Revelry and Madness
- - - The Myriad Realms of Revelry - - -
The sphere of hedonistic revelry, debauchery, wild orgies, and passionate indulgences of darker natures. A congeries of one hundred thousand pocket and sub-realms of Oblivion, created and ruled over by the Daedric Prince of Lust and Perversity, Lord of Indulgence and Revelry, Sanguine.
I remember when I first came here. How long ago was it?
It had been the 16th of Sun's Dawn. Heart's day. We were still young back then, at least in mind, and foolish to play at such an attempt. At least so they told us moments before the summons actually worked. They ran, we stayed. Who were the fools now?
I remember being afraid, moreso once they appeared—The Ogrims.
Fat-faced Ogers. Wart-skinned Brutes. We had read about them, His bouncers.
But from the light, came also the Mazken—'Demons' we called them back then—beautiful females with inviting gazes and sand-silk skin of soft purple. They took us in their bosoms and whispered praise and gratulations. They brushed our hair with their fingers and kissed us with love and lust They did so until we were no longer afraid.
Why would we have refused when they invited us in? Why would we ever had said no?
The Ogrims—the bouncers—barked and growled as we approached. They had startled us. ¨Why are you here?¨ they asked with rough blubbering voices, ¨Why did you open our portal?¨
We had only looked at one another, we did not understand.
¨Why should you enter?! What is the reason for your visit? What offerings do you have to amuse our lord? What is your role?¨ they continued.
¨I– I play the lute, I'm a bard you see!¨ My friend had stuttered.
¨Entertainment… Sign here…¨ they had muttered, and he was taken through the portal by his lustful companion. ¨Next.¨
¨I… I dance?¨ my other friend had spoken, ¨I'm a performer.¨
¨Entertainment… Sign here…¨ they repeated and he, too, was given entry. I remember he had smiled. ¨Next.¨
¨Knight of the Flame, swordsman,¨ he answered with steady haste.
He always spoke with such confidence. A proud linage he had. He may have been born into knighthood, but I knew my friend for the coward he was—even though he hid it well.
¨Entertainment… Sign here… Next.¨
I was in shock as they looked upon me lastly, I was afraid once again. Even then I knew I was spoiled. I didn't care of it, I loved drinking good wine, eating good meat, and laughing at the entertainment of my friends. A lord's son and king to be. I had inheritance over the horizon of time, a marriage set to be. I had neither need nor will for any skill, and as such, I was well aware that I had nothing to contribute. I had no 'role' of entertainment. I was afraid of what would become of me had I attempted such, which is why I had answered only:
¨I'm… a guest?¨
¨Participant…¨ they had muttered and scribbled, ¨Sign here.¨
Yes, in all my time here and before I've been on many feasts and many more, yet the one that sits etched in my memory is unquestioningly the first time I came here.
I remember the long table that seated a hundred men and a hundred more, filled to the brim with food and drink. I remember the golden chandeliers with everlasting wax and warmth. The feast fire, where creatures always roasted meat. I remember the music, the cheers, the songs, the overwhelming luxuries and smells of incense that floated in the air. Overflowing mead cups striking cups, and expensive glasses spilling wine.
I remember how they welcomed me warmly, how they sat me down by the long and broad polished oak table and served me food and wine. I was still in shock as my table neighbor laughed my welcome and broke me bread as he lifted his glass in toast, ¨Welcome to the feast of a lifetime!¨ he had saluted with the head of a whore bobbing between his legs. Not soon after, I found one jerking open the belt buckle between my own.
And more than anything, I remember the first time I had set my eyes upon Him, and I had been taken by awe as his booming voice had greeted me in person from the honor seat. A wast and red-skinned boulder-shaped creature, a horned reveler with a superbly delighted face on a soft plump-shaped head.
He was as round as he was tall and sat on a chair that could seat a dozen men, scamps and imps flocked and flew around him as they served plates and talons of mead and wine upon his magnificent belly that rested and welled over the table, and atop his every finger sat big-bosomed whores, mounted to feed him. His belly wobbled at his booming laughter and his plates and glasses fell and spilled off of his bulging stomach, and the scamps and imps rushed to clean and replace them.
I had shared tables with kings in my time, but never anything even remotely near the pampered, gluttonous beast whose table I now shared.
I remember it clearly because, and only because, He had been there.
The stout Lord of whom we had read in our scriptures. The one whose day of summons was today—the 16th of Sun's Dawn. Heart Day. I knew who he was;
Sanguine, Deadric Prince of revelry. God of Fat.
The whore between my legs pulled me briskly from my awestruck state as I released my seed in her throat. I gasped for the freshest air I had ever inhaled. The table laughed, cheered, and celebrated. The whore did not stop.
