Thrilling Threesome, Vol. 1 Copyright © 2025 Mason Graves

Trigger warning: This collection contains references to self-harm, death and other morbid themes.

For those looking for a more light-hearted read, a better Halloween book might be The Rivals of Casper Road, an MM small town romance by Roan Parrish, which centers primarily around a pair of flirty rivals competing in a Halloween decoration competition:

With today being Halloween, I decided to review three wicked little tales by queer horror author Mason Graves.

That’s right, dearies: a triple feature of gay erotic horror reviews, full of taboo-shattering eldritch tongue monsters, cock-hungry ghosts, and a Dom-demon taking his due. Let’s begin...

Eldritch Tongues

Alex Olmstead wants to know what it’s like to have his ass eaten but has no idea how to find a woman willing to do it. He receives an anonymous message from Deepmouth, Massachusetts, offering to make his dream come true. Desperate to cum, Alex rides the bus to the address, unsure of who (or what) is waiting for him.

He arrives in an old fishing town. The address leads to an inn shaped like a lighthouse, located at the end of the pier. Alex is directed by the innkeeper to go up to room seven, but in a panic, the man asks if the person waiting for him is a guy, to which the mysterious counterman responds,

No, Mr. Olmstead, it is not a guy.

Alex takes this to mean it was a woman who messaged him. He waits in his room, his heart beating with anticipation, until the sound of a loud horn and a brilliant flash of light startle him.

The narrator notes that it’s almost as if something is being summoned.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

Upon opening it, an unseen, ancient force flings him back on the bed, pulling down his pants and getting right to work running its hot, wet tongue up his crevice.

Another astoundingly large tongue licks at his balls, and Alex, assailed by a massive case of horny brain, thinks he’s scored with two chicks.

Slowly, he realizes he’s having sex with something that’s not even human, and for the next several pages, Alex is at the center of a really sexy eldritch tentacle sex scene, getting filled and fucked in every hole in ways he never even dreamed of.

And then it’s over as suddenly as it began. The creature disappears, leaving Alex covered in his own spunk.

However, he finds out a week later that the monster devoured his seminal vesicles, rendering him sterile.

I am the last page of a book no one will read again. When I die, my lineage will scatter like sand in the wind. Lost to the oceans, forgotten by the world that once whispered it. And somewhere, at the end of a rotting pier, something ancient smiles with too many mouths… Mouths dripping with my seed.

If you have ever read weird fiction detailing unfathomable cosmic horrors, beings so alien they cause madness in any man who looks upon them, and thought,

What would it be like to have sex with that?

This first story was written for you.

My Sole to Keep

Our second tale starts with a young man named Ryan visiting the grave of his first love, a man named Jacob Thomas Lynch. During their time together as teens, Jacob had offered his friend a hand job, an offer that was not taken, but that led the main character to pleasure himself countless times over the years while imagining where things could have gone from there.

As Ryan stands among the tombstones, he envisions the two of them together in the car, his hand stroking Jacob’s cock before leaning in to take it in his mouth. With great embarrassment, he realizes he’s now sprouting a full erection in the presence of the slumbering dead.

Another memory overtakes him, this one of the ways they’d sleep over in the same bed and Jacob would always give his foot a little tickle before they’d go to sleep head-to-toe.

Finally, Ryan stumbles upon Jacob’s freshly dug grave.

A wave of regret fills him as he confesses in front of the tombstone, speaking about how he’d wanted to tell Jacob he was gay and that he wished they could have been together.

Ryan begins hyperventilating, deciding to take off his shoes to try and ground himself by planting his bare feet in the soil. It’s not enough, however. The tears keep streaming, soaking him as surely as the rain pour all around.

Suddenly, he notices a strange tickle on the bottom of his foot. Startled, he looks down, seeing a finger sticking out of the earth, running along his foot as Jacob’s ghostly voice calls out,

Ryyyyaaaaannnnn…

A pair of pale hands reach up, unzipping the narrator’s pants. The voice of the dead man whispers words of longing, admitting he’d wanted to suck Ryan’s cock but had always been too afraid to make the first move.

He tugs on Ryan’s torso, dragging him down into a pushup position over the grave. The dead boy begins sucking his dick through the soil and starts thrusting his own hard member between his friend’s muddy feet again and again.

The sight of the pink, lively member is more than he can bear. Ryan pulls himself out of the mud, repositioning himself so he can suck that ghost cock, which tastes as good as he always imagined it would. He then allows that fleshy rod to enter him, spreading himself wide for the first time in his life.

Overcome by the love buried in his heart, Ryan begs Jacob to kiss him, making it clear he doesn’t even care if half his face has rotted away. The undead lover erupts from the soil, and the pair share a passionate kiss that tastes of earth and soil.

As they cum together, professing their love to one another, both are pulled down into the depths of the grave.

I smiled as the abyss took us. Jake’s cock still buried inside me. His arms around my waist. Mine around his neck. Our lips pressed together.

Now we would sleep head-to-toe forever.

For a foot fetish story, this one got me in the feels. The pain of holding onto a crush from highschool, of never expressing that attraction for fear of losing the friendship, just to drift apart anyway, honestly, even with the ghostly lover aspect, that feels so real.

A surprisingly emotional piece of work for anyone who loves tragic ghost stories.

NECRODOMICON

Rowan, a nineteen-year-old virgin twink who just escaped a gay conversion therapy camp, is running through the woods while three homophobic thugs chase after him.

Luckily, he comes across a ramshackle old cabin in the woods and heads down into the root cellar.

The men run by, leaving him hiding down in the darkness. He turns on his phone, using it like a flashlight to take a look around the trash-strewn basement. Off in the corner is a dead opossum nailed to a crucifix. Below his feet, a pentagram has been drawn onto the floor.

And then there’s the leather-bound notebook sitting on the nearby worktable...

He flips through the pages, coming across an image of a brutish, muscular figure in a black mask, his bare torso covered in chains and blades.

Just as a trickle of blood falls from the tip of his nose onto the paper, the gang pursuing Rowan begin pounding on the root cellar door, trying to get in. However, the blood seems to activate some primal magical force. Within moments, the musclebound figure from the book materializes in the center of the room.

Terrified, Rowan drops his phone, pitching the room into total darkness. As his tormentor’s rush into the room, each lets out a horrified scream. Rowan hears the sounds of ripping flesh, frightened he’ll be next. Finally, he finds his phone light, quickly realizing the guys from the center have all been torn to pieces.

The demon, its eyes glowing behind the leather mask, walks towards him.

He passes out, only to wake up in the creature’s arms. Somehow, it’s brought him home to his bed. The entity tosses the boy onto his mattress, then, in a guttural tone, says,

PAYMENT.

It pulls out the book, pointing to an image of a demon having sex with a human female. Rowan, terrified but also aroused, agrees. The monster tears off his clothing, but is confused by the sight of his penis, bellowing,

NO… HOLE…

It becomes enraged, producing a meat cleaver from thin air. Rowan shouts back,

Wait! I have a hole! I swear I have a hole!

He bends over, spreading his cheeks for the lustful monster. The beast, seemingly satisfied by such an offering, shoves a finger as thick as the narrator’s dick up inside, growling with dismay at how dry it finds the entrance. Timidly, Rowan suggests the demon lick him out to get him wet. After a moment’s consideration, the creature grabs him off the bed, swinging him upside down and sending a long, forked tongue down into the crevices of his virgin opening.

However, the demon’s Hellishly enormous cock is too big to fit up Rowan’s rear, so he offers to please the entity with his mouth instead.

He swallows that unearthly dick, nearly choking while the beast insists on him deep-throating it as far down as he can swallow.

Now jizzed up with precum, the leather devil throws him back on the bed, mounting him with great relish.

Rowan, stretched to the limit, cries out in a mixture of pain and pleasure as the entity fucks him with no mercy.

What follows is... easily one of the hottest monster fucker scenes I’ve ever read. However, the ending of the story is very dark.

There’s no happily ever after for Rowan.

Upon the sexual encounter’s end, the demon returns to Hell, making it clear he wants nothing to do with Rowan. However, the boy can’t stop thinking about how good the creature made him feel. He finds the leather book, trying to use a drop of his blood to summon the beast again.

But nothing happened. No portal. No beefy incubus wrapped in chains.

Nothing.

So he grabbed a knife from the kitchen and drew more blood.

And still no portal manifested.

When his mother went to wake him for church in the morning, she found him laying in a pool of his own blood, arms riddled with bone-deep gashes.

In one hand, he held a bloody knife. In the other hand, his dick.

It’s a pretty brutal ending for poor Rowan, but in the context of the story, I think it’s appropriate. Our lead escaped a conversion camp through Hell’s intervention, only to find himself unable to turn his back on the specter of the demon who fully awakened his desires. The camp tried to destroy his true self in the name of saving his soul, but only inadvertently caused him to be claimed fully by the pull of the infernal realm. In the end, neither of them granted Rowan the peace he deserved.

All in all, this was a pretty decent Halloween triple feature, with its mixture of the macabre, balancing genuinely tragic topics with large helpings of camp and depraved, otherworldly carnality.

If you’re a reader who likes exploring the dark side, a fan of the horror genre, or simply looking for a different flavor of gay erotica, Mason Graves’s work might be just the thing.

Happy Halloween, everyone! 🎃

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My latest limited series, The Horned God’s Harvest: A Spicy M/M Halloween Story, is now available as an Ebook on Amazon, Kobo, Smashwords, and Barnes & Noble (tap the book cover above to access the store links). To all of my paid subscribers, thanks for helping me pay the bills while I was writing this fun little romantic comedy. My goal was to try to capture the energy of a 1980s Tom Hanks movie, except instead of Daryl Hannah, our everyman lead is courting a large, rugged forest god who, instead of a fish tale, occasionally sports a pair of antlers.

