“Two can play at that,” Mike said, rubbing her clit. Instead of two labia, Abella actually had three, forming a triangular opening that parted with a little difficulty due to the stiffness of her flesh. However, she was much softer on the inside, which Mike was reminded of as she shoved herself down on him.
“Oh fuck!” Her wings extended, flapping hard enough that both of them lifted off the roof by about a foot. Her powerful legs halted their descent, Mike’s body held pinned between them. He could feel her restraint, her desire to ride him without limit, but they both knew if she did, she would crush him.
“That feels so good,” Mike told her, running his hands up her hips and down her thighs. She sighed softly into the breeze that had picked up along the roof, her voice carried away by the wind.
“You’re so soft,” Abella moaned, her hands on his chest, squeezing his pecs. “And you feel so smooth.”
“Maybe I should grow a beard?” Mike suggested with a grin.
Abella placed a finger at his lips, shushing him. Rocking back and forth, she played with herself, then leaned back to give Mike a phenomenal view of his cock sinking into her. She used her powerful legs to piston herself up and down, and she squeezed her eyes shut, holding her breath as her breasts rose and fell with each sudden shift of her body.
“Oh…oh…OH!” Abella opened her eyes, staring up at the sky, her hips twitching as her fingers worked frantically at the upper fold of her pussy. Her large ruby clitoris was fully exposed to the air now, glowing with its own inner light. Abella let out a large, final gasp and then sank all the way down on his cock, her body relaxing as she leaned forward, a smile on her face.
She kissed him, hard enough at first to bruise his upper lip. Softening her body further, she sighed into his mouth, then her tongue explored his. She suddenly broke off the kiss, her obsidian eyes shining lustfully. “I want to taste you.”
“Be my guest.” He stood and lowered his pants to his knees.
Abella crouched, her legs easily locking in place so that his cock was at face level. She opened her mouth, then licked him around the head of his dick, getting it nice and wet. Mike shivered, the cool air across the sensitive skin of his glans almost too much. The breeze on the roof came in small gusts that made him tense up.
Abella leaned forward, sucking him in. Her lips worked their way up and down his thick shaft, and he butted up against the back of her throat. Abella didn’t seem to mind, and Mike immediately wondered if gargoyles even had a gag reflex.
Abella pulled away. “Do you like that?”
“I do.” Mike smiled at her, stroking her jaw. “But I like it a bit rougher than that.”
“Oh.” Abella frowned. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you if I go any faster.”
“I have an idea.” Mike placed his hands on the back of her head. “I want you to relax. Let me know if this is uncomfortable.”
“Okay.” Mike slid back into her mouth, easing in until he reached the back once more. Abella’s body was suddenly rigid, and she didn’t move an inch as he gently pumped himself into her face. Her tongue danced around the length of his shaft, and he moved harder, thrusting in slightly deeper with each push. The gargoyle seemed unfazed, but her cheeks had darkened, and one of her hands was slowly massaging the outer folds of her pussy, exposing her clitoris as she tugged gently on her lower lips.
“Oh, yeah, just like that.” Mike moved faster, amazed at the gargoyle’s resilience. She didn’t budge, and he held on to the back of her head, shoving farther and farther. The back of her throat narrowed, and his dick bent slightly to follow its path. She placed a hand on his hip to slow him down, then lowered her head so that her throat was parallel to his shaft.
“Try it now,” she muttered around the sides of his dick.
Mike pushed forward, sliding past her tonsils and straight down her throat. He cried out in surprise—her throat was warmer than the front of her mouth by several degrees, and the sudden temperature change made him tremble in delight. Abella hummed, sending vibrations through his entire dick and causing his balls to tighten up against his body.
“Oh shit!” He face-fucked the gargoyle relentlessly, going up on his tiptoes to sink ever deeper into her face. Every time he bottomed out in her throat, she gargled the large pool of precum and saliva that had gathered in her mouth. One hand furiously working her three-sided slit, she grabbed Mike’s ass with her other, pulling his hips tight against her face.