¨Eat, eeeeat!¨ the Glutton God declared and wriggled his wet, whore-mounted, fingers as silver plates dropped off his bellowing belly and clanked to the floor—the chirping of scamps set to work.
A cheer of unison filled the hall and I had lifted my glass in participation. That day, I tasted the finest wine to ever touch my lips.
Bare breasts pressed and warmed against our necks as the she-demons embraced us and whispered sweet offerings of servitude—our own personal slaves for the evening.
¨More wine!¨ I had said.
And I had it.
¨More food!¨ I had said.
And I had it.
¨Another wench between my legs!¨ I had said.
And I had it!
¨Music!¨
¨Did someone say music?!¨ The God-voice boomed over the crowd, ¨Yes! Bring in the music! Bring in the entertainment!¨ he bolstered and shook the whores off of his fingers as he clapped his sausage-fingered hands together with a clap that shook the room and blew out candles—Imps waited not to flow in and re-lit them—and a stage as large as a plaza appeared before us, and red and gold ribboned curtains opened to reveal the orchestra. A gentleman Conductor stood proud and promised us the performance of a lifetime: ¨The Dying Orchestra!¨ He bowed with elegance and presented his musicians and bards.
I had laughed when I first saw my friend on the stage—what an idiot, I had thought, that he'd declare himself a bard when he could have been seated with me.
The Conductor began, and the hall filled with utmost perfection of a symphony deliverance, and we feasted as we listened with trance.
I ate the finest of food and I drank the finest of wine as the finest of whores polished my manhood with their tongues, and all the while I listened as my friend perform the finest of harmonizes.
What an idiot indeed!
The music grew louder, intenser, faster. The Conductor waved his baton with the rhythm and intensity of the tail of a euphoric dog.
Their drums struck thundering. Their strings strung blustering. Their faces frowned flustering;
The climax of the piece approaching.
It rose, rose, rose, and rose, and yet it never dampened.
It never seemed to reach it.
My friend saw me from the stage as we cheered them on. He had screamed over the crowd:
¨Help! It hurts! I can't stop! Help me! My fingers won't stop!¨ he had begged and pleaded.
I had laughed and toasted him from the audience as I watched his bleeding fingers play the lute. Crimson drips fell to the floor. I had eaten on, reveled, as I watched the strings scrape onto his bones, fleshless fingers form accords. I had watched him weep and grimace in pain as I listened to the finest orchestra I had ever heard or witnessed. I watched his eyes close and head drop as he played on, wondering whether or not he was still conscious.
What an idiot indeed, and he wasn't the only one;
The other had blood dripping down their strings as well, harpists had lost all their nails and flayed their fingers. The drums played their blows with bruised and broken hands, pianists struck keys with bent-broken fingers. The Brass played their trumpets with burning air as the horns played their tunes with the last exhale of their lungs—they were the first to drop.
Their bodies could no longer keep up.
Yet the music continued. Yet the music only grew. Yet it only continued as they, one by one, fell onto the stage in dying exhaustion.
It was not until the sweat-dripping conductor waved his frantic baton in rhythm to an empty stage that he gave the final sign of silence and turned to face his audience with abrupt pride and poise—¨My final piece! My Magnum Opus! 'The Dying Orchestra!'¨—that he, too, dropped to the floor as the crowds roaring cheers rose to the ceiling and we gave thunderous applause.
¨Bravo! Brilliant! Braavo!¨ The Fat-God praised and applauded as the curtains dropped.
A shame it had ended, I could have listened to their music forever.
I never saw my friend after that…
And I hadn't cared in the slightest.
But the day-long feast had only just begun. We laughed, drank, ate, shared stories, spilled wine onto fondled breasts, and got our cocks sucked beneath the table as the curtain opened once more.
The Orchestra was gone and the stage washed clean as in its place stood nothing but a decorated throne. Briefly. Elven ballerinas entered the stage en mass, dancing tip-toed with feathered flowing arms—wings. Ballet? They circled the throne and remained around it, tipping on their toes as they swayed their 'wings' and pointed our attention to the left and song within the realm of opera began before he entered.
I knew not the lyrics, in fact, at the time, I didn't even know the language—in hindsight, I can tell you it was daedric—but I had almost choked on my wine as I saw the singer enter: It was my second friend, dressed in the most ridiculous of attires, something between a jester and a king. A King of Ridicule!
Laughter broke out as he danced elegantly onto the stage and sang with power. Even though I did not understand him, I could tell the song was 'telling.' A musical. A ballad. A play and song with a story to tell.
The white-winged dancers mirrored him and danced beside him as they enhanced his tale. Their wings moved like wind and water and brushed and coated him onto the throne as he continued his song.
