He tried to fight them off, he tried to run. Most of all, he tried to wake up. But this, he could sense, was no longer a dream as he was accustomed to experiencing them. This was now something else–a vision, or a visitation.
“No, please! I’m just lost is all,” Raury said, trying to push the two stinking goatmen away from him, “Just tell me how to get home, and I’ll leave you be.”
The satyrs just bleated with laughter, each one grabbed a leg and dragged him over the earth into the clearing. “Nonsense, little Bacchus! You are our honored guest. We’ve been waiting for you to find us here, and I assure you that we can’t allow you to leave until you’ve sampled some of our hospitality. Feast with us! Drink!” He was well within the clearing now, and the two satyrs released him. He scrambled upright and went to run, but found he’d been completely encircled by the freaks. This close, he realized that their bestial nature was far more pronounced than any humanity they might have–and they were all naked, without exception, cocks from all over the animal kingdom surrounding him. “Here–sample our wine, young Bacchus! It’s been compared to sweet nectar of the gods.”
The satyr shoved a strange, bloated sack into Raury’s hands. It felt like a water balloon, but the surface seemed to be more like the lining of the stomach. It was thin, and semi-transparent–inside, he could see a deep burgundy liquid sloshing about. “My name isn’t Bacchus–I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Raury, and please, I just want to go home,” he tried to hand the bladder back, but the satyr refused to take it.
“Ah, so young and silly! The Bacchus has a name! Young human–you might be a Raury, yes, but you are also a Bacchus. Now drink. Sample our pleasure! It does not do to be so rude to your hosts here! There are far worse things in these woods than us, and we can just as easily abandon you to them instead, and keep the deal in other ways.”
The gazes of the beasts surrounded him were chilly, and while he didn’t want to–knew, somehow, that he simply shouldn’t–he raised the nozzle of the bladder to his lips and drank a mouthful of wine. It was sweet–sweeter than any port he’d ever tasted, and left a film all over the inside of his mouth which seemed a bit greasy. The beasts urged him on further, demanding he drink more, and so he did, and when the satyrs dragged him over to a long stone table, laden with strange faire he’d never seen before in his life, he ate as well, drinking from the bladder as he did, and he felt the mood around him loosen up. The music began again, and many of the beasts danced wildly around the torches. Soon, Raury felt woozy, and when he tried to walk, he tumbled instead, landing on the ground. “Oh no! Be careful our Bacchus!” a pigman and minotaur rushed over and picked him up, carrying him over to a pile of rugs and carpets near the center of the feast. “Please, rest here–allow us to care for you, our Bacchus.”
The beasts brought more wine, and more food; Raury tried to resist, but the world was too blurry and off kilter for him to stop them from stuffing the food in his face. The faces if the beasts seemed to have turned cruel, their laughter menacing, the music growing quicker and agitated. Hooves and trotters were tugging and ripping at his clothes, and soon he was as naked as the beasts surrounding him, all of them poking and prodding at his body, until one of them rolled him over onto his full gut, making him belch and nearly vomit. The first cock slid into his ass with a bleating cry, and another beast came around to his face, forcing open his mouth and fucking his skull.
He quickly lost count of the beasts abusing him. The wine was dulling him further, and part of him even began to enjoy the treatment, finding himself craving the cum as much as the wine and the food the beasts plied him with in between each cock. At some point, the wine finally overcame him, and he passed out in the dream, falling into a deep blackness which seemed to have no end or beginning–and then he awoke with something between a moan and a scream in the bed he shared with Jared, alone. Sunlight was streaming through the windows–and from the wrong direction. He scrambled for his phone, and discovered it was four in the afternoon. He’d gone to bed around ten the night before–had he really just slept for almost sixteen hours straight? It was with further terror, that he realized it was Thursday–he’d missed almost an entire day of work. He had to call his boss, he had to figure out some way to explain this, but he felt sick to his stomach, and his head was spinning.
He staggered up to his feet and made his way to the bathroom, just in time to drop in front of the toilet and puke up the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He stared at it for several minutes, unable to believe what he was looking at. The water was crimson–not with blood, but with the wine he could still smell. There were bits of food, and a…substantial amount of white, foggy froth. At last, he flushed it down, and got back up to his feet, found his phone and called his work, using illness as an excuse. He’d been so sick, he’d hallucinated calling out in a delirium this morning, and Jared was taking him to the emergency room, he lied. Like usual, the biggest lie he could imagine paid off–and he didn’t have to worry about work the next day either, which relieved him.
Bracken's Corner 