My next series will start in early November, but this time we’ll be traveling from the forests of England to the cold mountains of Norway in a tale starring a rugged, working-class fellow and a faerie love interest with a fondness for boyfriend-napping.

Anyways, I have to drag some skeletons out of the closet, be seeing you all soon.

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Under the moon, lovers meet to steam up the cold October nights.

At Halloween, the veil between worlds is thin, and the denizens of other realms come out to play. Accompanied by the rattle of brittle leaves and lit by the grinning glows of jack-o-lanterns, these men have mischief in mind. But they must beware, for there are other things haunting the autumn darkness.

This collection of spooky, spicy stories will have you wondering whether you’re alone… and maybe wishing you weren’t.

Mr. Brimstone

Something sinister and sensual resides in the huge Maine Coon cat Gilbert MacNeil adopted as part of a prison program… and it follows him home after his release. As Halloween approaches and ancient magical forces gain strength, an old associate of Gil’s tries to coerce him back into his criminal business. Gil has never been good at refusing others, and his indecision traps him between two very different fates. As Gil tries to balance his illicit activities with protecting those he cares about, an unseen battle wages in the shadows. Gil and his otherworldly companion must choose whose demands to satisfy… and they’d better choose wisely.

Mrs. Finnegan and Mrs. Krause

A young mother faces harsh small-town judgement when her toddler wanders off on a misty autumn night. Gil MacNeil has first-hand experience with gossip that feels impossible to escape, especially when tragedy and violence seem to follow him… and no one knows the secrets he really keeps. He’s determined to help Peggy Clougherty find and keep her son, though not even he can imagine who truly wants the boy or for what dark purpose. His mission puts him at odds with not only influential townspeople, but with the dark and powerful being who’s come to mean everything to Gil.

The Apple River Graveyard Watch

Folklorist Benny Durand travels to a remote corner of Nova Scotia to investigate tales of ritual magic and gruesome rites surrounding a crumbling mansion. He’s surprised to find it occupied by Sigar Sigridsson, an artist and musician who took refuge there following a disfiguring accident. Sig resents Benny’s intrusion on his solitude, but the land itself seems determined to push them together. As they delve into the property’s history and find a budding friendship with promises of much more, the former owner’s depravity comes to light, and they realize they’re far from alone in isolated Apple River.

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Brad stared at the beast, his mouth hanging open in utter disbelief. Hart gave him a sheepish smile, explaining,

"My real name isn't actually Hart, it's Cernunnos. I'm an ancient god of the forest. Eh..."

Without a word, Brad wandered past him, heading straight for the kitchen. The buck watched him go, calling out,

"I would have told you, but I didn't know how..."

Brad chose to ignore him, having already decided the only sensible thing to do in a situation like this was to get drunk.

Well, drunker.

Cernunnos tried to approach him, but his antlers thudded against the doorframe, trapping him in the bedroom. He attempted to maneuver his huge body sideways in hopes he might squeeze through the opening, but only succeeded in tangling up his long limbs, nearly tripping over himself.

Brad took a good, long swallow of cider while fiddling with his phone. After a couple of swipes, he settled on Donovan's Season of the Witch, deciding its surreal tone perfectly fit his current mood.

He began swaying his nude body in time to the song, muttering,

"Let's be rational. Okay, I hooked up with a deer who just happens to be a god and a grocery clerk. The question now is, what am I going to do about it?"

Cernunnos sighed and said,

"I'm truly sorry. Normally I don't get involved with mortals, but when I accidentally saw you through the kitchen window yesterday, I was so taken by your appearance I simply couldn't help but-"

Brad cut him off, drunkenly belting out the song's chorus at the top of his lungs, butchering Donovan's warbling delivery of Wiiiiittttcch.

The stag shook his head, mumbling,

"Speaking of witches, how are my followers out in the woods going to feel if I don't make an appearance tonight?"

He watched the inebriated mortal start dancing with a broom, nearly falling over himself as he attempted to twirl around. Cernunnos called out,

"May I have some cider?"

Brad stopped and peered back at him, answering,

"Cider? You want cider?"

Cernunnos nodded earnestly and continued,

"Yes. The alcohol should relax me enough so I can change back into my human form."

Brad wanted to say something rude, but when he looked into Cernunnos's dark, pleading eyes, he decided to let it go and wobbled his way to the kitchen cabinet.

Since none of the cups were wide enough for a buck to drink out of, he grabbed a cereal bowl, ladling in a fair amount of the mulled drink for his distressed, otherworldly guest.

Brad wandered back to the stag, offering him the sweet-smelling liquid. Cernunnos dipped in, lapping at the cider as fast as his tongue would allow. In the meantime, Brad took the opportunity to study the buck more closely, noting just how massive he was, the smooth appearance of his chestnut-colored fur, his broad, sturdy frame...

For whatever reason, he started getting hard.

At first, he barely noticed, until Cernunnos saw what was happening. The god tried not to giggle, but when Brad saw the mirth shining in the stag's eyes, he looked down, horrified to realize his cock was already at half-mast.

The mortal stumbled back to the couch, groaning,

"Oh great. You've gone and turned me into a deer fucker."

Cernunnos burst out laughing. Brad, unable to help himself, joined in.

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Love is a Stranger by the Eurythmics began to play. Brad imagined Annie Lennox standing in the room in her 1980s pop regalia, serenading them as he sank back against the couch cushions.

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Hart gazed at the crotch area of Brad's inviting vinyl shorts and reached down to grip the metal pull tab, unzipping the crimson covering. Brad's erect cock sprang free. The giant eyed it approvingly, taking hold of the twitching member and giving it a series of skillful tugs.

Brad began thrusting his hips into every pump, his breath quickening as a tide of pleasure began building within him.

Hart scooped up his balls, and bent forward, carefully settling himself between those slim thighs.

In one quick, fluid motion, he swallowed Brad's entire length, sucking like he was thirsty. Brad gripped at the upholstery, helpless before the pull of that wet heat engulfing every inch of his member.

Amidst the moans, Brad managed to say,

"I... ahh!... I want to suck you too..."

Hart looked up at the panting figure, gave a wink, and rose from the couch, wrapping his large hands around Brad's waist. With barely any effort, he hoisted the naughty little devil into the air. Before Brad even had a sense of what was happening, Hart turned him upside down, repositioning him so he was eye level with his large bulge.

After realizing Hart wasn't going to drop him, Brad unzipped his new friend's fly. The cock that erupted from the opening caused him to pause in amazement, so stunned was he by its thick, powerful bearing.

In the meantime, Hart went back to sucking Brad, murmuring happily as he deep-throated Yankee dick.

Brad groaned with delight as he began running his tongue up and down Hart's huge, smelly member. He rubbed his face against it, savoring its musky aroma, and was about to swallow it, when a nagging inner voice chimed in,

Can I even take one this large? What if I choke?

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My New Daddy Copyright © 2024 Brian M. Heathcock

Henry, a sculpted man in his thirties, just got married to Janet, a flirtatious older woman. Janet likes it when her new husband watches her get railed by other men, which is great, because Henry is a bonafide cuckold.

The story begins with our lead jerking off in the shower to a memory of a handsome Latin man screwing his spouse by the pool.

However, now that he's back from his honeymoon, Henry has to take on the role of stepdad to Janet's eighteen-year-old son, Kevin. Since Janet is away on a business trip, Henry has to pick up the college boy from the train station. However, the kid makes it clear he isn't in the mood to make friends. They have a lasagna dinner and Kevin takes a shower. As Henry gets ready for bed, there's a knock at the bedroom door. What greets him on the other side is a nude, dripping wet stepson, clothed only by a towel haphazardly placed over the boy's crotch.

After asking where the towels are at, Henry directs him to check the laundry, enjoying the sight of that pert behind as Kevin wanders down the hallway.

The next morning, Henry runs some errands and comes home. On a whim, he looks out the kitchen window, only to find a very naked Kevin jerking himself off next to the pool. Aroused by his stepson's horny display, Henry unzips his pants, pulling out his own stiff dick so he can pleasure himself while watching his stepson beat his meat.

Afterwards, Kevin comes inside and apologizes for being a jerk earlier. Henry notices the young man's eyes crawling up and down his body, causing the older man to precum through his pants.

That evening, Henry is preparing dinner. Kevin reaches for a cooking pot on a high shelf, but can't quite reach it. When daddy comes over to help, they press up against each other. Henry starts kissing on Kevin, quickly getting the boy's shorts around his ankles.

Henry eats that sweaty ass. Kevin's so turned on he gets on his knees, furiously sucking his new daddy's cock. Before long, the submissive college boy is splayed out on the countertop, waiting to be filled. Henry obliges, thrusting his large dick deep inside the boy's rectum.

They screw like a pair of alley cats in heat, with Kevin moaning like a dirty little slut.

After pumping him full of seed, Henry jacks his stepson off to completion.

Afterward, Janet calls the house, apologizing as she explained that she'll be gone longer than expected. When she asks her new husband to keep her son entertained, Henry assures her he's up to the task.

This was a very randy, raunchy read. Barely a page goes by without there being some mention of thick, hard cock, twink ass, or muscular pecs. However, the straight cuckolding scene in the first chapter threw me off, as there was nothing in the book's description that indicated this was a bi-erotica. Then again, the narrator seemed extremely interested in watching the dick of the man having sex with his wife, so maybe the story was implying Henry was into men but hadn't figured it out yet.

