Manual Labyrinth of Lust (Monster Mating Erotica)

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The girls all sported multiple piercings, ripped denim, and hair that had been shaved and dyed in violent colors. She was the only one who had never listened to Nirvana. She intimidated them with her big vocabulary and her staunch refusal to chop her long locks and rejection of tattoos. It was her manner. It drove Seth wild, but most of the others, especially the females, were nonplussed. Tina hiked up her skirt in a way that probably could have gotten her arrested in Singapore.

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She revealed a giant mid-thigh depiction of a Chinese dragon. Irene was glad that Sarah had suddenly gleaned friends. High School had been bad for her. After the journey back from the Labyrinth, life had gone back to pretty much normal. Having tasted her dreams-having them waved in front of her-had ruined her.

Her everyday high school life seemed covered in a pall of gray dust, all of her senses dulled.

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She no longer tried out for plays. She tried not to think about the Labyrinth, but when it came down to it, it was all she cared or dreamed about. She still threw a blanket over the mirror when she undressed. Even if the story had been lopped off in real life, severed like an errant tree limb, it continued in her dreams. She dreamed of a beautiful queen, so like her but infinitely more cruel, who drew Jareth away and made him into a prisoner in a mirror world. She dreamed of being lost in the deep forests that engulfed the Labyrinth; of living as a hermit until she grew old and had humps on her back, crazy and alone.

She dreamed of wandering a library populated by mountainous stacks of petite red books, each housing a new tale with a world inside. She looked forward to sleep far too much; it was unhealthy. Dreams were the only time that Jareth or any of her old friends spoke to her anymore. I belong here, in the Labyrinth! You must put away childish things. He peered at her imperiously, but there was something off.

His coat was worn and shabby. His boots were scuffed. I was young! Please let me stay here. She fell to her knees. I was wrong. I was only fifteen! You had my brother! I am tired, a fool. I have gone away from the place of your imaginings, forced into exile by your indecision. I can no longer remedy your plight—I am to be pitied.


What do you take me for, a beast? She ran to embrace him and he disappeared into the hedge. She ran her hands along it. It was just a hedge.

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The fateful day had come when she had found the red spellbook hidden behind her Collected Works of Shakespeare volume set. It had appeared there mysteriously. It was the exact same size as her Labyrinth book the one she had re-read a thousand times but instead of a story told in the form of a play, it was full of conjurations. There were detailed instructions and diagrams of circles to draw on the floor so that the goblins could not eat you.

The Continuation of Sarah Williams (Labyrinth Tribute Fanfic) – Kimberly Steele

In order to get them to make someone you desired fall in love with you, you had to trick the goblin to eat three scales from a dragon. There was even instructions on how one summoned the Goblin King, which stated that the only way to get him to come was to wish that someone who truly loved you would go away right now. She was obsessed with the spellbook. When she felt like it, she made up some illness and stayed home to read it.

Neither of them seemed to notice until her grades started to slide, first Math and Science, then even her better subjects like History. She had flunked out of enough courses in high school that she had to graduate late, completing her degree at home with a G. The G. No one had expected that she would turn out to be the dunce of her tribe, even worse than her own mother.

She was the ultimate academic embarrassment of her family. A flunkee among aunts with PhDs, uncles who taught in universities, and cousins who graduated magna cum laude more often than not. Her father had his doctorate by age Sarah lived with Irene, even though she could never trust her again after what she had done to Daddy. To replace that house with a new one would be the final straw. It was more than two hours drive on a good day.

The chemo was brutal.

No matter what fresh hell the doctors dreamed up for Dad, it never seemed to have lasting effects. Irene was like a vampire, the longer the divorce went on, the healthier she got and the worse Dad became. There was talk of exploratory surgery: the cancer was spreading. Sarah had taken it upon herself to press her father not to fight for custody of Toby, but it was a hard sell. As the cancer got worse, it actually became an easier decision. He was in the hospital. Every time she thought about it, another hole was punched into her heart like a bullet wound.

The idea of losing her father before graduating college-before getting married or having kids or any of that life stuff-crushed her soul. Daddy liked Sarah McLachlan a lot, so she stopped and bought the new CD from DiscDealers at the strip mall near Grange Center where he was having his latest round of chemo. It hurt just to look at him, never having been overweight in the first place, he had dwindled fifty pounds or more, and that had been in the last three months alone.

He was starting to look gaunt, like the scarecrow version of his former self, puffy in his own skin, bones sticking out.


A knife of secret malice darted psychically towards her stepmother. He laughed and coughed, at first a gentle chuff, it quickly became a wretched attack from traitorous lungs. No such thing! Maybe if I laughed more, I could stay out of here longer than a week. I know it. Every week her hope for his recovery was exponentially diminished. He was literally shrinking away before her eyes. In the past, he tried not to call Irene her mother, but nowadays, she gave him carte blanche. Sarah refrained from sharing with Dad the fact that Irene was almost never home.

Chad, the twenty-something idiot in the black Lexus. He came from L. His head was shaved, that old tactic that insecure men used to disguise the fact they had gone bald. His eyes were the small and squinty type so common to men incapable of profound thought. It was disgusting how Chad looked at Irene, as if life was one big porno and they were the stars, the aging cougar and her mate. Sarah had caught him checking her out like a piece of fresh meat and she had nearly felt capable of murder at that instant.

Most of the time Sarah was able to jump in her car and hop over to the library or the shopping mall if the library was closed, but once or twice she had been forced to suffer the sounds of their lovemaking-no, humping is what you called it, there was no love involved-and she had turned on her record player until Bartok made it sound like she was performing a live Satanic ritual right there in her room. The way he said her name, dragging it out until it was three syllables instead of two, was endearing, as if it had been translated from a dead Biblical language and still had the hyphens and commas in it.

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It was the same way Jareth had pronounced it, as if it were the name of a beautiful enchanted princess. He was a Polish guy who was pushing fifty but strong as a bull and built like a brick shithouse. He grinned, sucking in his laughter, trying to tamp it down. The thin skin on his cheeks, where a fine net of capillaries and blue veins was visible, vibrated with good humor. He gets pissed at me if I sneak a cheeseburger. She said her goodbyes to Dad and wound her way back down the long hospital corridors to her car. She had finally gotten used to finding it in the three story garage, but not before getting lost and wandering around a few times.

Seth was getting to the point where he knew far too much information about her, her past, and her family. Seth was a great listener, always at the ready to absorb some new tidbit or emotional revelation, ready for any ammunition it would take to push their relationship beyond the casual. He knew about the ding dong ditching that she and her brother had terrorized the neighbors with a year ago, how she and Toby had placed flaming paper bags of dog poop on porches and devised complicated systems of pulleys and fishing line in many successful attempts to exact maximum suburban hysteria.

He knew about the scar on her lower back, when she had fallen out of a hayloft as a kid and almost died.

He knew she was a virgin-that one she had admitted by accident after getting her mildly drunk on beer during a marathon Mystery Science Theater video binge, when she was so tired she was almost crying. To the girls, her virginity explained everything, the uppity nonconformity, the obsession with the European Renaissance, her twitchy awkwardness in casual conversation.

For the guys, she was now the ultimate tease, the great big challenge. They circled around her like dogs, making her the subject of vulgar fascination.