Chrysaor holds his elbow out and I hook my arm through it. He’s quiet and tense for the first few strides before clearing his throat. “Did you say you jerked off the big guy yesterday?”
“Yes. My arm is still tired.” I laugh and glance up at him, but stop walking at his look of consternation. “Is that… bad?”
His eyebrows shoot up and he hurriedly shakes his head. “No. I just have never heard of anyone doing it for him. Usually he takes care of himself. I’ve got big hands, but not that big.” He stretches both big, callused hands out in front of him and looks at them, flexing his fingers, then gestures as if he’s wrapping his hands around a tree trunk and makes a jerking-off motion. He smirks when he drops his hands.
I chuckle, then shrug, more aware of the ache in the arm I used to do the deed than I was before. “Big guys deserve love too. Besides, after all the times he made me come, he earned it. It was also a good excuse to practice control of my magic.”
Chrysaor’s back to frowning, but he looks more confused than disturbed.
“I didn’t grow a bigger hand, if that’s what you’re thinking. I, um…” I crinkle my brow, not sure how to explain. Instead I make a fist with my right hand, curve my left arm around in an arc mimicking the size of Typhon’s cock, then mime pushing my fist down the length of it. To my surprise, a bolt of purple light the shape of my arm echoes out the end of my fist for several iterations.
“Wow, I didn’t know I could do that,” I marvel.
Chrysaor watches raptly, his mouth dropping open. I can almost see the gears turning as he envisions the scene. Then he grins and lets out a laugh, clapping his hands. “Holy shit. He liked that? I guess it makes sense, considering the size difference, and I’m a little sad I didn’t think of it.”
“You’re not weirded out?” I ask.
He chuckles. “It takes a lot to shock us. Come on, I have something to show you.”
We reach the end of the corridor, as well as the door Asterius and I entered through. I expect to wind up in the library when Chrysaor pushes it open, but instead find myself on a different platform looking into a similarly large room, only this one is quite different.
Where Asterius’ quarters sported a bed, Chrysaor’s has a sleek bar of shining void glass with floor-to-ceiling shelves of bottles glinting like jewels from lights shining through them. One shelf on either side of the bottles is reserved for sparkling glassware of every shape and color, with a lower middle shelf holding silver barware. The front of the bar sports a row of worn barstools of the same material.
Beyond the bar is an open space, the floor worn in patterns. Along the wall and spread around the room are burlap-encased dummies that have straw jutting out of their joints, some of the stuffing scattered on the floor around them. On the opposite wall are racks of weapons and armors, displayed with obvious reverence and care and all polished to a shine. The walls on either side feature enormous murals of vicious battles fought. With only a glance, I can recognize a few distinct characters among the fray, including a shimmering winged horse on one wall while the opposite wall sports a winged armored boar.
“That’s you, isn’t it?” I ask, stepping closer to that side and craning my neck to peer up at the impressive artwork.
“It is. And my brother on the other side.” He points at the opposite wall with a wistful, almost sad smile.
I study his profile, its perfection interrupted only by the brutal tusks jutting up from his lower lip. His jaw spasms and he looks at me, apologetic.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard about him, but it’s all a lie,” he says.
I glance up at the magnificent image of the winged horse. “Pegasus? I really don’t know the story.” Mine and Rachel’s dive into mythology stayed pretty focused on the specific characters I’d sketched, so we skipped all the others.
His shoulders tighten as if bracing himself. In a measured tone he says, “What is written claims that Bellerophon tamed him with a magic bridle, rode him to Olympus, got knocked off, and Pegasus remained to carry Zeus’s thunderbolts. When he died he was honored by becoming a constellation in the heavens.”
“I take it that’s the lie.”
His eyes flash with anger and he nods. “The truth is that he was enslaved by the gods, forced into servitude like a beast. He was like me… he could transform into a man if he wished, but the bridle trapped him in his equine form. I tried to help him escape, but I failed him.”
Chrysaor’s voice goes ragged and tight, his eyes reddening. He clenches his teeth, and I can’t help but close the distance and plant myself in front of him, raising my hands to his cheeks.
