for an hour. No one else ever came into that part of the museum, not even the guard. Days when I didn't have class and the museum was open, I would still come at my regular time. Even during school tours, no one ever seemed to linger in the room while I was there. I would sit there for the hour, looking up into its face. For as long as my eyes would hungrily devour its gaze, it appeared as if the eyes would look back down at me with a fierceness that I had rarely seen. The look that said, "You
will
be mine!" and had always made me weak in the knees. When the very faint sunlight that was allowed to enter that particular room would hit the sapphires, I would think it would wink at me. The eyes were so very expressive; I began responding to emotions I thought I saw there. Since I was there alone, I'd often quietly talk, discussing my day, working out problems, going over class work, or planning my week. When my hour was over, as I gathered my things, I'd gaze back. And it always looked a little sad that I was leaving. Maybe that's why after about a month, I began doing more.
I began just by standing in front of it, periodically walking around it, admiring the artist's skill at depicting human form in stone. I also enjoyed the sensation of being towered over by it. After about two weeks of yearning to touch him, my left hand moved of its own accord (
when did I start thinking of the sculpture as "him"?).
Hesitantly, I touched his abdomen; that way, my own body blocked what I was doing in case anyone just walked in. I anticipated he would feel cool but to my surprise it felt as warm as skin! I opened my hand and let in run up his chest, over to his upper arms and down to his hand. From there, I gave a quick peek around me. I couldn't resist – I let my hand slip down to stroke that cock, feeling every definition the artist had included. My thumb grazed over the head then down the bottom of the shaft. I could not get over the attention to detail the artist managed to do. Pulling my hand reluctantly away, I walked around him and I stood there, gazing at him from that angle. My fingertips strayed out to graze ever so lightly the texture of his magnificently sculptured ass. My hand curved itself to him, letting it linger and sensuously stroking the stone. When I realized what I was doing about three minutes later, I jerked my hand back, startled. I stood there for a moment, imagining I saw his muscles ripple in response to my touch suddenly being gone.
Oh, that's just ridiculous,
I thought to myself.
My guilty conscience is attacking me for touching a museum piece, that's all.
I walked back around to the bench where I had left my purse. Slinging it over my shoulder, I instinctively turned around for one more look when I noticed that the Minotaur had a full-blown erection. Gasping, I fled immediately, vowing to myself never to return.
Yet return I did, the very next day. It was a Saturday and I got there as soon as the museum opened. I was feeling adversarial after the previous night. I went right to the bench and sat down, glaring up at him with a soft blush on my cheeks after a quick glance made sure his cock was in its usual position. After three hours of glaring at an inanimate object and keeping up a mental diatribe against my actions and reactions, I rubbed at the headache that was beginning at my temples. Realizing how foolish I was being, I got my purse and stood up to leave. Giving my customary goodbye glance to him, my entire body shook as I saw his eyes blink at me. Both of them! This could NOT be a trick of the light! I shook my head, wondering if my headache was the beginning of a migraine and looked again. He blinked twice, then once, then twice again. His lips curved slowly upward into a sexy smile. With a soft groan of disbelief, thinking I had finally lost it, my mind took over and made me faint.
It seemed that I had only been unconscious for a minute or two, yet when I opened my eyes, it was dark inside and outside the museum. That indicated to me that I had been out for at least nine hours! I was lying on the bench, my purse on the floor beneath me. I slowly sat up, holding my head but the headache was gone. "Well, I guess a nine hour nap will cure most anything", I mumbled to myself.
"But not desire. Even five thousand years is not enough," a deep voice chuckled behind me. That voice caused a wave of thrilling pleasure to pulse at my throat and make its way quickly to the cleft between my legs. I spun around, frightened at my body's erotic response to the stranger's timbre. What I saw made me fall off the bench and almost pass out again.
"Now, that's enough of that!" the Minotaur said. "I've been waiting a long time for you to wake up; don't go passing out on me again!" He walked around the bench and effortlessly lifted me up. Luckily, his strong hands were still around my waist because my knees buckled. Oh god, the sheer power he seemed to radiate! Yet ever so carefully he set me down on the bench. As if realizing his effect on me, he kneeled before me and placed his hands on either side of my thighs, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through my thin black pants.
Smiling at me with the bull's lips, he asked, "Are you well enough that we can talk now?" I slowly nodded. "Good. Then may I ask why you touched me last night?" My face burned a scarlet red and I hung my head in embarrassment. His right hand moved to gently but firmly bring my head back up to meet his eyes. Caught helplessly in his gaze, I stared. "Tell me why you touched me," he said in a slightly stronger tone.
My tongue flicked out to wet my dry lips; I noticed his eyes tracing the movement. "I w-wanted to f-feel the material," I whispered. "Never h-heard of porphyry b-before. I didn't expect it to be so w-warm."
He chuckled, his thumb tracing my lips, making my breath speed up a little. "I'm sure there are many things you didn't expect. Shall we find out what they are?" I weakly nodded; what else could I have done? "Good," he said in a self-satisfied tone, and he pushed me on my back, then turned me around so that I was lying flat on my back on the bench. He knelt down at my feet. He reached up and hooked his fingers into the waistbands of my pants & panties. I lifted my hips up to help him. He gave a small growl and literally tore them off me. Tossing them over his shoulder, he grasped my hips and tugged me closer to him, parting my legs to either side of the bench. What I had thought was a cat o' nine tails was in reality a bunch of soft but sturdy ropes that he used to bind my wrists together. Then he used some to blindfold me and gag me. He slipped his hands underneath my ass and pulled me to the edge of the bench, then lifted my ass up. Thrusting his muzzle between my thighs and parting them wider, I gave a small moan as his skin scraped against mine. He gave a small snort of desire as he caught my scent. He licked my clitoris, pointing his tongue to press the tip of it to me, then letting the blade of his tongue brush harshly against it. I pushed my hips against the roughness of his tongue, rubbing my clit hard. His thick tongue gave one slow lick before plunging deep into my pussy. I cried out in amazement; his control over his tongue was astounding! The tip was almost like a finger, able to reach deep inside and stroke every inch. He savored me, taking his time, fondling my clitoris then sinking himself back deep into my pussy. After a time, he pulled his tongue out and gave another lick, cleaning my pussy of my own juices.
"More?" he asked, his breath tingling my hot skin. I nodded slightly, overcome with lust. "Say it," he commanded.
"More," I begged, barely able to form the word through the gag.