Kevin has no personality other than being generic college twink #5873865, but he's eager to please his daddy so I didn't mind too much.

My New Daddy works well as step-incest comfort food: there's nothing here that hasn't already been written in a hundred other stepfather/stepson stories, but the end result is perfect for anyone seeking a cheap, tawdry one and done read.

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Within the hour, Brad convinced himself he'd imagined the whole thing. After all, how could a stag, who lacked the same complex vocal anatomy as a human, possibly speak?

More so, what manner of deer had enough intelligence to critique his gardening techniques?

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He took a quick shower, got dressed, and hopped into his grandma's old Mini Cooper. He'd never owned a car before, always opting for public transportation or the urban bike lanes, but somehow he managed to navigate the narrow, ever-winding country roads. After several miles of hedgerows and potholes, he pulled into the nearby town's only store, a cross between a grocery, gas station, and hardware depot.

For the thirtieth time that day, he muttered to himself,

"Deer can't talk, it didn't happen. That was just an ordinary buck."

He was soon perusing the aisles, busily tossing Halloween decorations into his basket: small ghost statues to line the walls, synthetic cobwebs, a large black paper spider...

He needed the right refreshments. Brad thought back to the way gramma made hot spiced cider whenever he and his family flew out to visit. The memory of how she'd always added an extra pinch of sugar to his cup made him smile.

After picking out a bottle of hard cider, he was about to head for the register when he remembered the final item on his list:

Candy Corn.

After all, what was Halloween without a bowl of orange and white Mellowcremes sitting on the kitchen table?

Brad searched the bins, finding several bags of gummy worms, chocolates, and sweets he'd never even heard of, but the one treat he sought remained elusive.

He looked toward the register, calling out,

"Where's the Candy Corn?"

The cashier, who was fiddling with something behind the counter, popped up and said,

"Candy Corn?"

Brad's eyes widened at the sight of the man, who was easily 6'8", with a large, well-groomed beard, broad shoulders, and hands that looked strong enough to crush rocks into powder.

Brad caught his breath, answering,

"Yes. Do you have any in stock?"

The clerk gave him a strange look and mentioned,

"You're a Yank."

Brad nodded. The man grinned, adding,

"I recognized the accent."

He stroked his beard thoughtfully and remarked,

"So... Candy Corn... is that like toffee apples? Do Americans put a stick in a corn cob and cover it in treacle?"

Brad shook his head and said,

"Since my seasonal sweets are nowhere to be found, how about you come over here and show me YOUR favorite Halloween candy?"

The clerk shrugged and walked out from behind the register, strolling down the aisle with the gait of a well-tempered grizzly bear.

He took his place beside Brad, causing the smaller man's heart to flutter.

Cautiously, Brad allowed his gaze to stray downward, appreciating the Brit's thick, powerful form.

And oh, that scent! A mixture of cedar and wood smoke that spoke of a man who lived an earthy, backwoods life between shifts.

Spurred on by months of abstinence, Brad's member began stiffening against the constraints of his dark slacks.

Mildly embarrassed, he gripped the basket by both handles, placing it in front of his traitorous groin.

The cashier, having scanned the various blends on display, picked up a small bag, noting,

"These Jelly Brains are pretty good."

He glanced down at Brad and handed him the one-kilo bag. When he noticed how intently his customer was staring up at him, he asked,

"Do you need something else?"

Brad thought,

Yes. Your meaty cock in my mouth.

For a moment, he stammered,

"I... well... no."

The man nodded and headed toward the front counter. After a few paces, he paused, looking back with a curious expression, and asked,

"Have I seen you around? You look familiar."

Brad grinned as he replied,

"Probably. I moved into gramma's cottage a few months ago."

The handsome bear furrowed his brow as he continued,

"Who's your grandma? Are you Mrs. Wright's boy? You look a lot like her."

Brad shook his head, answering,

"No, her surname was Wilson. She left me her home after passing away last summer."

The light of recognition crossed the clerk's face. He smiled broadly, chuckling,

"Ah, yes, Mrs. Wilson. I remember her. She wore a bonnet covered in little bird brooches. Used to come in here every Sunday evening for a pack of Sherbet Lemons!"

Brad's eyes sparkled as he noted,

"I made her those in fifth grade. Can't believe she wore them all these years."

The man laughed kindly,

"Aye, never saw her without them."

He turned, lumbering back to his station.

Brad followed behind, throwing in a few more knick-knacks along the way. As the clerk began ringing up the items, he leaned in and said,

"By the way, my name's Brad."

The large man nodded gruffly, replying,

"I'm Hart."

Brad thought,

Hart? Darling, you're halfway to stealing mine.

and asked,

"Are you doing anything for Halloween tomorrow? If not, you could come over to my place to help me drink all this cider."

Hart stopped momentarily, considered the offer, and said,

"I don't know what I'll be doing. Got a few gatherings to attend already, so..."

Brad, crestfallen but trying not to show it, murmured,

"Well, of course you do."

With a few swift strikes across the metal keys, Hart rang up the final tally. After an exchange of crumpled pound notes, the giant handed him a receipt and said,

"Have a happy Halloween."

Brad nodded glumly, picking up his bags and exiting through the shop's front door. He paused as he stood outside, watching a truck loaded with an oversized skeleton prop drive by, and whispered to himself,

"Guess this will be my first Halloween with nobody but ghosts for company."

***

The following evening, he turned the cottage into a proper Samhain showcase. The ghostly statuettes were placed along the window sills. Several strands of store-bought cobwebs were pulled across the mantelpiece (after he'd carefully dusted away all the real webs, of course).

With the greatest care, he hung his paper spiders as if they might snatch an unsuspecting passerby.

Several cinnamon-scented candles burned, giving the darkened room a lively, ever-shifting orange glow. In the background, the television played an old haunted house movie. Brad didn't recognize it, but figured it would create the perfect backdrop for his one-man party.

He strolled out the door with a knife, navigating his way through the garden until he reached the pumpkin patch. Brad paused a moment to run his hands down the soft exterior of the largest one, appreciating how it carried the scent of the autumn harvest.

Brad aimed the blade, cutting through its thick, fibrous stalk until he'd severed it from the vine. He wrapped his arms around the pumpkin, hefted it into the air, and, with a great deal of effort, carried the hulking thing into the house where he carefully laid it down on the kitchen table.

By the time he'd finished, the hollowed-out pumpkin bore a silly, lopsided expression, with two giant teeth sticking out of its grinning maw. After placing a candle inside, Brad set it on his front stoop as a beacon for the trick-or-treaters who he knew would never show up.

All he had left to do was put on his costume. He grinned as he took the outfit out of his closet, quickly pulling it on so he could admire himself in the mirror.

It was a skimpy red devil outfit with a horned hood, black harness straps that ran down his bare chest, and a tight pair of vinyl shorts that clung to his cheeks like a second skin. He posed in it provocatively, imagining he was at the kind of Halloween bash he used to attend at the gay bars back home.

Thirsty after all his work, he poured a warm cup of mulled cider for himself, gulping down the whole thing in one go. The kick, stronger than he'd expected, caused him to burst out in a sudden coughing fit. Eyes watering, he turned on the kitchen faucet, throwing down a chaser to settle his system.

The warm rush of the alcohol spread throughout him, loosening him up in just the right way.

He reached over, flipping through the music on his phone until he found his favorite song for the season, Oingo Boingo's Dead Man's Party.

The first few notes came in real dark and mysterious, quickly transforming into a cacophony of synth beats. Brad's face broke out into a grin as he began swinging his hips, raising his arms in time to the music.

He closed his eyes, imagining he was back home, swaying his slender, barely-dressed body all around the dance floor while surrounded by dashing men sporting costumes as scandalous as his own.

In the vision, everyone stopped to stare at him.

Taken in by his face.

The way he moved.

His tight, toned rump swaying like an invitation.

He posed provocatively against the mantelpiece, bits of webbing catching on one of his horns, and purred,

"Care for a trick, or a treat?"

Brad giggled as he stumbled his way to the couch, where he fell back on the cushions, displaying himself as if he were a delicious party favor.

Knock knock knock.

He went completely still, looking over at the door.

Knock knock knock.

He wondered,

Who could possibly be out here at this hour?

Brad gripped the side of the couch, pulling himself up, then weaved and wobbled his way toward the entrance.

As he opened the door, a wandering part of his mind chimed in,

What if it's an axe murderer, here to collect my head?

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Flannel and Fangs (Full Moon Festivities series) by Lance Roddick

“I’m a special effects artist from LA. I know fake. I know latex, animatronics, and CGI. So when I got hired to revamp the “Haunted Hayride” in Hallow’s End, I expected cheap rubber masks and corn syrup blood.

I didn’t expect Maddox.

Maddox runs the attraction. He’s six-foot-four, brooding, and wears flannel like it’s a uniform. He’s also the most intense method actor I’ve ever met. When he puts on his wolf costume for the show, the movement is flawless. The growl vibrates right through my chest. It’s terrifying. It’s also... really, really hot.

But here’s the weird part: I never see him take the costume off. He sniffs me every time I walk into the room. He growled at the pizza delivery guy for looking at me too long. And I swear, when we finally hooked up in the back of the prop shed, his eyes glowed yellow in the dark. I told myself it was just contacts. I told myself I was falling for the man, not the monster.

But now the full moon is rising on Halloween night, and I’m starting to think the special effects in this town are a little too realistic.”

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Blood and Lust (Halloween Heat series) Copyright © 2020 by B.J. Wood

“I’m not going to complain about being gang banged by a bunch of sexy vampires.”

