The river god

by BRK    and Rock Creek Werewolf   

Forced into a long sleep for cultivating the love and lust of male human servants, a river god awakes in the modern world and finds a new familiar through whom to channel his improvements and feed his desire for male carnal pleasure.

Since the days when the gods were many and great, and men were small and properly humble, Awekekaryo has slept in the depths of his own river.

Awekekaryo knows it’s a dream. Somewhere under the silt and stone he slumbers uneasily, unable to rest and unable to wake. It’s the same dream, constant and unfailing, but not the same. Permanence is the only impossibility. All is change.

In his dream he stands, handsome, tall, and hulking, motionless and ready in the center of his wide, rushing river. His spirit fills with pride and contentment as he faces the northern bank, waiting. He is huge in this form by mortal standards, ten times the size of his favorite human pets; but then, the rain-swollen river lapping at his brawny arms and torso is far vaster as it rushes past him on all sides, heading for the distant bay and the world sea beyond. Rivers are powerful things, with their rapids, tides, courses, and depths. Powerful things endowed with powerful gods. Many rivers and streams flow into the bay and the seas, each with its own divine force and its own story. This river, though: this river and its lands are his domain. Here he sees all, and enjoys all.

He likes this form—the humanlike colossus rising amidst the great, flowing river. He could manifest as wind, or an osprey, or a leaping fish if he chose, but the human form has made him happiest as of late. It amuses him to bridge soil, water, and air this way: his toes curling into the mud of the riverbed, the water washing over his naked skin until he emerges, his head and chest bared to the moist summer breeze, sepia brown and radiating strength and power. It makes his humans happy to see him this way, too. They know his truth when they see him like this: that he is their god, their metamorphoser. He is strong and beautiful and endlessly virile, the source of boundless power and unmeasured pleasures.

The winds are still high after the storm, riffling the always-damp locks of his long, dark hair and pushing them around on his wide, bulging, water-dappled shoulders. The air is fickle, he thinks, letting it flit over him. It churns the lands with storms and then dies away; but the river never falters and never ceases.

He feels his men before he sees them, filtering out of the forest with shouts and cheers. Leading them is his chosen one, his familiar: the one through whom he grants all his blessings, and through whom he partakes of all the pleasures of which they are capable. It amazes Karyo that he alone of all the river gods has discovered the heady allure of muscular, aroused, libidinous men… the uniquely fulfilling sensual pleasure a god can gain through a simple bond, leashing the prostate of a favorite pet human… the endless possibilities of carnal transformation that can follow, facilitated and intensified by the prismatic, multiplying conduit of the familiar bond. Instead, his close-minded brothers sneer at the clever humans who have wandered their lands these last millennia. Or they ignore them, keeping their primordial communion solely to water and soil and grass, to deer and owls and the ways things have been since the birth of rivers and their countless gods.

Idiots! he thinks, his godly cock swelling steadily under the flow of the current. They’re fucking missing out. Missing out on the fucking! It had started as a delightful diversion, but now he can’t get enough.

He cannot stop recalling the first time he observed men having sex. There was always copulation among the herds and the flocks and the schools in his river. That was hardly remarkable. But the god noticed the sounds of grunting and wetness between flesh. Investigating, he drifted down into the reeds along his river, and spotted the rutting of two young men, one thrusting into the other. The god was confused at first, as this could not lead to pups; but that concern drifted as he found he could not look away. Both men were sun-bronzed, lanky, and strong—though Karyo had seen stronger. A strange feeling grew in him, a feeling he would later know as lust.

Soon, the men noticed him, and drew back afraid. “No, No,” the god urged them. “Keep going.” And they obeyed.

“Harder,” the god bid.

“Faster,” the god smiled.

And then he felt it. Felt them. Felt this. For the first time, he placed his hand on a man. The god realized this was the first time he had a hand—the first time he manifested as a man and not an eagle or a wolf, the land-forms he normally chose without thought. His strong human hand lay squarely on the firmly muscled ass of the dominant human, whom he now helped thrust into the whelping passive one. With the thrusts of a god, the love-making became more furious and energetic.

Almost unconsciously, the god made the dominant male’s member thicker, stretching the tight walls of the other man’s passage, and the two men moaned almost insensibly. This pleased the god. Then the bottom’s hole became more elastic, subtly twisting and squeezing the hard cock seeking the heat and tightness of its innermost depths. The god thrilled as he directed his powers not through his river, but focused upon his two humans. Their muscles swelled, their pheromones soared, and their grunts became shameless and insatiable as they rutted for days, observed and enjoyed.

The god discovered he now craved the pleasure and climaxes of supermasculine men as much as the feel of the riverforce that gave him being. More, even. These men are vital to him. He grows them, gives them the joy of serving him in moment after moment of giddy release, and in return they eagerly nourish him with their orgasmic potency. It’s an ideal system. Never has the symbiosis of mortal and divine been more perfectly manifested!

No other god on this living Earth, not of the rivers nor the lakes nor the mysterious mountains, draws such pleasure from the rutting of mortal men. It is a curious phenomenon, one the River god does not feel a need to contemplate. River gods are as they are. A river is not curious; it carves its course without self-reflection, and this River god was no different.

He smiles fondly as they approach the riverbank, his pet men. Just then the sun emerges from behind a cloud and bathes the sexy assemblage in clean, admiring light, glimmering off of rounded shoulders and subtle beadwork. Sometimes in this dream they’re naked for him, just as he always is for them; but this time they are decked out in the specially decorated deerskin uniforms their settlement lovingly fashioned for them. Karyo likes the way the outfits are showing off the strength in their arms and torsos and the barely concealed might of their nether regions. Some of the locals call the select group their warrior-champions; some call them a company of priests; but they know what they are. They are the chosen of the river god.

Across the world, groups of men make sacrifices to the gods: offerings of slaughtered livestock, dances of song and drums, chants, prayers, pledges of piety and hope. The tribes along this river now have turned to offerings of men. Young warriors in each generation are set aside for the River god, in exchange for the annual floods to fertilize their bean and corn fields, ample fish, and placid weather. The River god enjoys this generosity, and cherishes and hoards his pet men for the rest of their days.

Even to outsiders there’s never a question of who belongs in this group and who does not, year to year and generation to generation. The signs are obvious, and not just because any new recruits start fucking each other with relish and abandon. His chosen ones stand apart from ordinary men. Everything that increases male erotic pleasure, the god enhances and experiments with. His men are tall—sometimes plausibly, sometimes… not. A man’s stature might vary even week to week, as moods and tastes strike his loving deity. Muscles swell, for some increasing to well beyond what might result from the hunting and strength training traditional in this fit and healthy community. Of course the biggest change is always to the manhood, the root of their god’s interest, and the tight, hot man-chutes that receive them. The cock and balls always expand dramatically in size and sensitivity and pleasing variety, with corresponding, imaginitively finessed improvements to key points in the mouth, throat, and anus.

Sometimes there are more extreme changes, too, because he’s a river god and rivers are always changing. He thrills at learning each of his pets’ inclinations and proclivities—those things that cause their hearts to beat and their cocks to go especially hard. He loves to spoil them with the indulgence of their fantasies and grows drunk with the power he leeches off from their grunts and pleasureful wails and intoxicating releases. For the very special ones, his favorites, he starts to fuck them himself, sweetening the intake of the pleasure he derives from his men through his chosen familiar.

Now, enjoying their arrival under the sun, he delights in the pleasure of anticipation as he looks them over. Each man looks every inch the prodigy of his touch. Some are already casually clustering together, stroking each other’s asses or kissing deeply in twos and threes, ready to share their potency with the god who made them more than men.

Many of his guardians have been with him for years, thriving in sustained youth and might as they enjoy his presence in riverside communion week after week, season after season, or spend time with him in twos and threes during the idle moments between hunts and harvests, teaching their immortal god how humans live and the ingenuity with which they surpass their mortality—the songs that transmit knowledge from one time to the next, for example, or the trading done to build security, or the importance of a father’s connection with his progeny. Others in the group are new, chosen by their community and their god on the turn of the equinox, transformed before all the moment their familiar fucks them into the brotherhood of the chosen. The familiar himself stands at the fore of the pack, and his eyes shine with the pure love that the god has placed there, waiting to honor him and to be honored in turn with his pleasure and that of all the men.

The chosen of the chosen is an exceptional specimen even among his indulgently improved brethren. A handsome, powerfully built man well before Karyo’s touch, Watē is well-proportioned and unusually, spectacularly tall, with a light beard, warm bronze skin, and the long silky black hair and unheard-of blue-green eyes of his river-god master.

The familiar is the only one of his men to arrive without the sleeveless, close-fitting tunic crafted for the others. Instead, he bares his thick, broad shoulders, his pronounced and hairy chest, and his fuzzy, chiseled abdomen for the delectation of his admiring god. Most of the local men don’t have much body hair by nature, and the beards tend to run thin; but Karyo has discovered he likes the feel of hair on a hard chest or a firm jaw, and he likes the look of hirsute, abnormally virile men finding each other’s deepest pleasures. Watē fulfills this yen and then some, and in fine weather like this the familiar knows his god will suffer no shirt to hide it. Likewise, his waistband, alone of the group, is fringed with thick gray wolf fur, a distinction of a sort possessed not even by his father, the chief. The line of wolf fur circling those delectable hips serves as a symbol of the river god’s strength and ferocity, and his connection with the spirit and life force of all the creatures of his long valley.

The god makes a show of licking his lips, The familiar smiles and rubs his crotch rudely through the deerskin. Though he makes a pretense of louche ease, Watē’s eyes show how eager and desperate the grown and perfected familiar is to share and transmit the combined ecstasy of twenty augmented men as they devotedly suck and stroke and pound each other’s asses, thrilling and orgasming for the pleasure of their insatiably lustful god.

Then, the dream changes. Instead of erotic pleasure, the men are filled with fear and outrage, pointing with thick, chiseled arms behind him at the southern bank. He turns and sees a strangely dressed delegation: there are three shamans from a community beyond the low hills to the south, outside the bounds of his land and valley. Their bodies are stiff and poised, their expressions stern. They do not fear him.

The two to either side seem young and smooth of jaw, but the foremost is older, a scowling fellow with a distinctively scarred cheek and a smear of dark bristles on his knobby chin. He stands rigidly at the river’s edge, legs locked and feet well apart, and before him he holds up a large earthenware pot. The air above the pot ripples with a malicious, supernatural energy, and the river god’s stomach twists uncertainly. What he’s sensing is elemental and inhuman, and he doesn’t like it.

