The Minotauress

Black, he thought, eyes pried open.

She was as black as the shadow thrown by the big sign. In fact, she was a shadow.

That's what she was made of. Shadows.

But she was full-grown, like his Mom.

'Come here, baby.' Her voice sounded like wind through the trees in autumn. 'Let me make you feel good... '

Scotty could say nothing as the shadow-woman took his little boner into her mouth. Back and forth, she sucked it, while her black fingers played with his tiny testicles, and after just a few back-and-forths, Scotty went up on his tip-toes and had his semenless orgasm.

It was the best he'd ever had. Better than the little girls, better than jerking himself, and better than his Mom's hot, hairy pie.

When he was done, the woman smiled. He couldn't see the smile because the smile was darker than the dark. But, somehow, he could feel it.

'Did that feel good, baby?'

'Yuh-yuh-yeah.'

'Come on, baby,' her voice slithered. Her hand played with his slackened dick. 'Come with me. I have a little boy just like you. Would you like to meet him?'

'Yuh-yuh-yeah.'

'I knew you would.'

She was more than a woman. She was the mother he'd never really had, not a meth-whore but someone who loved him. She was his nurturing Night-Mother, his Angel of Shadows, and now she was leading him by the hand, as he hitched up his baggy gangsta pants, further into the darkness, and from the earphones draped at his neckline, he could hear Badd Blacque Busta Kapp rapping: 'How bad you are, you just a clown. ‘Cos it gonna be a bitch who take the player down... '

Darkness, darkness...

««—»»

Aw, Jesus, Arianne thought. But she wasn't thinking long before she was fellating. Kermit Crole's penis was indeed the largest she'd seen in her life, and after so many years on the street, that was a lot of penises. Instantly, she was gagging as his callused hands guided her head, by grasps of hair, up and down in his lap in the front seat of his candy-apple red Ranchero.

She wasn't blowing him, he was fucking her throat. Deep.

Air raced through her nostrils. He grabbed her tremoring hand and placed it on his balls, things the size of Silly-Putty eggs. He humped her stretched mouth harder, then, just as Arianne thought she'd suffocate, he came copiously down her throat. When some of the semen slid into her epiglottis, she wheezed, jerked her mouth off, and involuntarily coughed a spatter of fresh sperm onto the inside of the broad windshield.

'Ain't ya got no manners, whore?' He cracked his fist into her chin so hard her teeth rattled. 'This ride cost me thirty grand, ya dirty spunk-bucket, and here you are spitting my cum on the glass.' He punched her just as hard in the belly, and all her wind slipped out. Arianne couldn't breathe. 'Shit, whore, I kin smell yer dirty pussy through yer shorts, damn! Smells worse than the bottom of the gut can at the slaughter house.' Then his big paw hands grabbed her breasts and pinched like two pair of vice-grips. 'Ya stupid whore. Spitting cum in my truck? I oughta twist these little tits rights off, and what're you gonna do about it? Tell the cops?' Kermit Crole's throat jacked laughter. He pinched her nipples so hard blood came out, then he popped the passenger door, and—

WHACK!

—literally punched her out of the truck.

Arianne's head collided with the gravel-lined parking lot. Her scalp sliced. Then she rolled over to stare at the stars.

Like bird-shot, more gravel sprayed against the side of her face as the Ranchero peeled off.

There's got to be a better way to earn ten bucks than this, she thought.

Then, for the briefest moment, as her gaze remained stuck on the cosmos, she thought she saw, somewhere in Orion's Belt, a glittering facsimile of the face of the only man she'd ever loved.

Dean Lohan.

Why did you leave me, Dean? she wondered as tears formed. Why?

She dragged herself up, sharp stones cutting her knees, and remnant seed falling from her lips. Not much else she could do except shuffle back into Gortyn's Woodland Tavern and try to tag another trick.

She was dizzy, she was sick. Nevertheless, her feet shuffled back toward the door, and that's when she heard the high braying sound of police sirens off toward Main Street.

««—»»

The night watchman's body wasn't even cold before DeSmet Police Sergeant A.T. Lass was called out yet again. This one was worse. This was a kid.

'Christ, A.T.,' his blanched partner, Hoiter, quailed. 'It's Scotty Nash from down the Route. Shit, we must'a busted his mother a hundred times.'

Fuck, Lass thought. He didn't give a shit about the kid, just the fact that it was a kid. Can't have kids gettin' killed in DeSmet! Makes me look bad!

Where young Scotty's abdominal wall should have been was now simply a gnawed evacuation of flesh. The boy's innards had been removed, and with not much finesse; his belly looked roto-tilled. What could do something like that? But an even more logical question struck Lass as he stood in the flashlight-painted darkness behind the old Stoddard Mill.

'What happened to the punk's insides?' he mouthed aloud.

'Must'a been some kind of animal attack,' Hoiter suggested. 'A wolf or a coyote.'

'Yeah, must'a been.'

The kid's baggy pants hung around his ankles, his NIGGUZS ROOL 4 U T-shirt bunched up. One of those dumbass Walkman things hung around his neck by a wire connected to a set of earphones. Hoiter picked it up, switched it on.

'I gots the motherfuckin' herpes, I don't give a shit! Need a bottle'a fuckin' Mickey's, yo white bitch!'

'Turn that crap off,' Lass griped.

'Oh, wow, it's Badd Blacque,' his partner remarked. 'It's good stuff.'