The Minoan Bride by Nascosta C.M

Author:Nascosta, C.M.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Meduas Editoriale
Published: 2023-06-29T00:00:00+00:00

“I love fucking you this way.”

His voice was a low rumble against her hair, his hands snug around her waist, and Gwen whimpered. Pulsing her thighs together excited the tingle between her thighs, but there was no friction, no pressure, nothing her clit desperately wanted, and his words were not helping in the slightest.

The vase was another depiction of a bride on her knees, being taken from behind by the crouching minotaur. She did love when he fucked her this way — the swell of his shaft making her cry out on every thrust, dragging over her g-spot, the angle allowing him to plumb her deeply, bumping the edge of her cervix in a way that made her back arch. It was harder for him to find the right angle with her on her back, and she’d taken the full brunt of his cockhead against her cervix before, always an agony, and he was always sheepish and apologetic when she cried out in pain. This position, however . . . there were no downsides. If she pressed her shoulders to the mattress and kept her ass high, his balls slapped into her clit, fat and full and low-hanging, and she always, always came quickly this way.

“You’re really not making this easy to get through,” she grumbled, shifting purposefully against him until he hissed. “The horniness of this exhibit is an intentional attack on my self-control.”

There was a primal energy to the images, and as they moved in a circuit around the room, it awoke something deep inside of her. Gwen wasn’t sure if she ought to be as turned on as she was by the sight of the Minotaur on the vases and frescoes engaged in non-stop intercourse with the tributes that were sent to him, but with every piece of artwork that showed the bullman in a similar position to the ones she enjoyed with Madoc, she found the press of her thighs moved a bit easier, an increasing slickness aiding the movement.

When the painted figures depict one of the women on their knees, Gwen couldn’t help pushing her own rear end back, bumping into the growing hardness she found behind her. At one point, he gripped her hips with both hands, pulling her hard into him, the action mirrored by the human and Minotaur in the fresco before them.

She could feel the shape of him, straining against the front of his pants, opening her thighs in an effort to trap the bulging outline in her cleft. The swingy skirt of her a-line dress could be easily flipped up, the strained zipper on his pants given relief, and the fat firehose of his cock allowed loose . . . the thought of balancing over one of the marble plinths made her whine, and she was almost able to feel the roughness of his belt and the rasp of his zipper against the curve of her ass, the stretch of his head and thick, mid-shaft swell within her and the slide of his fingers against her clit .

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