Maddox has been dating the hot vampire named Rhys. Tonight is the night Maddox will finally be transformed into a member of his boyfriend’s undead coven. Rhys leads him through the group’s mansion. The mortal doesn’t know if his lover is being truthful or if he’ll die tonight, but the sense of danger is what attracted him to the man in the first place.

Declan, the leader of the coven, catches the scent of Maddox’s blood on the air several moments before Rhys even enters the room, getting hard from the smell of non-virgin blood. Upon the human’s arrival, the seven vampires in the room eye the sexy recruit hungrily.

Rhys bites into Maddox’s neck, draining his blood slowly while reaching down to unzip the mortal’s pants, unleashing his full length. After a bit of fondling, the vampires offer to tie the newcomer to their X-shaped cross. Maddox, a submissive through and through, eagerly agrees.

After strapping him in, Declan announces it’s time to feed. All seven of the vampires descend on Maddox at once, biting into his flesh. One of them, a man he doesn’t recognize, grips him around the cock and gives him a violent kiss, biting down on his bottom lip.

Finally, one of the bloodsuckers swallows him whole, enjoying the flavor while the mortal is drained of his remaining essence.

When Maddox is ready to be turned, Rhys enters him, biting his lover’s neck between thrusts. They share a blood-soaked kiss as Maddox draws closer to the edge. With a slice of the palm, Rhys has his partner drink his blood, starting the process of vampirization.

Now changed into a vampire, Maddox asks if he’s a part of the group, to which Declan replies that there’s one more step to go: in order to be part of their clan, the new vampire must allow himself to be claimed by every member. The story ends with a cum and blood-soaked orgy.

This story belongs firmly in the BDSM category. Maddox is constantly described as getting turned on by the sensation of being bitten. To somebody who’s into needle play, I suppose that would be hot, but I was wincing the whole time, imagining it would be like getting shots at the doctor over and over again. The sex is rough, even when it’s between Rhys and Maddox, with the coven treating the human lead like an animal in heat.

Unlike last year’s featured story, The Count’s Plaything, which had a strong focus on pampering and aftercare, Blood and Lust is designed for masochistic readers who want stories about pain mixing with pleasure. Overall, it fits the dark tone of the season, blending sex and terror seamlessly. If you’re the type of person who likes taboo vampire erotica, give this one a try.

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Brad awoke in his cottage, shivering from head to foot. He reached for the nearby robe, cursing under his breath,

"Damn fireplace must have gone out last night."

He knotted the tie of the black silk gown around his slim waist, then headed over to the old stone fixture to stir the remaining embers. When a small wisp of flame finally erupted, he threw on a fresh log, blowing upon the scattered glowing ashes until the wood began to burn.

After placing his grandmother's old copper kettle on the grate, he stretched, letting out a hearty yawn as he ran his hand through his short blond hair like a makeshift comb.

Barefoot, Brad strode across the cold flagstone floor to the kitchen cupboard, robe hanging half-open as he reached for the coffee. As he measured out his morning cup, he looked down, realizing part of him was already wide awake.

Before inheriting his new home, he'd lived in America, sharing a cramped apartment with four other men, none of whom were gay. Woefully outnumbered, he never would have dared allow his morning erection to fly so freely, but out here in the English countryside, he could finally let it all out.

Brad began stroking his rigid member, sighing at the simple joy of being able to pleasure himself without having to worry about anyone intruding on his privacy. He groaned softly as the delicious sensations increased steadily with every pump of his hand, his groggy brain conjuring a fantasy:

The front door of the cottage is kicked in. A large man with a woodsy, outdoorsy look saunters in, his gaze dark and piercing. He grabs hold of me, forcing me down on my knees and shoving his sweaty cock in my face. I lick him all over, tasting his filthy musk. The guy cups his balls, tells me to suck them good, I-

Then, through his lusty, rapturous haze, something outside the kitchen window caught his eye.

A magnificent stag, larger than any he'd seen since arriving in the woods, stood watching him from the far side of the garden, standing between the rows of vegetables he'd been tending since his arrival.

Brad paused mid-stroke, murmuring,

"Look at you, you marvelous beast."

He stepped closer to the glass, staring at the horned figure, and muttered,

"Here to eat my crops, or do you just like to watch?"

His imagination shifted to the local gay bar he'd often frequented back home, envisioning a scenario where he sat drinking a mojito as he bobbed his head to the pop princess singing on the jukebox, when, out of nowhere, the stag strolled in, its hooves clopping across the dance floor in time to the music.

Trying to appear nonchalant, Brad sipped at his drink, redirecting his attention to the gym bros hanging out by the pool table.

Undeterred, the colossal creature sidled up beside him, nudging at his arm with its square muzzle. Brad gave the beast a sidelong glance. It lowered its head, stealing the lime wedge off his glass with a well-aimed flick of the tongue, looking up at him with longing.

Brad raised an eyebrow at the animal and said,

"Don't get me wrong, sweetie, I like them big and hairy-"

The stag steadied itself on an empty bar stool and began rapping its hoof on the countertop. When the bartender looked over, the beast made a gesture with its long, thick neck. Unfazed, the barkeep mixed together another mojito, sliding it down so it stopped in front of Brad.

He stared at the beverage and, dumbstruck, asked,

"Did you just buy me a drink?"

He turned to the amorous animal, adding,

"Thanks, but I don't date outside my species."

Then something happened that snapped him out of his daydream.

The stag, having seemingly lost interest in him, was now focused on the garden. Brad, registering what it likely intended to do, removed his hand from his dick, tucking everything away as best he could.

He ran over to the doorway, practically hopping into his green clogs as he ran out the front door. The cold morning air felt like a slap in the face, but he'd be damned if some forest vagrant was going to eat his crops.

Trying to sound more imposing than he felt, Brad shouted,

"Get away from there!"

The buck gave him a fleeting glance and, satisfied the shivering man was nothing but noise, went back to work. Angered by its nonchalance, Brad continued,

"I grew those from the last of gramma's heirloom seeds! That's my inheritance, you horned thief!"

The stag began lumbering towards the pumpkin patch. Brad waved his arms in the air to get its attention, hollering,

"Hey, those are for Halloween!"

The buck drew closer, bending down to take a look. Brad, his cheeks rosy with fury, bellowed,

"This is my final warning, GO!"

The buck touched its nose against the largest pumpkin. Unable to bear it any longer, Brad growled,

"Oh, you're in for it now!"

He glanced all around the garden, seeking a weapon terrifying enough to defend his would-be jack-o'-lanterns; a pitchfork, a shovel, ANYTHING that could drive the beast away...

But then he remembered he'd locked up the gardening tools in the shed yesterday. Brad began cursing under his breath, until his eyes alighted on the old rake lying near a large pile of autumn leaves.

He lunged forward, scooped up the rusty instrument, and charged forth like some mad berserker, swinging the rake in the air as if he were brandishing Excalibur against some dreadful princess-hoarding dragon.

As he sprinted across the garden, hollering at the top of his lungs to get the stag's attention, it looked up, staring directly at him.

Brad raised the rake above his head, acting as if he were going to strike the antlered interloper, when his foot landed on a particularly slippery patch of mud.

As he fell, he let go of the rake, sending it flying through the air.

For the briefest fraction of a second, Brad was completely weightless, as if gravity had forgotten his very existence.

However, much like Icarus, he found himself plummeting back towards the earth, landing with a loud PLOP.

Stunned and soil-stained, he lay flat on his back, staring up at the overcast sky. There was a sound of approaching hoof steps. Before he knew it, the stag stood above him, peering down with an inscrutable expression.

Brad gazed back, murmuring,

"Laugh all you want, but next time, I'll be sure to spray you with the garden hose."

The corner of the animal's face curled upwards into a smile. It bent down closer and said,

"I was merely checking to see if you were pruning the pumpkins properly."

Brad, shocked by what he'd just heard, sat up swiftly, attempting to gain a handhold in the slick earth, but the stag had already turned around. As it bounded away, he called out,

"Wait, when did you learn to talk?!”

It glanced back, gave him a wink, and disappeared into the forest.

Brad climbed to his feet and stood staring off into the thicket, whispering,

"Did that just happen?"

He blinked rapidly, as if doing so might somehow restore his sanity, when the shrill whistle of the kettle caught his attention.

Brad wearily headed back to the cottage, when he stepped on the tines of the discarded rake, smashing himself in the face with the wooden handle.

He let out a yelp, kicking at the tool in frustration.

As he entered the house, he paused briefly before the mirror, noting the random assortment of leaves and mud streaks covering him from head to foot. Too tired to care, he grabbed the kettle and shuffled off to the kitchen.

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The narrator’s older brother Tim recently passed away. Heartbroken, the younger sibling takes a leave from college, returning home. While at a local bar, he runs into Matt, Tim’s best friend since childhood, who’s also left college recently.

As they talk about the recession, trying to avoid the subject of Tim’s death, he notices how handsome Matt is with his athletic physique. At nineteen, the lead is a virgin who believes himself to be straight, so the sudden attraction takes him off guard.

Matt mentions he and Tim’s other friend, Joey, intend to put together a haunted house. The narrator jumps at the chance to help. After paying the tab, they head out back, reminiscing about when the main character was a very young child, constantly wanting to tag along when his brother’s friend group would make makeshift haunted houses.

Matt stops suddenly, giving him a soft look as the guy mentions how he feels like he’s initiating him into something, and gives the narrator a kiss, which he accepts gratefully.

Things quickly heat up under the glow of the streetlights:

I was about to suck off one of my brother’s best friends. I leaned forward, taking the tip of his cock into my mouth, and began to swirl my tongue around it, savoring the flavor, the texture, the sponginess of the meaty, dark purple cockhead.

