Twice with the Minotaur

“What did you tell them about Theo?” Brandon Burton asked the head of the archaeological dig, Colin Doukas, as they stood on the excavation’s edge on the plateau near Gortyn, Crete, and looked down at the housing encampment below. Three local police officers had descended from where they stood and were now talking to the head of the local Greek crew, Stephanos Andino. Standing in a tight group at the edge of the dig with Doukas and Burton were Doukas’s wife, Natalie, the sketcher and cataloger of the expedition’s finds near what had been the labyrinth of the Bronze Age Minoan civilization’s capital of Knossos on the southern coast of Crete, and Doukas’s young Greek-American assistant, Dorian Mikos.

“Only that Theo was a bit flighty,” Doukas answered. Theo Kazan, a twenty-year-old, dark, sultry Athens University student, was a member of the excavation crew that Doukas, a leading Oxford University archaeology professor and explorer, had brought to Crete three weeks earlier. The young student hadn’t been seen on the dig for a couple of days, but the work had been fevered and the local crew large. No one had acknowledged knowing he was missing until one of the young local crew men his age had been reported missing by his family the previous day.

“Theo was a bit . . . you know . . . two beautiful and available to men for his own good,” Natalie Doukas said in a dismissive voice. “The two have probably run off together and had to do it in secret because of the attitudes in the local youth’s village.” She moved off a bit, delivering a pottery shard to the table under a tree where she was collecting the day’s smaller finds.

Brandon pulled closer into Doukas. “You didn’t tell them . . . you know, about you and Theo, did you?”

“Keep your voice down,” Doukas muttered. He looked around to see who might have heard, but only his twenty-year-old Columbia University assistant, Dorian Mikos, was within hearing. Mikos was a young man with Greek heritage who was every bit as beautiful and sultry as Theo Kazan was, although he was educated and sophisticated on an international scale far above Theo’s experience and light years beyond that of the local rural worker who also had gone missing. In terms of youth and physical beauty, though, all three young men of disparate situations were equals—as, it was generally understood, was their interest in other men.

“No, of course not. It has nothing to do with Theo being missing—or, rather, having gone on a walk—unless he was just too innocent to cope with his preferences in the repressive atmosphere on Crete. The local police have no need to hear a whisper of anything more than they can glean from Stephanos and the local workers. Natalie is probably right. The two are probably now on a ferry to Athens to try to begin a new life without the local worker’s family knowing what that entails.”

“How long do you think the police will be here?” Dorian Mikos asked, sidling up to Doukas and his archaeology associate, who was a professor of archaeology at the University of Arizona in Tucson. “I need to coordinate with Stephanos on tomorrow’s dig—the worker’s roster. Will we have to cancel the party tonight?” Today was October 31st, American Halloween, and a contingent of the American university students included in the dig as part of a course Burton was teaching had wanted to do a costume party to introduce the holiday to the local workers.

“I don’t see why we would need to cancel,” Doukas said. “And the police won’t be here long, I don’t think. If Natalie is bright enough to figure out why both of the young men are missing, the local police should be able to handle it.” He looked over at his wife, who turned and gave him a smile. He smiled back. Their relationship was complicating, much of it hanging on working together as an archeological team, but he really did love her in his own way.

“Ouch,” Burton said. But then he laughed. Natalie wasn’t Doukas’s wife just for her brains. She was a striking blonde, twenty years younger than Doukas’s well-preserved fifty-one. She was just the sort of wife who gave the famous archaeologist camouflage—not to mention that had brought his no-cost associate, Burton, and the Arizona professor’s contingent of students into this expedition cost free. Doukas also occasionally fucked her with satisfaction when he was really keyed up. She took what came her way.

“There, the police have moved on,” Dorian said. “I’ll just go down and have a word with Stephanos and tell the American students the party is on and they can start setting it up.”

