Date: Sun, 10 Oct 2004 20:59:20 -0700 From: The Satyr Subject: Gay Sci-Fi Fantasy: A Stag God is Born, Chapter I A STAG GOD IS BORN - A Tale of Old Gods Chapter One Madness. Chaos. Cold and wet, the sight of the moon against the night sky, viewed through the close-set branches of oak and ash and thorne grown wild and gnarled overhead. The feeling of running, full-tilt, through the woods, branches whipping against his muscled legs and naked loins. An erection so intense that it hurts, it aches. The urge to mate, driving him on, furiously seeking to find the source of the huuuuurn mating call of the stag-kind of these woods. With a gasp and a sob, Ashlan awoke, tumbling himself out of bed. For a few heartbeats, Ashlan wept, wrapped in his blankets on the ground, his senses gradually growing more accustomed to the dark, dry warmth of his room, limned in the dark red light shed by the dying embers in his hearth. Slowly, he peeled the blankets away from his body. They stuck slightly to his flesh, sticky with semen. He sighed and gingerly touched the spot on his head where he'd struck the hard floor in his fall. For another few heartbeats, he kept his eyes closed as his senses returned to normal, the experience of running rampant in the woods slowly fading from his mind -- fading more slowly than any dream should. For a fifteen year old boy who had a hard time remembering his dreams, it was terrifying that nighttime visions should force their way into his senses that way. Indeed, sometimes, if he started daydreaming during his lessons, those same impulses flooded his brain. They were becoming stronger and harder to fight. He stood, tossing his blankets into the corner and threw on his robe. He stretched and dried his eyes. His uncle had taken interest in his dreams, even going so far as to consult a seer (who'd proven to be nothing of the sort). His uncle had made him promise to tell him when those dreams happened, so he straightened his robes and ran his fingers through the shaggy mop of chestnut colored hair that was his legacy from his mother, gods rest her soul. He silently padded down the long corridor that separated the guest wing of his uncle's manor from the master wing, where his uncle slept. He strode past the lavish furnishings that were considered the due of a merchant-prince such as his uncle Artemi Bayan, a merchant who got his start in lumber and slaves. Ashlan had lived with his uncle Artemi since he was a small boy, brought here after the death of his mother and raised by a variety of tutors, nannies and even his bachelor uncle when the influential man could spare the time. Uncle Artemi was an upstanding, important man in the Barian League, looked up to and the friend of many important nobles. Ashlan stopped at the massive oak doors that opened into this uncle's suite. He knocked once, then twice. He thought his uncle must be sleeping deeply, so he pressed his ear to the door, listening for the big man's distinctive snore -- and heard ... something else. It sounded like the sounds of quiet violence: snarls and choking, the sound of grappling and perhaps even sobbing. Quietly, he opened the door to his uncle's room to make sure that everything was all right. His uncle lay face down on his massive bed, his bearded face obscured by the rich down comforters that lay thickly on the feather bed. Above him, a massively muscled orc, his thick neck bound in the leather and brass collars of his uncle's slave pens, drove a thick cock into his uncle's ass, battering his sharp hip-bones against the rounded orbs of Artemi's bruised asscheeks. The thick cock looked more like a cudgel than the sexual equipment of a man. Drool trickled around the fierce tusks and down the thick lips of the orc's face, dropping in viscous threads onto his uncle's back as the orc used one meaty hand to hold his uncle's face down on the bed and the other to grip his hips. The orc's grip was strong and when he leaned forward to shove his fat cock deep into his uncle's bowels, Artemi whimpered. Ashlan watched, fascinated as the orc's face, a mask of cruelty and revenge for the humiliation being a slave meant to one of the orcish folk, contorted and he bared his tusks. His hips began hammering faster at his uncle's rear, slamming his hard meat deep into the depths of his uncle's ass. Uncle Artemi groaned again, and looked as though he were in pain, being held down by the orc's firm grip. He moved and thrashed as the orc's assault sped up and the orc shoved his weight forward, rising up on his toes so that he buried the human beneath his bulk. This position also gave him great leverage to continue pummeling the ass of Ashlan's uncle. Ashlan watched for a few moments. Then, the orc looked up suddenly and noticed him. His tusked mouth broke into a grin. Ashlan gasped. His uncle's head shot up and the orc fell back against the headboard, his meaty cock pulling free from Artemi's hole with a wet sound. Ashlan shrieked, turned on his heel and fled into the darkness of the corridor outside. "Guards! Guards!" he cried, running towards the barracks. Two armed men in his uncle's livery came around the corridor, drawing their weapons as they asked him what was wrong. Fearful tears streaming down his face, he pointed them at the now-partially open door to his uncle's chambers. The men quickly rushed into the room. Ashlan stood, fearful, listening for sounds of violence. After a short time, he crept closer, hearing voices -- including his uncle's voice raised in anger. He peered in and saw the orc slave, kneeling at the foot of Artemi's bed while his uncle pulled on a robe, upbraiding the soldiers, who looked at the ground with something like shame mixed with disgust. The orc looked at the boy and chuckled, winking at the lad. Uncle Artemi noticed and whirled on the boy, his face -- normally so handsome and strong -- red with rage. "Get out of my sight. Go to your room! Now!" Ashlan turned and fled, confused and afraid. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Thanks. Any feedback should be directed to the.satyr@gmail.com Regards, The Satyr