“Abella!” Mike cried out, and he came, filling her throat with his cum.
She cried out, then shrieked, her face and chest turning dark as his cum triggered an orgasm of her own. Clamping down on his ass, she lifted him off the ground to suck him in as deep as possible while leaning back to get better access to her pussy. Mike noticed in astonishment that she was using the tip of her tail to penetrate herself, moaning while she bounced up and down on it.
“N’glah!” Abella pulled her mouth off his dick. Cum and saliva dripped from her mouth, pooling on the roof between them. After setting Mike down, she let out a single cry and lowered herself onto her own tail, gripping the roof hard enough that she splintered the wood beneath her fingertips. As she cried out to the sky, Abella’s eyes rolled up in her head, and she collapsed on the roof.
“Holy shit!” Mike tucked his dick back in his pants and knelt to check on her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” she told him breathlessly. “Oh gods, yes. You tasted so good I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Fucking your own tail, huh?” Mike grabbed the tip of her tail and struggled to lift it up. It was coated in her sticky, earthy-smelling fluids.
“Oh gods, I’m so embarrassed!” Abella covered her face with her hands. “Please don’t tell anybody you saw that.”
“Why? It makes sense, actually.” Mike lovingly caressed Abella’s thighs, then slid his hand gently across her swollen labia.
Abella shuddered, her wings flapping briefly behind her. “It’s a huge taboo,” she told him. “I got desperate centuries ago and started doing it in private. Even among other monsters, it’s considered weird to fuck your own tail.”
“I guess I’d have to have a tail to understand,” he replied, wiping sperm off her lips.
“Just please don’t tell.”
“I won’t,” he promised. “But maybe, if it’s just the two of us, I’d like to watch you do it again sometime.”
A big smile crossed his face.
“I thought it was pretty hot, Abella. Just like you.”
“Mike.” She blushed, standing up before him. “I’m so lucky that you’re my human.”
“Your human, huh?”
Abella nodded. “The others never understood me like you do. And none of them were ever interested in me like you are.”
“You’re beautiful, Abella.” He kissed her. “Anyone who tells you otherwise is an idiot. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get down there and cook some dinner before Tink eats my arm.”
Abella laughed and took off into the sky. After swooping back around with her wings spread wide, she grabbed onto his shoulders and carried him back to the garden.
The car rumbled to a stop in the driveway. Dana turned it off, then spun the keys once out of habit before tucking them into her pocket. Chewing the same piece of gum she had put in at the beginning of her shift, she climbed the stairs on the side of the garage to the studio apartment up above.
Two years ago, she had gotten very lucky in finding this place. Her freshman year of college over, she had given up on dorm life, wanting a little extra room. While looking for an apartment, she had stumbled across an older woman whose husband had passed away some years back. Dana paid a small amount in rent and made up for the rest of it in house maintenance, something she had become very good at.
In return, the woman had given Dana the entire garage to live in. The landlord’s late husband had
been into muscle cars and built a beautiful, vaulted garage with a small apartment-style loft up above for catnaps and the occasional shower. Dana had done the work last summer to finish the conversion—she had a small kitchenette with a full bath, and a queen-size bed.
However, she had left the garage portion below largely untouched. Half the space consisted of a personal gym and some storage for old car parts. The other half was a beautiful tool bench that had been custom fitted against the wall, full of every tool the widow’s husband had ever used. In the middle of the carport was an old motorcycle that Dana was restoring for a road trip in the summer. It had been over a year since she had traveled.
Since Alex.
She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of Dr. Pepper. After twisting off the cap, she took a sip, savoring the cool, sweet fizzing sensation on her tongue. She pulled all the tips from delivering pizzas out of her jacket pocket, then organized them by denomination. She counted them for the fifth time, then rolled them up and stuck them in her dresser drawer. She opened her bank’s app on her phone and frowned. At the current rate, she would be able to fix her bike but not take the trip itself.
