparring partner finds out about my almost record-breaking penis through the grapevine, heads my way, sees the rest of me, and the my size scares her off. Casual sex just doesn’t happen for me because, as I’ve been told by female friends, perspective partners become worried that I’ll get attached and become the scariest stalker/rapist ever. By the time they get over that I at best have already been filed into the perma-friend category. That and I played Dungeons & Dragons, but that was just because my grade school friends did I swear!
At the beginning of my little saga I was 25 and technically still a virgin. Now in my defense I must have easily gotten couple hundred blowjobs and hand jobs in college. A 13-inch long almost 2-inch wide war club does get attention. It wasn’t that I couldn’t talk to women either. One of the ways I paid the bills in college was as a bouncer for sorority parties actually. You know the stories about frat guys taking unfairly taking advantage of or roughing up girls? Only happened once my freshman year when I went. A frat guy roughed up his girlfriend, I happened to know her from high school, and I did a little roughing back. After that it kind of was my reputation on campus, but really my thought processes were along the lines of ‘If I can’t get poon-tang everyone else better at least play fair godammit.’ All that means is that they were all sexual favors out of gratitude. That’s okay, I’m not going to force it in anyone. I just wished someone would give it a shot before I die.
I graduated with a BS in math, but my heart really wasn’t in it. I ended up making pizzas at a by-the-slice place near my alma mater for just enough to live in a studio apartment. I admit I was kind of scared how I was going nowhere, but being around college kids with the same fears helped. Apparently the legend of ‘The Bull’ is a favorite among the fraternity/sorority crowd. They always make me out to be a modern-say Wild West sheriff cleaning out the unsavory characters, which I admit it’s kind of neat. I was still making some side money as a bouncer at sorority parties, although my other side business of helping guys impress their girlfriends by losing to them in arm wrestling for a fee kind of fell flat.
One day I was working behind the register when a group of frat boy initiates were showing their parents around campus and some of the hotspots. I could hear them actually sharing some of the tamer stories about me when they walked in, but it stopped dead when one of the moms got a good look at me and fainted dead away like she saw a ghost. Even when she came to she still refused to even look at me and rushed out. You can imagine everyone’s confusion especially mine, but I tried to just push it out of my mind and finish the day. About half-an-hour before I’m due off the boss pulls me into his office. He got a phone call from the mom that fainted and she wanted to talk to me.
‘Hello?’
‘I’m sorry young man. I should have controlled myself better.’
‘No problem, but I am kind of curious what happened.’
‘You really don’t know do you?’
‘Know what?’
She paused, and her voice was suddenly a lot less sure, ‘Have you ever been to Pittsburgh?’
‘No ma’am. KC all my life as far as I know.’
‘As far as you know?’
‘I was adopted, practically at birth.’
‘And how old are you?’
’25, why?’
‘Oh god!’
‘What?’
‘You may want to sit down. What do you know about your biological parents?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Then . . . Then give me your mailing address. I think I know who your father is, but you have to ask yourself, do you really want to know?’
‘Yeah, that’d be great.’
‘Think about this, are you sure?’
I thought for a second like she asked, but couldn’t see any harm and I gave her my mailing address.
The package came later that week with a note.
‘I’m sorry that you had to find out this way, but you look so much like him. You don’t have his damnable eyes and your hair is darker but you look just like him.’
The rest of the package just went downhill from there.
In the mid-to-late seventies in Pittsburgh there was a serial rapist known as The Minotaur on the loose. At first all the forensic evidence they had on him was that he was, like me, freaking huge, very strong, and very hairy. You have to remember DNA evidence didn’t really take off until 1988 when the FBI started using it. From 1974 to 1978 he had 39 confirmed rape victims and given his MO the police wouldn’t have been surprised if the real count was triple that. My bastard of an old man basically picked a house among the well to do with multiple women of childbearing ages. He’d watch them for up to a couple months, just planning and looking for signs and going though their trash to try and gauge the cycles of the women. When he decided to strike he’d break into their homes, beat anyone not a woman of childbearing years until they weren’t something to worry about and rape all of the women that were until they were unconscious. The bastard’s philosophy was simple, women were worthless unless they were pregnant and his size and
fertility was proof of superiority to all other men.
The Minotaur stopped was stopped early November 1978 because he got cocky, the last victims he went after happened to include a recently off-duty policewoman that still had her gun on her. He was healed enough from the gunshot wounds in early 1979 to stand trial and was ruled insane to the point of extreme danger to himself and those around him.
A few days before Christmas that year an ice storm knocked out power to the asylum and it was plunged into chaos. The Minotaur, having not raped anyone in a little over a year and seeing that it would take extreme measures to restore order, saw it as his last chance to get to add to his legacy. He just wandered the asylum dragging any fertile looking woman into a room where he stole the only key, tried to rape them pregnant, and beating, often to death, anyone that got in his way. He was killed by police in the room he held his captives while working on his 6th rape victim in the asylum. At the bottom of the box there was another note, but as much as I wanted to disbelieve it had a good idea what it said before I read it.
