5. CORIOLANUS

CORIOLANUS

The Present

C OREY placed the prey’s trembling hand on his groin and rubbed up and down the outline of his thick, stiff shaft with it. Slow, then fast, moving it for him as an experienced lover does for the scared yet excited virgin they plan to defile. Then, as he had hoped, the mortal took over, fondling him of his free will.

Corey moaned emphatically with pleasure, enhanced by a degree of embellishment to incite enthusiasm and excitement in both the crowd and his chosen mortal. “Yes! You make me so fucking hard! Keep going! Faster!”

The young man, utterly dickmatized by this point, responded with a more ferocious assault on Corey’s barely-covered bulge.

Then, drawing again upon his godly power, Corey entered his prey’s mind, probing a little more deeply than before, experiencing his wicked thoughts and desires alongside him. In his vivid imagination, the man was sucking on Corey’s cock like a trooper, moving his tongue over the slit, trying to taste the sweet opaque fluid dripping from the tip.

Eternally severed from human procreation during the Becoming, Corey could no longer make those bodily fluids; no god could. It was just like his inability to sweat. Though there was no way his prey could have known this. Still, Corey got off on the idea of cumming, the texture and taste of mortal man’s sexual fluids. The visual stimuli provided by his prey’s thoughts only enhanced the heat of the moment. How fucking hot the young man’s lust for him made Corey feel: truly desired and worshipped.

After a minute of intense physical intimacy, Corey broke the mental connection, gripped his prey’s hand and roughly threw it back at him. Then, he deftly took his leg back from the guy being used as a footrest—the one who had massaged his limb the entire time Corey was focused wholly on another man. The god had treated the guy like an object, ignored and disregarded, yet he sensed implicitly that the leather-clad man loved every second of it.

How humanity could and did sexualize anything, including abasement, confounded the god, but there was never judgment attached. He believed in the empyrean realm of sensation for mortals and immortals, whether it made sense to him or not.

Corey moved further down the stage until he stood directly in the centre of the mirrored back wall. While again licking his lips seductively, this time exaggerating the look of pleasure on his face while exploring his mouth with his tongue, he scraped up his thighs with his powerful fingers, creating tears in the material through which more enticing flesh could show.

Cupping his package and shaking it in the butch manner Tony had shown him earlier, Corey questioned the crowd aggressively, teasingly. “You want it?”

The screams that erupted everywhere quickly answered that question, not like the god had any doubt.

As he waited for the men to quiet back down, Corey moved in synch with the pulsating techno-pop that flowed from the overhead speakers; the music’s not-so-complex syncopations and cross-rhythms proved relatively accessible, even to someone like Tony, whose performance earlier showed he was not much of a dancer. But when you had a cock as big as his, it all evened out in the end.

Once the muted yet emphatic tension returned, the anticipation Corey felt emanating from the audience became highly intoxicating. The flood of heightened emotion, the throbbing of their near hysteria at the realization that he would soon be naked, penetrated the god’s mind. But this time, the euphoric effect nearly overpowered his senses. It was a welcome high he had not felt in a long time but one he could not allow to overtake him.

He had to remain in control; now was the moment to take his performance to the next level.

Gripping the sides of his pants firmly, Corey tore them off in one mighty feat of strength, causing the audience to break their slack-jawed silence again. This time, the god welcomed their vocal objectification—desired it. They clapped and hollered for more; he graciously obliged.

Crouching down on all fours, Corey crawled back to his chosen prey like a hungry beast, eagerly anticipating the feast ahead.

As he went along, he humped the dirty floor, revelling in the sordidness and baseness as his fine, muscled ass flashed the other side of the room. It was an ass you could bounce a quarter off of but still possessed enough cushiness to use as a pillow. Hard, his mushroom cock-head rammed against the stage through the G-string.

The floor was polished wood, which was great news for a mortal, but it did not matter to Corey. The toughness of his godly flesh was far beyond the harm factor of speeding bullets and slashing swords; the threat of wood splinters was a joke.

When scarcely half a metre away from his prey, Corey stopped, spun onto his back, his weighty boots firmly holding him in place, and spread his legs.