The leader’s eyes meet his, boring into them. “Your brother sends his regards, O deviation of the gods!” he intones, the other two joining him so that they are speaking in unison.

Karyo’s gaze narrows. The intention is clear. The River god’s focus on his pets offends his brethren. Messages had come to stop this silliness, to tend to his river (as if he could or would neglect his waters) and leave these men, just one type of the many animals, to themselves. Gods are not supposed to have favorites, are not supposed to keep pets, are not supposed to (they shudder) rut in the mud like pigs or salamanders. Stop this humiliation of himself, the other gods urge, as though he were somehow undermining nature, not discovering it. Stop taking human form and rutting like a buck, wallowing in lowly flesh. The river god has always refused to hear such entreaties. He delights in his pet human men and the endless pleasure he draws from them, like nector from the flower. It is natural. He does not want to stop. He cannot stop.

The river god must be brought to heel—so his brethren have finally decided.

Angered by this interference, the god pulls his hand from the water and thrusts it toward the three fetials. His lips quirk as he plans his response. He’ll hurl his transformative energy at them through the bond with his familiar, he thinks, and make them his, these emissaries, and they will pay for their insolence with helpless obedience and endless, spurting cum!

Even as he does so, however, the lead fetial roars and hurls the pot containing whatever potion they had prepared, no doubt with the help of their own river gods, into the rushing water. Instantly, to his horror, the flood rises around him—a flood he somehow has no power to control. Is it the flood, or is he falling?

In a panic, he turns to his men. They are too close to the bank, shouting at the interlopers and defiantly stringing bows, ready to confront the enemy across the swollen, infected river. What are they doing? Where is their mindless obedience? “Flee!” he shouts impatiently to his pets, his deep voice and limitless compulsion failing him even as the river pushes him down, dulling his mind and senses with shocking speed. Alarmed, he flails and tries to fight, but his powers are fettered, locking down into his own being like tightening chains until they are compressed, enclosed, and completely out of reach.

Through the rippling surface of the water he catches a last glimpse of Watē, his expression distorted and distressed, his hand outthrust. “Karyo!” his beautiful, long-haired familiar seems to scream, but the god can’t hear him. Then the face is lost, and there is only the darkening river, its endless power taken from him. He can feel nothing. He cries out in his mind as the bond with his familiar weakens and vanishes.

He tries to reach out with his senses, but his ability to connect with the mortal spark is gone. He feels a brief, aching moment of despair, then forces his mind to rally. He is a fighter. A god. He can reclaim his connection to his river, to his men. With will and effort, he can—

The drifting blackness takes him before he can complete the thought or form a plan. An endless sleep, in the deep mud of the river he rules. With it comes the circling, drifting dreams of times lost, and the abiding, slakeless lust he cannot forget.

DCA1 Jared Westbrook, U.S. Coast Guard, rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen thick, aching muscles as he puts away his tools. Ten hours of rescue work and nothing to show for it but angst and anger. He slams the lid of the toolkit closed in frustration and straightens up, moving to the railing of the cutter so he can look out over the devastation.

Two nights before, an outbound container ship suffered a complete electrical outage departing the Dundalk Marine Terminal. The crew on board panicked futilely as the hulking vessel drifted into danger. Bound for Sri Lanka, it instead struck one of the supports for the Key Bridge spanning the Patapsco River. The news kept playing the almost immediate collapse of the bridge, bringing down tons of steel and roadbed into the river below, causing loss of life and extensive disruption on land and sea. The entire East Coast was in an uproar.

The U.S. Coast Guard and a dozen other agencies have been working nonstop at rescue and recovery, now winding down. As a damage controlman first class based at the nearby Baltimore Guard station Jared has been at the front lines, navigating the crippled hulk of the bridge on his JetSki, supporting diving teams, cutting through twisted metal, and shifting debris that weighs more than he does. So far the only results have been a lot of heartache and some stiff shoulders all around.

Jared frowns, scratching his furry chest through his blue uniform top. He feels grimy, like the disaster has rubbed off on him, and his inadequacy hurts like a faint, persistent cramp in his belly. The lowering sun hitting the wreckage from the side gives the mangled debris a starker and more tragic look, compared to how things seemed when it was high and bright hours before, back when there was still hope survivors would be found. “Life’s still a bitch,” he grumbles.

One of the crewmembers aboard the cargo shop waves at him from the railing. The ship has been deemed safe, with no danger of it sinking even with the Key Bridge’s corpse wrapped around its bow. The crew has remained aboard, their visas demanding they not depart the ship in port—a bizarre side-effect of the disaster.

His obnoxiously cheery friend, fellow DC, and workout partner, Wallace Jones, joins him at the railing of the small ship, looking as fresh and natty as if he were starting his shift instead of ending it like Jared. “Let me guess,” the wise guy says airily. “Life is shitty.” Wall always taunts Jared about his pessimism and dark sardonic humor. “No, wait,” he corrects himself with a grin, turning to him, “is this one ‘people are shitty’? I never know if you’re grumpy because humans are actively stupid and shitty, or if it’s the shitty universe always fucking with us.”

Wall goes on in this vein a bit, joking about Jared’s sardonic dolor as if he were somehow unusual for discerning the bleak state of humanity. Jared has long since learned to tune his long-winded friend out when he needs to and doesn’t pay him much attention right now. He continues to glower as he stares out at the maimed skeleton of the half-destroyed bridge, still locked in an unwanted embrace with the ship that had plowed into it. Wallace might be a chatterbox and prone to needling him for being unnecessarily gloomy about things like human nature and the fate of mankind, but he’s nice to have around, and not just to sneak occasional glances at whenever he wants a hard, well-crafted muscular body in a tight uniform to judge his own workout progress by. (The flare of Wallace’s lats is particularly noticeable, and visible from the front in a way Jared tries to pretend isn’t extra-sexy.) Jared has a girlfriend—he’s had a series of girlfriends, actually. He likes them good, giving, and game. He does notice men at times, more times than he wants to, and always waves it away.

Mainly it’s Wall’s personality that comes in handy. At times like this, the man’s teasing friendship and unconditional acceptance feel oddly like permission to be as pessimistic as he likes.

“The two categories,” Jared says, “are not mutually exclusive.” He’s not smiling, but there’s a dry hint of amusement in his voice nonetheless. He looks out at the harbor, at the bizarre view of the crippled bridge in a jumble at the waterline, while the big bulking containership, a skyscraper on its side, sits silently in the lapping water. The harbor glows golden. “Flowery meadow, flashing sea,” Jared whispers after a bit, remembering an old hymn his father loved. Old Dad passed away two years ago, but the old codger keeps popping up in his memories.

Wall smiles and continues babbling in his steady, tireless way about a philosophy professor over at Johns Hopkins he once dated, leaning forward on the railing as if he were relating the story to the passing gulls as much as Jared. Evidently the prof had a theory about positivity and orgasms that he wanted to test out. Wallace was happy to help.

Jared half-tunes his friend out, rubbing his exposed nape self-consciously below his neatly trimmed, regulation-short sun-blond hair. Even Wall’s jokes couldn’t distract him from what was bothering him.

All afternoon he’s felt… scrutinized.

It’s like eyes are burning into his skin, and not from the reporters, helicopters, and lookie-loos lining the shores of the river. The feeling has only gotten stronger over the last hour or so. At first, he was feeling it all over, like he was being sized up (for what?). The feeling reminded him of when his baseball coaches in college assessed his throw. Or a doctor looking him over, all over, in a complete physical. But now this sense of being observed seems to be focusing intently on his shoulders and his ass. Especially his ass.

Jared looks around himself. He swears he is being watched, actively. It’s unnerving, like invisible bugs on his skin.

All at once he’s fed up and abruptly turns away from the railing, wanting to scrutinize his surroundings. No one on the small cutter is paying him any attention. Ditto the workers still out in the recovery area in the failing afternoon light. As a 6-foot-3, 220-pound, square-jawed and exceptionally fit man in uniform, Jared attracts the odd stray stare or two everywhere he goes and has done since his high school first baseman days. He knows where to look and what to look for. But everybody is busy with their own tasks or coming off shift like him and Wallace, ready to take the launches back to the temporary operations base at the USCG yard on the other side of the harbor mouth. Whoever has his eyes crawling up Jared’s butt, they aren’t here.

Adjusting his cap, he scans the darkening shore further out. Most of the professional cameras and ordinary-folk smartphones are clearly being aimed at the work still going on about the ship and around the distorted remains of the bridge supports. A shower of bright sparks from a cutting tool catches everyone’s eye, making it easy for Jared to see who’s looking at what, even from this distance. Everyone’s watching the wreckage, except—

Jared stills, darting his gaze back along the rooftop edges. What did he catch sight of? It was like eyes staring at him, so intense they seemed to brush his skin physically, like a touch. His breath catches as he sees it. There, on the roof of that dusty parked semi trailer, stands a solitary figure, stiff and haughty. As he watches, its gray fur catches the wind and hint of the soft red sheen of the retreating sun.

Is that—?

He stares back, and the gaze seems to pour into him, like a torrent of power ready to unleash into his soul as though Jared were an empty vessel waiting to be filled.

Gulping, he swats Wall in the stomach, interrupting his still-spinning story with an “oof” and a “hey!” Interrupting his friend’s protests, Jared finds his voice and asks, “Look over there—what do you see? Is that a wolf?”

Even as he says the words, he discounts them in his own mind. However much it looks like a wolf—a very, very large wolf, maybe of some primordial race not seen in these parts probably in a thousand years—Jared knows it can’t be a wolf. That stare… that stare is not lupine, and it isn’t human, either. Whatever this thing is, it’s more than human, or maybe other than human, older and more powerful than anything but the ancient, ceaseless river coursing fathoms deep under his feet. The river… Why did I think of the river? he wonders.

“A what? Where?” Wall asks. He sounds half interested and half skeptical.

Jared turns and sees Wall looking in entirely the wrong direction. He grabs Wall’s chin and points him at the semi-tractor parked on the water’s edge—but when he turns back himself, the wolf is gone.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Wall snorts. “You seeing things? Someone needs their rack time.” The remark predictably launches him on another rambling story, this time about a navy friend who hadn’t taken his assigned sleeping interval for three days in a row and ended up blowing up the galley microwaves, one after another.