He’s never sucked a dick before, but blowing one of his brother’s best friends excites him in a way women never have.

After a long, exquisitely detailed session of fellatio, Matt cums hard, whispering,

“Okay, consider yourself initiated.”

It’s at this point that Matt sheepishly admits that he, Joey, and Tim used to have sex on the regular, framing it as bros who suck and fuck.

As they part, the lead is giddy with excitement: not only will he be able to help with the haunted house, he’s going to get screwed silly.

The next day, he walks over to the prearranged meeting point. On entering the house, the narrator is greeted by the sight of Joey sitting on Matt’s lap, riding his shaft. After Matt shoots his load up his buddy’s hole, Joey disconnects, walking over to their new initiate. The spunk-filled college boy proceeds to spread lube on his hands and starts fingering the main character. He’s too tight, so Joey directs him to bend over the couch, easing his hard member up that tight hole.

Matt, meanwhile, positions himself so the new boy can swallow him whole.

After cumming in his ass, Joey hands the younger guy off to Matt so the lead can ride the same pole his big brother used to enjoy.

When everyone’s done spurting inside him, they eat lunch and get to work on the haunted house. The same routine goes on for the next few weeks. A couple of days before Halloween, the boys open the house to the neighborhood. It’s a hit with the local families. When the holiday night rush is over, Matt (dressed as a vampire) and Joey (the basement zombie) go to town on the new boy once more.

Was the sex in this book hot? Yes, most certainly. Author Ryan Kent knows how to write vivid, boner-inducing scenes, appealing to all the senses of taste, touch, smell, etc.

However, the frat boy-style dialogue kept taking me out of the story. I realize a lot of men like that kind of thing, but normally “frat”, “jock”, or “college” would be in the title/subtitle/book description, but those words weren’t present in this case. Also, I wish they’d incorporated costumes into their sexcapades earlier in the book instead of waiting until the end.

Final assessment? If you get turned on by frat boys screwing each other and are okay with the holiday serving as background window dressing, Halloween with his Brother’s Best Friends has you covered.

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I just wanted to share the latest addition to my Kindle library with everyone who’s busy looking for a seasonal read.

Bite Me, It's Halloween: A Spicy MM Omegaverse Romance by Jesse Alexander

Kyle has been careful his whole life.

Good grades. Scholarship. Suppressants. A future he can’t afford to screw up.

But Monster Ball is supposed to be different.

One ridiculous costume. One stranger kissed at midnight. One night of being reckless Kyle instead of scholarship Kyle.

Then he runs into Conner.

The Alpha whose scent has been haunting him for weeks.

The one who’s apparently been growling at anyone who gets too close to Kyle’s usual study spots.

And of course Conner is dressed as a vampire.

Kyle’s rented cat ears are supposed to be nothing more than part of his costume.

Nobody mentions they react to their wearer’s emotions.

So when Conner leans close and murmurs, “Careful, kitten,” Kyle’s traitorous ears betray exactly how much he wants him.

Which is a problem.

An unclaimed heat could cost Kyle his scholarship.

But being claimed?

Claimed is forever.

At eighteen. In October of his freshman year.

And Conner is making forever feel like a very bad good idea.

A funny, spicy standalone MM omegaverse Halloween short story. One reckless night, one catastrophically smitten Alpha, emotionally treacherous cat ears, and a guaranteed happy ending. No mpreg, no cliffhanger.

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Charoúmenos led Callistus deeper into the forest. As the last far-off embers of Dionysus's bonfire flickered out of sight, the young satyr paused, reaching up to feel the tips of his horns once more. He let out a low snuffle, turned to his friend, and wondered,

"Why does our kind have horns such as these? Surely they're too small to hold up in a fight."

Charoúmenos laughed softly, replying,

"To make us more handsome."

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Callistus rested his head against the older satyr's shoulder and asked,

"May I touch yours? I wish to compare how they feel."

Charoúmenos grinned in the darkness, chuckling,

"Are you speaking of my horns, or some other part of my body?"

The golden one affectionately pecked him on the cheek, extending a soft hand to his guardian's brow. Sure enough, Charoúmenos's horns had the same texture, even if they were a little bigger by comparison.

Callistus gazed down at his own body, running his hands along the folds of his short tunic while muttering to himself,

"It just doesn't feel right, being wrapped up in all this fabric..."

Charoúmenos gave the material a bit of a tug and remarked,

"Our kind doesn't usually wear clothing, save for a sash or a decoration during woodland festivals."

The young satyr huffed in annoyance, wondering aloud,

"Why have I never noticed how bothersome it is, to always be restricted by a loin cloth, never allowing my cock to breathe when it wants to peek out for a bit of air?"

Callistus slapped his hand across his mouth, surprised by how forward he'd become. As Helios, he'd learned to hate his own sex, despising the part of him that Krateros's friends had openly lusted after again and again.

Yet now that he was horned and hooved, a yearning to know that part of himself had awakened, burning and absolutely shameless in its intensity.

Without a second thought, he tore it all off: the fake wings, the robe, everything.

Charoúmenos, his eyes well-adjusted to the darkness, drank in the slim, shapely form standing before him. As the wild man lowered his gaze, he gasped aloud, astounded by what greeted him.

Callistus followed his line of sight, looking down at his own body. With a sidelong grin, the golden one laughed,

"It seems you've made my staff rise in salute."

Charoúmenos murmured,

"I... I had no idea yours was so large."

Callistus stepped closer, eyes shining with newfound hunger, and said,

"You may stroke me if you wish..."

Charoúmenos nodded, taking hold of that long, thick member. Callistus moaned softly at the touch, reaching down to perform the same delightful activity on Charoúmenos. As they engaged in mutual exploratory pleasure, the young satyr muttered,

"I was... never attracted to men until... ah... until I'd ceased being human."

The elder satyr cupped Callistus's balls momentarily, breathlessly responding,

"Dionysus is our Prince, but Pan... oh! Rub me here, like that... Pan is our god. All satyrs are free in their desires, be they for men or women."

Callistus leaned in, stealing a kiss, and whispered,

"This feels wonderful, but I want more. Teach me..."

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The bonfire roared to life, spurred on by Dionysus's magic. It was a strange sight to see; the god had poured some wine into his cupped palm, tossing it on a large pile of sticks, and with a wave of his staff, had changed it into liquid fire.

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At the first touch of warmth, the satyrs sleeping nearby began to awaken, stretching out their limbs and scratching their hairy bellies absent-mindedly.

The orange glow of the flames filled the glen, writhing like a shadow-splitting ephemeral serpent.

Helios, however, took little notice, so preoccupied was he by his imminent transformation.

The boy squeezed Charoúmenos's hand, his heart fluttering with nervous excitement. Helios wondered what it would be like to become a spirit of nature, no longer confined to a world he'd found so suffocating.

As they waited, Dionysus went about, singing a song of Olympus while preparing the hallowed space,

Oh, throne of gods,

Bereft of wine,

'Tis the time!

Charoúmenos glanced at the wondrous boy he'd rescued from the river, and asked,

"Are you afraid? If so, do not worry; it is a wonderful thing, to be a satyr."

Helios exhaled, whispering,

"I admit I am rather apprehensive. It must be strange, to walk about on hooves."

The satyr laughed,

"No stranger than to walk around on such soft, vulnerable feet."

The boy let out a gentle laugh as he stared into the radiant, cavorting wisps of flame.

Dionysus, satisfied with his setup, approached Helios, decorated staff held firmly at his side. The god stopped a few feet away from him, took a swig of wine, and said,

"The last time I did such a thing to mortals was when I was kidnapped by a band of pirates, but I turned those scurvy-ridden sailors into dolphins, not satyrs."

He paused for a moment, as if considering something of great importance, and added,

"Although now that I think of it, it might have been more fun to turn them into satyrs."

Dionysus smiled and stepped back, raising his magical staff into the air, then spun the ivy-covered thyrsus in circles, building a brilliant halo of light.

A dozen long, twirling vines sprouted from the earth, wrapping around Helios's feet as they climbed up his slender legs. The boy trembled at first, until the plants began shimmering the color of gold, gently melding into his prone flesh. A series of warm sensations flowed through him, erasing any sense of tension or fear.

For one magnificent moment, the whole of Helios's body was engulfed in a shimmering glow.

Within that iridescent cocoon, his body began to transform. What had once been human legs reformed: ankles narrowed and toes fused together into cloven hooves, while honey-colored fur sprouted across bare, silken skin.

Helios marveled at the changes, able to see them happen, but spared the pain such contortions of form should have produced. However, he let out a yelp of surprise when he felt an unfamiliar stretching across the lower half of his backside.

The boy glanced behind himself, astounded by the sight of a new tail!

With a final, prickling sensation, a small pair of horns grew out of the sides of his forehead, crowned by his curly blond locks. Helios reached up, curiously exploring their shape with his fingertips.

The light dissipated, leaving him standing unsteadily on a new pair set of legs. He took a few tenative steps, nearly falling over in the process. Charoúmenos rushed over, catching him with an understated strength, and held his beautiful one up to help maintain balance.

Helios gazed at him, returning the warmth radiating from his guardian's eyes.

For a brief moment, both were silent, focused only on each other. Deep within, the new satyr no longer felt the shame that had clung to him for so many years. In it's place was an openess, a willingness to live however he was truly meant to be.

The youth leaned in, pressing his lips against those of the one he had come to adore.

Charoúmenos, delightfully surprised, drew him closer, enjoying the sweetness of that precious kiss.

