Page 8 of The Night Belongs To Lovers

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 playingpeek-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 pleasureof 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 viewfor 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.

---