Burton moved over to talk with Natalie about the finds of the day and to help her catalog them, while Doukas remained standing at the edge of the plateau, looking down into the housing compound, consisting most of tents around what had been a farm complex—a small villa where the principals were housed, another structure with the kitchen and dining facilities—where the party would be held that night—and a barn, where the equipment and the archaeological finds could be stored before they were sent off the museum in the capital city of Heraklion, forty-five kilometers away, on the northern coast of the island.

His attention was arrested by the view of Dorian Mikos speaking with the Greek local crew supervisor, Stephanos Andino, and his eyes narrowed. Andino was touching Dorian in a familiar manner that Doukas didn’t particularly like. There was something about that man. Andino was in in his early thirties, devilishly handsome and cocky, knowing how arresting his muscular physique was and taking every opportunity to show it off. He looked over at Natalie to see whether she also was looking down at the strutting Greek as he occasionally caught her doing, but she wasn’t. She and Brandon Burton were in close conversation. But Natalie and the hunky Greek exchanging looks and flirting didn’t disturb Doukas a tenth as much as Andino touching Dorian Miko did.

* * * *

“And this is what made the Minotaur a monster,” Stephanos was saying. He was standing in front of the gathered American students and local workers, holding a huge papier-mâché mask of the Minotaur’s head in his arms, and relating the tale to the Americans of the legend of the Minotaur, the Minoan civilization monster, who lived in the nearby labyrinth at Knossos demanding a sacrifice of seven young women and seven young men from the Greek mainland every seven years to guarantee that he left the people of the island in peace.

“It’s this head of a bull that distinguished the Minotaur,” Stephanos said. “He was monstrous in other dimensions as well, but those were human features. He descended from the gods—Zeus’s capturing of Europa and bringing her here to Crete to mate with him disguised as a bull and the offspring of that union, Minos, mating his wife, Pasiphere, with the white bull to produce the half man, half bull Minotaur”

Standing off to the side with Colin and Natalie Doukas and Dorian Mikos, Brandon Burton said, “That’s quite an elaborate bull headpiece Stephanos came in. Quite convincing. He’s quite the magnificent Minotaur, isn’t he?”

Both Natalie and Dorian said “Quite” in unison, bringing a scowl to Colin’s face and both looking a bit embarrassed. “Wherever did he get such a magnificent headpiece?” Natalie asked to rush the conversation forward, away from rocky shoals.

“He’s an excellent artist,” Colin said, “as you know, Natalie, since he helps you with the sketching. When the Halloween party was laid on, he asked if he could make the Minotaur headpiece to entertain the American students with the local legend, and I acceded and gave him the time and money to make it. It is rather elaborate, isn’t it? And it’s just what you’d imagine the Minotaur’s head would look like.”

Stephanos, costume wise, was the winner of the evening. His muscular body was oiled to a bronze sheen and the headpiece was both horrific and mesmerizing. The rest had come in various drapings of sheeting to evoke Greek and Roman togas. Dorian had come as a Greek serving boy, though, with a simple tunic and sandals with lacings criss-crossing up to his knees, and looked very fetching. Natalie, of course, was dazzling in her silken robe. Although in nearly the same toga as all of the other men, Colin and Brandon, both tall, well-muscled, distinguished looking, and commanding, came across well as Roman senators.

The local crew had provided an abundance of Greek food and wine, and the partying went on for a couple of hours. The expedition principals retired early, though, with Colin winning a round of cheers by saying that the dig would not commence the next day until after the noon meal.

It wasn’t long before the lights went out in the small villa, separated from the dining hall by a stone terrace. Luckily, although the bedrooms of the villa opened out onto terracing, that was on the opposite side of the structure from the other buildings and expedition tents.

Stephanos also left the party earlier than it ended, but he only went to his tent long enough to deposit the head of the Minotaur there. Then he stole out again and, looking around to ensure he wasn’t seen, moved silently around the side of the villa to where the bedroom doors opened to the breeze coming up from the south on the Mediterranean. He moved from window to window, first to Colin Doukas’s bedroom, where, through the open doorway, he watched the scene of sexual release. Doukas was on his back on the bed, his hands gripping Dorian Mikos’s slim waist, as the young, sultry man was saddled on the older man’s hips, his hands palming Doukas’s pecs, and Dorian’s buttocks rising and falling on the older man’s sheathed shaft. Doukas was cupping the young man’s chin with a hand, his thumb penetrating Dorian’s mouth. The young man’s head was arched back, his eyes close, and he was sucking on the thumb.