“Fuck.” Sighing, she set the phone down on her nightstand.
A small wooden desk overlooked the garage bay, and her mechanical engineering text was open to the same page it had been for the last week. Problem fifty-three, half finished on the paper next to it, begged her to come complete it, to finish the assignment and turn it in for partial credit, something, anything. She stared at the figures on the page, her mathematical analysis of the Carnot cycle blurred through the moisture in her eyes. Wiping away the tear before it could form, Dana sat down at her desk, then lifted her pencil to finish the problem.
She couldn’t focus. Her eyes relaxed, her gaze moved over the bay and settled on the motorcycle below.
Leaving her desk behind, Dana was soon in the bay, staring at the old bike. After removing the engine, she had finished repainting the frame, black and red just like it had used to be. The floor was covered in parts; she had disassembled the entire motorcycle, categorizing every piece as salvageable or trash. Unable to afford to purchase new parts, she had spent the better part of the last three months doing most of the rebuild by hand, pounding dents out of the rear fender, sanding the frame before repainting it, and taking more than one trip to the junkyard to scavenge for the parts she couldn’t repair.
She opened the brown box by the rear wheel of the bike and examined the contents. New pistons and piston rings. Looking up, she wondered how much of the task she could complete before the sun rose—if staying busy would keep her mind off her problems, even for a few hours.
As a little girl, months of her life had been spent in her father’s garage, working on his car, his bike, and his boat. All things motorized had been his passion, and the long hours of earning her father’s approval had translated to a love of working with her hands and an appreciation for machines. A certain catharsis could be found in dismantling and reassembling a device, removing the cancer that had broken it and making it whole once more.
Though she kept the bay cool, working made her hot, and sweat soon ran down her sides. Dana stripped away her shirt and worked on the piston assembly in just her bra and jeans and eventually just her bra and panties. Her skin was marked with grease, her hair pulled back into a ponytail to keep it from her eyes. Her eyesight was blurring, a function of being awake for nearly twenty hours. Her next job didn’t start until one in the afternoon, so she couldn’t care less about sleep. She was going to miss her classes tomorrow, but she doubted anybody even noticed at this point.
As she sat on the cool floor, her legs slowly going numb beneath her, the pistons faded from sight, replaced by the scent of the ocean, grains of sand beneath her feet. Watching dolphins breach the cool Pacific waters, she felt a firm yet feminine hand rub her lower back before moving up toward her shoulders. It caressed her cheek and then pulled, trying to position her to be kissed.
“Alex,” she whispered, closing her eyes, afraid to see her dead lover again.
The clattering of her ratchet startled her awake, her forehead against the frame of the bike. She had fallen asleep, if only for a few minutes. Too tired to continue, she stood, leaving her work where it was, knowing it wouldn’t be disturbed. The widow never came in here, and Dana’s friends never dropped by anymore. Climbing the stairs to her loft, sadness sucked Dana down, more powerful than gravity. It was nine steps to the top. She counted them, determined to at least crawl into her own bed.
“What the fuck?” Suddenly, she was wide awake, staring at the large object taking up the corner of her loft. She recognized it immediately as the grandfather clock she had seen last week in the spooky old house with the new owner, Mike. It stood next to her desk, an envelope taped to the front with her name written on it in cursive.
She pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t still asleep. The surge of pain up her arm informed her that she was, indeed, still awake. She opened the envelope and pulled out a small white sheet of paper from inside, torn from a notepad. The words were in cursive, tall letters that made her think of a fountain pen.
Can you fix me?
Dana looked at the back of the paper, but nothing else was written. When she peered inside the envelope, her jaw dropped. She pulled out the small stack of twenties, counting them in disbelief. There was just over a thousand dollars there. Looking inside the envelope once more, she found an antique key. The widow must have let Mike drop off the clock while she was out.