He stares at the mural of Pegasus for a moment longer, then looks down at me, almost pleading. “I failed him. He was killed, and I was cast to Tartarus to serve out my sentence for daring to defy the gods. I see his constellation sometimes when Typhon lets me share his view of the sky, but it gives me no solace, not when I know how he died.”
“How long has it been?”
He shakes his head, staring at the mural again. “Time has little meaning in this place. At least three thousand years. Probably longer. I distract myself, either entertaining the others or training.” He gestures at the bar, then at the weapons and armor lined with museum precision along the wall.
Then he drops his gaze to his booted feet, and in a lower voice says, “I have gained perspective since, but while I was still hurting, I went through a body disfigurement phase. I wanted my wings and tusks gone, so I made Alcides cut my wings off and yank out my tusks, but they only grew back the next time I shifted.”
He wanders to a comfortable sitting area at the far end of the room that faces the bed standing as a centerpiece in this end of the room. The enormous, circular bed is neatly made with a cushioned headboard and huge, fluffy pillows in shades of gold and silver. Across the bed from where we sit are more shelves flanking half a dozen mirrors. On the shelves are an assortment of elaborate masks hewn from different materials, some with horns, some with feathers, some horrific and monstrous and others whimsical and fun. I want to ask him about everything here, when I can.
What I want most is to know him, though, so I move toward the empty chair, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me onto his lap instead.
“Is this okay?” he asks, slinging an arm around my waist as I steady myself with my hands against his broad shoulders. He’s warm and smells like earth and spice. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
“I trust you,” I say with an indulgent smile. “You saw how much I trusted Typhon and Asterius yesterday. I trust you just as much. We also don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. So what do you want to do?”
“Just hold you right now, because I have a feeling I’ll have few opportunities to have you to myself.”
I slide my arms around his neck, knuckles brushing against the softest feathers at the base of his wings where they merge with his shoulder blades. His eyes are an unusual gold-green color that shimmers from within. I lean in as he places a palm against my cheek, guiding me into a tender kiss that turns deeper, though I pull away with a laugh, finding it tricky to navigate his tusks.
He grunts and his mouth tilts in an apologetic smile. “You see why I wanted them gone.”
“Nonsense. I’ll get used to them.” I rub my thumb along his full lower lip and up one tusk. He runs his tongue along the length of the other side of it, the agile muscle pointing when it reaches the tip. I can’t help but stare, because his tongue is long. Not only that, a small void glass barbell runs through it halfway down. When he pulls it back into his mouth and I return my gaze to his, my cheeks immediately heat at the amused look he’s giving me.
I clear my throat. “Tell me more about your body modification phase. I think I can relate, since I went through one of my own. Not quite to the extreme of cutting off body parts, but I shaved my head and got a tattoo. I almost got my nipples and clit pierced, but chickened out.”
“That must have been some time ago,” he comments, coiling a strand of my hair around his index finger. It’s long now, nearly covering my breasts in an unruly mess of black waves.
“Maybe next time I’ll get a do like yours.” I reach up and touch one of the points of his hair. “And your wings are fucking gorgeous. Why in the world would you want to get rid of those?” I reach out and stroke the edge of one, which quivers, making all the tiny feathers glimmer as if made of silver.
“Because they reminded me of my brother. I wasn’t able to save him, so I felt like I didn’t deserve that kind of power. But demigods don’t have the luxury of removing an entire body part, so I make do with altering the ones I have.”
I lift one eyebrow. “Okay, now I’m a little scared of what exactly you wanted to show me.”
“No need to be afraid, pretty girl. Not if you’ve already sounded the big guy.”
I’m not sure what he means, but I don’t have time to ask. He nudges me off his lap, and I shift back to sit on the bed as he stands. He glances down his torso, then peers at me from beneath his lashes.
“Do you mind if I show you?”
“Are you fucking kidding? I’d be mad if you didn’t now!”
His mouth tilts up on one side, and he gives an endearingly nervous chuckle. “Here goes. I know you’re probably used to human-shaped dicks. Mine’s a little different, even without all the, um, extras. But it’s really nothing. I mean, Cerberus is the one you should be scared if, if any of us.”
“Because he has three dicks,” I deadpan, leaning back and preparing to enjoy the show.
Chrysaor unbuckles the enormous belt that holds his sword at his hip and carefully rests it on the chair behind him. His leather kilt has laced panels on the front of either hip, and he’s taking his sweet time loosening them.
