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I've been writing since I could first hold a pencil, and by all accounts I didn't limit myself to paper. Walls, tablecloths and the occasional sibling were all fair game, and it shouldn't be surprising to learn that markers were banned in my home with all due haste. Although I now content myself with inconveniencing electrons, the desire to bring the stories in my mind to life hasn't waned. In my spare time, I read, putter in the kitchen, and relax on my terrace, weather permitting, with my corgi who strives to be part muse, part food disposal. I'm also addicted to coffee and have a close relationship with my Keurig.

Thursday, May 21, 2015

Free Read: Punch Line

I'd strongly suggest you go back a bit and read a little piece I called "Hunting Elysium" before you read this, if you haven't read it already. While this probably can stand alone, it's much better as the second part of the tale...


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Punch Line

I've always thought the gods had a sense of humor. The problem is that the rest of us usually don't get the joke. Nothing like being on the wrong end of an "in" joke when the joker uses lightning bolts as a punch line.

I'd done what Zeus asked. It took longer than I wanted, and the heat of late summer had given way to the chill of winter. It should be noted, for all of those enterprising folk who don't believe in climate change, that autumn and spring seem to have disappeared from the New York City landscape faster than pay phones. I'm still not sure which pissed me off more. I debated buying one of those prepaid phones once, but it occurred to me that there weren't all that many people who would call me. The only contact I'd had lately was with the Big Guy himself.

But I digress. I found the lamia, and the blade he'd given me worked just fine. When I'd coaxed a scream from those red lips, it was as satisfying as I'd imagined it would be. I sat back, waiting for the world to fade away like the light in those dark eyes, replaced by the Elysian fields I'd been promised. The scent of lilies and old earth lingered like a pall while her blood dried on my skin, and I guess I fell asleep.

***

"Do you think he's dead?"

I heard the voice, but it seemed like it was coming from a long way away. It wasn't the sort of voice I'd expected to hear, but then again, it's not like I was exactly an expert on what to expect from Cronus' little kingdom of dead heroes. To begin with, there was an echo, and the last I heard, there were no echoes in fields.

"Of course he's dead. Don't be an idiot. We're all dead."

The second voice was sharper, impatient. It reminded me of my first wife, which was almost enough to get me to open my eyes. She was a bitch, but she was a looker, that woman, and a wildcat in bed.

"You don't have to rub it in. I forgot, all right?" The first one sounded familiar, too. It bothered me, that I couldn't quite place the voice. It seemed like I was going to have to open my eyes, or die of curiosity.

I don't know why I expected to feel the weight of coins on my eyes. It's not like there was anyone who'd care enough to pay my fare, and besides, I was supposed to have that one-way ticket to Elysium, prepaid. I was starting to think I'd been played for a schmo by the Big Guy.

I certainly wasn't going to figure out too much lying here, wherever here was. I opened one eye, expecting to be dazzled by bright sunlight, but no.

Poor judgment. That's always been my curse. It figures I'd forgotten that there were two Elysian fields. This was the subterranean version, where lucky souls got a chance to be resurrected as heroes. Survive that three times, and you get the sunny meadows. I sensed Hera's hand in this.

And speaking of sensing hands, I was suddenly very aware of a hand where I didn't customarily find one. I blinked in surprise as I watched those glossy red nails trail up my cock to the head, circling it and teasing the slit.

Let me tell you a secret. It wouldn't matter one fucking bit if there was a cult of shark-toothed, razor-wielding maniacs surrounding me, as long as one of them knew exactly how to run her fingernails along the underside of my cock. Just like that, I was hard before I took my next breath.

If you're up for another revelation, getting your cock sucked by the same woman who killed you in the first place is not exactly unpleasant. At least she didn't seem to be holding a grudge, which was an improvement, I suppose. I wasn't sure I wanted her at arm's length, but my cock felt differently. I could feel the wet heat of her tongue as it wrapped around the crown of my cock, and a large part of my brain shut down. A shudder of pure pleasure ran up from my balls along my spine, igniting something hot in my belly on the way to my now short-circuited brain.

I'd forgotten about the other voice, the one that reminded me of my first wife, until I heard it again, her breath hot as she purred into my ear.

"She's always felt bad that you died before you got a chance to get off. I let her have the first turn, baby, because I know exactly how easy it is to get you worked up again."

My ex chuckled, and I felt my balls tighten in anticipation. My balls could care less if she was a bitch. That made them the perfect companions to my cock, given how that traitorous bit of my anatomy was acting. But to tell you the truth, my first wife playing tag team with a lamia seemed almost fitting. Hell, my first wife could teach Hera a few things about being a bitch.

That thought didn't make my cock happy, and I felt a growl emanate from the throat it was buried in. The vibration wasn't doing my ability to reason any good, but my cock was a lot happier, and my balls were seconding that opinion.

I'm pretty sure that the classical definition of heroism doesn't include trying not to come while a lamia is licking your balls. I really didn't think a tongue could stretch that far, and then I stopped thinking altogether, the world turning to white behind my eyelids. She purred, I think I screamed, and my ex laughed.

Or maybe it was Hera. For about one second, I pitied Zeus. Right before I died, again. 

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