As they parted, the older satyr murmured,

"You've become even lovelier, dear Helios."

The boy smiled happily and asked,

"Who is Helios?"

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Dionysus hiccupped, grinning happily as he tried, unsuccessfully, to readjust the crooked ivy wreath hanging askew across his tangle of brunette curls.

With an exaggerated wave of the arms, he took another wobbling step into the courtyard, looked behind him, and shouted,

"See, ladies, I told you we'd find a proper place to celebrate!"

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A group of rather tipsy women with their tunics loosened and hair tousled, wandered in, each scanning the men in attendance with the eye of a mare let loose in a pasture full of stallions. The largest of the lot, a ruddy-faced Philhedonos, pointed at whoever caught her eye and heartily exclaimed,

"Oh sisters, the god of wine has led us to a most DELICIOUS feast!"

A wispy blond nodded, replying,

"Indeed, my appetites are whet by the sight of such comely male forms."

A third woman darted in, swiveling her gaze toward Konstantinos and cried out,

"Look at that fine ox! I'd love to see what kind of spear he's hiding under HIS cloak!"

The various attendees, having been intent on a night of male-only debauchery, began to realize the event had veered far off course. Hippias in particular grew ashen at the sight of the women, loudly groaning,

"It is the Maenads, the mad followers of Dionysus, here to tear us all to pieces!"

The god gave him a bewildered look and said,

"No, they are not Maenads, these are only a party of women I happened upon. One of their friends..."

He turned back to the group and asked,

"Is Agoraia the one getting married, or is it Cythereia?"

The aforementioned Agoraia, shook her head and replied,

"Ah no, it's Glykera!"

She pointed at the shortest woman, a character sporting an extraordinarily large pair of red-rimmed eyes, and continued,

"When we all hit twenty-five years of age without a husband, we promised each other none of us would wed, but then Glykera caught the eye of a baker, so now we drink to celebrate her last day of living before attending her funeral feast in the morning."

Glykera stuck out her tongue and made a rude gesture, causing the entire troupe to burst with wild laughter.

In the midst of the tawdry display, a few of the guests started sneaking out the back, having found their fraternal appetites spoiled by the intrusion.

Dionysus, meanwhile, scanned the gathering, trying to remember why he was there in the first place, when he spotted Charoúmenos standing next to a golden-haired youth with feathery white wings.

The wine god wobbled towards them, joyfully crying out,

"Eros, my brother! What brings you here?!"

Before Helios could answer, Dionysus had already wrapped him up in a warm hug. Charoúmenos, seeing the boy's confused expression, tugged at his lord's robe and said,

"My prince, that is not the god of love, even if he has captured my heart."

Dionysus drew back, blinking a few times before letting Helios go, and muttered,

"Ah, right. Should have known that by the shoulder straps."

The god gazed at the satyr, smiled, and asked,

"How is it you've arrived in the house of a mortal, Charoúmenos?"

The wild man stared down at the crumpled heap that was Krateros, who lay groaning on the floor.

The merchant had paid the lion's share of men to abuse him over the years, but this latest attack had surely left at least one of his ribs broken.

Despite the pain, or perhaps because of it, Krateros sported the hardest erection of his life. However, upon hearing the voice of his god, he attempted to prop himself up, staring up at the wreathed royalty before him, and whimpered,

"It is you, deity of wine. I knew you would come if I..."

But the strain was too much for him to bear. Grateful to have witnessed such divinity, if only for a moment, Krateros crumpled back as he'd been, wincing and delirious.

Dionysus scratched his head, glancing over at Charoúmenos curiously. The satyr, finally able to air his grievances, began catching the Prince up on everything that had happened, starting with the moment he'd saved Helios from the river.

While Charoúmenos recounted his story, the women spread throughout the courtyard, taking over the event.

Near the rear wall, Cythereia snatched a garland straight off Antonis's head, draping it across her unkempt locks as if she'd just crowned herself queen of a conquered nation. She leaned in, giving the startled man a firm squeeze of the shoulders, and squealed,

"You must be Apollo in disguise! Come on, handsome, let's see what your big, strong hands can do!"

Aggravated beyond compare, Antonis sneered,

"Sweetheart, Aphrodite herself could rise naked from the sea and I still wouldn't be interested."

Meanwhile, Agoraia was busy stumbling as fast as her legs would carry her after a privileged man of Athens, calling out,

"Do not scamper off, hunky hōraios, there's plenty of me to love!"

Her prey, seeing no other way out, leapt into a nearby dung pile, rolling around in the filth in an effort to deter her lustful endeavors.

As this unfolded, Dionysus continued listening to Charoúmenos's account, visibly trying to concentrate on the satyr's detailed description of his imprisonment in the barn. Suddenly, the god's eyes widened, his entire countenance that of one who'd just received some grand revelation. With an impressive burst of joviality, he exclaimed,

"Wait, I remember now!"

Charoúmenos and Helios stared at him, wondering what he could possibly be talking about. Dionysus pointed at the satyr and cried out,

"I've been trying to find you!"

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A veil of stars fell across the sky. Krateros's guests, a revelry of male nobles and merchants from the neighboring villages, were making themselves comfortable on the low couches placed throughout the torchlit courtyard. In one corner of the gardens, longtime Philotes Konstantinos and Antonis, overcome by the effects of wine, engaged in a playful bout of sodomy. Antonis cried out gleefully with every stroke of Konstantinos's enormous cock, causing the other partygoers to begin cheering, with one shouting,

"Antonis, don't wear him out! I was so looking forward to getting a ride from Konstantinos's rod!"

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Everyone burst out laughing, enjoying their lustful sense of camaraderie.

Helios, however, wasn't having any fun. As he went about pouring drinks, the guests kept making the rudest remarks to him, causing the youth to blush so deeply he could feel his cheeks burn. One of the men, the aristocrat Hippias, reached out, giving the young man a firm pinch on the bottom. Krateros, who'd been wandering among the throng sharing jokes, saw such impropriety take place. He frowned, catching Hippias's inebriated gaze, and in a cold, commanding voice, stated,

"Hippias, one does not grab the ass of Eros."

The noble giggled, drunkenly replying,

"Aye, he'll strike me with an arrow and make me fall in love with my wife!"

The other guests bellowed raucously. Unable to strike back at the old lecher, Helios gritted his teeth behind his smile.

Now, more than ever, he wished he could be back in that warm, mossy glen, comforted in the safety of Charoúmenos's arms.

***

At that moment, the satyr was being led toward the garden by Amyntas, who pulled him along on a thick, knotted leash. Charoúmenos couldn't stand being constrained, but was grateful to finally leave the cramped barn.

As they neared their destination, his sensitive nose picked up a strong mixture of smells wafting on the air: smoke, the musky scent of a dozen randy males, and the unmistakable aroma of freshly poured wine. Despite his troubles, Charoúmenos smiled and thought,

Reminds me of the bonfire parties Prince Dionysus holds in the woods.

The warm memories became a sting of sadness in his breast as he wondered,

Will I ever be able to attend such a gathering again, or will I be trapped in this place forever?

How he longed to return to the forest. Moreover, he wished he could find Helios and carry that beautiful boy away from this strange prison.

Soon, he was brought before the heavy wooden doors of the courtyard. As they entered, the wild man was stunned by the scene that greeted him, not because of the crowd within, or even the size of the enclosure.

In all his years, he'd never seen nature so severely tamed. All around him were trees that had been trimmed until they no longer resembled their natural counterparts, while the shrubs and rose bushes were corralled into perfectly measured plots of soil, each held back from reaching out to their neighbors.

The satyr then looked out upon the gathering, wondering why so many human men were in one place, until he noticed a few of the attendees had their faces buried in each other's laps. His own member twitched at the memory of such pleasures, and for a moment, his beastly inclinations nearly overwhelmed him, until he spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

Several paces ahead stood Helios, tipping the spout of an enormous wine jug into the waiting cup of an older, olive-skinned man.

When the youth saw the familiar outline of horns and hooves, he turned, his heart becoming instantly lighter at the sight of his friend.

Pure joy filled Charoúmenos's heart as their eyes locked.

Helios, as radiant as his namesake, gave his first genuine smile of the night.

Krateros, catching sight of Amyntas with his prize, gasped aloud. At first, he sat frozen in place, drinking in the sight of the satyr’s stout, masculine form, those strong goat legs, and the creature's well-formed, half-erect phallus.

He got up from his reclining couch, heading straight for the collared beast man and took his place before his prisoner. Charoúmenos failed to notice at first, so focused was he on the winged cupbearer, until Krateros placed himself in his way, declaring,

"Welcome to my grand estate! I am Krateros, of the-

Noting the way the forest dweller stared at him warily, he turned to Amyntas and said,

"The satyr is our guest. Remove him from his constraints."

Amyntas nearly gave his lord an incredulous look, but thought better of it, instead releasing the wild man from the leather leash. Upon realizing he'd been freed, Charoúmenos immediately leapt away, running full speed towards his own personal Eros. Helios, eyes wide, exclaimed,

"Dear satyr, I am-"

Before the boy had a chance to finish, his guardian had already embraced him, giving him a tight squeeze that caused Helios to gasp in surprise.

Krateros watched the scene with amusement, wondering,

What did those two get up to in the woods?

He grinned wickedly as he imagined a dozen different scenarios, each of a more libertine nature than the last.

The merchant strode up to the pair, coughing loudly to get their attention. Helios swiveled his head, gazing at Krateros fearfully, but the satyr ignored the intrusion, focusing only on the warmth such closeness wrought within his primal heart.