‘In 1976 I had a couple friends over at my house when he broke in. He beat my dad so bad he never walked again, and then when he came upstairs we could see in his eyes what was a pleasant surprise all three of us were there. No one else got pregnant so I refused to believe it happened to me, even when all the signs were there. One by one he told us about how great his genes were and how wonderful it was that we were given this opportunity to be worth something and have his baby.’
‘When I finally admitted to myself I was carrying a rapist’s baby I was almost 5 months along. Thank god Roe vs. Wade was three years previous, because I had an abortion as soon as I could and I have never questioned having it, even knowing I might never have a child again. Fortunately Terry’s father proved the doctors wrong seven years later. I’m sorry I had tell you this, and who knows? There’s still a chance it’s just a coincidence, but you look just like him and the timing scares me. I’ll pray for you.’
Every sentence of her second note and the articles hit me like someone bashing me in the face with a brick. The worst part was, from the photos she was right. The sick bastard looked just like me except for the eyes. The timing also puts my conception right at the same time he was having his last spree in the mental asylum. I never gave much thought to who my biological parents are, but now I had to know.
First, I called my parents.
‘Hello?’
‘Mom?’
‘Hey, how’s the big city?’
‘Okay, I guess.’
‘What’s wrong honey?’
‘Are you both there?’
‘Yes we are, you want to talk to your dad?’
‘No, this is kind of important. I need to see my birth certificate.’
‘Why?’
‘I may have found out who my biological father is.’
Mom paused, she talked to dad, and then she got back on the phone. ‘We’ll be waiting for you here.’
I went and we talked. As it turns out they never told me because they weren’t sure, but they had a pretty strong hunch. The asylum incident had made the evening national news that year, they remember because frankly it scared the crap out of them. They were on the government list to adopt and they had a biological parent change their mind before me, but from me they didn’t hear anything from the biological parents, not one piece of personal information from either one. All G-Men in suits the whole way. They had noticed that the timing was dead on, and the people in social services did find it odd that they were not only trying not to keep me in the same state to ease the paperwork, but also purposely making sure that I was at least 3 states away. Just to top it off my birth certificate was blank for parents and listed Pittsburgh as the place of birth. As I got older they did a little digging and they noticed the resemblance to.
Like I said, nothing concrete but some very interesting coincidences were popping up. Looking back I’m glad they kept their suspicions a secret, ‘Hey son nice catch. By the way, your mother and I think that you may be biological son of the John Wayne Gacy of Rape. Let’s go get some ice cream.’
I called my boss and told him I’d need some time off but I didn’t tell them why, not until I was 100% sure. My parents gave me their blessing and made sure that I knew that no matter what I found I’d still be their son, and I went on a quest to find out just who exactly my biological parents really were.
With a copy of my birth certificate I tried official channels, but red tape galore so I took to the Internet. What I found disgusted me frankly. At first all I found were things you’d find in an encyclopedia that I already knew. A little deeper and I ended up in one of those dark places of the Internet that most people don’t want to be there. I guess I should have seen it coming, but one link I thought was finally something useful turned out to be a forum site for people who claim to be rapists. It’s all good with me if it’s two consenting adults pretending and I know the vast majority if not all of them were probably the dark cousins of basement-30-year-old-virgins talking big but holy crap!
They had made a little Internet shrine to The Minotaur. My first reaction was to throw up and hit the back button, but they had something I had never seen before. I’d seen names before, but nothing this complete. They had all the official victims and they also had the names of anyone that’s come forward since The Minotaur’s death, the new total being 63 including the asylum. They did bemoan the fact that since The Minotaur was rough enough to usually require hospitalization that it’s unlikely that new victims would pop up and they couldn’t get the names of the victims from the asylum, but 63 is more then enough.
The hackers in the group somehow got a hold of the medical records of the 57 out of 63 outside the asylum, and the freaks had a second list of how many of them were impregnated. Random chance says that a healthy woman that has sex at a random time without birth control with a healthy fertile male has a 5 in 28-30 chance of being impregnated. The list should be at around 10 or 11. The Minotaur’s tactics, even with his preference for the well to do giving his victims better access to birth control, gave this list 24 names.
It wasn’t all bad news, his endowment was large enough and his raping rough enough to cause significant damage to the cervix most of the time. Of the 24 confirmed impregnated the lucky girls wouldn’t have kids for a while, many never did, but the usual 15-20% miscarriage rate jumped to 17 of the 24. Of the 7 remaining women 5 had abortions, thank you Roe vs. Wade. 57 tries to make babies and only 2 made it. One died in a car wreck with her foster parents in 1985, the other committed suicide over Kurt Cobain. I just loved how that pissed these guys off.