Stephanos watched as one of Dorian’s hands drew back to encase his cock and stroke himself to an ejaculation, arching his back and giving a little. Doukas then turned the young man on his cock to the position of the crab, where Dorian was stretched out above Doukas’s body, supporting himself suspended of the other man with his arms bent, his hands palming the mattress on either side of Doukas’s chest, and his legs bent, his feet planted on either side of Doukas’s thighs, and Doukas raising and lowering the young man’s hips on his own skewering cock as he moved to his own release.

The next door Stephanos moved to was Natalie’s room—she and her husband had separate rooms for obvious reasons. This bedroom was empty, so Stephanos moved on. The next bedroom, Brandon Burton’s, was where the Greek found Burton kneeling between Natalie’s thighs as she lay back on the bed, devouring her cunt before rising and crouching over her, entering her with his erection, and fucking her in the missionary position. Her long, blonde hair streaming over the sheet and picking up the moonlight through the window, Natalie was yawning her pleasure and working her ample breasts with her hands.

The last bedroom in the line was empty as well, but Stephanos waited here, in the shadows, until Dorian Mikos returned to his bedroom and moved over to the side of the bed and pulled the covers back. The Greek, naked, moved silently to behind the young American, still naked, and embraced him from behind, a hand going to cover Mikos’s mouth. There were muffled exclamations and a brief struggle until Dorian realized who was embracing him. Then the hand came away to be replaced with the cupping of Dorian’s chin and the turning of the young man’s face to Stephanos for a possessive kiss. Stephanos’s other hand moved between them, putting his erection in position. Dorian instinctively tried to pull his mouth away to yelp at the pain of the thick entry of the Greek’s cock, but Stephanos held him in strong captivity as his shaft moved up inside the young American’s passage, stretching and opening the channel up, Stephanos being thicker and longer than Colin Doukas was.

Stephanos covered the young man’s lower belly with a strong, calloused hand and pulled and released, pulled and released, relentlessly pulling the young man’s passage deeper on the throbbing cock. As he’d seen in the other room, the thumb of hand the Greek was cupping the American’s chin with slipped into Dorian’s mouth and the young man sucked on it as he was being pulled deeper on the shaft.

When he was in to the hilt, Stephanos released his close hold on Dorian’s body, and the young American sank forward on the bed, his cheek pressing into the sheet and his arms stretched out to his side sacrificially. The hung Greek grabbed the young man’s hips and rocked Dorian’s pelvis back and forth to the rhythm of the thrusts of his cock. Dorian’s fists opened and closed on the bunching of sheeting to the same rhythm, matched by the pattern of his moaning, as the hunky Greek fucked him far more completely than Colin Doukas had managed.

* * * *

The next afternoon, November 1st, Theo Kazan reappeared in camp, stumbling and looking dazed. Stephanos, who was deploying somewhat hungover American students and local workers around the excavation site, saw Theo approaching and waved him into his tent. After a while the Greek supervisor emerged and sent one of the local workers to the police station.

While he was waiting for the local police to arrive, Stephanos came to Colin Doukas. Dorian was standing nearby, clipboard in hand, seeing that the areas of the excavation Doukas had said to concentrate on that day were being worked. The two, Stephanos and Dorian, didn’t look at each other—and they avoided looking at each other enough that Colin Doukas was giving them suspicious looks.

“Was that Theo I saw entering your tent?” he asked Stephanos as the Greek climbed up to the plateau they were excavating.

“Yes, it was. He’s in my tent. I’ve sent for the police.”

“Has he—?”

“He hasn’t said anything yet. I don’t know if it’s because he won’t or because he can’t remember for some reason. He just said that he needed to do some looking around and thinking on his own. He was adamant that he doesn’t know the local worker who disappeared before he did, though.”

