The Ties That Bind You By R Rosethorn
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Melissa sighed as she sipped her cocktail. “I so envy my kids. It was absolutely the best sex of my life – and it will never happen again.”
Terry lifted her eyebrows. “You’re sending both of the twins? Is Henry OK with that?”
Melissa smirked. “It was Henry’s idea. He proposed their names down at the club. But I still wish it were me instead of them.”
Terry looked wistful, then blushed and looked down. “He wouldn’t take me. By the time my parents proposed me, I, uh, wasn’t a virgin. And he knew! It’s not fair, but somehow he knew…” she trailed off.
She looked up at her friend. “What was it like? I mean, you’ve said repeatedly that it was the best sex of your life – and at sixteen! – but what actually, you know, happened?”
Melissa looked distant, then said, wistfully, “Everything…”
**
Tor stood on the stage of the club, Amazing Sex, in the group display room, and looked out at the candidates. Fourteen of them would be coming to him. Now was the moment when he selected the fourteen he wanted.
“Let the candidates come forward,” he said in a deep bellow, repeating the traditional call, spoken aloud at the club – and elsewhere – for many, many years.
The first one eagerly ran up the stairs to the stage, a girl, dressed in virginal white, no make-up, her face freshly scrubbed, and trying her best to look untouched and serene.
She looked into the face that aroused so much adoration, so much envy, so much longing…
So much fear.
While his face was surprisingly beautiful, his head was enormous, sitting on a thick, stubby neck attached to a massive body. His unruly mop of hair ran down the nape of his neck in ringlets, with a couple of curls poking out on top. His fulsome beard was another mass of curls down his front. His eyes were huge and liquid, but oddly – dead.
He had, as many of the club members had said over the years, enormous charisma. Sexual magnetism seemed to roll off him in waves, like mist off of dry ice. He was the club, and everyone there knew it. And they worshipped him.
He looked the first young woman deeply in the eyes, then ran a finger up her arm to her bare shoulder. She shivered violently. He nodded. “Accepted.”
The next candidate was a young man, who regarded Tor with some hostility, challenging him. Tor leaned back and glared at him. The young man blinked, then looked down. Tor smacked the young man on his bare arm, then gripped it and shook him. The young man ripped his arm away.
Tor shook his head. “Not accepted.” The young man snorted, and marched off the stage.
Next: another young man, tall, slender, blond, muscular. He regarded Tor with some amusement. Tor licked his lips, lean forward and sniffed at the young man, then grabbed his wrist, turned his hand up, and licked his palm. The blond boy shivered and turned his head away. Tor smiled. “Accepted.”
The parade went on, with anxious parents eager to have their child or children accepted. Acceptance meant status, stature, free lifetime membership for the selected young people – and access to secret rooms upstairs in the club for the parents. And, as some of them knew, it meant a lifetime of longing for what had happened when they were sixteen…
At the last, a young woman walked up. She neither challenged, nor deferred to Tor. She just stood there, waiting. Her friends called her Tessa.
Tor stopped and just stared at her for a long time. Tessa held his gaze impassively. Tor stood up.
The audience held their breath. If he accepted her, he would have the requisite number of proposed newcomers, seven girls, seven boys, all supposedly virgins. If not, all would be rejected, and the club would be shut down until enough candidates could be found that the number was likely to be fulfilled. And, as virgins tended to be ephemeral, parents proposed their children soon after their sixteenth birthday, after telling them how wonderful it would be if they could just wait to have sex!
And, as the parents found plain-vanilla sex, or, indeed, any kind of sex outside of the club – uninteresting – they were desperate that Tor be pleased, and that the club remain open.
Tor walked around Tessa, sniffing at her armpit and pussy, poking, prodding, feeling, lifting her dress and peaking underneath, then licking behind her ear. Tessa bore it without movement, without comment, seemingly indifferent.
Finally, Tor faced her, and leaned in so that their noses were practically touching, staring deeply into her eyes. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move back up, didn’t blink, just returned his gaze.
