Playthings of the Gods

Chapter 8: Intermission

It was simply an impossible task beyond his mortal flesh. In the wilderness Marcus decried the humiliation by the god. It was too painful, too degrading, too gay. No-one could be expected to degrade their manliness by allowing a dog, a dog! to defile them. The beast was huge – its knot would have split Marcus asunder. Fortunately the beasts spear hadn’t broken him – while the pain was searing, there was no blood.

With a shaking breath, Marcus willed the agony away. He summoned clothing to cover his shame. A wish brought a small wooden hut into being. Inside was food and a comfortable bed. The small luxuries eased his body but couldn’t erase the trauma of a beast stabbing its cock into Marcus. The sexual thrill of power hummed in his veins, but couldn’t supplant the abhorrent demands of the god. Until they were gone Marcus would revel in his powers. He would be content in his life, knowing he had bedded a goddess and supped the very ichor of gods. He would be satisfied knowing he had tasted power no other men had sampled. Marcus fell asleep weeping softly.

For two months Marcus’ life was filled with luxury. A mere desire would summon a feast and comfort. Every day another gold coin would appear. For the things he couldn’t magick, the coins would buy. In the town he bedded innumerable prostitutes, filled his wardrobe with the finery of a prince, became a celebrity among the nobility.

Just as Marcus came to believe his powers were permanent, they dissipated. One morning he woke next to some nameless whore, and found the cold scraps of the previous night’s feast remained on his table. Regardless of how he wished, instead of a rich breakfast he merely summoned a yawning emptiness. With sinking horror Marcus realized he was again just a powerless man. A vast aching void remained where power had once sung. His clothing was soiled with wine, and his funds were almost depleted.

Being merely human was intolerable. Having power taken away was far worse than if he’d never found the temple. His options were to eke out his time as an ordinary person, or face being torn asunder by a demon. Marcus could no longer live as a powerless man – he would end his life.

And yet… and yet if he could surpass the final trial, stay alive, he would become as a god.

Where the hunger grew, it supplanted the memory of the searing horror of the demon cock. Perhaps it hadn’t been so bad? Or perhaps there was a way to lessen the pain, to prepare for the beast?

For another month Marcus toured every brothel, hired every male prostitute. Instead of bedding them he simply sat with them, talking. He fabricated a story about losing a bet to a lord and asked their advice on how a virgin could prepare to take a giant cock. They suggested his best course was to practice with objects shaped like the lord’s penis, and to buy soothing creams. For both necessities there was a market near the dockyards.

In a back street out of sight of the decent citizens a shop displayed a sign with a representation of a rooster and a cat. The windows were blackened out and when Marcus pushed through the wooden door the interior was gloomy. Despite the dim light, lurid displays of improbable sex hung on the wall. There were racks of erotic watercolour paintings and tapestries. Books lay open at pages with woodprints of exaggerated ladies with more embellished proportions debasing themselves in unspeakable ways.

The proprietor of the shop was draped in a gaudy floral dress, faded and patched in places. Their head was bald. Cheap bulky ear-rings framed a wrinkled face with exaggerated eye-shadow and garish lipstick. Fake jewels hung on gold-speckled chains about their neck. Under rouge on sagging cheeks there was the unmistakable peppering of week-old beard stubble. They glanced at Marcus’ fine clothes and immediately dismissed him. Inhaling a deep draught from a sweet-smelling hooker pipe they said in a husky voice, “Toys for punishing your mistress are down the left, near the rear.” They waved the mouthpiece of the hooker-pipe vaguely toward the back of the shop and ignored him.

Marcus flushed, embarrassed. He sidled past shelves of whips and shackles, leather harness and chains. It seemed he was in some sort of torture’s pit rather than a shop. Arrayed on the displays was a bewildering array of dildos. There were smooth and knobbly shafts, large and small, bent and straight, in every colour. Some were double-ended, some were twinned with smaller shafts, some had a little tickler for a clitoris. Nothing seemed quite suitable to Marcus.

Abashedly he returned to the counter, “I… uh… I lost a bet to a lord. He has quite a large manhood and, well, I’ve never taken a man before.” He blushed and fidgeted under the gaze of the person in the dress.

They took another draught from their pipe, “Well honey, best you start small, work your way up, and use a tonne of lube. Here,” they reached under the counter and brought up a large tray of realistic penis-shaped dildos. “Point out the one that’s most like your lord and we’ll get you started.”

It was an impressive assortment – every flesh tone from ebony to chalk, thick, thin, long, short every size and shape a man could be. But still nothing like the demon’s endowment. “The… ah… the man is very long and has an unusual bulge at the base of his penis.” Marcus flushed deep red and sweated, unable to face the scrutiny of the proprietor.

“Oh? Oh! Oh you poor dear!” the proprietor reached across the countertop and grasped Marcus’ hands, “Honey you just sit yourself down here.” They appraised Marcus with sympathy, “Would you believe I was ever young? In my youth I used to dance for the royal court. I was the envy of concubines and courtiers.” They twirled in the gown, then gestured both hands gracefully down their body, “One of the lords to whom the king wanted to show favour made me pleasure his hounds. No, don’t be shamed, your secret is safe here. I have customers who explore far more perverted experiences. But that must have been one hell of a bet you lost!”

