Chapter One
Medusa lowered herself onto the stone-hard cock, slow and easy as the smooth granite split her pussy, pressed cold and solid inside her.
In all her centuries she’d never seen a gargoyle positioned quite like this one, mounted to the corner of the castle wall, leaning over the city below. Its legs bent at the knees, muscled arms back, thick, clawed fingers and toes gripping the wall, erect penis pointing straight from its body. In fact, it was rare to find them with penises at all.
And this time she hadn’t questioned her good fortune, racing from the dark Paris streets below to the barred rooftop of the ancient castle. Her pussy was already creaming her thighs as she climbed the long spiraling steps, anticipation heating though her body.
It wasn’t easy getting to the thick-muscled creature. Never mind the metal gates humans erected to keep mortals from exploring the top floors of the castle—laughable. The hard part was climbing over the edge between the battlements, and scaling down to where the gargoyle clung at the corner.
Though it leaned at an angle from the building, the gargoyle’s stone lap made a solid ledge beneath her ass, her feet wedged between its calves and the building to give her leverage. The gargoyle’s cock was a tight fit, the stone unforgiving inside her. The artist had no doubt compensated for his own shortcomings by enhancing his creation’s endowments. Men. Her sex muscles twitched and squeezed in protest.
A moment’s pause and her body adjusted, fresh juice washing through her, creaming over the stone to slick the way. She pushed, her arms holding around his hard neck, lifting herself. The thick cock slid from between her legs, rippling sensation in tiny, delicious jolts through the walls of her pussy.
The smooth, round head of its cock held her open. She stilled, teasing her needy body, her sex muscles clenching for more. Medusa flicked her gaze down her body to the hard shaft poised between her legs. The gargoyle’s rippled stomach glistened with her spilled cream; the stone was darker where her juice had stained it.
By inches she lowered herself again, driving the granite cock inside her, impaling her body. A hundred million little tingles vibrated through her nerves as it went, squeezing through her chest, tightening muscles, stretching and filling her so she could scarcely breathe.
Her ass settled on its cold lap again, its cock filling her so deeply a sweet mix of pain and pleasure tingled at the feel of it pushing against her cervix. Medusa took a heated moment to admire the artistry of its body, her sex squeezing and flexing around the stone.
Muscles ripped over the gargoyle’s arms and legs, defined its chest and thickened its neck. Its face was squarish, with a wide nose and cat-shaped eyes. Its mouth gaped open in a joker’s grin, flashing long canines and a devilishly pointed tongue. Its ears were pointed as well, but not so much as others she’d seen, and the wings molding along the wall behind it were large and batlike.
She was fucking a stone-cold monster, but she knew of little else fit for the task. It’s not easy fucking without catching your lover’s eye, and that, for a male inside Medusa, was fatal. Not that she cared.
In her experience most men deserved the punishment of her gaze. How many had she turned to stone statues over the years? They deserved it. All of them.
Medusa banished the thoughts, and with them, the anger prickling up the back of her neck. This was not the time for revenge, for hatred. This was the time for lust and sex and sweet satiation.
Though, she thought, it would be nice to feel the warm give of male flesh inside her, the firm press of lips against hers, the spicy sweep of a tongue inside her mouth. Medusa pulled close and teased her tongue against the frozen grin of the gargoyle. She traced around the upturned corner of its lips, then down to its teeth, feeling the sharp points of its canines. She drew back, the gritty mix of dirt flooding through her mouth.
Bitter disappointment and the sour taste of loneliness coated the back of her tongue. Medusa gulped it all down, shifted her thoughts once again. She arched her back and lifted her body, brushing her excited, hard nipples against a cold granite chest.
A luscious chill raced through her breasts, sent a shiver quaking all the way down to her pussy. Her sex muscles flexed, squeezing tight around the stone cock sliding through her body. She wiggled when she reached the end, stroking her sensitive folds along the smooth head, teasing her clit with chilly touches of stone.
Medusa rocked her hips, bringing her ass in line with the slippery tip of the gargoyle’s cock. She rocked back and then again, spreading her juice, wetting her tight opening. With one hand still hooked around its neck, she dropped the other to her sex.
She fondled her fingers over the swollen nub of her clit, making her breath catch as she pushed her fingers deep into the drenching heat of her pussy. Her muscles clenched around her. A building sensation coiled in her belly, tightening her muscles, squeezing through her chest.
The gargoyle’s cock pressed at her anus and Medusa pressed back. Her ass clenched, both wanting and resisting the cold invasion. The promise of wicked pleasure was there. She could feel it wetting the channel of her ass, slicking her pussy, tightening the muscles of her groin. But she’d never managed to push through the sharp press of pain, the instinctive resistance.
She tried, settling her body over the hard cock, leaning back, angling her body with no concern for the precarious perch she held on the side of the castle. The fat head stretched the puckered muscles of her ass, broke through the outer rim and Medusa gasped, frozen by the quick stab of pain. She couldn’t do it, not on her own, no matter how exquisite it might feel.
A shift of weight, a push of her legs and Medusa dislodged the cock from her body. Aftershocks rippled through her bottom, clenching and relaxing muscles, the pain slowly easing to nothingness.
Pleasuring herself with the rarely found stone cocks, or with less firm toys she could purchase, over the centuries had its fine points. Namely, the inexhaustible hardness. But it could also be frustratingly limiting in the way of variety.
A stone carving couldn’t hold her, couldn’t kiss her, couldn’t press its mouth to her pussy, tease and wet her ass, coax her to relax enough to drive deep into every wanting orifice of her body. A statue couldn’t speak to her, couldn’t flatter her with adoration of her beauty, of her thick auburn hair, her jade-green eyes, her ample breasts and slender waist. A man carved in stone couldn’t love her…and he couldn’t betray her either.
The last was all that mattered. Medusa refocused her thoughts, banishing once and for all the melancholy nonsense of her heart. The only good man was a man of stone, hard to find and good to find hard.
She rocked her hips, slid her pussy along the slick head of its cock, centering herself. Her toes curled as the hard shaft pressed inside her, smoothing between the tight clench of her walls, zinging sensation to every corner of her body.
The chilly hilt of its sex touched her outer lips. She pushed up, drawing the long cock back through her, a slow build of pressure welling through her groin.
A night breeze tingled over her breasts, cooled the exposed lower portion of the gargoyle’s cock. The icy feel of stone slipping inside her as she came down again only added to the breath-stealing tingle of pleasure.
She filled her pussy with the fat, hard shaft, stroked it in and out of her body. Her juice flooded through her, each thrust churning more from her body until the granite cock was