He stood up, shook his massive head as if shaking off a fly, and said in his deep voice, “Accepted,” then turned and stalked off backstage.
A sigh went up from the audience, then a voice shouted, “Let the revels begin!”
And they did…
**
Tor waited in his dungeon, eager for the first. It was the young girl, first presented. She was naked, with her hair tied back. He smiled, licked his lips, stood, and walked towards her, dropping his robe as he walked.
She looked him in the eyes, then glanced down at his enormous member – and screamed.
Tor smiled, and stepped forward, reaching for her, saying “Sh-sh-shh”. He caressed her cheek, and her screaming stopped. Her face became smooth.
He ran a finger up her arm, up to her shoulder, and she shuddered. She swallowed hard, feeling the moisture gather in her vagina. Suddenly, she looked up at him, then stepped forward, and sank to her knees. Her head felt muzzy, but she felt an enormous desire, a burning in the pit of her stomach that grew, until she was violently shaking. She reached for his hairy phallus, and opened her mouth wide, as wide as she could…
**
The blond young man who had regarded Tor with amusement felt his eyes widen in shock. He opened his mouth, and started backing away, until Tor reached out, took his hand, and licked his palm. The young man stopped, shook his head as if emerging from the water, then, turned, dropped to his knees. Tor pushed him over on his side, then roughly turned him onto his hands and knees, and pulled the young man’s butt in the air, then spread his butt cheeks wide apart. The young man cried, “Please, master, please!”
**
Night after night, the candidates entered his dungeon one at a time, eager for the sexual reward they had been promised. One by one they had been shocked, then soothed, then coaxed, then – used. Extensively. Brutally. Repeatedly, until they could no longer cum any more, and collapsed on the floor, exhausted.
For the rest of their lives, they would remember this night with fear, with pain, and with enormous longing.
Finally, it was Tessa’s turn. She entered, not as the others, but with an air of watchfulness. She was naked save for a golden, wire victor’s laurel around her head. Her hands hung loose at her side.
He stopped. This was not what he expected.
He approached her, and sniffed. She just watched him. He reached out his hand to stroke her cheek, but she caught his wrist, and turned it with both hands, pushing the up-turned palm down into a wrist lock, forcing his arm down. He snorted in pain, pawing the ground, and backed away, intending to drag her to her knees before him.
She surprised him again. Instead of resisting, she moved forward with him, getting in close, and reaching down for his phallus. Tor smiled, feeling himself on familiar ground again, and reached for her with his other hand.
Quickly, she ducked down, released his wrist, darting between his legs, roughly pulling his hard phallus with her, and then slashing the back of his knee with her foot. He stumbled and fell, heavily, and roared as she yanked his long, stiff tool up behind his ass, bending it painfully, forcing him down on his face. Then, stepping forward, she put her foot on his ass, pushing down hard.
Next, she reached up, grabbed the golden laurel from around her head, spun it out into the prepared lasso, and flipped it over the massive head, allowing it to settle around his neck, pulling it tight, choking off his airway.
“Hello, old friend. I finally found you.
“You’ve been busy, changing bodies, moving countries, but always weaving the same spells, sacrificing your victims to keep yourself vital, stealing their youth, robbing them of their sex.
“It ends now. Poseidon won’t save you – he washed his hands of you millennia ago. Now it’s just you and me. And soon, there will be just me.”
The bull-headed man tried to rise, tried to turn, tried to grab the youth, but Tessa, whose full name was Thesea, and who had once been known as Theseus, jerked harder on his rigid phallus, and yanked on the lasso, causing the metal wire to slice deeply into the massive throat, opening both carotid arteries.
She watched as black blood coursed from the flailing body. The struggles gradually became weaker until finally they stopped.
She released the lasso, dropped the club-like prick down into the pool of blood on the floor forming under the body, then walked to the door. She paused, looked back at the dead form.
“The minotaur is dead,” she said, then turned and walked away.
© Copyright, J. L. Gainsborough, November 2020.
Miracle
- 28.10.2021
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