22. CORIOLANUS

CORIOLANUS

The Present

C HRISTIAN rubbed his body methodically, seductively fondling himself at specific points in the performance for the god’s enjoyment. When he was down to his shoes, socks, and underwear, he asked, “Did you like that? Do you want me to continue?” He played not-so-innocently with the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Corey’s muscular biceps flexed as he firmly grabbed Christian by the arms and effortlessly lifted him off the ground. With a thud, he deposited him in the recessed doorway as easily as if he were handling a feather. Christian’s prick was very nearly at eye level with him.

Grabbing onto the designer undies, that thin cotton barrier separating him from that swollen cock, Corey tore them from Christian’s body, ripping the garment to shreds; the remains of the material flitted to the concrete pavement.

“Do you like me now, sir?” the mortal asked. “Naked, exposed? Go on, touch me, suck me, whatever you want.” The hesitancy was gone in the young man’s voice.

Corey saw that Christian desperately wanted to be desired, to be taken on the sexual odyssey promised to him by the dark, seductive stranger, even chancing that it could prove dangerous. But the god saw nothing but trust in the mortal’s eyes.

Corey levitated off the ground until he was face-to-face with the prey. Then, he moved in close, but just as their lips were about to meet, he halted, holding back for a moment. He whispered in a firm yet sultry voice, “Do you wish to kiss me, Christian?”

“Yes,” the mortal man replied breathily without any reticence.

The god nodded, granting permission.

However, seconds after his lips connected with Christian’s hungry mouth, Corey’s eyes widened with surprise, and he abruptly pulled back, ending the deep kiss. His body language changed as if lightning struck him; a look of shock appeared on his face. He roughly grabbed Christian’s chin and lifted him off the edge of the elevated doorway by it .

In one swift motion, Corey turned them around and shot across the alley toward another brick building opposite their previous location. There, he pressed Christian against a cold, rough wall with great force, causing him to gasp for air as the impact knocked the breath from his lungs.

Corey knew why he had ended the kiss and became aggressive, temporarily forgetting his great strength to Christian’s detriment: guilt. He never kissed the prey. They were not boyfriends or more. They were sustenance and amusement, yet he was always respectful and careful with the ones he did not plan on killing.

But kindness and consideration never equated to love. Lust, yes, for the blood. Even a desire for physical connection was often there, but that was a superficial comfort for a solitary being like himself, nothing more.

But oh, how Christian reminded Corey of Olympius. It was that mouth, those lips, ones of a god, his soulmate, that he believed, just for a moment, he was kissing. The thought sent shivers down his spine and left him longing for something he could not have.

Corey’s heart produced a tumultuous mix of emotions as he struggled to accept his recent actions. Overwhelmed by anger and regret, he could not help but berate himself for his momentary weakness, silently promising himself never again to be so vulnerable to his fantasies.

The god took a few steps back from Christian before barking an order that left no room for disobedience: “Get down on the ground, mortal! ”

Christian obediently complied, falling to his scraped knees.

The god’s voice was stern and commanding as he followed up with another order, his tone again showing he would brook no argument: “Turn around and spread!”

Christian did as he was told, his heart pounding. He even moved his legs wider apart than the god expected.

“Nice.”

Corey had no intention of performing that act, of course. That type of mortal pleasure no longer did much for him, his immortal flesh too dense to fully connect to the physical sensations fucking could give. And there was no way he would make himself vulnerable by willing his skin to become temporarily supple.

But he wanted Christian to expect it to happen, that limited human imagination incapable of comprehending what else was possible aside from such primal physical contact. What the god planned to do would be so much more delectable.

Corey removed his half-finger gloves so Christian could feel the marmoreal smoothness of a god’s skin against his quivering mortal flesh. Then, he carefully raked his fingernails down the man’s back, not hard enough to break the skin but with intent, causing him to cry out, pleasure and pain mixing agreeably.

Grabbing Christian’s bare ass, the god separated his plump, peach-fuzz-covered cheeks further, teasing the erogenous zones with his fingers, running one, then another, up and down the separation and over that most intimate, puckered pleasure spot .

