A marble skinned demon stepped over the boat’s edge. He was a Wretcher Fiend, even the bat-face looked youthful. Nearly a foot shorter than Ardor, his white muscles shone in the desert suns.
He dropped his gray robes, revealing a pointed muscle dick hanging under his abs, as long as a forearm. It contracted like a biceps at will, veins bulging. Marcus felt weak on his knees.
“What do you say?” Ardor asked with an insufferable grin. “Seal the contract with a drink?”
There was no hesitation. The demigods stumbled forward. Marcus crashed into Chay and fell. Stumble-crawling like a drunk, he fought for a place at the demon’s crotch.
The fallen angel made a show of dropping his own robes. The demigods scrambled into position.
“Just a little test,” Ardor said. “To make sure you are who Galant described.”
He made two fists, as did Wretcher Fiend Tfeccus. Each man got his balls crushed by the signature they had carried since Jheyr’Udd. Marcus screeched at the sudden, brutal, ongoing pain. Tears shot into his eyes.
He was so horny that even ball crushing felt erotic, maybe more so than jerking off had ever felt on earth.
The nectar flowed.
The Nephil’s long, prehensile hose worked itself on the lips of Marcus, Chay and Goro while Xane and his mage-tongue had Tfeccus to themselves for now.
The Wretcher pumped his own dick with legs spread. “Eat my hole with that magic tongue, slave.”
Ardor chuckled. “Any more of you have extra tongues?”
The three nectar-lickers hummed in the negative. Marcus was barely intelligible, brain full of visions of him in the martial arts club shower with all his friends but they were somehow all fucking him at the same time and the showers rained cum instead of water and he drank all of it and also everyone was a demon. Not the most coherent fantasy. But hot and beautiful and desperately needed.
“Then use the real thing,” Ardor said and his hose bent under his balls to touch his asshole as he spread his muscled legs. The sweat dripping men crashed into each other as their faces squeezed into the golden crack.
“Who wants a fuck?” Tfeccus asked and pushed Xane away while tele-crushing the mage’s balls.
The demigods played rock-paper-scissor. Marcus didn’t win and didn’t bother checking who had. Somebody else got spread by the flexing, pulsing Wretcher muscle dick while Xane joined their tongue-fest.
A finger intruded into Marcus’s hole, then three. He returned the favor to the nearest ass in reach, never ceasing to lick the honey. Nectar had always tasted like a hundred different things, but now that he was familiar with the taste of other men’s cum, it seemed to have gotten stuck on jizz flavor. He was too sexed up to care.
Eventually they played for the next round on the Wretcher dick and Marcus won. He fought with himself upon leaving the angelic dick and crawled over to get muscle-dick fucked. Having the marble-skinned demon ram into his hole was overwhelming. The dick slipped in long and thin, then exploded into hard muscle like a punch in all direction.
Oh, how he had missed that. Getting pumped full with nectar kept him going even as Tfeccus had fun tormenting his balls in random bursts of demonic magic.
The moment it was over, Marcus felt like curling up in a blanket with a teddy bear and hot chocolate and maybe having a good cry. But also he was as close to peak horny as ever so maybe swap out the teddy for a hard fisting and the drink for an icy shower and, uh, even harder fisting.
“Oh man,” Marcus said and used his animus-healing to bring his legs together. “If we ever get out of the abyss I’ll seriously jerk off for a few days straight.”
“Then let’s start on that project,” Chay said, wobbly on his feet, “by getting the next vortex down.”