by Roxie Noir
The Queen in the Labyrinth Copyright © 2015 Roxie Noir
All rights reserved.
This book is intended for audiences 18 and over only.
The cover model is just a model, not someone who endorses or even knows about this book.
Want to know when I release something new?
Sign up for my mailing list!
The Queen in the Labyrinth
Roxie Noir
Previously on The Erotic Adventures:
Heraklea stood, still wrapped in her bedsheets, in the largest hall she had ever seen. She wasn’t even positive that she was indoors; she thought she saw a vaulting silver ceiling high above, but it could have been the sky. The floor was white marble, polished to a high shine and cold on her bare feet. Fifty feet away was a golden dais, columns on either side of the dais that went so high she couldn’t see their tops. The dais had six steps leading up to it, and on it were perched two enormous thrones, gold, the armrests carved in intricate patterns and figurines. Hunters chased deer, boars, lions across the thrones; women swooned; men drank from vases.
What really concerned Heraklea was the two people in the thrones. For one thing, they seemed slightly larger than people should be. Not giants, but slightly wrong, too large by a quarter. For another, they were more beautifully dressed that anyone she had seen before: the man’s robes and the woman’s dress were shot through with threads of silver and gold, and each wore a heavily jeweled diadem on their head. The man had a gray mane and beard that gave him a slightly wild look, mismatched to his immaculate clothing, the immaculate room; the woman had dark hair and bright violet eyes. Heraklea had never seen eyes that color before.
She didn’t need a map to tell her where she was: this was Mount Olympus, home of the gods, and these two were Zeus and Hera, the king and queen. Heraklea pulled her sheet more firmly around her and wished she were properly dressed. Technically, Zeus was her father or, at least, he had sown his seed in her mother’s womb under false pretenses. Amphitryon was her father, as far as she was concerned. But her feelings on the matter probably weren’t going to be much use with Hera, who was notoriously jealous of Zeus’ conquests and notoriously nasty to the subsequent offspring.
“First she fucks half of Greece, then you try and marry her off and she fucks her husband half to death,” Hera continued, looking down at Heraklea like she was a particularly revolting insect.
Zeus leaned on one fist, ignoring Hera. “What are we going to do with you?” he said.
Silence. Heraklea looked from one to the other and back again. “Is Lykos dead?” she finally asked, her voice sounding tiny in the great hall.
“Not yet,” said Hera. “Just fucked into a coma. Never seen anything like it. Have you, darling? You’ve got more experience in that sort of thing.”
Zeus frowned and continued to ignore his wife. “It’s unfortunate you turned out female. Everyone expects this behavior of a rich young man.”
“Helen never acted like this,” Hera said.
“I’m sorry,” Heraklea said, tearing up. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“No,” rumbled Zeus. “But still, you must atone.”
“King Eurystheus has been having a lot of problems lately, down in Argos,” Hera said. “He could use some help killing monsters.”
“Hmm, yes,” Zeus said. “Maybe that will exhaust you.”
Hera smirked, her beautiful face an ill-concealed mask of rage. “He’s a very demanding man,” she said. “You’re to do anything and everything that he asks of you, or you’ll be his servant forever.”
“Go then,” Zeus said, and with a wave of his hand, golden light filled Heraklea’s vision again, and when she could see again, she found herself in a smaller room, though still grand, in front of another throne, a surprised-looking king on it.
“Do you know the story of the Minotaur?” asked the king. He and Heraklea were dining together, nearly alone, in his private dining room. Just the two of them and his two guards. He put the bone back on his plate and sucked the juices off one thumb.
“I know about the labyrinth,” Heraklea said. “The Minotaur ate children, and Theseus used the ball of string to get through the maze and slay it. That story?”
“That’s the end of the story,” Eurystheus, the king, said. He picked up his wine goblet and took a swallow. “Do you know the beginning?”
Klea chewed a mouthful of stuffed grape leaves and swallowed. “I guess not,” she said.
The king leaned forward. The table was lit by candlesticks and the leaping shadows on his face threw it into high relief. It was a very handsome face.
“It happened on Crete,” he began. “The king, Minos, married a noblewoman from a neighboring kindgom named Pasiphae. Pretty young thing. Had several children. Then, one day, he does something that pisses off Poseidon, I don’t even remember what. Probably peed into the ocean or something. Between you and me, we know how fickle the gods are.”
He winked at Klea. Despite herself, she smiled.
“Poseidon finds this enormous bull somewhere on Crete—it’s absolutely massive—and he makes it mad. Super-mad. Crazy mad. He sends it into the city, where it goes around destroying everything. Buildings, shops, food stalls. It kills a few people.”
“And that’s the Minotaur?”
The king smiled to himself. “Oh no. Not yet.”
Klea leaned back, sipping from her own wine goblet.
“The soldiers in the king’s guard finally get this bull under control, and they put it in a courtyard. Stone walls three feet thick, in the middle of the castle. Finally somewhere it can’t break out of. So that’s when Poseidon plays his trump card.”