The boy bent in, whispering,

"Behind you stands my Master. Please acknowledge him, or he will be cross with me."

Charoúmenos, anger flaring in his belly, turned to face the purple-clad noble and growled,

"This is the man you told me of, the one who believes he owns you?"

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Trailer Park Daddy Copyright © 2022 Avery Mist

Bryan is a 21-year-old man living in a trailer park with his older brother, Nicolas. Times have been tough since their mother passed away, and Dad isn’t even in the picture. Despite his many hours laboring at the laundromat, Bryan figures he’ll never achieve his dream of owning a food truck. On top of all that, he’s starting to suspect he may be attracted to men, especially when his new neighbor, a burly, handsome older fellow, waves hello.

The park’s latest resident is named Donald, who’s secretly wealthy but was recently left at the altar by his fiancé, Thomas, who had the gall to go off with an even richer man. Brokenhearted and tired of gold diggers, he sold his home and moved to the trailer park in hopes of living a simpler life.

And yet, there’s an attractive young man next door who’s caught his lonely eye. In fact, thinking of his neighbor turns Donald on so much he needs to go for a run to deal with his pent-up sexual energy, but who just so happens to be lying on the grass near the trail, fantasizing about him, but Bryan...

The two finally talk for the first time, but Bryan isn’t ready to process his urges, so when Donald invites him over to watch a movie, the boy initially declines, but after recognizing the attractions are too strong, Bryan finally knocks on the older man’s door, and they sit down to watch a movie.

Donald mentions he’s gay, asking what kind of friendship Bryan would like to have with him. When the young man gives a non-committal answer, Donald puts a hand on Bryan’s leg, engaging in a bit of exploratory dirty talk. The boy’s into it, but makes it clear he’ll only have sex if it’s kept a secret.

Donald agrees to the terms, and they have their first kiss. The older man then reaches down, grabbing Bryan’s eager cock. Unable to stand it, the youth goes for his neighbor’s large member, finally swallowing his first dick. Wanting to make things more interesting, the older man produces a Fleshlight and some lube, handing them off to the novice fellatrian to try on himself.

The following pages describe the blowjob from both men’s perspectives in all its first-time glory, ending with some couch cuddle time before Bryan returns home but doesn’t reach out for several days. Heartbroken, Donald decides to go for a jog and ends up bumping into Bryan at his laundromat job, who can’t talk because he’s working. Donny, unsure of what else to do, swallows his sorrow and leaves.

Another week passes, but Bryan can’t stand it anymore. He rushes to Donald’s trailer, and they start making love as soon as the door shuts. What began all those weeks ago as a midday hookup has grown into something more.

They start sneaking off to see each other more and more until Donald decides to take Bryan on a trip to the city. They arrive at a fancy hotel and start making out in the halls, as a hallway full of strangers is the place Bryan finally feels free enough to be himself.

After they return home, Nicolas wants to know why his little brother keeps hanging out at the trailer of a man that everyone in the park knows is gay. Bryan becomes upset and rushes off, not even realizing that his brother doesn’t care if he’s into men.

The distraught young man runs to Donald, who convinces him it’s time to come out to his brother. The scene goes very well, as Nicolas loves his brother enough to hear them out, and after taking the time to get to know Donald, he gives the relationship his blessing.

After an especially romantic gay sex scene, the story skips ahead a year. Our couple are now living happily in a house by the lake while Bryan attends school. Five more years pass. Nicolas and his girl have two children, and Bryan now runs his own food truck business, joyfully entwined with Donald in a state of domestic bliss.

And they lived happily ever after.

On the erotica side of things, there are several explicit sex scenes, with a little more romantic emotion present than in the majority of books I cover on this channel, but there’s still cum and quivering cocks aplenty. Mostly it’s blowjob scenes, primarily due to Bryan’s back end needing greater and greater amounts of stretching before Donald can finally fit his large cock inside (an event which, of course, is reserved for the story’s climax).

I was initially disappointed when I found out Donald was a secret millionaire, as I’d picked up this book because I wanted to read a story about two people who find true passion (or even love) in spite of lacking material wealth. After all, it’s not money that makes a good daddy, its confidence, patience, and the ability to make a younger lover feel safe.

At the same time, the romance is wholesome, and I did enjoy following the characters in their journey, so if the idea of a rich man living in the trailer park and mending his broken heart through falling in love with a much younger partner sounds appealing, give this one a read.

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The Bubble Butt Barista Copyright © 2025 Dominick Cummings

Toby, a struggling author, is sitting in front of his laptop at his favorite L.A. coffee shop, trying to break through his latest bout of writer’s block. He’s got a crush on a barista named Juan, who, in addition to being a particularly sexy Latin man, has the cutest bubble butt. The writer often fantasizes about Juan’s rounded bottom, wishing he could bend the barista over the display case to apply a huge dollop of his own cream, but he figures such a hot coffee wrangler would never go for a literary type...

But then, one night, as Juan is closing down the shop, he approaches Toby and starts a conversation. Lo and behold, it turns out the hunk is an English lit major with a thing for authors!

The only other customer gets up to leave, leaving the pair alone. Juan reveals he’s caught Toby staring at his perfect ass, and has also had an eye on him for a while. Now that the ice has been more thoroughly broken than those found in a blended frappé, the sizzling latte stirrer takes out his uncut cock, prompting the novelist to take it in his mouth. Toby enthusiastically begins sucking on that salty member as if it were a large chocolate-dipped pretzel stick.

They switch and Juan starts swallowing Toby’s seven-inch sword. The barista pulls out a condom, wrapping his partner’s willing willy. Unfortunately, there isn’t any condom-safe lubricant on hand, but Juan’s fine with a dry hump, so after a bit of exploratory finger fun, Toby finally gets to enact his fantasy of topping him over the pastry display case.

Afterward, Juan asks if Toby wants to come over to his apartment for round two, with the final page heavily implying the men start dating after their frisky café tryst.

Based on how the short is written, I’d like to imagine this is literally the author writing about a particular barista he regularly fantasizes about, and that someday the real-life version of Juan is going to come across this ebook and try to figure out which of his regulars wants to mount him after hours.

At $0.99 cents, The Bubble Butt Barista is reasonably priced and would likely appeal to those who enjoy the beauty of Latin men, or who harbor their own barista fantasy.

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Krateros lounged in the courtyard, discussing his financial affairs with his steward, Aristocles. The merchant was fast approaching his fiftieth year. On this day, he’d dressed in white linens, with a fabulous purple cloak draped over his shoulder. Krateros drank from his cup and, seeing it was empty, handed it to a nearby servant, thinking all the while,

How I wish my personal Ganymede was pouring into my cup, not this dull diakonos.

He smiled to himself, musing,

Ah, I could have bought twenty such as he, but I truly am a man of the people. It was I who chose to employ all these free men when they came home from the war. My rivals, they filled their estates with slaves, while I, in my efforts to help my fellow citizens, purchased only one slave for myself: Helios, that lovely, golden-haired Oinochoos.

Aristocles’s eyes wandered over the parchment before him, stating,

“Your vineyards had an especially healthy grape harvest this year.”

Krateros smiled wryly, raised his glass to toast the statue of Dionysus at the center of the garden, and cheered,

“The god of wine has showered me with his blessings!”

He took another sip, then asked,

“How fare my ships? Has the cargo arrived on time?”

Aristocles double-checked the scroll, answering,

“There are four that have already reached the port of Athens, but the final vessel is behind schedule.”

Krateros, brows knit, remarked,

“I can only hope Poseidon hasn’t seen fit to sink her.”

He sat deep in thought, absent-mindedly stroking the styled ringlets of his beard. After a few moments of silence, he decreed,

“Go! Send an envoy to the nearest temple of Poseidon. Have them present a barrel of my finest wine as an offering.”

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Aristocles nodded and rolled up the scroll, taking his leave.

As his steward hurried away, Krateros rose from his recliner. He wandered over to the statue of his chosen deity, placed a hand on the marble figure’s shoulder, and whispered,

“My lord, I pray we shall one day meet in the flesh, so I may taste of thy divinity.”

He thought back to his visit with the local oracle a few months past. During the ceremony, the seer had proclaimed that, if a satyr was present during one of Krateros’s grand galas, Dionysus would be sure to join the festivities.

Sadly, none of the hunters he’d sent into the woods had returned with one of the goat-legged sprites.

Undaunted, Krateros instead hired the most imposing men he could find in the local bathhouses, paying them to dress in fur and horns, then ravish him in front of a banquet of his closest male associates.

He stiffened as he recalled being mounted by the faux satyrs, of how his insides had been stretched to their limit with every thrust of those men’s thick, hot scepters...

Yet, in spite of his (admittedly delightful) attempt, Dionysus failed to make an appearance.

The sound of fast-approaching footsteps intruded on the peaceful silence of the courtyard. Krateros turned, only to see Amyntas running towards him. At ten paces, the guard fell to one knee and began panting,

“Despotes, my partner and I have retrieved the slave Helios!”

The lord of manor gave a sigh of relief and asked,

“Is he unharmed?”

The soldier answered,

“Yes. It seems he was cared for by a satyr who found him in the woods.”

Krateros, surprised, spat out his wine, showering Amyntas in purple mist. The merchant, unable to believe his ears, stuttered,

“A... a satyr? Did you manage to capture him?”

Amyntas nodded, replying,

“Indeed. The creature was difficult to ensnare, but we managed to bring him in. Right now we have him locked in the barn. My partner is guarding the door.”

Krateros smiled broadly, absolutely beaming with visible joy, and said,

“I will send an attendant to verify your claim so you may receive your reward. I’d go check myself, but seeing the beast at this point might spoil my plans.”