Even though I did not understand, it had me captivated.
The birds tippetitoed frantically as he sat on his throne, gesturing one arm in turn of the other as he presented his tale.
He, too, saw me, yet he did not stop. Even back then I could tell from the look on his face, like my friend before, he couldn't stop. I knew something was at fault, for I knew he could not speak daedric, and I knew he could not have learned his lines and play during the time we had been here.
But I hadn't cared in the slightest—I found it a funny sight to behold, to see my idiot friend play King when I knew he was little more than the tavern fool. No. I cared not. For it was his own fault, besides, I eagerly wanted to see where the play was going.
A rumbling sound began. A marching band trampled in from the side blowing 'entree' into trumpets and singing tales in chorus. They were almost dressed like soldiers, but with humoristic, skin-tight white pants, fluffy feather skirts, and Imperial red-combed helmets. They looked like long-legged hens wearing armor.
We laughed at the king's personal guards.
And it was when they, too, took to tippetitoe frantically on their toes in great succession with the play, and their bushy-feather skirts ruffled, joggled, and cockled about, that we no longer were able to withhold our laughter.
The play played on. Something about the King of Ridicule having a guest and later another. I felt I lost out due to the language barrier, but judging by the booming laughter we frequently shared, it was clearly a play of comedy. Still, the constantly dancing birds and hens kept my interest—they never ceased to dance on the top of their toes. Even when their faces showed discomfort they danced on. Even when I could see blood seep from their feet, they still danced on as brilliantly as ever.
I had found it… astonishing indeed.
Entrancing.
I could watch them ruffle their feathers and dance on bleeding feet forever.
The play took on a darker turn as the chorus grew lower, their dancing, more sinister. This scene was one of betrail: the king's right-hand man turned on him, gesturing angrily as he sang lectures and seemingly embarrassed, dishonored the King before the audience, we gasped into a tense silence.
Another band of hen-soldiers entered abruptly, hen-soldiers wearing the white-gold armor of the Ayleids, and the tension of the play only grew.
Once the Ayleids entered I had realized, I knew this play. It's a play from the war of freedom. I knew not the outcome, but I did know politics. And I knew Kings. I knew what such an act would entail.
We sat on our toes, leaning on the table with great interest and suspense. I attempted to understand, but did not, as the King sang his response. His face had been red and angry, clearly insulted, yet his eyes were not. In jaw-biting anticipation we watched as the King danced down from his throne, singing rage and war. They drew their swords and the King of Ridicule and his right-hand man began to dance a choreographed sword-clashing duel in pace with their song.
I bit my lip.
The two armies had tippetitoed ferociously as the duel was sung, the winged dancers danced on breaking toes. Red soaked socks and shoes. they slipped in their own blood. They quickly got back to dancing. Even with broken ankles above broken feet upon broken toes their bleeding feet continued their dance:
Tippeti-tappeti-tippeti-tappeti-tippeti-tappeti-tipp!
Their feet vibrated the stage floor and our hearts beat along with the rhythm until the duel– A cheer filled the hall, the tippetitapps stopped in an instant. People shot up. Roared. I had roared as I had witnessed my friend strike his sword clean through his opponent's chest.
The whores between my legs hit their heads under the table as I shot up, cheering and shouting for the King's victory as my saliva slobbered cock and balls smacked and slapped onto my plate.
The King of Ridicule withdrew his sword and his opponent fell onto the stage in a growing pool of blood, he turned for the crowd and deliver his epic speech of victory. The applauds rang aloud as he sang his opera of powerful triumph.
His body stood strong and proud. Broad-chested and wide! He sang his speech with such lordly intent and glorious performance!
But I had seen that his eyes were crying, even as he sang his speech they were begging as tears gave away the thoughts of his mind: ¨I killed him! Help me! I didn't want to! I didn't mean to!¨
But I cared not for the idiot, why offer himself a performer if he was to regret it? No, the idiot can blame himself for not joining the honorary guests like me!
His speech ended, the music returned, and feet began to tap violently once more as the two armies drew their weapons and the crowd cheered out loud as the two armies charged one another. The Jester-King stood tall in the center between and delivered a deep final bow for the crowd as the siding armies quickly approached.
Tippeti-tappeti-tippeti-tappeti-tippeti-tappeti-tapp!
They struck their swords into his body, struck him like a pig and struck him down. He fell to the stage, defeated, as his hen-army continued to fight the hen-leids.
We cheered and feasted as they played their play to the end—the Battle against the Ayleids. They clashed in blood and gore and fell one by one while the birds danced on bleeding feet behind them—the massacre of war—until but one side stood victorious amongst the entrails.
