Minotaur

By Valerie Herme

What compelled Jace to make his bull’s head mask and why does it take him to such a strange, scary place? His power to channel a labyrinth of terror-driven sex attracts the Fair Warriors, three women in the business of providing extreme experiences. If he guides them to the mysterious cave where he encountered the shadow of the Minotaur, will he clear his head and heart enough to accept Tanisha’s love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: eXtasy Books Inc
• Release date: Jun 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781771112000

Book preview

Chapter 1

Showtime

I wonder if this is a good idea.

The orange dildo in my fist wriggles when I bang on the suite door. I doubt the partygoers can hear me over the noise inside. Through the wall I hear the kind of delighted scream a woman might give if some hot guy reached up her skirt and found what he wanted.

The air conditioning chills my bare ass. An alarmed female Oh! announces company. Footsteps pass quickly behind me. I hear a man and a woman. The ear holes in my mask muffle their voices. They don’t sound entirely comfortable. I decide against swishing my tail.

A twenty dollar poker chip hits the carpet in front of my feet. The man must’ve tossed it.

They’re hurrying to their room, or his room, or her room. The woman’s giddy laughter peals down the hallway. If I don’t get inside the suite fast, I can count on a visit from hotel security.

I bang the door with both fists. My dildos wobble. The red one is larger, which I hope will compensate for the lesser dexterity of my left hand.

I decide against picking up the poker chip. Bending over in this outfit is too much trouble. And I don’t have any pockets.

The door opens. Techno rock throbs into the hallway. A young guy with a spiky haircut and a rental tux checks me out. His eyes widen. He says, Fuck me!

I say, Wait your turn. The depth of my amplified voice makes him step back.

What he sees is a reasonably well-built, virtually naked man with a hairy chest and a belly I worked hard to tighten for this job. A purple cock sheath with a sock stuffed in the end exaggerates the length of my junk. A gold chain around my waist holds up my tail, which came from a real bull.

The mask resting on my shoulders increases my height by two feet, or three if you count the horns. It was made from the other end of the same bull. My eyeholes are in the neck.

That, plus my skin, is my costume. Putting it together was oddly compelling. I wondered whether I’d ever land a gig. Then I did. Now I’m here.

Sweat trickles down my face. The mask is heavy and hot, smells like the inside of an old shoe, and doesn’t allow much air circulation. I figure I can stand it for half an hour. The minutes are ticking. It’s showtime

I jerk my head. This requires dipping a shoulder and swaying my back. Gestures aren’t easy with the mask. The call boy watches my horns swish through the air. He lets me pass and bends to claim the poker chip.

I looked up pictures of this high-roller suite before I came, but the reality still intimidates me. Two-story glass walls frame the evening lights of the Strip and the dusky glimmer of Red Rock Canyon. Brightly done up partygoers on the main floor and the balcony sway with the pulse of the music.

It takes seconds for everyone to focus on me. The babble dies.

The women had rigged up for the night in the casino’s glam shop. The hooker dresses and vamp cosmetics won’t be in their suitcases when they fly home to their career lives and their boyfriends, fiancés, husbands, or daydreams. What happens in Vegas. . . .

They and their paid escorts ogle me from low-slung bronze leather couches, from the stools of the marble-walled bar, and from the lounge chairs around the blue-lit pool. The naked male stripper clinging to the dance pole in the pool squinches his face at me. You spoiled my show, he’s saying. What’s yours?"

If I stand around, they’re going to start laughing. I raise my arms and shake the dildos. The mic in my mask turns my guttural o-o-r-r-r-r into a sound I hope resembles the primordial bellow of a horny beast. I waggle my hips to make my cock sheath sway.

A slender towhead in a short red dress shrieks, Ohmygod! Her girl buddy, who has too much of everything packed in a sequined sheath, releases her chokehold on a man whore, sticks two fingers in her mouth, and blasts a piercing wolf whistle.

Heeheeheeheehee!

Here bullybully!

Moooo!

They sound more amused than turned on. My career in the sex entertainment business is on the edge of ending before it starts.

All eyes turn to the bride-to-be, who’s leaning against an end of the bar with one of her legs hooked around the red silk boxers of a pantless chip ‘n dale. It’s a choice leg, long and provocative in gold flecked net hose, and finished off with a spike heel. A not-so-casual wave of her left hand draws glitter from the biggest gemstone