Jared lets Wallace’s voice fade back to white noise. What did he just see? And why is his anus twitching hungrily like it’s just found its fated mate? He had to focus hard not to scratch at it. Jesus, it was pulsing… Jared isn’t even a bottom. Not for most guys, anyway. Sometimes, he did go down to DC with baseball hat pulled low and have some anonymous fun, but now this…

“Hey, I’m going to see if I can make that launch,” he says suddenly, breaking in on Wall’s talk yet again. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?” Before his buddy can answer he turns and trots across the deck to the aft debarkation point, his mind and ass equally distracted by the compelling stranger who’s appeared to him as a wolf and marked him, somehow, as his own.

As he reaches the shore and walks across the tarmac he breathes a bit easier, feeling the sensation of his thighs, his ass, his hole, all moving, all in sync, all emanating a weirdly powerful metaphysical energy. His lower half is alive—alive and aroused. What the fuck is this?

Jared stops at his personal vehicle, a beat-up-well-loved Jeep. He would normally be driving back to his efficiency apartment, to change, wash off the salt and sweat, to sleep. But this feeling of being watched, this buzzing in his trunk… he can’t leave this unexplored.

Impulsively, after unlocking his car and opening the door, Jared unbuttons his blue Coast Guard uniform shirt and shucks it, tossing the wet garment in the back of his Jeep and exposing his bare chest there in the parking lot. Waiting a moment, anticipating, Jared is rewarded with that sensation of being watched, of being admired, of being… cherished?

He breathes in and out and just feels… he feels. It’s amazing.

Inadvertently he smiles, the sides of his mouth curling upwards. What is this? He almost knows it—almost understands it, but at the same time it’s nothing he has ever known. Recklessly, Jared takes off his standard-issue navy-blue trousers as well, leaving him in just his boxer-briefs and shoes in the parking lot. The feeling of admiration grows. His anus buzzes, and Jared finds himself almost walking in place, savoring the movement of his flesh and how it increases the sensation.

He looks all around, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary among the cars, dusty asphalt, and the skittering whispers of wind through the trees. Jared closes his eyes and tilts his head back slightly, lingering on the sensation of being admired wherever the hell it’s coming from.

Jared hears a wolf-whistle. Looking to his right, another of his Coast Guard co-workers is laughing as he strolls by, headed for the admin building to start the night shift. “Locker room’s inside, Jer,” the officer laughs, and keeps walking.

Embarassed and chagrined, Jared snaps momentarily out of his reverie and reaches into the back of his Jeep to retrieve a basic standard-issue Coast Guard white tee-shirt and a fresh pair of trousers. He slips them on, becoming decent again.

A part of him just wants to jump in the Jeep and get away: away from work, away from whatever the hell is causing this. But he cannot bring himself to turn away.

The streets around the base are now dark, with odd shadows cast by the high-mounted klieg lights of the shipyards. He should be sleeping, but he’s feeling restless and unsettled. And horny, he concedes unhappily. That twitch just inside his asshole has been functioning like a cockring, keeping him chubbed and on edge, panting for the intrusion and orgasm he knows he can’t have. Or can he?

Jared has never been out here at night like this. He’s always either on shift, in his bunk, or somewhere noisy frowning at other people enjoying their downtime more than he was. This base isn’t even his regular post, and here he is out in the dark in his tee shirt and uniform trousers, prowling the place like a guard dog with a poodle-psychic’s heads up that the big bad burglar’s on his way. Yeah, the butt burglar, he chides himself darkly. Wish for a bigger dick while you’re at it. It’s not as though he needs to—Jared knows he’s above average, and the partially swollen junk in his pants makes a hefty package—but he’s always wondered what it would be like to have more.

He turns a corner, not sure where he’s going. The little alleys around the barracks and admin buildings, the old brick warehouses, lots, and dumpsters are deserted. Stark diagonal shadows fall across walls and dumpsters like he’s trolling through a forties film noir. Are the back streets deserted because they always are, or because something dangerous is out here, giving stray coasties and civvies the heebie-jeebies? On the edge of his peripheral vision, moving around him in his mind’s eye just out of sight, he cannot shake the image of that wolf.

He slows in midstride as he feels something intensify, like the pull of a string somewhere inside him. Jared cries out in genuine surprise and no small amount of alarm. His cock and anus both clench convulsively, and his pulse is loud in his ears as he turns.

At the end of the barely lit alley, hidden in the gloom, a shadow moves. Something large.

“Who’s there?” Jared rasps. His cock thickens further, trying to harden in his well-fitting pants. He suppresses an urge to glare at it. What the fuck is wrong with you? he curses at his dick. You that desperate to fuck a wolf?

The shape moves toward him, and Jared sucks in a breath. This is no wolf—not a literal one, anyway. The shape is still large but indistinct and unlit, but the clearest part is the silhouette of wide shoulders—the shoulders of a man. A very big man.

His breathing is the only sound as the shape moves closer. It’s still only a black cutout, all shadow with no details within the black outline of its titanic form, but Jared’s eyes can trace the round masses of wide-set deltoids, sliding inward along rising swells of thick, curving trapezii, toward a head—one that towers some three or four feet above his own. The shape of the head and neck are not clean and sharp the way a military buzz cut would be, which might have been slightly reassuring in its familiarity. Instead, it looks like the head is framed by long, loose hair, the tresses falling on those impressive and then a bit further, maybe, down the wide, unseen back.

What the form lacks in physical detail, it is bursting with power. Jared’s eyes widen, mouth agape at the sensation of this figure’s presence. There is an intensity present now, greater than the Cathedral of Mary Our Queens’ pipe organ, vibrating through his flesh, his mind, his soul all at once.

Jared feels the bottom of his mind dropping out. He tries to call out in fear, but somehow, he loses the will, and stands mute frozen by the sight. The man—this thing—approaches him, and Jared’s eyes necessarily start to gaze upward.

He feels an unaccountable desire to reach out and up, to run his hands through that long, lush hair, to caress those shoulders and the chest and everything that must come with them. He wants to know what this monster smells like. Then a burning awareness hits him. He wants—he craves—the fullness of this unknown devil’s undoubtedly giant, furnace-hot prick shoving all the way inside him, all the way to the middle of his fucking ribcage. In an instant, all that lifelong hesitation, all that guarded distance from his attraction to men, is swept away. Gone. He wants. He just wants.

A stray shaft of faint reflected light falls across the edge of something low and dead center, and Jared gasps. His cock responds dramatically, thickening and swelling in instant brotherhood. He shoves the traitorous organ aside in his trousers, straightening it with the heel of his palm. “Who’s there?” he demands again.

The giant silhouette stops maybe ten feet from him. A voice fills the alley, not loud but low and utterly pervasive, like the rumble of a subwoofer vibrating through your insides and everything around you. “My name—one of my names—is Karyo, god of the great river,” the monster growls, smug amusement in its voice. “But you will call me… my lord.”

Jared shivers, and his cock somehow hardens even further, from the voice and from the command. He can almost taste the easy superiority radiating off this being. This man, Jared thinks, is powerful. More powerful than a Coast Guard’s admiral. More powerful than the President of the United States. More powerful than… he’s just… more. And yet, there’s no trace of scorn. Jared can feel it.

I should step back, he coaches himself. I should run. He stays where he is, staring up at the shadowy figure, his boots rooted to the concrete under him.

“You remind me of my last familiar,” the creature rumbles. Though he moves no closer, Jared feels something like a caress on his cheek, and then something is tumbling gently past his ears and down his neck. His jaw and face suddenly itch.

Jared grabs his mouth in alarm. A beard? He clutches the back of his head. In an instant his hair has grown several inches, cascading onto his shoulders… exactly like the giant’s. What the—?

“You have yellow hair, though,” the being observes with a hint of curiosity. Jared swallows. Every syllable still vibrates through him like the taste of sexual release. “I have not met many yellow-haired men. I think… I think I like it.”

The shadow takes a step forward. Jared stiffens a little more but does not move. He feels a need to respond, to hold his own, though he has to force enough moisture into his mouth to speak. “My name is Jared,” he says. “DCA1 Jared Westbrook.”

The god gives a short chuckle. It’s amusingly cheeky of Jared to grant himself a name without the permission of any god or master. A charming habit. “Jared,” he repeats, letting it slide off his tongue.

Jared feels the god consider, weighing the name. After a moment the voice rumbles again. “I’ll allow it,” the god says. “You have felt my power. I have made the initial connection…”

The enormous hulk takes a step forward, his authoritative tone now lowering and edged with reverence. “You… are a beautiful young buck.” Jared feels the sensation of being watched and admired that had haunted him all afternoon out on the harbor. It was you, Jared thinks.

Jared feels a jolt of power, and then gives out a call of surprise as his clothing grows suddenly and painfully tighter across his chest, rear, and thighs. “What are you doing to me?” Jared begins to panic, both at the sudden growth of his muscles and at being frozen in an audience with this powerful being.

“Serve me,” the god stated. “Serve me and I will give you my love, my power.”

It sounds like a command, but there is need there. This being is alone, Jared realizes, in a world it does not know. And it craves. He… craves.

“What are—?” Jared starts to say, but whatever words he is about to say die on his lips as a soft light starts to grow between them. The light comes from nowhere and grows on its own, casting no shadow. It reaches only as far as the stark farms of Jared and the looming creature, separating and isolating them from the alley. That part is strange, but the most inexplicable thing about the glow is that it seems to come from under Jared’s skin, as if he were the metaphysical eldrich demon, not the newly appeared, human-shaped Leviathan before him.

In the soft light, Jared now sees the emerging shape of the being—Karyo. Mighty legs rise from bare slablike feet, prickled with hair and delineated in the familiar swells and falls of a human, only beyond the proportions of a swimmer or even a bodybuilder. Brown, chiseled abdominals like curved, oblong armor plates put his own hard-won six-pack to shame. The chest is furry and immense, with pecs round and prominent. A deep cleft divides the twin endowments of power and muscle. The shoulders Jared picked out before look even more uncanny in the secret light, striated and bulging with inhuman power. Arms that could tear down the buildings around them hang ready to each side.

Images flash in Jared’s mind. Old photographs of himself, kindergarten aged, riding on his father’s shoulders in an old family photograph. Of the Naval Academy graduates down in Annapolis, stripped bare to their waists as they stand on one another’s shoulders to try and reach the top of a greased pole through teamwork. Shoulder exercises at the gym, traps, lats, delts, rhomboids. Jared blinks as he feels his mind and memories being scanned, and also being drawn in and sewn up in a ball. He doesn’t fight it.

