The Minotaur #3
And that was what I was looking for. The more I looked through the list of offerings, the more my body responded to the idea of being scared.
Being taken, to have my control stripped away by a beast so big and terrifying, I had no choice but to take what he gave. Consensual non-consent, they call it.
I felt ashamed of wanting it, of even thinking it. But this is the most alive I've felt in years. As wild as this feels, I want this.
I need this.
The Monster Fulfillment Center offices are warm and comforting. A human woman runs the front desk, and she didn't flinch or make me feel like my requests were too out there. Maybe they weren't. It didn't matter to her, and that's all that I needed to feel at ease.
So, I signed the paperwork and after that, I made my way home, anxiously awaiting my fantasies to come to life. Because of my request, I had no idea when the minotaur—Zair was his name—would come to me, and though it was frustrating, the not-knowing, the waiting, that was part of the excitement.
The rest of the week was fairly normal. At first, I felt reinvigorated at work.
I ignored all the snide comments from employees.
I threw myself into contracts and accounts, and for the first time in a while, didn't feel like I was drowning.
Each night, I laid awake, and when he didn't show, I closed my eyes, masturbated, coming briefly, and tried not to feel too disappointed it wasn't with him.
Nuk became Zair. He had a face now. A big body, with thick arms and a wide chest. I dreamt of the forest, living off-grid in a cabin, Zair's weird lumberjack headshot seeping into my subconscious.
On Thursday, I spent the whole day so lost in the fantasy of not just taking a minotaur, but having one—at home, waiting for me, cooking with me—that I drafted an email to my accountant asking if I had enough money to buy a small condo in the mountains, as a kind of getaway retreat home.
Only half of me admitted it could be a fuck-pad. The sad part is, it was harder to admit to the other half of me—that I wanted it, hoping for a future I'd likely never get. An actual getaway, with a real minotaur who might want to spend that much time with me.
Each night Zair didn't show got harder. After a week and a half, I started to feel like my excitement was being stripped away, little by little.
The minutes blurred into hours, into days.
And when the following Friday night, nearing the end of our two-week time window, came and went, my disappointment felt visceral.
I thought for sure he'd come by now, giving me a full weekend of recovery for whatever he had in store.
Saturday, same thing.
On Sunday morning, I wake alone, just like every other day. I get out of bed, work out in the building's gym, shower, make breakfast. All the while, that anxious feeling slithers through my veins. I'm restless. Needy.
Horny and wet and empty.
And so fucking empty and sad.
Work used to be the thing that fulfilled me. What do I do if that no longer fills up my soul? If my relentless pursuit of success, years of sacrifice, amount to nothing?
My beautiful, empty apartment, once a refuge, feels more and more like a cage.
By Sunday afternoon, sitting at the breakfast bar, looking out the window, the sun shining down, neighbors coming and going on the street below, I debate calling the center in the morning to cancel.
The waiting was becoming unbearable. It hasn't quite been two weeks, sure, but I've stayed up so late every night listening for sounds of Zair that I'm barely sleeping.
I'm tired, wired, and functioning worse than ever. Lonelier than ever.
Deciding I can't just sit around my apartment any longer, I get dressed and go for a long walk.
It takes all of my willpower to skip the toy store, knowing another vibrator wouldn't give me what I needed.
I hit the market instead, forcing myself to buy vegetables and locally sourced meat so I can cook myself a proper meal for once.
Rounding the corner by the root vegetables, not paying attention, I startle, nearly stumbling straight into an orc couple.
I don't know how I almost missed them. They're both near eight feet tall, with round shoulders and mossy green skin, each of their lumbering steps shaking the ground.
They hold hands, and their voices, while deep, are a soft, rumbling cadence I can't quite make out as they lean their small round heads into one another. They look… romantic.
The humans give them a wide berth. The orcs, like minotaurs and most monsters, tower over the humans. Their green skin and long tusks only amplify the differences between our species. Meanwhile, my horny ass just wants to follow them home and ask if I can watch them fuck.
I feel like a crazy person, standing there in my leggings, tasteful cardigan and tote bag, picturing the giant monster pounding into his partner.