He looks up at me, eyebrows raised.
“I haven’t seen them, but Asterius told me. You guys kind of talk about your dicks an awful lot, you know? I’m not a delicate flower, Chry. You won’t scare me off.”
He pauses, his gaze filling with abject wonder. He leans toward me, and for a second I think he’s about to fall to his knees, but he straightens and grins, his eyes lighting up from within. “You are perfect, aren’t you?”
“Bite your tongue,” I say. “This chaos beast considers the idea of perfect to be an insult.” I point at myself with one thumb and smirk at him.
“Noted.” He shakes his head as he returns to his task. It takes another minute before the considerably secure laces are loosened enough for his kilt to slide down his hips. I bite my lip as it drops a couple inches, snagging on the bulky muscles of his Adonis belt.
“You could just lift it, couldn’t you?” I ask, then swallow because my mouth has gone dry with anticipation.
He frowns and looks like he’s second-guessing himself. “Should’ve taken off my boots too, I guess.” He lifts one booted foot, the leather buckles on it as complicated as the ones on mine.
“I mean, you can still take it off without removing your boots, unlike me.” I glance down where my black jeans are tucked into my boots.
He hooks his thumbs into the top and pushes, his eyes fixed on me. The act of this huge man stripping is more erotic than it has any right to be, and I think I have some idea why men like a strip tease so much. He’s all hard, flexing, golden muscles, every bit as god-like as the majestic images on his mural. He finally gets the kilt down his knees and remains bent over as he steps out of it, planting both his feet carefully in front and rising to his full height once more. He unfolds slowly, and my pulse thrums all the way down to my core as he’s revealed in all his glory.
I swallow again, indulging myself by perusing what he’s showing me, but I take my sweet time. Unlike Asterius, whose scars were evident, Chrysaor is absolutely flawless. His tan thighs flex as if my gaze makes him tense, and when I shift it higher, I can’t help but exhale a small, surprised gasp.
“Was that good or bad?” he murmurs.
I can’t answer, because I’m too fascinated. His cock is erect, which was the biggest reason he had a challenging time getting his kilt off. Not only is he huge, though, he’s shaped like someone took his shaft and twisted it. It’s actually not that different than the image of the tower I saw in the little glass globe Vesh stole from me, with its dual staircases twisting around the outside. Only Chrysaor’s cock has a shining black ladder of barbells winding all the way around through the ridge that coils around his shaft. At the very tip is a hoop that lays against the tip, only it doesn’t look attached to his flesh. It looks like it’s linked to a rod that goes inside his cock.
“Come here, I need to see this up close.” I wave him toward me. He hesitates, and I look up at his face. The worry I see there makes me laugh. “It’s good. I’m fucking fascinated. Can I touch?”
“Only if I get to touch you too.”
“In a minute,” I say, too distracted by the work of art he just revealed to say more.
He chuckles and closes the distance between us, his enormous dick somehow remaining completely stationary and rigid as he moves.
“I hope I don’t regret showing you,” he says when I reach for him. I give him a wry look.
“You made a big deal out of showing me. You must have expected I would want to know all there is to know about it. But for the record, I fucking love this.”
With the tip of one finger, I gently trace the center of the winding, laddered ridge that coils around his cock. He lets out a shudder and flexes his fists at his sides.
“Good?” I ask, lifting an eyebrow and smirking at him.
“Fuck, yes,” he breathes.
“What’s this?” I ask, peering up at him as I toy with the hoop at the end.
“It’s a sound rod. Or a penis plug. It’s what I wanted to show you. What you did to Ty was sounding, and I love it, which is why I’m mad I didn’t think of it for him.”
What I did to Ty was a strange stroke of inspiration and completely unexpected, but he asked me for it, so who was I to deny him pleasure? Staring at Chrysaor’s jewelry gives me another surge of inspiration. I want to make him come. I want to wear him like I wore the others. To taste him like I tasted the others. What the fuck is happening to me?
“You know, I honestly never thought of myself as kinky, but you guys are opening up my mind. This is fucking bonkers. Does it feel good when you fuck? Or is it more for my pleasure?”