Above is the face of a god, bearded and dick-hardening handsome, evoking something elemental and inhuman. The expression is stern but fond, patient and incredibly intense, with blue-green eyes so bright they might be luminous in their own right, pressing on Jared like a touch. The long hair is brown and blue and green, flowing and subtly shifting in the windless alley as the god stands solid and unmoved.

And below? A mighty cock, bare and brazen, as natural as the trees and wind. It’s so huge, Jared thinks. It’s possible his own arm is not as big. The heavy, hair-pricked balls behind look big enough to produce as much cum as anyone could want, all of in a nest of unshaven bush, thick and wild. Karyo is so potently naked and massively sexual, Jared feels like the being’s raw nudity could fill the alley and melt the clothes right off him. Hell, not just the alley. Maybe the base. Maybe all of Baltimore will be naked and hard, if this god cannot contain himself.

Karyo is staring at Jared. It’s the same stare he felt on the cutter, conveying a drug-like lust almost beyond Jared’s comprehension. “My familiar,” Karyo commands, low and deep, his inhumanly handsome face caressed by Jared’s unexplained glow. It is not a request. The face, the body, and the cock are irresistible. It’s not, he knows, because Karyo is consciously clouding his mind or compelling him. They just are.

Jared has dreamt of hot men desperate for what he can give, but even fantasy pales beside the raw pull of this giant man-shaped being and his inhuman allure.

The rumbling voice seems to find its way into the corners of Jared’s soul. “I am Karyo,” the giant repeats. “River god and master of pleasure. This is the form I choose to show to you, Jared.” Karyo smiles, tasting the human name on his tongue. “You, and only you. Be mine and devote yourself to me in turn, as sons and sons have done for a thousand generations. Give me yourself!”

Jaren feels his mind opening up. Energy and light pour into his mind and body. In his head, he feels his entire existence being examined. He thinks of his girlfriend, of women… and then it is all swept away. Nothing remains. Nothing but this god. His god.

Jared tries to think amidst the pleasure. “A familiar?” he asks. “What’s a famili—” Then Jared loses the thought as he gasps at the sensation, the power, the light that blinds his mind for a second. The coastguardsman gasps and convulses, almost tumbling to his knees in shock. No other thought is possible. He cannot say no to this, whatever this is. Cannot, and would not!

“Fuck yeah,” Jared hears himself whisper. Did he decide, or his libodo? It doesn’t matter. The light grows, and all at once Jared is naked, as if the clothes really have melted off him just from the power of Karyo’s primordial nudity.

Something tightens in his ass. A brilliant golden thread, or maybe a rope, or a glowing cable the size of a bridge support, wraps itself around his prostate and yanks itself tight. Like a leash. Jared cries out, belatedly uncertain for a sliver of a moment. “Why—?” he gasps out. Then, as the god chuckles, he feels a raw torrent of unending energy flooding through him, forcibly gushing through every part of him and making him better, hornier, and more alive.

His body swells and thickens in bursts and jumps, layering and layering with muscle and more muscle as he grows taller and thicker and manlier in every way and every dimension. Jared looks down and marvels as his upper body changes. His already hairy chest becomes a blond downy carpet across his ballooning pecs. It’s lucky he’s not wearing a uniform shirt, he thinks faintly, because all the buttons would have popped as the two pectorals rose and swelled. His nipples darken from pink to more intense reddish brown, widening and expanding to the size of soda bottle caps. Jared raises his hands to marvel at them, and gasps in legitimate surprise at his nips’ sensitivity, the pecs jumping mightly in response. “I have a shelf!” Jared breathes aloud as his pecs’ growth slows and then stops, large enough and prominent enough to hold a coffee cup, a workout shake, or whatever else the bodybuilders on Insta might manage.

Jared gapes at his swollen, beautiful pecs, and then looked up at the god in wonder. “Oh my god…” Jared pants. “Thank… thank you.”

The god smiles. Jared can see that he loves spoiling his familiar, and he feels a swell of pride that he can give Karyo this again after so long without it.

Jared looks down again, delighting in his gigantic pecs, and then his thoughts are interrupted and he cries out anew. The god, it seems, is not done. Jared’s extreme upgrades are now spreading down his tummy where a tightening eight-pack has formed, and along his arms and legs. He observes his quads grow out into powerful pistons, his shins and calves become well-turned out, his feet swell into things of beauty, curvy and powerful, no longer meant for shoes. His hips narrow—Jared marvels at them, but then in a moment of panic, paws at them for a moment until his mind is forcibly cooled by this force, this magic. Is…is my pelvis actually compressing? Jared wonders, now feeling oddly passive in his own body.

Karyo’s young buck smiles as he feels the movement and weight of his rear shift dramatically. He paces in place, sighing as the cheeks rise and round into an amazingly high ass. He’ll have huge issues wearing standard-issue uniforms now, Jared thinks wildly, still tied by a few remaining unsnapped threads to the worldly cares of his former life.

More changes drive through him. His once-ordinary libido deepens so rapidly it seems to fall away to infinity. Jared pants, feeling the yearning of his flesh swell, overwhelm, and solidify, gifting him with nearly infinite need. His cock responds to the challenge, inflating in seconds from ordinary to ridiculously huge and wide as a palm—and so rock hard as it slaps impatiently against his furry foot-thick pecs, it’s like Jared never truly knew what it meant to be fully, utterly aroused. The balls beneath follow, each one unceremoniously swelling to the size of lemons, thrust outwards into a notable basket that his modern clothes fail to conceal. Karyo’s buck’s reddish-blond pubes spread to create a wild nest around the pulsing flower of his manhood.

Then, Jared feels it. Something grasps him. The hint has been there, dancing around his inner tract this whole time, but now the powers encases and places pressure on his prostate. Jared jerks at the sensation, and then calls out in pain and surprise and no small amount of fear as the leash tightens and becomes more and more intense, more so than he would have thought possible.

Looking up at the god, his god, his Karyo, Jared knows without question that this is from him. Even though the god is not touching him, even though both of the god’s power hands hang unmoving at his sides, Jared can see that it is the God’s power that is now pawing at his prostrate.

Closing his fist, Karyo growls, “You are mine now, familiar.” His voice still rumbles deep inside Jared’s crazily upgraded form. He feels the vibration in his mind, clearer than before; in his cock, hard and quivering with zeal against his massive chest; and most of all along the golden bond that leashes his prostate. Power and pleasure surge through Jared as he gives himself utterly to Karyo, not understanding all of what this means but intoxicated too much to care.

Jared jolts and spasms with ecstatic gratitude, focusing his being to the horny god. His ass clenches and his cock swells and hardens anew like stone. Then his climax is upon him, and the explosive orgasm he experiences rips away the very last of his resistance.

“Yours,” he gasps, a smile of devotion spreading across his more handsome face as he cums and pants.

Karyo’s head tilts back, the euphoria of Jared’s delirious release coursing violently through him. He moans loudly, and Jared moans with him. The shared orgasm lives between them for a long while, feeding them both.

Finally, those luminous blue-green eyes open, finding his. Understanding passes between them, wordless and empathic. Though Jared is still swaying with the intoxication of an orgasm ten times as powerful as he ever experienced in his old body, he feels barely quenched, and the unslaked lust in Karyo’s eyes tells him without any uncertainty that the river god has barely gotten started.

“You are a lucky, lucky boy,” Karyo smiles, almost gleefully. “Now… more.”

“More, my lord?” Jared gasps. His cock is still hard again his monstrous, cum-spattered pecs. He feels guilty, greedy, to ask for more. But he cannot help it. For the first time ever, he feels safe, happy, and loved. His human life was a misery compared to these first few seconds of joy as a familiar.

He looks down at himself. He is beyond arousing now. He could make others cum with a look and a smile. And with Karyo’s power surging through him, maybe he can do more to the hotties of Baltimore than merely make them blow their messy loads at the sight of him. He thrills at the idea of men—many many many men—wanting him, having him, giving themselves to him, feeding his god. He can have them. Take them. He can bring them to his lord, as many and as different in kind as he desires.

He looks up to see his master grinning, admiring Jared’s surpassing beauty. He would be come even more beautiful in time, as the god’s powers returned, as his familiar earned rewards, as his own whims and kinks ebbed and flowed. “More,” Karyo agrees happily, his low voice rumbling through them both. You, familiar Jared,” he adds, saying the name with endearment, as a human would speak to his dearest hunting dog, “will help me find… more.”

Jared huffs, pleased by the task. “Fuck yeah,” he says again.

“Fuck yeah,” the ancient river god rumbles, enjoying this turn of phrase. He lets it roll off his tongue. “Fuck yeah,” he says again, not needing a translation. “Fuck yeah,” the god bellows, and they both laugh.

The coasties busy in the mission center HQ don’t yet notice their transformed mate as Jared leads his god into the bustling space, filled with more men and equipment than usual. Jared, long-haired, hugely muscled, and massively cocked, grins up at his master devotedly, gesturing with his insanely powerful, hair-tinged arm at the several dozen men being offered for his god’s divine satiation. “Here, Karyo, here, my Master, here are more.”

The river god stands there, towering over his familiar, naked and potent, yet like his familiar as yet unseen by his oblivious potential recruits. His body feels immense and vibrant, practically spilling over with allure and arousal. He plunders his familiar’s thoughts for the terminology. Ten feet in height, Jared would say. Or was it three… meters? Why there are different schemes, he can’t guess. Perhaps it’s still true that competing currents can be found in mortal cultures as easily as in the surging river, as was his experience from the days long past.

He will ask Jared later. There is so much to discover! Already, he is overwhelmed by all that seems to have transpired. Clever, clever humans! Hard black paths of melted stone to smooth one’s travel. Carts that move on their own, purring like mountain lions. Dwellings that soar as high as eagles. Boats as large as mountains that slipped through his river as light as angels. Clever, clever human men! No wonder they have so many ways of measuring, as they have invented so many things!

Whatever the quantities, he feels reassuringly solid and real for the first time in centuries. It’s exhilarating, and his cock squeezes impetuously in front of him, forcing an answering flex in his familiar’s mighty tool. Jared smiles wider, all lines of stress and sadness removed from his beaming face. “Do they please you, my lord?” he asks dreamily, misunderstanding the burst of arousal Karyo had communicated autonomically to his pet. Jared is punch-drunk, so overwhelmed by it all, he doesn’t even try to wonder what will happen next. A more aware and cautious Jared might have, but that Jared is now buried and subsumed by his new purpose and desires.

Indulging his buck, Karyo dutifully looks over the motley contingent of variegated masculinity and shakes his head thoughtfully, delighting at the brush of long locks over his iron-hard shoulders once more. It’s been so long, even simple sensations are a rush! He observes the coastguardsmen, unaware of their new guest, as they work the radios, manage the incoming reserves, and talk animatedly about whatever nonsense was found important by men that day.

