Dionysis - Sex Stories

Dionysis

... at work too. They’re popular in plays and histories. Aristophanes and Herodotus have both worked them into stories that I’m pretty sure only involved humans when they actually happened. Maybe the hairy dipsomaniacal rapists exist to make mortal men feel like they’re better than some uniquely bad alternative. It would be sad if that were the case. I like satyrs a lot more than mortals. As I walk through the camp I glance over and see one of them ramming his giant cock into a crying nymph. The girl begs him for mercy while he laughs and digs his dirty claws into her tender breasts. His pleasure is wonderful but her mixture of physical and spiritual pain is better still. I was going soft but her agony makes me achingly hard again.

I’m tempted to stay and play with my more capricious subjects, but I’m in a wistful mood. I walk to the outskirts of the camp where my maenads reside. They’re mortal women, and the most beloved of my retinue, but they choose to camp on the outskirts of my train. That suits me. I respect the maenads, because they are insane, but I generally prefer to fuck nymphs or Ariadne. I understand that some people like to rape a rapist, but I like a victim who is a victim to the very core of their being. My love for the maenads isn’t simple lust. It’s based on professional respect. Of course I’ve violated every hole they have to offer. That’s what respect looks like in our line of work.

The intense moan of a perfect male voice tells me that the maenads ...

... are playing with Orpheus again. He’s me of course. All the gods are me. My seed has run true in twenty different women, every one of whom has given birth to me. I’m the ultimate mother fucker. Zeus is me, Hades is me, Zagreus is me. Later on Mithras will be me and so will Jesus. Mary Magdalene will anoint my feet with her hair and then I will rape her senseless and she’ll like it (no-one will write that part down). But I’m getting ahead of myself. Right now I’m talking about Orpheus. He truly loves his Eurydice, but he has a secret: he loves himself more. I understand his story better than anyone, given that everyone involved in it is me.

Here’s the essence of the matter. How hard is it to walk down a corridor without looking back? Not hard at all. So why did Orpheus do it? The answer is that what Hades offered was not a challenge, but plausible deniability. It wasn’t me, sir! It was the doubt, the temptation!

Orpheus looked back because he didn’t want to live happily ever after; he wanted to be the perfect tragic figure - heroic, defeated, tortured. What’s true love next to that level of narcissism? Eurydice was whisked back to the underworld and he emerged straight into the arms of my maenads. They’ve got a reputation for eating people but they don’t actually do that all that often. With Orpheus they saw a much more exciting opportunity: to give him exactly what he wanted. He’s been with me ever since.

I emerge into the clearing to find Orpheus in an explosion of ...