And the victorious stood kingless.
Drop the curtains. The stage closes. Play over. Finite.
We celebrated and thanked for the play, and we returned to our feast, gossiping of what we all had witnessed, sharing tales and memories as easily as we shared plates and mugs.
I have seen many plays before, but I have never seen one where the actors devoted their lives for the sake of their performance. Such devotion to the art. I cared not for the magic behind it. It was brilliant! It was fantastic! It was… otherwordly.
I remember thinking; I could watch plays like this forever.
Imps flocked the stage. They carried off bodies, limbs, armor, and weapons. Guts and Gore. They cleaned the stage while we feasted and I couldn't help to wonder what was to come next.
The anticipation. The excitement. It was killing me.
This had been the best day of my life—and it was not yet over.
I had lifted my glass and toasted in honor of the Feast-Master, the Fat-God, the Perverted Glutton Lord—Sanguine! He gave nod, approved, and laughed as his wenches lifted their cups in his place and poured wine past his fat glutton lips, and we had all cheered in thanks of his invitation. He swallowed and his voice rose:
¨GaaaaaaaaAAAAAMBLEEEE!¨ The Glutton God had bellowed and gargled to the sky, wine drooled down his gaping face as his godly voice echoed throughout our souls and hearts.
The curtains opened once more and the stage was gone, in its place, a metal cage stood tall. large and round, the shape of a metal-netted ball. Two persons trapped within.
Imps, amass, clung to its sides and rattled the cage violently for the two gladiators within, flapping their wings as they rolled the cage left and right. The crowd cheered, laughed, and threw wine-filled goblets and bones, clean-gnawed leftovers, at the men in the cage.
I knew one of them, and I was no longer surprised, my final friend.
A knight in shining armor.
He saw me and rushed to climb and grab the bars of the cage. He screamed for help and shouted my name.
He had not moved in the 'locked' way of my earlier two friends. Unlike them, he didn't seem… forced. Other than the cage, his movement and voice seemed free.
and I had found it an intriguing change of pace.
I only laughed and toasted my glass high at him as the imps bit at his fingers and reached between the bars to scratch at his face, forcing him back.
Scamps paraded around the table, holding plates of different colors in each hand. They pushed at our sides and jerked at our purses.
¨The Berserker!¨ they shouted, tossing pouches of coin onto the silver platters—¨the Knight!¨ the others laughed, tossing their heavy sacks onto the golden platters.
My own scamp chirped and prodded at me as it spoke with a gritty voice: ¨Gamble!¨ My grin only grew wider as I realized their bets, and knowing my friend? ¨I'd be an idiot not to bet on the orc!¨ I had laughed.
They poured the coin into grand chalices of jewel and gold. Ogrims scribbled on papers and kept track of our bets. Bells rang and the times of bettings were long past: ¨Fiiiight!¨ our God bellowed over the festive crowd and we joined in his call:
¨Fiiiiiiiiiiiight!¨
The imps flocked the cage, a mass in the hundreds, and they heaved the cage into the air. It shook and swayed violently as it flew and rolled over and around our cheering heads for all to see.
¨Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!¨ We chanted and pounded our mugs and plates and feet on the table.
We sprayed our seed in salute and screamed!
¨Fiiiight!¨
They tossed and rag-dolled within the ball-cage as the imps evaded chandeliers and pillars alike, their feet slipped and fell between the bars as they struggled for footing.
The Barbarian Orc against the Knight of the Flame!
The orc was the first who found an ounce of stability, and he drew his grotesque club as he desperately clung to the side of the flying cage. It jerked and rolled above us and he hurled himself through the chaos and slammed headfirst into his opponent. The collision was brutal and grunted, and everyone cheered at the first sign of action, and they fell apart as my friend struggled unwounded.
Were it not for his knight's armor, my friend would have died then and there.
He recovered from the impact, drew his sword. They shook and turned, swayed and hayed. They were both up and about, balancing on rocking bars at their best to footwork through the loud chirping turbulence. People booed at the lack of blood and the fluttering mass of imps let go of the side. The cage overturned midair, twisted and rolled as the imps gripped and worked around it, the orc fell on his back against the bars, my friend came tumbling down from above. A loud clank and a louder wailing. Blood splattered down on our faces and the crowd went insane; cheering and rearing and leering and hearing and throwing fists of excitement as we all saw the blood-soaked blade point out and down upon us from out of the orc's naked back.
But I had not cheered as his blood splattered on my face from above, I had not cheered as the taste of copper hit my lips. I had only cursed and spat at the thought of a lost bet.
I had hurled my silver cup at his back above.