The god nods, appreciating the men’s inclination towards hard work, but then pauses. All these different ages and body types. Some so young, they were barely out of their baby teeth, and for others, Karyo could feel the arthritis and fatigued backs and knees on their behalf. Though… he remembers his chosen followers from before his long sleep. There were many differences among them, some ancestral and some of Karyo’s choosing, all of them were young and strong and virile, visibly sharing a common purpose involving devout pleasure and orgasmic bliss.

The god loved having not just a man-pet but a whole company of man-pets, all bearing the attributes of his service in body and merriment. Maybe the villagers had picked up on this inchoate feeling from their god when they fashioned tight-fitting identical costumes for the chosen ones to wear. These men—these “coasties”—they wear uniforms of service, but to Karyo the shared attire only emphasizes their differences.

He smiles, shaking his head again—maybe just to feel the slide of tresses across thick, curving muscle once more. He huffs at himself. How starved for physical sensation he is! He turns his attention back to the coastguardsmen. One walks right by him, unawares, fully grey of hair and lined of face. A band of warriors with elders among them? This could not… no, this could not be.

He draws up his power from the prior pleasure he’d drawn from his… his Jared. Claiming one man was one thing, but many… Karyo felt ready. Looking out at the warriors, he nods, ready to ensure that his river is guarded by a cadre worthy of worshipping him.

“This,” he gesticulates at a gathering of middle-aged coastguardsmen, “will not do, familiar,” he says airily.

For the space of a heartbeat, Jared gapes up at him in dismay, momentarily distressed at the thought of failing his god. Then Karyo winks, and all at once his familiar understands. He grins euphorically, and acting upon instinct, like a salmon in the stream or rooster greeting the sun, Jared steps into the center of the bustling mass of men. He sets his feet apart, then looks over his brawny shoulder at the gigantic form of his god, ready and waiting. Waiting for… Jared feels a passing thought in his mind. For what?

Nodding, the river god floods his power through his familiar, letting it erupt outward in slow, explosive circles none can withstand, like a powerful, inescapable eddy that’s been reversed to expend its inhuman force relentlessly and unhurriedly on everything around it, without mercy or redress.

Through Jared, the god brushes the minds of the men he’s transforming with caresses of greatness, stage by stage. They are going to make him so proud, Karyo thinks with a smile.

Tim Miller, one of the Coast Guard officers on shift, was at his desk unawares when Jared and his god came in. In his mid-40’s, he still passed the required physicals with ease and was enjoying the new salt and pepper he’d started sporting. He’s typing away, taking calls, trying to address the deluge of media inquiries on the bridge collapse and a new congressional delegation visit request when the changes hit.

Tim begins to feel very chipper—no, more than chipper. He feels incredibly good. Tim pauses, breathing in, enjoying the mood. Is it the coffee? No, couldn’t be. Then his thoughts at this strange lightness are interrupted by a young man sitting at the desk across the way. A young man, instead of his usual middle-aged cube-mate, Lance. Tim is incredulous. This was a restricted area. They are still in crisis mode, and this isn’t no daycare. Tim’s mind tries to put two and two together. The young guy looks like he could be the co-worker’s son, maybe?

“Hey you. You Lance’s boy?” Tim calls out, barely able to think as the euphoria continues to build in him, charging the room. Despite his concern, Tim feels his mouth drift into a smile. He shifts in his seat. Wow, that feels good. His sleeves start to feel tight.

The young man looks up in surprise, shocked and mesmerized. “Tim? What the fuck? I’m Lance, jackass,” he starts to reply, and then is caught up in the first man’s radiant beauty. “Tim?”

Tim looks back at Lance, and then down at himself. His shirt is now tighter, and his chest definitely larger, the top button now straining. His arms—oh my God! Tim panics for a second before his mind cools. His sleeve tattoos, which he got as a 35th birthday present for himself, are gone. His skin is as clean as a baby’s. But instead of panic or fixation at this change, Tim doesn’t dwell on it. That can wait and this other fellow cannot.

They move toward each other in utter infatuation, half-forgotten dicks now rising to rigid need as they mash their bodies and mouths together, just appreciating it all.

The two are thus distracted when Marcelo, their area leader, bursts out of his office, his salt-and-pepper hair converting visibly to rich chestnut as he moves toward them. His skin, long since turned leathery from so many years out on the water, now shines with health as the ravages of time fall away forgotten.

“Guys, what the hell?” Marcelo calls out. He’s been prepared to request a medic, a 911 call, something, but now his thoughts shift to chagrin as he realizes he’s interrupted a make-out session.

“Sorry, I… I didn’t mean…” Marcelo hesitates, trying to make it less awkward. He then grins and responds to being beckoned into the group. The three hold each other and marvel at Marcelo’s now perfect brown skin, their hands drifting downwards. The sound of metal belt buckles opening tinkle like windchimes through the workspace.

Jared stares, gasping. He doesn’t understand what to think. “Sir?” he looks back to his God. What was happening? But he sees Karyo continuing to smile, and gives a grand gesture with his arms.

Another wave, and Jared moans as more distinctive and varied improvements pepper the crowd of chosen ones. The shoulders of one bearded man being stroked and mouthed by three others suddenly swell to almost obscene proportions, the trio starting to moan louder, more gutterally. Another dark-skinned man finds his already amazing ass pumped and firmed to half again its former size, with ripping fabric and grunts as he shimmies out the resulting rags, standing out in his uniform trousers like a beacon for hands and groins. A red-haired hunk with a fresh sunburn from hours of daylight rescue work sees his skin turn milky white one more. He pops up inches taller in the space of a breath as his legs and abdomen lengthen comically.

Everyone changes in waves and bursts, across the entire base building. Phones go unanswered, emails continue to ping on open desktops, and the mobile phones chirp more insistently than the songbirds of the wood. Years melt away, smoothing faces and turning white and silver hair into yellow, brown, auburn, and sand. Scars and tattoos wash away, leaving arms and necks hairy and pristine, for the pleasure of the Gods alone. Karyo laughs a deep belly laugh, basso and pleasing. It makes Jared feel better amidst his confusion. All of his friends, his long-time co-workers… Jared can admit the beauty, the amazingness of the moment, but wasn’t this… I mean, Jared thinks… at least I was asked, right?

Karyo, giddy at the exercise of his long-dormant powers, gives another laugh of satisfaction, and his familiar laughs uneasily with him. It’s great feeling his jubilation, but Jared feels taken aback. More and more of the officers begin to change, and their confusion and fear gives way one by one, like falling dominoes, to acceptance and excitement.

Soon a roomful of radiant, energy-packed 25-year-old bucks gaze at each other in wonder, thrumming with the anticipation of what might be to come. They still are not seeing their new master, giggling and hard-cocked at the locus of their transformation. That will be final reveal!

Another crackling wave, and muscle ripples through all of them, turning the thirty-odd men from a mixed bag of physique and mien into a quivering battalion of hard, thick-bodied hunks of all races and backgrounds. This time, instead of melting their clothes away, the cascading earth-magic swells their blue uniforms with their growing frames, underlining for Karyo and each other their new unity of purpose and form. Another burst and more muscle piles on along with a shock- wave of divine glamor and unbearable allure. The men now turn helplessly to each other, standing from chairs and coalescing from corners and side rooms as they batter each other senseless with irresistible beauty. Couples and threesomes smash together in feverish kisses and they grope and grasp each other.

Changes spread through the muscular crowd, their lust and need seeming to amplify with every eruption, filling all the men with endless desire.

Without warning a huge new wave plows through the men. The crowd starts to fidget, to scratch, to pace. A few sounds of fabric straining. One buck grunts in discomfort, then they all cry out as their cocks and balls expand and grow beyond all reason. Gigantic hard-ons shove violently from waistbands all around the room and strain to keep growing, rooted in thickening bushes and swelling testicles churning with increasingly abnormal quantities of spunk. Far from being all the same, each monstrous cock seems dramatically different and unique, almost to the level of a fingerprint. Some are tall and towering, some are wide and flat, some are thick and round like a majestic tree-bough. They stand straight up, pushing into heavy, protruding pecs, or shove to one side, or frame an angle at a bend half-way up, or curve like the arc of the moon over the sky. Some express their owner’s need with messy gouts of fast-flowing precum, others quiver redly with a single pearl of goo resting in the slit, a few are cumming already as if possessed of an endless supply of dizzying seed.

One thing they have in common. All of the many cocks flexing and spurting in the musk-filled room rage with a need for asses and mouths and hands. Thoughts of wives, of women, all of that lies your past, Karyo assures them. There are surely tribes in the forest, with sons kept at home, who will tend to the women and to the children, hunt for them and protect their borders. No need to concern yourselves with that here, Karyo assures his warriors.

Any final inkling of concern or attachment to the breast and the snatch is swept away like cobwebs. It’s for your own good, Karyo whispers, and each of them grins widely. Yes, for my own good. Their pupils narrow and they turn their gaze on their brothers.

With every moment the air heats with intensifying lust and rampant pheromones, and even Karyo is affected, pulling him closer to his own release as he savors the pleasures Jared is feeding him, channeling the roomful of mindless, hunky libertines.

The men see him now. They see him. None are afraid. They feel him in their bones and cocks and asses, their bodies surging with the familiar’s in mutual pleasure. Karyo, they murmur, recognizing him and moving to him. Karyo, Karyo, Karyo!

Jared, now drunk again on his lord and master’s magic, puts aside his concerns, and moves among his fellow warriors, grinning like a fool, his hands out to grasp and stroke and savor. The familiar moves among the groups, joining in near-orgasmic kisses and groping gigantic, oversensitive cocks, and they are returning the favor, mauling his quivering chest-high erection as they kiss and grope him. Every man he touches changes more. A Nordic-looking fellow with ludicrously wide shoulders becomes swathed in fine, platinum-blond hair from collarbone to ankle at his caress. A sun-bronzed, cocky jock with dark brows and blazing golden eyes barely notices as his extra-wide cock develops a second goo-messed glans under Jared’s caresses, too busy kissing the familiar and feeling his divinely enhanced ass. Jared is aware of his master’s leash on his prostrate. He feels it grasp tighter, or push this way or that, leading him through the room.