He murmured to himself,

“But first...”

Krateros glanced at a nearby servant, calling out,

“Ozias, tell the kitchen staff to prepare a great feast for tonight. Let them know they are to bake the finest wheat loaves and delectable dishes of eel or mullet, depending on what they can find at the market. Most importantly, line the table with the best stews and spreads!”

Ozias bowed slightly, then ran off. Krateros considered what he would relay to his messengers about the invitations, but then remembered the matter of his slave,

Helios must look quite shabby after serving his role as bait. It won’t look good for me to have such a lovely prize wandering around the estate in such a disheveled state.

He turned back to Ozias, shouting,

“One more thing! See that Helios is bathed. Every curl upon his lovely head should be perfectly coiled. I want his skin properly perfumed with the finest oils. Also, he must be dressed as Eros, for tonight he will be pouring wine for a god!

The servant waved in affirmation, then disappeared into the manor.

Krateros turned to Amyntas and said,

“In the meantime, join your partner in guarding the barn. We can’t have that satyr escaping anytime soon.”

Amyntas rose in response, swiftly walking towards the garden’s back exit.

Now alone, Krateros contemplated the marble statue once more, sidling up to it and crooning softly,

“Tonight, Dionysus, I will kneel before thee.”

He ran his hand down the sculpture’s bare abdomen, resting it on the vine lord’s groin, sighing dreamily.

***

Helios lay soaking in the bathing room’s marble tub while the servants puttered nearby, showering him with handfuls of fresh rose petals and repeatedly pouring jugs of heated water into the basin.

A few drops of precious lirinum oil had been added to the water beforehand, filling the entire space with the fragrant scent of white lilies.

Despite the comfort of his present surroundings, Helios found himself thinking of Charoúmenos,

Our time in the forest together may not have been so luxurious, but I felt unbound within your presence. Dear satyr, you truly were my guardian in the wilderness.

When the time came, he got out of the tub reluctantly. Even though the staff had bathed and dressed him multiple times by now, he still felt shy whenever they saw his naked body.

The men dried him thoroughly, rubbing sandalwood perfume into his fair, slender flesh, and began styling his hair, winding every blond curl around a heated bronze instrument while kneading in a mixture of beeswax, leaving him adorned with the perfect set of golden ringlets.

Helios was dressed in his usual gown of white linen, an outfit hemmed at the bottom so it hung one inch below the tip of his crown of glory. As they strapped on the white wings of his Eros costume, he wondered,

Sweet Charoúmenos, will I ever see you again?

***

Krateros paced along the corridors, passing several members of his staff who rushed by, busily hefting several banquet loungers towards the courtyard. Normally, he would have strode alongside them, checking to make sure everything was in order, but his excitement was too overwhelming.

As far as he knew, none of his friends had gone so far as to capture a satyr.

Oh, what it would be, to encounter a horned, randy demi-human, teeming with the most lascivious, untamed instincts; to witness those dark, animalistic eyes hunting me..

Krateros’s heart beat faster as he imagined what might happen at the whim of the wild man.

All I have to do is wait until Nyx, goddess of night, once more blankets the world in darkness.

He glanced out the nearby window, noting how bright the rays of the sun shone through. It would surely be several hours before he could...

Krateros ceased his pacing. Impatient and aroused beyond compare, he muttered,

“How can a man possibly be expected to put off such an unbearable need?”

His sharp gaze rested on one of the household guards, a broad-shouldered man of thirty. Krateros considered him, noting the stern, battle-hardened face that peered out from behind the bronze helmet.

The merchant licked his lips hungrily, murmuring,

“Mm, you’ll do.”

He swiftly walked up to the guard, stopping a few feet before him. The large man gave him a puzzled look and asked,

“Is something the matter, sir?”

Krateros grinned as he replied,

“We’ve never been properly introduced. What is your name, soldier?

The guard gave a curt nod and answered,

“Nektarios, sir.”

“Ah, your name translates to sweet nectar. How appropriate for one of such a flattering physique.”

Krateros gave Nektarios an inviting look, but when the man only stared back at him blankly, he decided to change tactics and continued,

“How long has it been since you started working for me?”

Nektarios paused, counting on his fingers, and said,

“I believe it’s been well over three years.”

Krateros grinned wider as he leaned in and whispered,

“I take it you are aware of my more sensual predilections?”

Nektarios nodded, answering,

“Your appetites are well-known throughout the whole of the countryside.”

It was then the soldier realized where the conversation was going. Nektarios stared at Krateros and mumbled,

“Sir, if you mean to ask if I am interested in... engaging with you in activities beyond my duties, I’m afraid I must decline, as I have only ever felt such affections towards women.”

The merchant raised an eyebrow at him and said,

“I see. Well, in my experience, every man has his price. Would you be willing to attend to me in private for... shall we say, ten drachmas?”

The guard frowned, considered the offer, and replied,

“For two weeks wages? That is quite generous, but I’m afraid I must decline.”

Krateros met his gaze and, in a steady, dispassionate voice, responded,

“Not generous enough, then. Would you reconsider if I were to raise the amount to thirty drachmas?”

Something flickered behind Nektarios’s eyes. Recognizing what was likely going through the man’s mind, Krateros added,

“It’s my final offer, a far more generous fee than any awarded those working boys who hang around the docks. Why, I’d be paying you the rate of an esteemed Hetairos, only asking for a single session in return, after which we would go on our ways as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.”

Nektarios, brows knit, exhaled sharply and muttered,

“I... might be persuaded by such a sum, depending on what the job entailed.”

Krateros bent in and began whispering in the guard’s ear.

Initially, Nektarios’s expression remained as still as stone. He gave a slight nod at what he heard, murmuring,

“Alright... yes...”

But then his employer began elaborating a scenario which caused the soldier’s eyes to widen. When Krateros stood back, awaiting a response, Nektarios answered,

“I’d be willing to... assist you in that way, but are you sure that’s what you want?”

His lord clasped his hands together, responding gleefully,

“Oh, absolutely!”

The merchant turned, striding down the hallway with Nektarios following behind. The other servants were so focused on preparations that they paid the men no mind.

Soon, the pair were standing in front of the large doors of the master bedroom. Krateros pushed them open, gesturing for Nektarios to enter.

The soldier, astounded by such a lavish chamber, marveled at its intricately designed mosaic floors and small chiseled statues of beautiful male figures. What really caught his eye, however, were the painted vases set on the shelves running along the walls. Nektarios leaned in for a better look and noticed,

Each of them features a satyr with an enormous cock...

Krateros closed the doors, slipping the bolt into place to ensure they’d be uninterrupted. He turned to face Nektarios and chuckled,

“Time to earn your bonus, soldier.”

The burly man cracked his knuckles and said,

“As you wish.”

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Upon arriving at the estate, the guards dragged Charoúmenos to the barn, tossing him into the goat pen. Amyntas spat on the earthen floor, sneering,

"Make yourself at home, beast."

Satisfied his prize was secured, the enforcer turned his attentions to Helios, grabbing the young man by the arm and dragging him off. As they went, they slammed the gate shut behind them, securing the lock.

The satyr struggled up onto his hooves, leaping toward them, only to crash against the barrier. In a moment of desperation, he shouted,

"Helios!"

But was only greeted by the thunderous sound of the heavy barn door being closed on him.

He stared at the entrance for several moments, unsure of what to do. In all his life, he’d never known a single moment of captivity, nor stood inside a man-made structure.

The cloying smell of animal dung was unlike the open, fragrant air of the forest, while the very concept of walls confounded his senses.

Overwhelmed by the unfamiliar environment, he sat down, deciding to instead focus on trying to untangle the ropes binding his wrists.

He squirmed every which way, but only ended up tripping over himself, falling into a pile of straw.

Charoúmenos sighed,

"Oh, this whole thing confounds me so."

A bleating from behind him responded,

"Baa?"

He turned and found himself looking at a small brown she-goat with dark eyes and large, floppy ears. She trotted over to him, gazing down at him curiously, and added,

"Baaa."

The satyr smiled in spite of himself, answering,

"Well, hello there, young maiden."

She bent down to give him a slight nudge, then began prancing around him in circles. Charoúmenos chuckled,

"Why, I must be the first satyr you've ever seen."

The doe gave him a final exploratory sniff before bounding away to the other side of the enclosure.

As he watched the little goat at play, he said,

"I wish I could be so jovial."

What trace of joy she’d summoned in him vanished, leaving him incapable of focusing on anything, save for...

Helios.

The satyr began to weep. He'd had many lovers since Chiron, but now, trapped in this cage, all he could think of was the fair, golden-haired beauty, and the wall fate had set up between them.

The doe wandered back over, turning her head to get a better look at her new neighbor. Charoúmenos sobbed,

"Oh, little she-goat, I've only just fallen in love, and already my heart is breaking!"

She drew closer to him and, perhaps out of sympathy, began to lick away the tears running down his cheeks. The satyr ceased his weeping, a firm resolve welling up in his breast:

Somehow, he would rescue Helios, scooping him onto his back, and run away from here, so far into the forest that Krateros could never find them. He imagined the youth beside him as they gathered berries, fished in the streams, and fell asleep every night under the starry sky.

Charoúmenos rolled back to a sitting position, bowed his head, and whispered,

"Prince Dionysus, if you can hear me, please, come to my aid so I may rescue my friend."

When no answer came, he exhaled sadly, murmuring,

"He must be busy elsewhere."

The goat settled down in the soft straw beside him. Charoúmenos glanced over at her, let out a gentle laugh, and said,

"At least I shall be in good company during my stay."

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