I throw a carrot into my bag and turn around, quickly scurrying in the opposite direction, feeling my cheeks burning and hoping they can't smell the wetness between my legs with their heightened senses.
Hopefully, they didn't feel like I was running away from them due to prejudice.
If anything, I saved that poor orc couple from my inappropriate ogling.
Standing in the checkout aisle, I shift my weight from foot to foot, the fluorescent lights humming overhead, when a strange feeling pricks at me, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I look up, and a dark flash outside the window catches my attention.
When I get outside, the feeling lingers, but there's nothing there. Just cars zipping past and people living their lives.
The orc couple exits the market right behind me, holding hands and still leaning into each other, a bag of what is likely their dinner plans swung over his shoulder.
My heart aches at the sight. I don't think I've ever gone shopping with anyone before, not even for groceries.
Couples often complain that all relationships eventually end up being two people asking each other what they want to eat until they die.
They don't know how good they have it.
I scrub a hand over my face and make my way home, where I cook an elaborate dinner, putting in extra effort to take care of myself, but it doesn't help my mood.
I go to bed early for the first time in a while, disappointment crushing my spirits, and I pass out not long after the sun goes down, not once thinking about Zair.
It was then that, on the verge of giving up, something wakes me from a deep sleep.
I rub my eyes, wondering what the noise was that startled me awake. A low hum buzzes through my body, increasing in intensity the longer I lie there in wonder. I glance around the room, confused. It's dark; the only light peering in past the curtains is from the streetlights and the waxing moon.
It wasn't just me, shaking, I realize. The bed is shaking. The bedside table and the lamp, rattling on the edge, shook with the vibration.
Maybe it's an earthquake, I think absently, but that can't be right. The rattling slows before picking up again, in a strange pattern. Throwing back the covers, in my matching silk pajama set, I slide my feet into my bamboo slippers, then tiptoe out of my bedroom. The rumbling grows louder.
But then it stops in quick succession, almost like the sound is… laughing?
Just as the strange thought crosses my mind, I'm mid-turn, about to investigate further, when massive, rough hands snag me and lift, slamming my back against the wall.
I let out a grunt before the hands, which almost completely encircle my waist, paw at my body, moving down to squeeze my generous ass and hips, while what feels like a concrete chest and thick, tree trunk legs, block me from running away.
The shadowy outline of a minotaur with long, curling horns, wide shoulders, and the fucking terrifying face of a bull with huge, snarling sharp teeth, crowds me, holding me in place, and I let out a scream.
I try to scramble out of his grasp, but his massive palm wraps around my mouth, silencing me.
"Shut the fuck up," he growls. And there's that rattle again. It's deep, reverberating. It shakes the pictures on the walls.
My heart hammers in my chest while his claws bite into my cheek, his thick body pinning me in place. My legs dangle uselessly, slippers falling off, while his hold on me tightens.
I suck in sharp breaths while my eyes dart around, cataloging his features: long, curling gray horns jutting from his head, golden bullnose ring, a vicious, snarling maw with sharp teeth, too close for comfort—closer than I've ever been to a monster.
It honestly takes me a second to remember I hired him. I wasn't expecting him to come in like this, to scare the shit out of me. Which was the point, right? Except this doesn't feel safe at all.
With one hand tucked over my mouth, he lifts me like I'm a rag doll and drags me into the bedroom, then throws me onto the mattress. I bounce twice before trying to scramble away, but he's faster than me.
This whole situation I put myself into is so fucking stupid and unsafe. Worse, the harder I fight, the louder he laughs, and that same rumble, some magical minotaur trait I'd never known existed, flows out of him, shaking everything in the room. Shaking me.
I kick at him, but he grabs each of my ankles with no effort at all, and the realization that I really fucked up this time wraps like a fist around my throat, nearly suffocating me.
He snarls, teeth gleaming in the moonlight, dark eyes alight like he's fucking enjoying this, and somehow—maybe because of the gleam in his expression—a precious, vibrant, exciting feeling soars through me, too.
Everything inside me swings wildly, like a pendulum, toppling my shitty week, hell, the last few years, under his crushing weight.