Jared and his god are close to release, their newly recruited men simmering on the bleeding edge of spectacular climax, when Wallace bursts into the room, alarmed that the dispatcher desk had stopped responding to radio calls. “What the fuck, fellas?” he says, seeing the room occupied. “GAO will be all over our ass on this one. We can’t let the radio go sil—what? what is this?” he says over the chorus of moans, his voice first in alarm, and then mellowing. “It smells like the back room and the Rampaging Satyr in here. Jared?” He spots his buddy, and runs over to him, only when getting close realizing the man is fully naked. “Jared? Is that you? What the hell is going on with all that big and… beautiful…”

Wall’s emotions seem to twist. He looks around, mystified, less panicked now than intrigued. As Jared moves to meet him the changes hit Wallace in rapid-fire succession, pushing him back from 28 to 25, then convulsions pounding out his already impressive muscles in his uniform (expanding to fit, just barely, like all the others’) to a truly stunning size, then producing an erupting, precum-slobbering uncut cock almost as enormously tall and wide as Jared’s.

The whole time he transforms into the most impressive specimen in the room apart from Jared himself, the young coastie cannot stop talking, much to the river god’s astonishment. “Dude, Jared! This! This is amazing, this is like the best sex I’ve ever had and I haven’t even had any sex yet, I can’t believe how hot you are, I’ve never wanted to fuck you or be fucked by you but right now I literally can’t think of anything else—”

With some amusement, the god observes this man, Wallace. Another human naming himself! This would not do). Karyo shakes his head. He will need to ensure not to spoil them too much. He allowed this Wallace to see him, shocking him enough that his river of speech falters, if only for a moment.

“Oh my god,” Wall continues, looking up at the now visible behemoth. “What the fuck is that! What the fuck? What the mother-fucking—”

“Quiet,” Karyo commands. This boy is noisier than a field of cicadas, he thinks.

“Jared, he with you?” Wall backs up against a desk, looking up at the River God. “He so—” Wall’s eyes grow. “He’s so beautiful and big and… is he causing all this. This?” Wall gestures at his own muscles. “I don’t—”

“Quiet,” Karyo repeats, not raising his voice. The sound of a hissing zap is heard, and then… silence. True silence. Wall’s hands fly to his neck, pawing at his throat. Aside from a lingering tickle, there is no more sensation there. Just the shallow gasps of the panicking Wall.

“What did you do?” Jared asks in a momentary panic, his mind breaking out from the comfortable blanketlike stupor he was finding so easy to linger in.

The river god gives a final grunt and finishes sealing the noisy man’s vocal chords together. He did order quiet. “Look to me, mute,” Karyo orders.

As their eyes meet, Karyo gifts the panting, scared chatterbox with an insatiable need. Wall’s eyes widen as all his worldly duties and cares fade into irrelevance. His mind is vacant for a second, just a second, and then a flash flood of need—true need—enters him. For cock. Thick cock. Fat cock. Long cock. Wet, pulsing cock. Karyo smiles as the quiet little man zealously accepts his duty.

And Karyo is not an unkind god. He ensures his newest recruit is empowered to deliver, granted through his god’s benevolence an unrivaled capacity to service even the most massive cocks with his mouth, lips, tongue, and throat.

Unaware of the full extent of his changes, Jared moves closer, his expression concerned. “Wall?” he asks.

Wall still clutches his neck, trying to clear his throat, to say hello, anything. But all that comes out is his breath. Not that Wall will be focused on this too long…

“You love your silence… Wall,” Karyo avows, awkwardly accommodating the human’s name, for lack of time. No need to chide them for that just now. He’ll have to lay down the law soon.

Karyo looks over at Jared. “What need has he for a voice when he can make others sing?” the river god says. Jared looks up in confusion, and then over at his friend. Wall’s eyes widen in shocked confusion as he breathes and groans very very softly. Then he calms, overwhelmed. A smile creeps over his face. He has been freed from the burden of speech. Who needed that, when he could make others sing? Wall smiled calmly.

Without hesitation, Wall turns to the god’s chosen familiar, drops to his knees, and begins pawing at Jared’s chest-high, upper-arm-thick unstoppable erection. Jared tries to back up, weirded out.

“Stand your ground!” Karyo commands. He is touched that his familiar is so sensitive and has such concerns for his friends. But he will need to learn to trust his god. Obedience to his God and master comes first.

Jared tries be a man and keep it together. And then, when his hard cock first pops into Wall’s mouth, beautiful, no longer chatty, hotter-than-ever Wall, he gives another groan of surprise. It’s… marvelous.

In seconds Wall is performing expert, virtuoso fellatio, a skill he now has, without a gag reflex, on the already-close-to-cumming Jared. His muscular neck surges and thrusts, and the long familiar-tool soon is in far past his gullet and almost poking into his stomach. Wall’s silenced mouth cannot even offer up a groan, and the only sound is the moaning of the other chosen ones and Jared’s own open and shameless bellows of pleasure. Jared can’t help himself! It is so good, and he soon is yelling shamelessly as everything in his being, all his attention, all his life force, turned towards his cock and the endurance of this administration, with skills gifted from the gods. Jared yells again, feeling embarrassed.

Karyo glances over, feeling his familiar’s chagrin. He is disappointed for a second, but then reminds himself that this Jared is still such a young familiar. He will learn. Karyo will teach him, as he had taught so many familiars, generation upon generation. Karyo allows himself to reminisce over their beautiful muscular backs, their plump rears, their full balls spilling with cum, and their skill at herding and guiding all of Karyo’s men. Yes, Jared will learn.

With a wave of Karyo’s hand, Jared feels his momentary shame fall away, and he starts hollering uninhibited with each administration of Wall’s devilish mouth. Jared pants, no longer feeling embarrassed. It is all so good.

The god senses Wallace’s thrill at the sounds Jared makes as his throat pulses, milking the huge erection with the muscular power of his adapted throat. He no longer needs to make noise in any way but this, reveling at each time he makes Jared speak or shout. Karyo smiles, as the man accepts his gift. And no more chatterbox. Life is good.

The energy in the room builds and intensifies. Everyone is close, and then suddenly, all at once, there is a cacophony of orgasm. Unspeakable sexual energy tears out of every augmented, lust-enhanced man. Jared screams as it channels through him with the strength of a hundred climaxes joined with his own—but he uses all of it to feed his god.

Karyo swells, the last dregs of his power returning to him like a descending tornado. He cries out deafeningly, his voice shaking the building as his body erupts outward in massive muscle and limbs and cocks, the ancient god very nearly losing control.

But Jared is strong, and his men are strong, and they tether and anchor him with their love and passion as they paint the room white with cum.

The orgasm subsides slowly. After a long time, the god looks upon them. They beam up at him, proud of their climax and utterly devoted. A new company of chosen men. Wall wipes his mouth and breathes deeply, grinning wide in a way that speaks his satisfaction more than five minutes of speech did before. His eyes, too, glint with his impatience to provide pleasure to another of the many proud bucks among him.

“Wall?” Jared asks, urgently, from the chair he had slumped in. Wall looks over, inquisitively. Cum still clings to his chest hair, and his lips are red and bruised. “You okay?” Jared asks, almost a whisper.

Wall give a look of confusion, and then shrugs. He gestures at all the exposed, softening cocks about the room. Wall’s nostrils flare noticeably, and he gives a hungry grin. All is well.

“My men, my beautiful beautiful bucks,” Karyo intones. All turn their attention to their Lord. “Protect my harbor!” the river god directs them. His voice rumbles through every atom and cell in the room.

“Yes, my Lord,” they all chant, surprising themselves even as the compulsion to serve wipes away every other concern. Wall bows his head, looking up with a proud smile of his own.

Jared can barely hold himself up in the chair he fell into. The head Wall gave him—no mortal man had ever experienced that. He looks up at Karyo, imperfectly aware of his own role in making all of this happen.

“Good little familiar.” Jared is lifted up by the river god, cherished in his lord’s arms. Karyo has so much to teach this young leader of men.

“What have we done?” Jared wonders, disoriented, as he is lifted up to the level of the gods, high above the adoring crowd of fawning, throbbing men who used to be his co-workers.

“Done?” Karyo looks down at his pet in confusion. Jared returns the gaze in wonder and fear. He feels his prostrate zing!

“You are not yet done, my boy!” Karyo assures his familiar, smiling joyfully, his laugh as deep as the river.

As the throes of his hundredfold afterglow slowly ebb, leaving him with a profound sense of peace and liberation, Jared looks out over the mission control HQ in wonder. What he sees from the safety of his powerful god’s muscular embrace is not just transformation but elevation.

There has been so much tension and rancor in this room, he thinks. Somehow everyone’s been approaching the guardianship of the river waters with a caustic mix of stress and egoism, creating a ceaseless, pervasive crackle of unpleasantness only occasionally interrupted by outbreaks from personality clashes and slow eddies of corrosive ambition. Suddenly Jared finally understands part of why he’s felt so isolated and nihilistic this whole time, preferring the company of the water, wind, and seagulls to his petty, crass, and often craven shipmates. The truth is, he and his fellow mundane mortals haven’t been “humaning” right. Absolutely not right at all.

He’s often thought of his colleagues as shallow and pleasure-seeking. But taking in the scene before him—scores of transformed men descending lazily from the heights of shocking release to a shared state of mutually affectionate serenity—he decides that most humans haven’t even understood the true nature of hedonism. This place, here and now, is a lesson in what pleasure truly is and how wrongly it is often pursued.

The room teems with irresistibly handsome, hairy, and muscular young men eagerly taking on together work they had dreaded as individuals. Some man the comms, half-dressed and stroking each other’s bare, broad chests or firm, round asses, their faces split with wide smiles as their eyes spark with new arousal as they speak dreamily into radios, telephones, and other devices. More knots of broad-shouldered, horny men cluster around large-screen live-update maps of the harbor and sonar receiving stations, discussing the ongoing salvage work and the protection of commercial and pleasure vessels between kisses. Still others giggle as they cleanse the room of pooled, still-hot cum and various articles of torn clothing; some with mops and brooms, others (if the spunk is sprayed across a muscular back, say, or a hairy, chiseled eight-pack) with lips and tongue.

A positive, charged energy fills the room along with the heady scent of aroused men, connecting them all through the fathomless, carnal power of the River God. Everyone buzzes with a undertow of excitement, amorous smiles, and collective anticipation. Young Marcelo moves from group to group, embracing and groping, providing leadership not through antagonism and barked commands but through hands and touches, spreading a warm sense of unity through manual adoration. Wall, too, embraces his new role with gusto, spiking the arousal of the group by going from man to man and making them trumpet out their euphoria through his mastery of cock, his belly progressively becoming more and more swollen with cum. No one is alone, Jared realizes, because pleasure is the foundation of being one of Karyo’s recruits, and true pleasure is a shared thing. They are no longer individual men with competing, conflicting needs. They are Karyo’s, utterly and completely; and, as with the god’s fortunate recruits in bygone ages beyond the memories of living men, this truth gives them a unique level of joy, power, unity, and freedom.

