• THAT SAME NIGHT, THE CASTLE AT DARKWAKE
BACCHUS, THE LORD OF WINE and Patriarch to all indolent, whorish, drunken bastards sat in the grandiose Banquet Hall of his friend and divine counterpart, Lord Asmodeus Lustfyre. His scarlet royal robes undone, he beckoned to a wiry boy not more than thirteen winters seen. As the lad filled his gold goblet for the umpteenth time that hour with rich mead, Lord Bacchus lazily crept his hand up the gangly legs to feel for the spindle penis that was not so young.
The attending lad crunched his toes in his simple sandals and fought flame-hot fury; his cock was not some god's recess toy. The urge to hurl the icy contents of his jug over Lord Bacchus's fat face filled him with deep hunger. But he didn't.