“That wasn’t the bull destroying the city?”
The king shook his head. “He made the queen fall in love with the bull.”
The silence flickered in the candlelight. The king’s eyes bore directly into Klea until finally, she looked down at her near-empty dinner plate. She licked her lips.
“In love how?”
“Carnally. Lust, really. He gave her an insatiable desire to fuck this bull. Her servants locked her in her bedroom, where she paced up and down, night and day. She would tear off her clothes and present herself to her window, trying to get the bull’s attention. Howling and moaning, all hours of the night. It went on for weeks, until suddenly, she seemed almost normal again.”
“What happened?”
“Well, everyone was puzzled. At first they thought that Poseidon had lifted the curse, so they let her out of her chambers. She had changed. All that crazed lust had done something to her mind so that she wasn’t the sweet, innocent queen everyone had come to love, but they were glad to have her back at all. But then,” he said, and took a sip of wine, “her belly started to swell.”
Klea blinked. Her mouth had fallen open during the story, and she stared goggle-eyed at the king.
“The king hadn’t touched her in months. He’d been afraid to. He was furious, and he demanded that the man who’d slept with his poor, insane wife come forward. His men scoured the city, and they couldn’t find anything—no one came forward, no one ratted out their neighbor—but finally, they found the answer.”
Stone-still, Klea waited.
“In a storage shed, right outside the palace, there was a hollow carving of a cow. A little smaller than the bull. Big enough for a woman to fit into, and right below the tail, there was an opening. One of the servants had been helping her out of he
r chambers at night.”
Klea was having trouble believing all this. “She climbed into a statue so the bull would fuck her?”
“In layman’s terms, yes.”
“And she was pregnant with the Minotaur.”
“Yes.”
The king stood and walked to where Klea sat, and offered her his hand. Confused, she took it, and stood. He rested her hand on the inside of her arm and led her to the room’s exit, then turned and faced her. They stood six inches apart, and in the warm night, Klea could feel the heat radiating off of his body. In the low light, his eyes looked like bottomless pits.
“I want you to bring me that bull,” he said. He moved a strand of hair out of her face, and then grasped her chin lightly in his hand. Klea resisted the urge to pull back.
“Why?” she said.
“Because I want to see if you can do it,” he said simply. He released her chin and began walking back into the room. “Bon voyage,” he said over his shoulder.
No one else at the palace seemed to know about the Cretan Bull, or if they did, they weren’t telling Klea anything. The people didn’t seem to know much about Crete in general, but Klea got the impression that there was something very strange going on over there, something people didn’t approve of and didn’t like to talk about. She didn’t have any idea how she’d capture a crazed, enormous bull, or whether she even could. It was still trapped in that courtyard with the three-foot walls, she supposed, if it wasn’t dead. She had even less of an idea of how she’d get the thing back to Rhodes, and that was all she worried about on the voyage over via trading vessel.
If the bull could destroy this city, she thought, standing on the deck, smelling the Mediterranean sea air, it could tear this boat in half.
At the palace in Crete she was shown to very nice guest quarters—for once, King Eurystheus had written in advance and notified Minos—and the servant who showed her to them told her all about the labyrinth.
“Closed, of course,” he said. “Terribly unpleasant memories. The queen goes in there, but she’s the only one permitted. She visits the grave, naturally.”
“The grave of the Minotaur?”
The man nodded. “You can visit the entrance if you’d like,” he said, and gave her directions.
Klea went down and visited after she had a light dinner. Her audience with the king and queen was the next day. She figured the best plan right now was to just ask nicely for the bull, and come up with a backup plan if they said no. What would happen if she couldn’t complete a task? Was she stuck at the palace with King Eurystheus forever?
A tiny voice in the back of her head asked: would that be so bad?
The entrance to the labyrinth didn’t have any indication that no one was allowed inside. There was no door, no chain, not even a string blocking it off. Klea thought she’d come to the wrong place at first, but it was exactly where the man had said it would be, exactly how he had described it: two huge columns, arching up, covered in vines, stones just starting to crumble. In the declining sunlight, it looked like it could be haunted. With no one else there to tell her not to, Klea stepped inside and went around the first corner, forgetting what she was doing: getting lost in a maze that had killed dozens of people.
She realized it before long, when she stopped feeling the thrill of being where she shouldn’t have been, but it was too late. Klea tried to backtrack but the tall stone halls that opened onto the night sky seemed to turn back onto themselves. Nothing ever looked familiar, but every wall looked like every other wall, with no way for her to differentiate between them. She was lost in the labyrinth.
This is how they sacrificed children, she thought. The only thing she could do was keep going, walking down every path and doubling back, wondering if she’d been there before.