“A little of both. The plug has to come out first, though. It’s more for my fun and it might hurt you if it’s still in when I’m inside you.”
“Like when you jerk off,” I say.
His cheeks darken. “I didn’t know when I’d get to be with you. I didn’t want to spend another day frustrated.”
“Show me how you do it.”
He spits in his palm and wraps his hand around his cock while I sit back. When he strokes himself, he moves his hand in a twisting motion, like his palm is threaded and his cock is an actual screw. His cockhead swells with each stroke, the opening widening just a little and showing more of the void glass shaft that fills it.
I remember what I did to Typhon that made him roar, and I reach out. “Can I?” I ask, hooking my index finger through the hoop at the end of the rod.
When I touch it, my intention sparks against the glass, and Chrysaor pauses his stroking to let out a moan.
“Fuck, what was that?” he asks.
“I told you I used my power on Ty. I want to see if I can do it on you, albeit on a smaller scale. Will you let me?”
He drops his hands to his sides and steps even closer, planting his feet on either side of mine. I meet his gaze and am struck by the wonder still filling his eyes. He touches my cheek as if trying to convince himself I’m real. I’ve given up on wondering if this is a dream. As long as I’m enjoying myself, I don’t want to wake up.
I wrap one hand around his shaft, though I can only really enclose him halfway, and begin gently stroking him the way he stroked himself, twisting as I run my hand up his shaft. I grip the hoop with thumb and forefinger and slowly slide the plug out of his penis. There’s the tiniest resistance before a spherical bulge in the rod comes free of his opening, followed by another, then another. The entire rigid, six-inch length of it is lined with the balls, which must add an interesting layer of sensation.
When I push it back in, I draw a small measure of that magic from inside me and focus it on the tip of my finger. It comes more easily now, obeying my command. The smooth rod easily conducts the power, beginning to glow as it disappears back inside Chrysaor’s cock.
Chrysaor jolts and lets out a gasp, his hand flying to my shoulder. “A-again. That was nice. Give me more this time.”
I lean in and run my tongue around the velvety tip of his cock, tasting him as I pull the plug out, enjoying the bump-bump-bump of it exiting his opening, which mirrors the bump-bump-bump of my fingers over the barbells lining his shaft.
“Will this make you come?”
“You bet your fucking life.” He’s breathing heavily already as I repeat the process, adding more power as he requested. His hand moves from my shoulder up to cup the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair.
“Good, because I want to taste you,” I say, my voice throaty. I lick his head once then glide my tongue a few inches around his shaft along the pierced ridge.
He groans when I shove the plug back in for the third time, pushing even more magic with it.
“If that’s what you want, when you pull it out next, leave it out and use your tongue in the hole.”
My mouth is actually watering, and my pussy is as wet as it’s ever been when I shift closer, gripping him a little tighter as I stroke. I keep my mouth on his tip this time as I pull the rod out, covering his tip when I remove it completely. He takes the rod from me, tossing it to the bed, then grabs my free hand and places it on his cock opposite my other.
“Fuck yes, suck me, Nemea. Squeeze my cock and suck my cum right out of me. Fuck!”
I stroke him fast with both hands, sucking on his cockhead and pushing my tongue into the opening left by the plug. The second I plunge it in, I taste his climax surging forth. He holds my head in both hands, gently restraining me as I take him, teeth bumping against the top barbell as his essence washes across my tongue. I moan at the flavor, something between sweet and musky, definitely not altered by the magic of this place to taste like fancy coffee drinks. But I love it, and I swallow every drop while he spasms in my hands.
He’s slow to release me, and I peer up at him with my mouth still attached to his cock. He’s breathing heavily, his eyes wide with astonishment.
“I think I love you,” he breathes, shifting his hand to more gently cradle my head and slide his fingers into my hair.
The admission warms me more than I expected, and a knot of longing forms in my belly. It isn’t horniness that grips me then, but the unfamiliar craving for tenderness, for touch, for intimacy of a different kind. I felt a glimmer of it this morning waking up in Vesh’s arms, but when Chrysaor says those words and looks at me with such intensity, for the first time, I really feel it. And I want more than anything to find out if I feel it for all of them.
But for now, I want to give him what he seems to want the most: all of me to himself, if only for a little while.
“Then make love to me now, Chrysaor.”