“I wish you had told me he was back before sending for the police. I want to talk to him before they interview him. When they arrived, tell them that he went off again, please.”

Without waiting for a reply, Doukas handed the area map he was looking at to Dorian and descended the hill. He went to Stephanos’s tent and then the he and Theo went over to and entered the villa. Doukas was controlling the young man’s stumbling movement close, holding him with an arm embracing the young man’s shoulders.

Stephanos went over close to Dorian and the two held the map Doukas had handed to Dorian together and looked at it as if they were discussing the map. But they weren’t.

“Last night,” Stephanos said.

“I had wanted that since we got here,” Dorian said.

“I sensed that strongly. That’s why I—”

“No need to say anything. We need to—”

“Sunday. We each will be free. Each of us can go for a walk in a different direction and meet up. There’s something I want to show you. Sunday. It’s Thursday today.”

“Three days? I don’t know if I can—”

“If there’s opportunity.”

They would have said more, but Natalie called over to Stephanos. “I have more here than I can get sketched today, Stephanos. Perhaps you could—”

“Yes, certainly,” Stephanos said. “I’ll be with you as soon as I wave these policemen off.” He descended the hill to tell them that they’d missed Theo, that Theo would be brought in to the police station when he returned, that he hadn’t given much of an explanation why he was gone for three days, and that he claimed not to know the other missing young man.

Not too much longer after that, Dorian had a question that needed an immediate answer and could only be answered by Colin Doukas, if he was available. Dorian found—or, rather, saw—Colin in the villa, but he wasn’t available for questions. He had Theo on his bed, both were naked, and Theo was on his belly, with Colin mounted on his ass and fucking him in long slides.

Dorian decided that the question didn’t have to be answered as immediately as he’d thought and he returned to the dig and became embroiled in that work until the late afternoon. Colin was back and Dorian got an answer to his “immediate” question. He said nothing about seeing Colin fucking Theo. Dorian knew Doukas had been fucking the young Greek. And just because he also fucked Dorian didn’t mean that Dorian had the leverage to complain about who else Colin would fuck.

Colin’s answer to Dorian’s work question meant Dorian now had a work question to ask Stephanos. He hadn’t seen the Greek supervisor around for a while, though. He walked down to the housing compound. Stephanos was in his tent. But he wasn’t alone. Both he and Theo were naked and fucking on Stephanos’s cot. Dorian saw them from the rear, Stephanos’s meaty buttocks between two raised and spread thighs, Stephanos fisting the young Greek student’s ankles and languidly rocking against Theo’s pelvis, his buttocks contracting and releasing in the rhythm of the fuck.

Theo was getting quite a workout, Dorian thought. He’d surely be gaga when he finally was turned over to the police for questioning. But as far as Dorian knew, maybe that was someone’s plan. He never did get turned over to the police, though. That evening when he didn’t appear at the dining hall, he couldn’t be found.

Theo was gone again. And this time he didn’t come back. Dorian overheard Colin and Stephanos discussing how randy and hazy the young man had been when he returned—how they didn’t have to pursue him. That he had come to them and couldn’t get enough of their cocking. It was a pity, they agreed, that he didn’t stay around long enough after he’d come back for them to get their fill of him.

“Whatever man Theo was with while he was absent was hung like a bull,” Colin said. “His passage was still gaping open when I laid him.”

“He was a better lay for having been gone for a couple of days,” Stephanos interjected.

“Just like Spiros,” Colin said, which sent a chill up Dorian’s spine. Spiros was the name of the young local worker who had disappeared before Theo did.

* * * *

“If your first time with a man was the best you’d ever had and then your second time was even better than that, would you want to lay under him a third time?”

“Certainly. Why wouldn’t I?”

“I thought I might be too big for you, but you took me well,” Stephanos said, lying next to Dorian on the blanket, his fingers stroking the young man’s thigh. “Did you think I might split you?”

“I like to be challenged by a big cock.”