As the young man’s eyes widened with shock, his face betraying a look of lust mixed with uncomfortableness, Corey thrust his crotch toward him. The black G-string that remained to conceal the god’s goods was not doing a great job of that, which was totally on purpose. To his grand enjoyment, it further mesmerized his chosen one and the randy crowd.

Corey’s sturdy combat boots were ones he had taken off a trick the previous night—before letting him return to the Black Eagle on Church Street, ever so lightheaded from blood loss and just in socks and a jockstrap.

As total nudity on stage was legal, Corey could remove his footwear, but he had no plans to. It was too cumbersome a feat with all the laces, even with his enhanced speed and flexibility. He wanted the performance to be as fluid and effortless as possible. He did not want to exercise too much of his godly power as it took away from the human quality of the endeavour, sullying the illusion of mortal performance.

Yes, he was a god, but he wanted to feel himself dance, physically execute the stripping, not breeze through it, disconnected from the effort.

To further feed the audience’s insatiable appetite for his body, Corey reached down and grasped his bulge, his hard cock now beautifully tenting the material of the G-string; he wasted no time in masturbating himself through the fabric.

He got off knowing the gyrations of his muscular body had hypnotized the men nearest him. Their eyes moved back and forth, following the movement of his barely concealed cock and inviting hole, the thin strip of material covering his entrance playing peek-a-boo with the audience. It was a peep show fit for, well, the gods .

And it was nearly time.

Corey sucked on his fingers seductively while also licking his palm until his hand dripped with—not saliva, but a clear lubricant, taken from a small bottle hidden inside his left boot via super quick reflexes. It mimicked that bodily secretion well. Then, he smacked the abundance of moist fake spittle on his inner thighs and gradually moved downward toward his hole.

Spirited cries of desire and appreciation erupted when those hungry fingers reached their destination: that puckered hidden treasure kissed by a sliver of cotton-lycra. The audience wanted the object of their desire stripped bare, defenceless, and objectified before them. They were demanding it.

Corey smirked. Fuck ’em. I’ll take my time.

Unless they had performed this erotic, artistic endeavour, this seductive dance themselves, could anyone truly understand the sexual power he was tapping into and manipulating? This dominion over men? The god did not believe so.

Without breaking eye contact with the prey, Corey rubbed his opening sensuously. He played with it teasingly for some time, extending the audience’s anticipation for what they truly wanted. And when the god finally gave it to them by pushing a digit all the way in, the filled-to-capacity gay strip club went ballistic .

Corey heard a few breathy statements he rather enjoyed. “Holy fuck!” and “Fuck, that’s hot!” were his favourites. The last one even uttered from his sexy quarry.

The god’s preternatural senses caught the whiff of heightened testosterone levels and human male sex pheromones, generally imperceptible to mortals, emanating off the electrified crowd. It turned Corey on immensely, their desire, their need for release; it sent more blood to his godly erogenous zones. His cock was close to bursting through the G-string.

After a few moments of play, Corey slowly pulled his finger out of his ass; the men all sighed with disappointment. To quickly get the audience back, he twisted his body around to face them, regrettably taking visual focus off his prey. Standing up, he looked past all his adoring fans and pointed to Big G in the DJ booth.

“Hit me, fucker!”

Right then, the entire stage became a prism of strobe light bathing Corey’s near-naked body in highly intense bursts of illumination. To the eyes of the wild crowd, he radiated an otherworldly glow of negative and positive energy, darkness and light, mystery and revelation. The loud music pounded in the god’s ears, begging him to finish the mortal audience off. The roar of the men in their frenzy, in their lust, was deafening.

“This what you want, boys?”

Corey did not allow them to answer before grabbing the sides of his G-string and tearing it from his body, only to throw it out into the captivated audience. He did not care who got the pleasure of catching the garment or who inevitably battled everyone around them to retain ownership.

The pulse of the strobe lights, the movement of the hypersexual beasts, these mortal men playing in an urban garden of savage delights and desire pulled at the god; his twisted insides craved release.

Corey needed to end his performance and leave the stage area. The myriad of erotic sensations were overloading him—which was unexpected. He was working under the belief that his complete lack of experience in this endeavour prevented him from holding any assumptions or preconceptions, giving him power over how he approached and experienced it.