But my mood had changed as the orc wasn't dead. He hollered rage and a berserker's curses at his opponent as he gripped the helmet in front of him with both his hands. The Knight of the Flame screamed and, again, the crowd turned loud. The imps swarmed the cage, circled it and stormed it, grabbed it by the sides, heaved it up and around in the air. Tossing them around! The cage rolled over and above us and they within did like fish in a barrel. By the time it grew re-steadied my friend lay flat down and faced us with dark blood dripped and flowing out the eyeholes of his helmet—the orc had blinded him—and the orc paid no heed for wait as the cage had steadied. He rose up on his feet and pulled the sword out of his own bleeding abdomen as blood pooled out of his mouth and drooled, and flowed, and ran, and poured down upon us.
He moved with a berserker's roar and impaled a coward's scream!
Blood-covered imps flapped their spraying wings and swarmed the floating cage, hurling it through the air as the orc roared victoriously above, emptying his lungs in prolonged victory! The cage-ball struck the chandelier! It swayed, and spun, and slammed into a pillar. Imps shattered and fell and lost their grips and the cage came crashing down, splitting the table in half in front of the cheering, celebrating crowd as splinters and plates and food and drink and men and wenches and candles and flames flew past our heads and faces. The Fat-God laughed so wholeheartedly his belly wobbled and plates flew once more. We sang and scamps pulled the orc out of the cage and passed him into the crowd.
With naked lower halves, we had held him over our heads and paraded him around the hall as we celebrated and sang, reveled in his victory and success. Scamps scurried, climbed, and jumped onto our fdancing shoulders, presenting us our winning bets—never had I won such an amount of gold at the loss of an idiot!
Imps gathered and carried off the pieces of the cage and more scamps and ogrims carried and replaced the sturdy table as they brought in a new one with song. Mazkens washed the blood off our faces with cotton and soap, and lovingly cared for the orc's wounds and caressed his body. They charmed us back to our seats as the table was set with red candles and clean silver plates and fancy crystal glasses. Imps flew in new plates of steaming food and fruit and vegetables and meat and drink and spices and furthermore revelry!
Whores in rows stuck their silken tongues out at us as they teased us from beneath the tablecloth. Waiting for us to take our seats.
It was as if the table had never been broken in the first place.
Sanguine, Lord of Feasts and Overindulger of Revelry.
My Daedric Lord and Prince.
He raised his glass of wine as wide as a lake and summoned us back.
He thanked us for our attendance and offered sincere gratitude. He praised the music we had prepared him, The Dying Orchestra that we had offered in his name-day. He praised our play, our theatre, our opera and thanked us for the actors that we had offered him in his name-day. And he thanked us deeply and sincerely for the over-creative entertainment of the airborne duel and gamble thereof, for he explained that as much as he loved to revel in his riches he also loved to revel in his spendings. Especially so on his name-day.
I… had been in awe. I had been in tears.
Never had I believed in the idea of being thanked by a God? That a God would speak before me, before us with such grace and gratitude as if we were equals.
¨I thank you for entertaining me. For without you, my dearest of participants and guests, my feasts would not exist.¨
He raised his widest of widest glasses above his plump-shaped, horned head and we raised ours, and first now had he declared his feast begun.
Sanguine…
Sanguine…
Sanguine.
My heart had felt warmer than ever before and I was overcome with emotion. We toasted thanks in our names for being his guest and we toasted thanks in his name for being our host.
We reveled. We indulged. Together. Together. Together.
I, the son of a lord and King to be, raised my glass and toasted the starve-feasting beggar-wearing-rags opposed me. He grinned widely at me as his she-devil chewed his food and fed him from her mouth, for he had no teeth, and he lifted his glass to me.
Yes, if I could be toasted as an equal in the presence of my God, then why could not a beggar toast as an equal in the presence of a King-to-be?
Yes! Indeed! Here, we are all equals!
With tears in our eyes, we drank the richest of wine to ever touch our lips and we ate the most delicate of food and tender of meats to ever reach our bellies.
We ate the juiciest fruits; the sweetest of sweets; the puffiest of bread… the butteriest of buttery.
We licked our plates clean of the deepest of gravies and nibbled upon the crispiest of chicken skins.
And it never ran out,
and the songs never ceased,
as we reveled in starved gluttony for hours upon hours.
We reveled… and reveled… and reveled. Like pigs in heat, we ate… until the bell rang.
My heart had sunk at the sound, for at the time I had thought it over. But I had been wrong.
At the call of the bell, the she-devils gathered behind us. They caressed our shoulders and kissed our cheeks as they undressed and drank from tiny bottles. In synchronized movement, they moved beside us and swung their legs over our seats as they mounted our laps. They embraced us and feed us the warm liquid with their mouths as their tiny tongues tickled our teeth and gums.