“Okay, beautiful,” she said, stroking the smooth wood of the grandfather clock. Dana had hoped Mike would take her on for some home repairs, extra money to make her dream a reality. “First thing tomorrow night, I’m going to find out what makes you tick.” All thoughts about Alex and the motorcycle vanished, new thoughts of researching gears and pendulums entering her head. She tucked the money and the key into her nightstand before lying on top of the covers to let sleep claim her. She pulled a pillow over from the other side of the bed, inhaling its long-gone fragrance.
“Goodnight, Alex,” Dana whispered, her voice echoing softly across the loft. As she drifted to sleep, her brain tricked her into thinking she heard the clock ticking.
THE LIBRARY
Mike held the small sledgehammer in both hands, dubious that he would be able to strike another living being with it, much less a Minotaur. Still, it was better than nothing.
He’d debated purchasing a gun but knew next to nothing about them other than to point the long, skinny end at stuff he wanted to kill. Lack of education aside, Naia had warned him against such a purchase for the sole reason that she had no idea what other creatures may be lying in wait within the house’s walls, and the last thing they needed was another Jenny-type situation with the addition of a firearm.
That and Naia had informed him that the odds were good that Tink would take it apart anyway just to see how it worked.
“Husband ready?” Tink asked. They were standing in the hallway, and her hand was on the doorknob to the room just down the hall from his. Sighing, Mike nodded. He wasn’t ready. He had absolutely no idea what they were in for. Tink cradled her crossbow in both arms, fierce determination in her eyes that matched the dark black lines she had painted beneath them using some shoe polish she had found. She had coerced Mike into doing the same, and they both looked ridiculous. Tink wore a small backpack containing a few flashlights, the map, and a box of Pop-Tarts.
Turning the knob to the blue room, Tink pushed open the door, her crossbow at the ready. The room looked like most of the others in the house—sparsely furnished, a place that time had forgotten. The big distinguishing factor was that this room was, in fact, painted blue. For whatever reason, simply being in this space reminded Mike of his long-dead father. He had no proof that his dad had ever stayed here as a child, but Beth, his estate agent, had suggested it on his first night here, and the ide
a had resonated with him.
“Coast clear,” Tink whispered, sliding in and pointing her crossbow at the closet door.
The door to the closet was closed, the simple white door somehow ominous. Last time they had come here, the closet door had been left open, the interior replaced by the opening to a cave system that was far bigger than the house itself.
“Do you really think the Minotaur left his Labyrinth just to stand behind this door?” Mike asked.
“Tink take no chances,” she said, moving sideways to cover him. “Maybe stupid cow-fuck wait to ruin Tink’s day again.”
Mike didn’t say anything. Tink’s goggles had been an obsession since she had lost them to the Minotaur. They were magical, allowing the wearer to see things that ordinary people couldn’t, and Tink had waited so long only because the house had needed structural repairs to the front deck. This morning, Tink had announced that she had waited long enough and was ready to move forward with Operation Stupid Cow-Fuck (her name, not his).
“Ready?” Mike asked, his hand hovering over the small, white-painted knob.
“Tink ready.” She held up the crossbow, her finger hovering over the trigger.
“Let’s go,” Mike said, yanking open the door. Tink lowered the crossbow, frowning at the closet. Peeking around the corner, Mike saw that the closet was, once again, simply a closet. No sign remained of the cave.
“Try open different,” Tink said, raising her crossbow again. Shrugging, Mike closed the door, gripping the knob differently so that he could turn it the other way.
“Okay, here we go!” Mike yanked open the door before stepping back with his hammer held tight.
“Fuck!” Tink lowered her crossbow. The closet hadn’t changed.
“How do we get the closet to become the cave again?” Mike asked.
“Tink could tell you…if TINK HAD FUCKING GOGGLES!” Tink threw her crossbow to the side, the bolt firing into the ceiling. Mike ducked out of reflex, watching the plaster drift gently down over Tink. The goblin slammed the closet shut, turned her back to it, then opened it while facing away. The cave failed to appear.
Radley's Labyrinth for Horny Monsters Page 3