“If the man were even bigger than me—had a monster shaft—you’d be willing to try it?”

“Of course,” Dorian answered. It was Sunday and, after leaving the camp headed in different directions, they had circled around north to meet up. Stephanos had brought a blanket and a hamper of food and several bottles of chilled wine. He had led Dorian up into the hills surrounding Gortyn and around the seaward side of a rocky cliff. He’d taken them to a grassy area bordered by boulders to the east and west, a drop off to the Mediterranean Sea to the south. and the rocky and rough face of a cliff to the north.

There he had laid out the blanket and the food and wine, the two had stripped naked, they’d eaten of the food and polished off nearly three bottles of the wine. Then Stephanos had laid the younger American, the two entwining their bodies, Stephanos frotting their cocks, the two of them sixty-nining to one release, Stephanos eating Dorian out and stroking him off to the young man’s second ejaculation, and then setting Dorian into an all-fours position, mounting him, and fucking him to Stephanos’s climax.

Stephanos had complimented Dorian on how open he was able to make himself for the Greek’s thick shaft, which, when Dorian admitted he’d managed to have been doubled before, had led to the question on how big Dorian would be willing to try to take.

The fucking on the blanket had taken longer, been more intense, and had lifted the two higher than the first time Stephanos had taken Dorian in his bedroom after the Halloween party. Stephanos was relatively young, beautiful, muscular, hung, virile, and vigorous. Dorian couldn’t have wanted more from a man.

“So, you’re asking if I think the third time with you can be better than what you just did with me?” Dorian asked. “I don’t see how it could be.”

“If you had it from a man like the two times I’d covered you, would you be content with dying after that?” Stephanos asked.

“All of these questions and the serious look,” Dorian said. “I prefer the first question, because it speaks of a third time.”

“So, you want a third time?”

“Of course I do,” Dorian answered.

“And you would take it if I was bigger than I was the first two times?”

“Yes, but I don’t see how . . . ahh.” Then he saw. Stephanos was showing him his fist.

“Does the prospect scare you?” Stephanos asked.

“Yes, a little.”

“But you’ll stay with me here on this blanket?”

“Yes, I’ll stay.”

Stephanos, who had been sitting beside Dorian, who was stretched out on his back on the blanket, was smoking a cigarette and playing with two big balls of twine he’d taken out of the hamper, picking the two ends of the string out from each of the ball, tossed his cigarette over the lip of the cliff ledge and down to the sea. He rolled over on top of Dorian, embracing the young man close and pinning him to the ground, one leg over one of Dorian’s legs and an arm encasing Dorian’s back, the hand cupping the young man’s chin and arching his head back. Stephanos’s other hand, which he dipped in a tub of butter first, went under Dorian’s balls.

Dorian groaned and then whimpered and then begged and finally cried out as Stephanos worked buttered fingers into the young American’s asshole, progressively adding fingers and, finally, the rest of the hand, past the knuckles, as Dorian writhed ineffectually in the strong Greek’s grasp. Dorian cried out as the knuckles breached his sphincter and Stephanos was in to the wrist, but the young man, panting, held steady. Stephanos flexed his fingers and gently rocked the fist inside the young man’s passage. At length Dorian adjusted to fist that fucked him and he took his cock in his own free hand and beat himself off, all the time panting hard, groaning, and voicing his pained passion.

When he’d shot his load, Stephanos extracted his hand, rolled over on top of Dorian, between the young man’s spread thighs, held him close, thrust his shaft up into Dorian’s now-gaping passage, and fucked the hell out of him.

“You took that well,” the Greek said. “You are quite talented.” His voice had an aura of approval in it.

They lay stretched out beside each other afterward, Dorian still panting and moaning, as Stephanos juggled the two balls of twine. The younger man watched him for a while before gathering enough breath to ask the Greek, “What do you have that twine for?”

“To guide us on the path.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You’ve been to the labyrinth of Knossos, but did you know there were other labyrinths here on Crete?”

“No, I didn’t. Do they all have a Minotaur at the center of them?”