And then Corey entered Christian’s mind, psychically filtering out the images his eyes saw and replacing them with ones of his creation. The process was tricky, and the power was intense, but he mastered his mental abilities millennia ago; Corey feared no failure.

The god implanted a scene in which he pulled his cock out of his pants and began fucking his prey with force enough to nearly break his back. Corey could see Christian’s physical responses acting according to the images in his mind: panting, whining, and very vocal grunts.

The god also psychically inserted several sadomasochistic acts, which he quickly saw from Christian’s throbbing cock, with its near purple head, that he was enjoying tremendously.

The graphic images included handcuffs sprouting from behind the god’s back, roughly placed upon Christian wrists, wild spanking leading to whipping along the mortal’s exposed back with the god’s nylon belt, and even more aggressive roughness, both physical and mental suffering.

Christian’s thoughts projected loudly that he especially liked the danger of being exposed amid such an open environment. And it was all consensual; Christian was deriving much pleasure from experiencing pain and force. The god could sense the mortal’s willingness to push his boundaries and that he desired more—fetish.

So Corey gave it to him with additional stimulating visuals. The mortal broke out in a sweat despite most of his body being untouched. The brain was, after all, the most potent sexual organ in the human body, and it was so much easier for the god to manipulate a human psychically than attempt to engage in any of these physical actions himself.

The psyche, a realm of infinite possibilities, held the power to manipulate time. Within this domain, an hour could be a minute in the physical world, resulting in endless enjoyment without physical exhaustion. It was a place where one was free to explore and indulge in pleasures that could otherwise be fleeting in the mortal world. Sex could be musty, sweaty, hot, wet, or a combination of these.

In a realm where time, matter, and environment held no sway, possibilities were endless, and limitations were nearly nonexistent. Anything the god could conceive of was doable.

Along with creating the visuals, Corey could influence his prey’s emotions, direct their reactions, and manipulate the olfactory senses. However, he only utilized this coercion a few times, as Christian’s desires drove him forward without much need for prodding enjoyment.

While Christian was lost in a fabricated reality, riding waves of euphoria, Corey straightened the man’s back so that he sat upright on his knees. Then, the god went down on Christian, placing the mortal cock wholly in his mouth. Corey bit the inside of his bottom lip to allow the dribbling blood to provide some slick for the blowjob.

This act was one physical pleasure he still enjoyed with the prey, for his enhanced sense of taste amplified everything a hundredfold. The savoury flavour of the salty skin, moist with sweat, excited him. Even the abundant buildup of pre-cum around the head was sweet and delicious. However, he knew not to ingest the substance as he could not process or absorb anything of the mortal realm internally except the food of the gods: blood.

He had to spit—not swallow.

The blood-filled veins of Christian’s steel-rod cock drove the god wild with desire, with need; he was hungry for sustenance. Corey could smell the iron-rich liquid underneath the sheath of mortal flesh just waiting to be ingested.

After a few back-and-forth movements of his mouth along the shaft, his tongue exploring every centimetre of lean mortal skin, the god bit into the meaty organ, extracting the Nectar from the pulsating veins. The blood flowed copiously and vigorously; both god and man moaned with pleasure. Corey drank so intensely and with such desire that his immortal cock hardened instinctively without any need for conscious, forced inducement.

But soon, as the sexual passion increased, the image of Christian began to blur in Corey’s mind and sight, the man’s physical self disappearing and replaced by an overriding image of blood—torrents of blood. The god could imagine rending the mortal apart to bathe in the delectable Ambrosia.

No. Keep it together.

As Christian cried out, his body convulsing from unbridled ecstasy beyond his limited human comprehension, perhaps more than he could take, Corey understood the man was about to orgasm. It seemed the amount of erotic pummelling Christian’s mind and body could take had reached its limit.

Timing-wise, it was for the best. Corey realized that, as he had earlier on the club’s stage, he was close to losing control and potentially doing something he would regret: killing.