After what felt like hours, Klea turned a corner onto something different, a torchlit scene, shadows flickering against the walls. In the middle, a big marble plinth, pure white. Strangely dressed people gathered around it in odd configurations, few of them moving. One woman, short and blond, wearing what looked like a bronze corset and holding a riding crop, strode from person to person, bullwhip in hand. Klea stepped into the shadows at the edge of the space and watched, slowly creeping toward the firelit marble plinth.
“Lick my feet,” the blonde woman said. Klea took another step and then she could see who the woman was talking to: a man on hands and knees, in front of the marble monument, the first of three men on their hands and knees. He was naked. They were all naked.
Dutifully, the man stretched his tongue out and licked the woman’s foot, starting at the big toe and going up to her ankle, starting over again at the next toe. Klea watched in fascination as he bathed the top of the blonde woman’s foot, his eyes closed in ecstasy. She took another step and could see that his hands were bound together tightly so that he wobbled left to right as he licked, struggling to stay upright and not topple over. He was wearing a collar attached to the bonds on his hands, and a thick white scar shone on his ass.
“You missed a spot,” the woman said imperiously. “Worthless.” She kicked him in the the side of his head and he went over.
“I’m sorry, mistress,” he said, still down in the dirt.
“You’re nothing but a pathetic worm.”
“May I get out of the dirt?”
“No,” she said.
Between the man’s legs Klea could see the shadow of a massive erection, practically throbbing with need.
The second man had something tied around his head and in his mouth so that it was stretched wide and he couldn’t speak, and he had the same scar on his ass. The woman crouched down so that her knees were spread wide in front of him. Klea couldn’t see between them, but from the look on the man’s face, she could guess at what he could see.
She put one finger under his chin. “Are you a good slave?”
The man nodded, looking up. The woman took the whip and expertly cracked it across his ass so that he made a strangled-sounding yelp around the gag. The first man was still lying on the ground and hadn’t moved a muscle since the woman told him to stay, so Klea could see the second man’s erection twitch when the woman whipped him.
“I said no eye contact,” the woman said. The whip flew again, making a slashing noise against his ass, making another strangled shout. “I see I haven’t trained you well enough.” She hit him twice more, once on the ass and once on the back.
The third man was wearing some sort of metal device around his groin, Klea could see, and it glinted dully in the firelight. Whatever it was, she’d never seen it before. The woman walked over to a chair, where Klea couldn’t see her, and when she came back she had removed the bottom half of her dress and seemed to be wearing a huge metal cock.
“Kneel,” the woman said to the third man. Once he wasn’t kneeling down anymore, Klea could see what was on his cock: it looked like some kind of cylindrical, curved metal cage, the bottom dripping like a leaky faucet onto the dirt, a thin band of metal around his waist, attaching the contraption to his trunk. The metal strap-on cock bobbed in front of his face, at least eight or nine inches long.
“May I suck your cock?” he whispered.
“Why should I let you?” the woman responded. With one hand she caressed its length, almost as if it were physically attached to her.
“Because I suck the best cock in the kingdom,” he said.
“I can’t hear you.”
“I suck the best cock in the kingdom!” he shouted, the words echoing off the labyrinth walls.
She moved her hips and hit him in the face with it, then looked over.
“You,” she said, pointing to the first man. “Come over here and clean up his mess.” She pointed to where his cock, held flaccid by force, was dripping pre-cum into the dirt. The man scampered over on his hands and knees and licked up the dirt. When that was gone, he began to clean the man’s chastity belt with his tongue.
As that happened, the woman grabbed the man’s head b
y his hair and tilted it back. He opened his mouth and she slid her cock home, coming to the back of his throat. He gagged visibly, and she pulled back a fraction of an inch, then tugged his head down her cock again.
“You disgust me,” the woman said. “You’re a weakling who can’t even get an erection.”
The man made a noise. Klea could see that his eyes were beginning to stream, his head still firmly held in her hands.
“Did you have something to say?” the woman said, pulling out.
“Throatfuck me, mistress,” he said.
She slapped him across the face, hard.
“Please throatfuck me, mistress,” he said, and almost before the words were out of his mouth the woman had her cock back in his mouth, pushing the whole thing in. Klea could see it move into the man’s throat and then back out, his head still forced back.
The second man, the one with the ball gag in his mouth, was still on hands and knees, breathing hard, sucking air in and out of his mouth, eyes screwed shut.
“Don’t you dare come,” said the woman, her metal cock deep in another man’s throat. The man closed his eyes and squeezed his hands into fists, clearly trying not to watch the third man with a cock buried deep in his throat.
The woman, keeping one hand on the third man’s head, reached out, whip in her other hand, and belted the man with the ball gag two more stripes across his back. He cried out as best he could.
Watching, Klea realized she was getting aroused. This had never really interested her before, the idea of dominating men, but was that what she looked like giving head? Was that was she’d looked like chained up by that stranger in the cabin? That naked, that vulnerable? This woman seemed to have absolute power over all three men to the point where she could make them do anything. Buried in shadows, Klea reached under her flimsy dress and began to touch herself, pussy swollen and wet, clit at attention.