I swallowed the liquid, and when I opened my eyes I knew I was in Oblivion for I could see sounds and hear colors.
At the time, I thought I no longer needed to breathe.
The world moved before me in ways it had never done before.
It was alive.
And I knew it was good.
Kind.
Loving.
Soft.
I wished I could remain like this forever.
The Mazken let go of us—she moved so slowly before me—and gently grabbed the tableedge behind them. They lifted themselves up and planted their bare asses onto our plates. Placed their heel on the table edge and the other on our left shoulders, and they spread their legs apart before us.
I had seen my fair share of women, redheaded servants and dark-skinned exotics, but to be served such a delicacy as the most maddening of dremora wenches… the smooth-skinned Mazken before me? Never had I imagined such a thing. I shed tears at the view and hesitated not to indulge myself in that which had been served upon my platter.
I had grabbed the firmest ass-cheek my hand had ever grabbed and planted my hand on the smoothes of small-backs my hand had ever grasped as I pulled myself toward daedric divinity.
With music in my eyes and colors in my ears, I buried my face into my serving.
And I suctioned the slit of the most succulent succubus.
I licked at her the way cats lick their fur.
I tasted that which no mortal man should ever be allowed to taste.
I tasted the shaven fruit.
And when her thighs squeezed my head, when her hands tugged my hair, when her cries of pleasure rang out above me, I drank the everlasting cure to impotence.
My seed would have stained the underside of the table then and there even without the mouths of whores sucking beneath.
But this was only the appetizer, and it did not take long before we all craved the main dish. The impatient ones had already risen and planted their shafts into their embracing violette-skinned meals, while the patient ones, the ones who heard their she-devil scream in lustfull agony, got coated back to relax as they lowered themself onto them in their seats.
I had been as giving as I had been patient.
They kissed us further and undressed our torsos as they sat in our laps with our cocks balls-deep inside of them. They licked our nipples and tasted our necks. They massaged our shoulders and rubbed our bellies. They put our hands upon their breasts, leaned back, and the whores beneath massaged our balls as the she-devils milked our cocks with their sex-craved lips. Imps and scamps wandered around, presenting plates of beverages, cheeses, dates and fruits, exotic sweets and strong spirits, while we fucked.
I did not say no when they offered a bite to eat.
They served tiny bottles, but that was to the Mazken alone—who drank and fed it to us with their mouths. And once they shared with us the rest of their bottles it took not long until we surrendered to drug-induced lust.
It did not take long until we reveled in our cravings.
The hall grew with the sounds of spanking and slapping, flesh against flesh, the taste of sweat and sweet syrup on my lips. Nimble fingers up my arse. Plates fell to the floor as people climbed to fuck atop the table. We poured wine, and gravy, and candlewax upon one another. and slapped each other with raw meat. We ate of each other's naked backs and drank spirits from each other's navels.
We shared tongues and pricks and slits and cocks and nibbled on nipples and marbled with interests of man-breasted molests and flesh upon flesh upon flesh upon fleshes as we were reveled in leshes and seches we meddled in fleshes of womanly meshes!
We were little more than lustful piles of flesh and perverts fucking on a table where the music was the howl of every orgasm—mortal or not—a table where every ejaculation could be heard as animalistic hollers.
The world was a blur and I had lost track of everything; I didn't care, I was far too deep in the revelry of flesh and pleasure to care for reality.
For the first time in my life, a bearded man kissed me—I filled him with my seed as I took him from behind.
The Mazken feed us more liquids from their mouths and spoiled us with their flesh, all the while the Fat-God watched us with delight and pleasure—he spoke but I heard not what he said—as the lustful whores on his fingers feed his everlasting hunger and thirst.
The scamps, with their nimble fingers, masturbated prostates, and Imps heaved people to the air by their limbs to have them fornicate mid-air. Their fluids rained down on us and the room smelled humid of lust, sex, food, and feces.
Songs of hollering grew louder. Burning wax dripped upon us. spanking hands burned our flesh as leather straps gave way to sexual desires I never knew possible.
It was when I had found myself fist-deep into a child, with a dog's swelling cock up my honey smeared ass, that I came to realize that I knew not since when, nor from where, they had brought the sheep, and horses, and orphans.
But I did not care. The world was mine. this moment was mine. And I had more tongues on my skin, more cunts on my fingers, and more cocks up my arse than I had ever thought possible before. And I loved it all.
Without judgment, unbiased, I reveled. I cared not whom or what my cock entered, nor did I care whom or what entered me, for the pleasure was immeasurable and otherworldly, for our God was pampered and so were we.
We were equals.
I wept.