Corey needed to end the game now, mindful of his potential descent into feral instinct. He hated feeling out of control, but gods more powerful than him had been driven mad by blood lust at one time or another.

The god moved off Christian’s cock before it began to spurt, the human orgasm quickly underway, and with invisible mental force, lifted the man off the ground to face him. Placing his right hand on Corey’s prick, he began to masturbate him. Then, the god opened his jaws wide and sank his fangs deep into Christian’s blood-rich neck.

Christian roared in both pain and bliss; to him, they were no longer distinguishable from one another. And as the mortal man was giving , his seed exploding out into the night air in a delicious eruption, the god began taking . As cum flowed from Christian like a river of quicksilver, his blood poured from his neck into Corey’s mouth in a stream of delicious scarlet nourishment.

And the god drank his fill.

Upon Christian’s body going limp, exhausted and nearly depleted of vitality, Corey realized he was at the moment of decision; to take any more from the mortal would mean certain death for him. The god retracted his fangs and moved his mouth off Christian’s neck, allowing him to live as initially intended.

Pulling back his power, Corey gently set Christian back on the ground in a seated but slumped-over position. He telekinetically—another modern term the god understood defined aspects of his ancient power—closed up the mortal’s puncture wounds.

Falling back against a brick wall, Corey basked in the high of godly rejuvenation, the mortal blood permeating every fibre of his immortal body. The inexplicable power of the food of the gods, that extraordinary potency of human generational energy flowed through him, and for a fleeting moment, Corey felt connected to something immense but, more importantly, to someone other than himself. Yes, he felt strong and refreshed, but more importantly, he felt adored, secure, and not alone.

But no matter how rich or potent a mortal’s ichor, the transfer of their essence lasted briefly before inevitably fading away into nothingness, leaving behind only its rejuvenating quality and memory of ecstasy.

Recovered from the passion of the feeding, Corey regained his composure and stood tall, once again exuding an aura of godly power. He gazed down at the mortal man lying before him, barely clinging to consciousness.

Before Christian emerged from his stupor, Corey delved into his mind again. However, he paused just as he was about to erase specific memories of the night’s activities. The weight of his thoughts was nearly too much for him to bear. One outrageous idea kept repeating in his mind as if taunting him.

Was he considering elevating this young man before him to godhood—an immortal companion? Was he willing to go that far? Had the absence of Olympius finally become intolerable in his life? He enjoyed his own company, but Corey could not ignore the incessant loneliness that accompanied it. Would he attempt something he had never tried before and did not know precisely how to do?

But Corey quickly squashed the idea. No man or god could ever fill the void in his heart, his very soul, left by Olympius’ absence. In tasting Christian’s blood, he discovered a genetic link to his Maker’s mortal past. Corey wondered if this faint echo of what he truly desired prompted the wild idea of transformation.

You can’t make Christian into Olympius, fool! This mortal has his true destiny to live out. You can’t rob him of that.

Corey figured it was time to call Apollo and see if he might be okay with some company. It would be a shadow of the intimacy he craved but safer for his heart.

Gazing down at Christian’s shivering naked body, Corey felt instinctively protective. Usually, he would let the prey fend for themselves, thinking they had gotten into this embarrassing state through their own foolishness, but Christian was different and worthy of consideration. He was an extraordinary amusement and a terrific conversationalist. Yes, the god would treat him as special .

Corey recalled that the recessed doorway across the alleyway led to the backroom of a clothing consignment shop. He flew over to it with a plan in mind.

Reaching out to the darkness, Corey waited for it to press back, and when it did, he merged with it, his physical form passing through onto the other side as if the door ceased to exist. Once inside the shop, he searched for proper, fashionable attire to fit Christian’s size, a task that took little time or effort for the god.

After dressing Christian, Corey fled the scene of his feeding. He planned to return to the waterfront, where he could lose himself in the mesmerizing sight of the black night waters gently swaying back and forth. He often spent hours there, letting the cool breeze caress his face and the calming sound of the water soothe his mind.

And be, once again, alone.