The proprietor whisked the tray of human-like penises off the counter and brought up a different tray, “Don’t despair! Your old Aunty can help!” Arrayed on the tray was a selection of realistic dog penis dildos in sizes ranging from tiny to monstrous. Their colour was livid pink, with purplish veins. “These are made by the Bard Dagon. He’s an alchemist of considerable skills. I order what I need through the Web,” The proprietor gestured toward a crystal orb on the countertop. Intricate filigree of silver pulsed and sparkled inside the orb. “As well as realistic animal representations Bard Dagon can fashion the penis of a Griffon, or Wyvern, and many other fanciful beasts. Now,” they gestured to the canine assortment, “pick out the one you think is most like the beast.”

Without meeting the proprietors gaze Marcus pointed to the largest of the toys. It was almost exactly the size and shape of the horror he remembered. The shaft was thick as his wrist, and the knot at the base larger than his clenched fist. The colour was the same angry red and made him shudder.

“Oh honey…. Some beastly lord is making your first time be pleasuring his wolf-hounds!” the proprietor winced, “Here, let your Aunty give you a hug.”

Marcus was pulled into a heartfelt embrace. His cheek pressed against the sagged bosom of the shop-keeper. Involuntarily he began to weep – it was the first time in months anyone had shown him genuine concern and affection. This peculiar shop-keeper seemed more sincere and straight than any of his fair-weather acquaintances of late. The proprietor held Marcus and stroked his hair until he was done with weeping.

“Right, well you’re gonna have to prepare, and you’re gonna need a tonne of lubrication.” They selected three of the toys: medium, large, and the behemoth Marcus had indicated. They also brought six flasks from beneath the counter, “These contain the sap of a cactus plant with a few added essences. It is soothing, smells divine and is slippery as anything. When you’re practicing coat the dildo liberally with the sap and smear plenty around your butt-hole. The more lube you use the easier it will be. And there’s more here if you need it. Now, feel this toy. No, don’t be shy, grab it and squeeze,” they presented the medium toy to Marcus.

The toy was flexible, with plenty of give. The knot wasn’t hard, like the dog’s knot, but softer and pliable. The proprietor continued, “I don’t have anything like a real dog’s penis that goes in small and expands. But these offer a reasonable substitute. They squish so they go in easier. But the pressure of the bulb helps gently stretch you out to accommodate a larger size. After a time you’ll become comfortable taking the smaller toy – move up to the next size. When you’re comfortable taking the middling you can progress to the largest. Take your time – months if you need to.”

Marcus experimentally poured a little of the sap from one of the bottles. It made his fingers slip effortlessly along the toy. Yes, this would definitely help. “What if I cant wait months – is it possible to speed the process?” Hunger for power clawed at his guts.

The proprietor stared earnestly at Marcus. They brought another two small vials from beneath the counter, “Well, these contain some volatile potions. Deeply inhale the vapours immediately before you take the largest part of the toy. The heady rush will relax your muscles. It will help you take the larger toys sooner. It won’t help with the real hounds but it will speed your preparation.”

Marcus sniffed dubiously at the chemical smell of one of the vials. He breathed more deeply. Immediately his head throbbed and his ears sang. His body flushed hotly. The room gave a not-unpleasant lurch. Perhaps the sensation was intended to distract from having his arse reamed.

“Now some advice,” the proprietor began, “Before you take the real beast rub plenty of lube into your butt-hole. Use your fingers and push it deep into you. Don’t be shy – the more you can get in you the easier the experience with the dog will be. Also, those dogs are very tall so if possible get a bench where you can brace your knees. That’ll make bearing their weight easier and keep you at the right height. Although you will be terrified by the beast, relax and push. Paradoxically if you try to expel the penis as it enters you, your muscles relax so it can penetrate more easily and less painfully. Wolf-hounds go in quite small, although that penis bone can stab painfully if it misses the mark,” they unconsciously rubbed their buttocks in reverie, “So the start is the easy part…”

Marcus nodded along with the advice (although he didn’t consider the initial stabbing entry of the beast as being ‘easy’).

“The real challenges are how deep their cock can go – far deeper than any man you’ll meet. And that knot!” the proprietor gestured at the largest toy, “Getting used to the length is easy – these toys will help you prepare to feel something re-arranging your organs. With practice they’ll help you get used to the feel of a giant knot inside you.” They grasped Marcus’ hands again, “Sweetie, if the beast’s knot is painful, take it deeper into you. Do not, absolutely do not try to expel the knot when it is fully swollen or it will tear you apart. The muscles around your entrance can only stretch so far, but your bowels can expand to accommodate a much larger intrusion. Oh, and honey, one last thing… Once you’re used to them the hounds can be an amazingly pleasurable experience.” They looked wistfully into the distance.

For the toys, the soothing cream and the potion vials the cost was ten gold pieces. It was a steep price – almost depleting the last of Marcus’ wealth. But he gladly paid out – the promise of godhood beckoned.

“Thank you for visiting Madame Galore! I hope you come again, and again!” The proprietor winked saucily as Marcus left the shop with a wicker basket discretely draped in a floral cloth.