This was the grandest of feasts and the grandest of experiences I had ever encountered. A 'once in a lifetime.' I wished I could remain here forever. I wished I could remain here with Him, our God, forever. I wished I could embrace his fat and keep myself beside him! I… REVELED for it!
For in His presence, all bellies were feed but never full.
For in His presence, all men were drunk but never a drunkard.
For in His presence, our sexual appetites were always pleasured yet never pleased.
For He was the one who always scratched our eternal itch.
In His presence, there was no such thing as Overindulgence.
In His presence, there was no such thing as too much.
It was there, when they rubbed our bellies with honey and wine, that I came to realize that The night would eventually end, and the feast would cease.
And it was then, as they licked us clean, that I came to realize that I wished not to leave.
I had looked at our god, and I had wept, for he was watching me.
¨I don't wish to leave.¨
I knew then what I had to do then and there, and I pushed my wench aside and wept as I crawled on all naked four atop the table.
¨I don't wish to leave.¨
I crawled over the piles of naked bodies and lustful sex, weeping as they reached for my cock and cheeks and asked me to join in!
¨I don't wish to leave!¨
I crawled beneath the bouncing tits of fucking wenches and wept beneath the dripping cock of a neighing horse. I crawled, and crawled, and crawled, and crawled…
For I did not wish to leave.
And with my hands planted firmly on food- and sex-soaked wood, I lifted my head and set my teary eyes upon the most magnificent of bellies I had ever witnessed. I would've been able to fit my head and shoulders into his gaping navel as the bulging, overflowing, red-skinned belly of our god welled out before me. And above his wast belly, I saw his fat, plump-shaped, horned head and I looked into the eyes of my god. And as he looked down at me I could no longer breathe.
I will never forget his eyes.
They burned a brilliant and radiant red. They burned with lust and hunger.
They burned… sanguine!
I could not move as he looked down upon my naked self and his fat lips grew into a wide gum-showing smile with jagged far apart teeth. I wept on my knees and begged silently before him as he chuckled at my unworthy presence and stacks of plates rained off of his ever-hungered stomach.
And his voice echoed above me:
¨I have watched you, tiny Lord. Do you wish to stay?¨
¨Y– yes.¨
¨Do you wish to revel in my plane of Oblivion?¨
¨Yes.¨
¨Do you wish to wander and explore my Myriads of one hundred and thousand for an eternity?¨
¨Yes.¨
¨Then, my Champion, will you drink from my cup?¨ he had asked of me with his grin growing wider.
But I saw no cup in his hands, only ten drunken whores giving me toast as they sat prodded onto his every finger.
¨Y… Yes?¨
¨Are you certain?¨
¨Yes!¨
¨Then so be it!¨
His laughter rose with heart, more plates and glasses spilled from his wobbling belly and he leaned his head back against his headrest and opened his god-wide mouth agape, and from the bottom of his throat rose the wailing sound of one hundred thousand pleasured wenches and one hundred thousand pleasured men. The crowd behind me, men and demons alike, began chanting, making sounds like animals, as the imps chirped amass and swarmed around us. They gripped and clawed into the fat of his belly and flapped their wings with strain and struggle to lift the overflowing fold. Scamps ruched forth to the sides, chanting at me in daedric as they dug and clawed their nimble fingers beneath his gut and strained their muscles to lift the tummy off the table oak.
The wind roared in my ears with the bellow and chanting as the maw of the belly opened before me.
Plates, goblets, food, and drink rained to the floor as his belly rose. The whores on his fingers trembled in pleasure and screamed bloody murder atop his wiggling fingers.
I covered my ears as his wailing roar of a hundred thousand orgasms and a hundred thousand more rang deafening in my ears, and tears ran down my squeezed shut eyes. The more they lifted his stomach the louder it grew, and the louder he grew the louder the chanting.
The world screamed with indulged revelry as he sang the sound of a hundred thousand orgies and a hundred thousand feasts!
It reached its everlasting eclipse and remained there—a constant high-pitched wail of eternal pleasure—I opened my eyes and witnessed divinity; the throbbing slab of meat hidden beneath his godly gut.
Veins the size of my arms pulsating blood up its shaft.
It made like a beating heart before me and gave off the primal smell of a hundred thousand animals in heat.
Yet I had not been repulsed by the sight, nor disgusted. No, I had felt utter relief and overflowing grace as my eyes had filled with tears of eternal gratitude, for I had seen our God for what he truly was: benevolent, generous, and overkind.
That he'd offer me his eternity?
I crawled forth beneath the shadow of his belly as the scamps chanted beside me, and I reached the edge of His table. The edge that none other had touched.
And I kissed its swollen head.