“Would you like to find out? There’s a labyrinth right here, nearby, in a cave. We’re lying on the path to the entrance to it. It’s in the cliffside behind us. You are an archaeologist. Would you like to explore what very few others know about on Crete of the time back to the Minoans?” He sat up, reached into the basket, and pulled out a couple of heavy-duty flashlights. “Come explore with me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I can put my legs together after what you just did.”

“Come into the labyrinth with me. We will explore and then I will make love to you again—I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. Here, drink this first.” He produced another bottle of wine from the basket, a smaller one from the others. He opened it and gave it to Dorian. “No, it’s all for you. Drink it all.”

Dorian did so, and the effects of the wine—a feeling of languidness and slight euphoria emotionally and a greater loosening of his internal passage—dilating him even more and deeper than Stephanos had done with his fist—physically started to set in as, the both of them still naked, Stephanos took his hand and guided him through the rocks behind where they had been lying and to the entrance of a cave.

Here they stopped and Stephanos took the balls of string he was carrying with him. One end of each strand he tied to the base of a small tree, each strand to a separate tree. The other end of one he tied to Dorian’s ankle and the end of the other to his own ankle. “I know the way through the labyrinth, but we may be separated,” he said. “This will ensure we each can find our way out, if needed.”

The passage into the cave twisted and turned and gave false invitations as a true labyrinth will. Dorian was fascinated with the clearly ancient paintings on the passage walls picked out by the light of his flashlight. He twice became separated from Stephanos in the dark passage, taking turns that the Greek did, but their voices and the string brought them back together again. There was a mist in the passage, some sort of gas that added to Dorian’s disorientation and haziness. The sensation of his channel dilating increased, and he would have given more thought to the possibility that Stephanos’s fist had done damage if he had been in more control of his mental facilities than he was.

After quite a long time they spied a lighted area ahead of them. It wasn’t the first lighted chamber they came to. At a few other places, there were channels upward in the ceiling of the chambers that reached the surface and brought beams of light down into the cave. In time, though, they entered a much larger chamber, with several access points to the surface and the flashlights weren’t need.

“What in the hell is this?” Dorian asked, his eyes first going to the wall painting, which was in the vein of the Minoan art he’d seen already in ruins and journal articles, centering on the games of bull baiting and leaping. But the intensity of points of light in beams increasing as clouds scuttled away in the sky above the chamber ceiling took Dorian’s eye to the gilded throne across the chamber and the large area of animal skins padding at one side and then through an arch to a smaller chamber that was lined with bones—human skeletons and sculls. The light in this chamber was dimmer, though, and he turned to say something to Stephanos.

But Stephanos wasn’t there.

Dorian looked around in panic for the other man, although, in his drugged state, panic was lethargic and dulled. A tapestry was off to the side, and he saw it shimmer and then a figure come out from behind it.

“Stephanos. Where did that headdress from the Halloween party come from?”

The figure’s head—that of a white bull with curved horns—was identical to the Minotaur headdress Stephanos had worn at the party, but this wasn’t Stephanos. This figure was over seven feet tall and, though of human male form, much more muscular than any human Dorian had ever seen. It had, swinging between its thighs, a shaft that was as long and thick as a grown man’s forearm. The balls were the shape and size of lemons. And it wasn’t topped with a papier-mâché headdress. This was the monster’s head.

This was the Minotaur.

Dorian stood, helpless and slow to react, eyes wide and trained on the Minotaur, as the monster advanced on him. Dorian did stumble backward but to no avail. The monster took the young man up into his arms, carried him over to the throne, sat in the massive seat, embracing Dorian in his strong arms. Pulling Dorian into his lap, facing away from him, he put Dorian’s gaping passage on the huge cock, being able to penetrate because the drug Stephanos had given the young man did its trick, but unable to penetrate too far, despite the preparation Stephanos’s fist had provided. That was not accepted by the Minotaur as a problem. As Dorian ineffectually struggled and howled, the monster buried the cock to a deeper depth that any man would be able to.