Jared smiles thoughtfully, stroking his new straw-blond beard, a match for the cascades of blond hair falling past his bulky, sunkissed shoulders. The waking of Karyo is a gift for humanity, he muses—this he knows now more clearly than he has ever known anything. This is how men are supposed to live: in harmony and strength, with a reward of constant erotic rapture. Only by laying all else aside and becoming recruits of Karyo—his “beautiful bucks,” as the god says—can all the clouds of anguish and anxiety besetting humanity be finally dispersed and this amazing, cock-hardening purity of existence be shared.

He turns to look up at his ten-foot-tall master. As he does so, his spent, half-hard monster cock quickens with renewed lust as he stares into the god’s dangerous, faintly phosphorescent blue-green eyes. As the familiar of the god and conduit of his power, his spike in arousal filters through the men around them, eliciting moans and erections as their mutual pleasure kicks up a notch. Jared feels so blessed. Looking at the screens around him, he sees an image from one of the U.S. Coast Guard drones, images of the harbor. His Lord’s harbor. Jared’s eyes light up and he hurries to his master.

“My lord,” Jared says huskily, tugging at the God’s hand. “I must show you!”

Karyo’s bright eyes flash with amusement. “Show me what, my pet?” he intones. “Your ass? Not yet.” As he says this, Jared feels another zing of pleasure from the golden “leash” in his anus linking him to his god. He moans loudly, and echoes of the moan flicker through the mass of horny, hunky, enhanced men. Karyo’s lips quirk. “Though you will earn that boon,” he adds with a wink. Jared isn’t sure if the words are meant as a promise or a command, but either way, Jared vows the directive will be fulfilled. He knows he has much to learn about being a familiar. More than anything else he is set on becoming the being that Karyo needs him to be.

Incredibly turned on at the thought of achieving more growth, physically and as a familiar, Jared is fully hard again, his monster cock weeping helplessly into the cleavage between his now-heavy, fur-covered pecs. In his god’s embrace, he’s more than warm; his blood is like lava, and Karyo’s skin feels like the hard, hot living stone of which the world itself is made. “Thank you, my lord. But there is something else I can show you.”

The god is still indulgent. “And what is that, pup?”

Jared licks his full lips. “Your city,” he says. “A new world crawling with men in need of your love. In need of your gift. Will you allow me to guide you?”

There is a hint of surprise in Karyo’s eyes, and Jared thrills with simple, unadulterated joy as he realizes he has anticipated a keen and urgent need his curious, ambitious master has already started to feel. Karyo’s smile is knowing and eager. “I would like that… Jared,” he says. He adds the name as though as a gift, meant just for this moment. Understanding this instantly makes Jared’s beefed-up body rock with a mini near-orgasm.

“Show me my city, my horny familiar,” Karyo bids playfully, pleased by the reaction. “Let me see my river, and find more men to show the meaning of pleasure!”

“NECTAR of the GODS!! BOUNTY OF SUMMER, ICE OF WINTER!! PLEASURE BEYOND IMAGINING!!”

Karyo is enjoying his first exposure to ‘smoothies.’

Jared stares, both happy that he has pleased his master so, and a little weirded out that anyone could like a smoothie quite that much. Karyo gulps down his seventeenth. Jared and the clerk at the smoothie kiosk exchange a worried look. “It’s… uh… almost closing time,” the clerk, a younger bearish type, says.

“My Lord, perhaps we should continue our walk,” Jared speaks up. They had only made it a block before they’d passed the kiosk, and Karyo asked what a ‘smoothie’ is. “We still need to see the harbor.”

“WILL THERE BE SMOOTHIES THERE?” Karyo demands.

“Um, no.” Jared looks worried again. “But… the city.”

“Yes,” Karyo nods, bringing himself out of his blissful state. The familiar is correct. He must survey the territory. The River God stands up, all the empty cups and straws clattering to the floor. There would be time for more smoothies later. “You there, Smoothie Brewer,” Karyo calls at the young man behind the counter.

“Yes, sir?” the employee asks. He isn’t bewitched as one of Karyo’s men, but still can sense the proper need for deference and acknowledgment of the power that the River God exudes.

“Blessed at you among men, for you produce this nectar of the Gods. Never stop.” The bearish clerk’s eyes widened. “Produce unending smoothies for men,” Karyo commands with a booming voice. “I can think of no greater blessing for you.” The River God snaps his fingers and it is done. He and Jared depart smoothie store then, Jared looking back concerned. But then the two are gone.

Back at the counter, the clerk sighs in relief, and then shifts uncomfortably. He looks down nervously as the fabric of his shirt begins to tighten. He closes his eyes and sighs as his pecs tingle and experience a pleasant burn. The other clerk comes out from the storeroom and immediately turns crossed-eyed, beginning to methodically chop up bananas and strawberries. The first clerk starts receiving the fruit gladly, chewing hurriedly, accompanied by guzzled carton after carton of milk. All this while, the clerk’s pecs push out more and more until the smoothie store uniform gives way, the buttons popping to reveal prominent and heavy man-pecs, the nipples a cold dusty purple. A test squeeze by the second clerk allows a dollop of creamy pink to emerge.

Both clerks smile, having a sense of mission now greater than they ever had in their lives. The main clerk truly hopes a customer could come in soon, as the pressure in his pecs is now increasingly urgent.

“My long sleep was troubled and unending,” Karyo explains as he and his familiar walk down Gay Street towards Inner Harbor. “I could not give up hope, because I could not do anything. Nothing besides doze and thrash in my tomb. Then there was a great crash and swirl. Giant rods of metal, as thick as tree trunks turned the harbor floor upside down. Amidst the falling boughs of iron, I awoke, and found myself free. Oh my…”

The two have reached the harborside. Across the bay, the twisted hulk of the Key Bridge is draped over the crippled container ship. It is all framed in silhouette against the rising sun. Amidst the tangled destruction, it is still a beautiful scene of color and light as the harbor awoke.

“My River,” Karyo says, sentimentally. He looks to his familiar. “How long?”

“No technology, just native peoples…?” Jared whistles. “It’s gotta be hundreds of years.”

“And my men, my familiar Watii…” Karyo says then, and then smiles sadly. “Yes, they will have passed on.” Then he looks affectionately at his Jared. “But now I shall herd up some new men.” Jared smiles. He feels special.

It was still properly night, the red tinge to the east heralding a dawn not yet arrived; even so, there are cars, bikes, and buses gliding by around them in the early-hour half-light. As they reach more commercial areas pedestrians seem to emerge from the sidewalks, some starting their days, others coming off night shifts, the rest doing their own thing.

Seeing more people in a state of normality, away from the nest of man-sex his Lord has created just a few hundred yards away, Jared feels a tinge of bashfulness and shame for their nudity. It’s like a bruise left over from his old life that hasn’t yet healed and vanished into his skin. Jared realizes uncomfortably that he hasn’t reached the level of acceptance of his god that Karyo deserved to achieve after all. In the novelty of the situation—strolling through a city half naked and crazily transformed, with an ancient, sexy river god at his side—he feels a tiny, lingering taint of self-consciousness deep under the weight of his overwhelming bliss, like a bruise left over from his old life that hasn’t yet healed and vanished into his skin.

With a few hurried whispers, Jared has convinced Karyo to exchange his ten-foot-tall Leviathan look for a more demure form—they were doing reconnaissance and observation, after all. But anyone who were to see Karyo, even in this smaller form, would know know he is hardly normal.

The River God walks silkily next to Jared, now a 6-foot-7, 300-pound, aggressively nude figure of solid, zero-fat muscle and radiant lust. His skin is a rich and vibrant bronze. A long cascades of dark, wavy hair still drape over his brawny shoulders, unnegotiable. His face is arrestingly handsome with ageless features and a trim, dark beard. Heavy chest hair covers his boulder-like pecs, plus more hair on his chiseled abs, forearms, and legs. His cock is massive and heavy, batting at his furry thighs. Next to him, blonder, smaller, and less prepossessing, Jared feels not just inferior (which he is) but callow and incapable.

Recognizing this reaction stokes Jared’s determination. He must become more, and earn the fate Karyo has given him, even as he tries to teach the god about the ways of modern men.

So far, of course, no one has noticed that the god or himself. Jared knows that this is the god’s somehow effortless ability to manipulate the mortals around them through his human familiar. Jared can feel the trickles of power channeling through him, even as his own constant, unending lust gushes the other way, feeding the god. He lets his minuscule, niggling doubts gain purchase for a moment, examining them. He knows he doesn’t measure up—yet. If he were to fail as a familiar and Karyo couldn’t mask them, what would happen? There would be pandemonium among his fellow mortals at the sight of a massive naked man in the midst of the bustling city, for sure. The national news media is all over Baltimore now due to the Key Bridge disaster—several news vans with various logos have sped by in just the last few minutes, with multiple choppers circling the skies over the water. Other consequences would follow. Karyo would be thunderously angry and upset at Jared’s shortcomings. Maybe even punish him! Jared feels nervousness then, something he’d not felt since he was in college and almost cut from the baseball team one semester. He could not be cut now.

He glances over at the god as they walk. He’s frowning, Jared notes, as if he’s sensing Jared’s imperfection and is annoyed by it. “My lord...” Jared begins. Karyo turns his chin toward him, one heavy brow arched. “My lord,” he repeats. “If you were to wear clothes—”

“Which I do not,” the god says flatly.

Jared persists, and he realizes this is because he is genuinely curious. “But what would you wear, if you were wearing something?” he asks, his nervousness falling away as his drive to learn more about his master takes over.

Karyo seems to observe the subtle shift. He brings them both to a stop on East Pratt Street at the edge of Inner Harbor, at a row of department store windows. Faceless mannequins stare out at the street with blank attitudes. After surveying the clothing, the two face each other, the God and the man, and Karyo tilts his head slightly, considering his pet. He’s curious about me, too, Jared thinks, excited.

“What would you have me wear, pet?” Karyo responds, sounding amused.