I held it in my arms and cried as I was overwhelmed with grace and gratitude.
I felt it throb and pulsate against my filled stomach, the blood within warm my heaving chest. I embraced it with tears and pressed my cheek against the jerking, spongey, silky surface and I wept with overjoy.
I reveled in that brief moment which defined the single most noteworthy second of my life.
I took my lips to its rim and drank deeply the content of his 'cup.'
My body shook and quivered as it filled my insides and I was overcome.
I had spilled my seed before him.
Never again have I felt the gratitude I felt back then.
I was the spoiled son of a lord n line to be king. I had inheritance over the horizon. I had a marriage written in my future. I had children to be, pets to love, and slaves to own. I had men who'd serve in the armies beneath me, and I had lands that my peasants would work. I had a future of lord hood and riches, royalty and… revelry!
Even back then I admitted, I was spoiled.
I had everything.
So why did I do it?
Why did I drink of his cup?
Because why would anyone ever wish to leave this place?
That was long ago, and I have seen kingdoms come and kingdoms fall as eras have passed. And I've wandered His plane ever since.
The plane of My master, For I am his Champion.
And as his Champion I have planted my arse in the most comfortable of cuchoned leathered chairs, drinking the most expensive of Cogniaqs with the most brilliant of minds. I have indulged myself in the otherworldly stories and tales told by wanderers at bonfires which smoke never ceases, listening to the eternal songs of nature. I have rested, and stargazed, on the eternal beach of silk and moonlight in the company of the Snow Elf princess as we together pondered and contemplated upon the deep philosophy of solace, reveling on silver wine and then each other. I have gambled on cards and dice and hens and horses together with the most skilled of gamblers, as well as with the most worthless. I have won fortunes beyond my own imagination and then lost it all down to the shirt on my back. I've competed in the dance of the penguins atop river logs. I have participated in competitions of flesh, challenges of endurance, speed, skill… and won very few but laughed nonetheless. I have watched the everlasting fireworks of Ma-hagahck, and spent my early hours in temples where old men masturbated tirelessly at the nuns of lesbianism. I have taken part in the blood-orgies of witches' covens as we made animal sacrifices around the bonfires, and I have fondled the eleven tits of the perverted Beastess of La-hát–ha-lala. I have shared my bed with lustful Men and Mer alike, I have been ravaged by Daedra and beasts, males and females, I've fucked children, pets, and the elderly.! I have fueled my body on the finest of skooma together with the finest of cats. Smoked the softest of herbs and tasted the richest of spices. I have walked barefoot on the warmest of deserts and I have slept naked in dewy grass.
For as his Champion, I have made farmers lose their lands for fornicating with their horses.
In the name of my master, I have lured away the title of Holyman as I made them fall into the sin of alcohol and pedophilia.
In my master's name, I have dishonored nobility as I shared with them the revelry of drugs and lust for public indulgence in incest.
In his name, I have made kings embarrass themself in front of the courts with the act of bestiality and necrophilia!
I've made the rich fall to bare feet poverty through gambling.
I have reduced kingdoms, names, titles, ranks, and honor in the sole name of indulgence and revelry!
I was the one who made the Duke of Stros M'kai shove fish up his arse as he, high on foam, fucked the camels in front of his wife to be!
And… I was the one who inspired the author of the Lusty Argonian Maid.
I've done all of these things.
For no amount of worldly possession could ever compare to the revelry that lies here within the plane of a hundred thousand realms!
Yeeees!
I have done all of these things indeed and so much more, as I've explored, fallen in love, and indulged myself with each and every one of the realms of a hundred thousands.
And even though none of my experiences, none of my visits, have lived up to that of my first feast? even though none of these rooms and corners have held even a comparison to that of my first one, I love, revel, and indulge myself in them all.
Even though throughout my travels I have not– even as his Champion, I have not come upon my Lord again. My Prince, my Master, my eternal God once more…
My Lord of Fat.
But I was pleased, for I knew his presence was that of 'once in a lifetime' reserved to a bare fraction of his guests and a fraction further of that to his followers. I was grateful, for I had been one of the lucky few to revel in his presence, his grandeur—for I had kissed and drunk from his cup!
But that is who my master was.
A different room every day, a different form, a different feast. That is who my master was—ever-moving, ever-feasting. I was grateful that I had participated in his feast once, for few mortals had the luxury of even that. And as grateful as I was, I was grateful evermore for I knew the odds of encountering him a second time were against me.
One in One Hundred Thousand times that of Eternity.
To witness the day of a second feast? To imagine such a day? If a meeting of once was less than that of a lifetime, well, then a second one would surely be considered that of once in an eternity…
But today?
Today I had the luxury of witnessing just such a day.