Playthings of the Gods

Chapter 2: Second Trial - Obsidian

After a time the white-robed guardian tapped his staff on Marcus’ door. “Are you ready for your next challenge?”

With a wave of his hand (and accompanying faint sexual thrill) Marcus dismissed the flame, “Of course. Lead on.” He followed Keron to the main hall. Only the black Great Dane was on the dais, regarding him dispassionately as he knelt in its presence.

Like the alabaster bitch earlier, the obsidian male rose and strode forward to examine the human. The dog sniffed at his head, circled around seeming to survey his every action, every mistake, every deviation from goodness. Marcus felt uncomfortably judged and unworthy in the presence of the divine. When the circling examination was complete the dog turned away from Marcus to instead stare at Keron.

The guardian tapped his staff on the flagstones, “For your second trial you must pleasure the male with your mouth and swallow his emissions.” Keron stared at the uncomprehending Marcus, “Suck his cock, you dullard, and drink his cum. That will earn your reward.”

Marcus recoiled. Before him a wall of black fur was the flank of the dog. The dog stood side-on to the man. Heavily muscled thighs were to the right of his vision, a deeply curved chest supported by thick forelegs was to the left. And where the Great Dane’s chest tucked up toward its abdomen, directly in front of Marcus was a black sheath. The sheath bobbed in time with the dog’s panting.

Never had Marcus touched another man’s flesh. He even hesitated at touching his own penis – masturbation was a nasty process that always left him feeling disgusted at his weakness. Men existed to fuck women. Women existed to pleasure men. That was the natural way of the world.

Yet here a god was demanding he suck on a cock! As if that wasn’t abhorrent enough he was supposed to swallow the seed from a beast! Not just touch a man, but take him into his mouth!

The black sheath bobbed. There was a small opening at the end and a dew of yellowish liquid oozed out. Marcus stared in fascinated horror. Put his lips near that – put it in his mouth? Marcus felt bile rising in his throat.

“Nope. No… Nope.” He stood and backed away from the dog. “I’m not one of those girly lads from the city. I just… no!”

Marcus turned and fled from the temple. Bemused, the white-robed figure watched him flee leaving the impassive Black Great Dane to return to his dais. The god would not be satisfied today.

In his haste Marcus had left his supplies in the temple. With only his simple grey robe he faced the daunting trek back to civilization. Back to a life where there were no perverse gods demanding he suck their cock like a whore. Back to his mundane life, with only a tiny glimpse of the power he could have had.

As the sky darkened Marcus summoned a wan flame. But even that pale light lacked warmth or comfort. He had no tools to make a fire and his supper was bitter roots and sour leaves. He shivered in the wilderness, huddled in the grey robe from the temple.

After three days even the small miracle of the flame deserted him. With a pop the flame winked out and Marcus was unable to summon another. Where there had been an eldritch tingle of power now was a hunger – a memory of what could have been. He ached with emptiness. Once again he was just a powerless man.