That was not the case, as he was on the verge of coming completely undone.

The god looked out upon the salivating crowd with snarling rage and lust. To his rarified senses, he could easily smell that reservoir of delicious blood hidden inside shells of mortal flesh; he heard countless pounding hearts trumpeting their excitement. Oh, how it turned him the fuck on.

How it made him hunger.

Jupiter’s cock, I’m fucking losing it.

But Corey was a strong-willed god, and he remained in control as he moved around the stage, allowing the deluge of adoration and lust to wash over him but not bedazzle outright.

As the strobe effect slowly returned to the standard stage lighting, Corey’s swollen, uncut member, erect to the sky, was in plain view for all to see. Men from various sides of the stage reached out for it, trying to entice Corey to their table with wads of cash. They believed themselves assertive and alluring with their access to riches.

The god ignored them all, his masculine perfection remaining just out of reach. Let them hunger for him. Corey needed only one mortal man this night to truly appreciate his divine body in all its naked sensuality. So to him, he went.

Upon reaching his prey’s table, Corey stood at his full height, again towering over the mortal in a way he knew made the young man feel exhilarated and defenceless but not small: favoured.

The god had turned the tables on this crowd, his prey, all of them. He was the master of his world, including this domain of performative passions and commodified flesh. He desired control for himself and demanded respect from others, including his damnable beloved Olympius, his betrayer.

Coriolanus—Corey—was no man or god’s bitch.

With tentative action, squirming in his seat from uncertainty but a sense of now or never , the young man reached for Corey, wanting to connect with him.

The god saw desire as much as he sensed inexperience, the longing in the young man’s eyes to be seen and wanted and to give in to his sexual appetite; it was a mouthwatering blend of hurt, anguish, lust, and confusion.

Of course, you desire me, mortal. You can’t know or truly comprehend this god of sin before you from a world of sexual delights you’ve never participated in or believed could be within your once-closeted grasp. But I’ll give you what you want soon enough. You’ll see.

Hot for the man, Corey reciprocated the attention, reaching out and beckoning him to touch what he so painfully lusted after. But he intentionally halted just before their hands were about to clutch, a breath of space between their fingers.

Immediately taken aback, the handsome mortal appeared visibly fraught with disappointment and embarrassment; his bright, human eyes showed increased perplexity.

Corey read his prey’s mind, now filled with chaos and questions.

The mortal did not understand the apparent rejection. The dancer had shown such interest in him, but was Corey, which he doubted was his real name, nothing more than a damn cock-tease? Sure, he might not be as deep-pocketed as others in the place, but he had money, especially for gay-for-pay performers who mainly faked it for cash. However, the mortal hoped Corey was not one of those.

In his naivete, the young man thought he and Corey had had a moment, maybe more than one, during all this erotic hullabaloo, that there was something between them, a natural attraction. But to be rejected and denied further connection when he had come all this way from his small town to experience queer life in Toronto was cruel.

The mortal’s mind harboured many random introspections, panicky assumptions, and self-doubt. He wondered what the fuck was wrong with him. He was as good as any of these other guys. He was awkward, sure, but he was younger, hotter, and fresher than most other patrons here tonight. Was he not deserving? Had he made a terrible mistake, expecting too much? He began to think he should not have come with his roommates to a place out of his league.

Exiting his prey’s mind, Corey nearly rolled his eyes at the drama. As rich as any of Euripides’ tragedies. Young mortals are always so theatrical. He found it both charming and chafing.

Visibly unmoved by his prey’s emotional distress, the god chose to remain a mystery.

Corey began walking back to the other side of the stage. He turned his attention to the DJ booth, and reaching out with his power, Corey mentally commanded Big G to end the light show. Then, using his uncanny swiftness, the god exited the stage, leaving only an empty, darkened performance space.

When the regular club lighting came back on, Corey, watching backstage, saw that the crowd had fallen silent, having just witnessed seduction in its raw, unrelenting, unforgiving form. And they had loved every fucking second of it. They wanted more, of course. Men always wanted more. But Corey was finished with them.

Well, all save one.