All they could do was hope that some of the six in the asylum had his baby, and random chance said around 1 would. I also found demands to rape the policewoman that ended his reign of terror with her personal information. Apparently when she brought him down it put her career on the fast track and I found myself rooting for her. I knew that it probably would come to nothing, the more I read the more and more they sounded like little chickenshits, but I figured I’d try to talk to her anyway to warn her at least.
Backing out of the site (and puking in my apartment’s toilet), I decided to just e-mail her the truth and see what happens. To my surprise Captain Shelly McManus e-mailed back the next day! She gave me an IM and we chatted about the weather, sports teams, and just normal stuff. We both knew why we were there, my IM used my old nickname The Bull for crying out loud, but neither of us wanted to bring it up. I decided to stop trying to lead into it gently.
‘I can’t believe I’m talking to a fifty year old police captain over the
Internet.’
‘I’d have gotten higher kiddy, but when they found out I was a lesbian it kind of put the brakes on my career.’
‘Heh. That’s not stereotypical.’
‘LOL’
‘I can’t believe the fifty-year-old police captain just said lol.’
‘It’s a strange world.’
‘Yeah, I know. God, How did I end up with The Bull of all nicknames?’
‘I wondered when you were going to bring that up.’
‘I did a little checking, and all the resulting pregnancies of The Minotaur before the asylum are accounted for.’
‘True. But you told me you may have come from the asylum.’
‘The timing lines up with the date on my birth certificate, is there a way to check? It is the case that made you career.’
‘Hold on. They went over everything Minotaur related with a fine toothcomb when I was up for Lieutenant. I may still have something floating around.’
I waited what felt like an eternity.
‘Right here I can tell you that four didn’t get pregnant.’
‘And the other two?’
‘Hold on.’
I waited again.
‘You lucked out kid, we can answer whether or not you are the son of The Minotaur with one DNA test without a court order.’
‘Really?’
‘Digging up the Minotaur would take a court order, but one of the impregnated is a Jane Doe that’s been in a light coma since 1971.’
‘We can rule out the other?’
‘The other was a nurse at the asylum with heavy Japanese ancestry. She claims that while he did rape her, even explaining to her that he was being gentler then normal so she wouldn’t miscarry his baby, he also beat to death the slashers that were going to kill her. Giving birth to his baby was her way of paying him back for saving her life so she wouldn’t owe him anything in the next life.’
‘Oh. Makes sense I guess.’
‘Besides, it was a girl and she kept it.’
‘Okay then. I go to Pittsburgh and test to see if Jane Doe is my mother. Meet me at the airport?’
‘Sure thing, one last loose end to tie up for me.’
I went, and it was kind of sad. If this lady was my mother she was dreaming her life away. I knew she was, I had her eyes, but I wanted the test to tell me that. At least Captain McManus was right, her badge was enough to get the test done. A few days and I would know if I was the son of a Jane Doe that’s been in a coma for over thirty years and a serial rapist. Not the best family history in the world but at least I would know. I wish I could say I saw the sights, but really I just sat in my motel room and waited. I did warn Captain McManus about the threat as an anonymous source, but she not only knew but one of them was an FBI agent that had managed to get mod status on what amounts to a long term sting operation, just in case the real deal shows up. She slipped and told me which one, but I won’t share it here.
I got the test results back, but I was having second thoughts and didn’t open them right away. I thanked Shelly, boarded a plane back home, and put the envelope on my desk and stared at it. I called my boss and told him I could work again, just to get my mind of the envelope. Finally, I couldn’t take it. I took the envelope with me and I visited my real parents. We talked, had spaghetti and meatballs with my stepbrother and his girlfriend, and when he went to take her home I opened the envelope.
Positive with 99.4% certainty. Jane Doe gave birth to me, conceived me on that night a few days before Christmas in 1979, and was locked away so no one else could touch her. The Minotaur was my biological father. The mood got really dark really quick, and I decided to leave before I ruined everybody else’s evening. I remember the first thing I did when I got back to my apartment was drink all the alcohol I could find. To be honest I blacked out and apparently I went back to the forum site and told everyone off. I even registered as Son Of The Minotaur. The fuckers loved it, their hero’s genes did survive. Even tried to give me tips on how to start so that I could live up to my legacy.
I tried to go back to work, but my heart wasn’t in it. I fell kind of bad about it, but I was even snapping at people that called me ‘The Bull’. They had no idea, but this had to be a sick joke. The one surviving son of The Minotaur and he gets the nickname The Bull. Random chance is a bastard sometimes. To top things off, my e-mail was flooding with net sickos trying to get me to start raping and tape it so they could watch on the internet. I could almost hear my biological dad laughing.
Dottie
- 24.09.2021
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