The young man struggled and cried out in pain, increasingly laced with passion, as the monster held him close and raised and lowered him on the cock, turning Dorian to facing him and fucking him interminably in that position as well until Dorian gave up the struggle and lay docilely there, letting the Minotaur have what he was going to take anyway.

At length the Minotaur rose from the throne and carried the completely yielding body of the young American over to the pile of animal skins, where he laid Dorian on his back, spread and bent the young man’s legs, placed skins under Dorian’s buttocks to raise his hips and roll his pelvis up, and settled down between the young man’s thighs, entering him to such a depth as Dorian’s greatly dilated passage would allow, and fucked him and fucked him and fucked him.

When Dorian woke, it was night. The chamber was dim, but a full moon was out, so there was enough light in the chamber that the young man could see that the Minotaur was stretched out beside him on the animal skins. The monster was snoring.

Dorian was as sore as he could be but something in the back of his still-drugged and addled brain told him he needed to escape if he could. This fought with the almost equal urge to want to be totally fucked like that again. He felt a tingling sensation at one of his ankles and reached down to discover that the thread was still in place, tied around the ankle.

Stephanos had told him that that was how he could find his way out. As silently as he could he rose and went to the chamber entrance that the string slithered into. At the entrance, he paused and looked around at the Minotaur in repose, his giant cock snaking down his thigh, still fearsome when flaccid.

Aided by the drug dilating his passage and the mists of the labyrinth that helped mellow him out and increase his arousal, he had to say that this had been the fuck of his life. Could it get any better than this? Was this the best sexual experience he was to have in life? Hadn’t Stephanos asked him about this—whether after an ultimate fuck like this he’d be willing to die if he knew it was the greatest sex he’d ever have? He’d have to think about all of this later. His mind was too hazy to think about this now.

He turned, and, following the string in the dark, managed, in time, to stumble out of the cave. The full moon allowed him to see his way back to the camp. It was a surprised Colin Doukas who sat up in his bed in the encampment villa and saw a naked Dorian tumble into his bedroom.

“Dorian!” he exclaimed. “Where have you been? You’ve been gone for two days.”

“Take me. Fuck me. Use me hard,” Dorian cried out, as, in a drunken stupor, he struggled over to the bed and collapsed on top of Colin. Always game to fuck a young man, Colin happily complied. They fucked all night. But Dorian was insatiable and his mind was floating into the stratosphere.

After Colin left in the morning, Dorian sought out Stephanos, who also was happy to fuck him silly. Over the day, Colin and Stephanos handed him back and forth, Dorian never coming down to earth mentally and forever saying he wasn’t getting enough cock—neither in thickness and length nor in frequency.

That night, under cloud cover and holding a flashlight, a mumbling Dorian stumbled back to the cave, guided by Stephanos. At the entrance, Stephanos tied string to trees and then ankles again, and he guided Dorian through the labyrinth to the Minotaur’s lair.

There was no light coming into the chamber from the skylights in the main chamber in this second and final time with Stephanos’s master, the Minotaur. When they entered the chamber, Dorian, whose heart was racing and who could hear the snuffling and snorting of Minotaur somewhere in the dark, stood, whimpering, the drug that had aided him the previous couple of days starting to wear off, his mind starting to clear, and panic beginning to set in.

“Stephanos?” he said. “Where are you?”

But Stephanos wasn’t there, He’d cut the string attached to Dorian’s ankle and pulled it with him as he retreated through the labyrinth.

The Minotaur reached out, enfolded Dorian into his arms, and carried him over to the pile of animal skins. Lowering the trembling young man onto the skins and stripping off his shorts, all that he was wearing, the Minotaur grasped Dorian’s wrists and pinned the young man’s arms over his head, as he settled in between Dorian’s thighs and, as the young man arched his head up and cried to the darkness in pain-passion, gave him the monster’s entire length and thickness of the cock again and again and again, fucking him hard, fast, deep, forever.

Like Spiros and Theo before him, Dorian never appeared above ground again.