Jared blinks. How to choose? Karyo would look good in anything. A toga… a Hugo Boss suit… beach jams… a Hugh Hefner dressing gown… Jared notices a snug, black muscle tee on a mannequin in the window with matching black jeans and boots, and thinks it would look amazing on the beautiful, hulking form before him. No sooner has he imagined it than he’s fighting not to take a step back as that exact outfit appears on the god himself, hugging Karyo’s massive pecs, snuggling his tight abs, and cupping his enormous package. The mannequin, amusingly, is now the one that’s naked.

Jared lets his eyes drink in the god from head to toe. “You’re almost as sexy with clothes as without,” he breathes.

Karyo smirks, lapping up the adoration from the mere mortal before him. He returns the ogling gaze, eyeing his thickly muscled familiar critically. Up top, Jared is still shirtless; below, his muscles and cock are packed into his straining Coast Guard trousers, now much too small and in places ripped from the sheer size of Jared’s thighs and ass. “You seem to be the one in need of clothes,” the god observes, his lips quirking. “Your old uniform is sadly inadequate, my young buck. We must find you a new one.” Karyo’s eyes flare brighter at the idea. “You, and my other young bucks.”

He definitely likes uniforms, Jared thinks smugly. He can’t blame him. Jared is fully aware he has always looked good in a uniform, be it Coast Guard, Explorers, college baseball…

Thinking of sports outfits, an idea strikes him. “You know,” he says, “the UnderArmour headquarters is near here. I’ve always thought that’d make a sexy uniform.”

Karyo does the curious head-tilt thing again. “Armor,” he repeats, considering the word. “That’s—protective wear for warriors, yes?” He smiles in approval. “It’s true,” he says cooly with approval. “You are my warriors.”

Jared chuckles. “Not armor in that sense, not exactly,” he says. “It’s compression wear, for, well—” He holds his hands in front of his prodigious pecs. “—like, when you’ve got big muscles and you want to make them—” He gestures, squeezing his hands slightly in front of his protruding chest. “—more, um, compact and firm.” He knows compression apparel does other things relating to wicking sweat and regulating temperature, but all he can think of looking at his exquisitely built master is the fabric’s effect on heavy, dense muscles like theirs.

The god seems to share his focus. Through his ever-tingling anal leash and the familiar warm, thrumming connection in his chest, Jared feels the burning sexual heat rise in Karyo, even asthe god’s eyes flare with interest. “Show me, pet,” he growls.

Grinning, Jared grabs Karyo’s hand and together they run, turning the corner and vanishing into the still-shadowy city.

A few blocks later they are standing in front of a large building with the UnderArmour logo high above them. The emporium is still closed, the big glass doors locked and the light off within, so they sneak around back and try a steel door marked “Warehouse entrance—employees only.” He tries the knob. “No go,” he says, glancing up at Karyo.

The god regards him strangely. “Don’t look at me, pet,” he says pointedly. “Are you weak, or are you strong?”

Jared narrows his eyes at him for a moment, nonplussed, then slowly turns back to the door. Well, he does have bigger muscles. Denser, too, from the feel. He squeezes the knob resolutely, concentrating on the muscles of his right arm. To his surprise, he feels power flare in his biceps, triceps, and forearms, even the muscles of his palm and fingers—and then suddenly the knob is crumpling like paper!

He looks down at his arm in shock. It looks pumped, like the leveraging of strength has energized and swelled the muscle. He turns to his left arm, flexing it, and with a small mental effort the same slight but visible pump wells up in the muscles. Both his arms now thrive with raw, human vigor and virility.

Jared gapes at himself, remembering Karyo’s easy resizing of his own divine form. Am I… is my body as fluid as my Master’s? he thinks, incredulous. Lifting a hand, he presses it against his massive right pectoral, then slowly slides his palm across his huge chest. As it moves, he feels the bristling hair subtly flare and grow, becoming faintly thicker and denser everywhere his hand moves. It’s the god’s power flowing through him, he knows, but the change he’s wreaking feels so minor, it’s like stealing handfuls of liquid virility from the edge of a mighty river.

His cock swells dangerously and uncomfortably in his too-small pants, reminding him, appropriately enough, of why there are there. Clearing his throat, he returns his attention to the destroyed knob. A few yanks and pokes and the whole crumpled assembly falls to the ground, leaving a round hole where the knob and lock had been.

Smiling, he opens the door and gestures Karyo in. Karyo gives him a knowing glance before passing into the darkened warehouse, allowing Jared a good look at his godly ass.

They spend half an hour of the predawn morning looking through the boxes and stacks of merchandise, alone in the closed storage depot. Combination after combination of clothing is whisked on and off Jared with Karyo’s manipulation. Jared begins to feel like a paper doll, with all the different tops and bottoms he sees himself suited up in. When they are ready to go, Karyo is as before; but his impressive familiar is now decked out in a new uniform consisting of a long-sleeved compression tee, in a dark blue-green hue that Jared insisted on (apparently it perfectly matches Karyo’s eyes). This is paired with (necessarily) roomy midnight blue pants tapering to the ankles and blue/black running shoes.

Before they leave, Karyo presses his hand to Jared’s chest, enjoying his pet’s quiver of excitement. When he removes it, a set of three thin light-blue wavy lines stretches across his pecs, each tendril occasionally crossing over the other like a crosscurrent. As they watch, the three-line insignia wraps around Jared’s upper body as if of its own accord, finally joining with its end and glowing faintly a second before falling quiet.

“Now it is distinctive to me,” the god intones, his voice deep and compelling. He concentrates, closing his eyes for a moment as he reaches through the familial connection to his new thralls back at the base, then opening them with satisfaction. “All who serve me now wear this livery,” he announces proudly.

His familiar beams his thanks at the river god, clearly excited by the idea of his fellow elevated Coastguardsmen back at the command center suddenly all sharing Karyo’s sexy uniform. “Wall will be thrilled, my lord,” he says. Daringly, he adds, “He loves hot men in tight uniforms almost as much as you.”

Karyo smirks indulgently at his pet and they leave the building the way they came in, closing the ruined door behind them. As they turn the corner at the end of the alley, however, they see the street in front of the store is a hive of police vehicles, the dawnlit walls and streets flashing in reflected blue and red.

Karyo, spotting all the manly men in their dark blue uniforms, is immediately intrigued and begins strolling toward them. His buck, shocked, hurries behind him. Karyo senses fear in him—he is expecting weapons to be trained on them as soon as they are spotted. Karyo frowns. He may have to punish his familiar later for his lack of faith.

Of course, the little throng of police completely ignores the god and his minion striding their way carelessly down the trash-strewn alley. Three of the uniformed cops even rush past them to check the back entrance, completely ignoring Karyo and Jared. As they do, they stumble a slow a bit, unused to the new bulk their frames are now carrying, their uniforms straining to accommodate thickening shoulders, heavier pecs, rounder asses, and stronger thighs. The men don’t seem to notice the cause of their slowing down, too caught up in their investigation. Karyo smiles at the improvements. It’s so fun to spruce things up like this, and he knows there is more to come.

When they reach the street, Jared seems surprised to see a pair of plainclothes detectives amid the groups of uniformed officers. “I know one of them,” he says, slightly surprised. He nods toward a mundanely handsome, thirty-something olive-skinned man in a trim, cheap navy suit, conversing with his partner and taking notes on a tablet-sized device. He has the worn, stone-faced look of one who has seen it all, not only in this life but in his past ones, too. The partner is slightly younger and less jaded in appearance. He’s darker skinned, narrow-shouldered, and wiry to the point of looking like a young tree wrapped up incongruously in this modern attire, in his case a loose brown jacket, mustard-yellow shirt, and maroon tie over dark trousers.

Jared is eyeing toward the older and doughier of the two men. “He was one of the cops who first investigated the car accident that killed my dad a few years ago,” he explains, not looking at the god. “He was just a patrolman then.”

Karyo watches his familiar closely, and can sense the sadness that tainted the buck’s thoughts at the mention of his father. Humans, more than other creatures, have deep ties amongst their own blood. It was to their compliment, Karyo thinks, in comparison to the other denizens of his realm: the fish, the reptiles whose blood runs cool and to whom the concept of family is alien by comparison. Though he still has much to learn about the customs of this world, some things in the nature of men never change. Karyo knows his familiar well enough to guess that this life-changing crisis helped start Jared down the dark trail of pessimism and scorn for the world Karyo had found him wandering.

“We kept in touch for a few years after that, before I left for the Academy,” Jared continues, eyes still on the detective. “Beers, pool, bitching about the world, that kind of thing.” He sounds not so much wistful as surprised at how distant these experiences are from him now. It’s all so distant to Jared now: that life, that limited understanding of the world. Not even twelve hours have passed and it’s beyond moral understanding.

Curious about how his buck will interact with people from his past life now that he’s become something so more, Karyo mentally nudges Jared to go and greet the detective. Jared suddenly senses a surge of boldness inside him. He looks up at Karyo with a smile, then turns and heads confidently over to say hello.

Karyo, meanwhile, continues to move invisibly among the cops taping off the scene and taking witness statements from the trickle of civilian bystanders, growing them each in different ways according to whim. He loves the swell of this uniform’s dark blue fabric, lats that out like a butterfly to the chorus of ripping seems,, an officer who feels a twitch of tension, and shrugs it out, only to find traps that remain where they once crested, or a once-flat ass that blooms invitingly.

As he works his way through the cops, Karyo keeps an eye on his hunky familiar as Jared approaches the detective with a sunny smile. “LaGuardia!” he says cheerfully. “Long time no see!”

LaGuardia and his partner Mukulski look up, startled. “Westbrook?” LaGuardia asks cautiously. He stows the tablet and faces Jared properly, giving him his full attention and offering his hand, which Jared takes. His acute and penetrating green-eyed stare would intimidate many wrongdoers, Karyo muses. His partner glances toward them and then steps away to let them talk. A moment later he’s on his cell phone, touching base with the landlord and getting information about the building tenant.

“Shit, it is you,” LaGuardia says doubtfully as they shake. He’s looking Jared up and down, taking in his new impossibly bigger physique and uniform-like outfit. “You look… fit,” he says flatly.

Jared beams at this. LaGuardia narrows his eyes further, recognizing the personality change in his old acquaintance on top of the physical transformation and finding the combination… anomalous. “I am,” Jared agrees, and from across the crime scene Karyo feeds an extra layer of potency into his voice. LaGuardia takes an involuntary step closer, drawn by Jared, but this unintended reaction only seems to make him more suspicious.

“So what brings you here?” Jared asks, oblivious.

“Rash of robberies at stores and depots downtown,” LaGuardia says, watching him closely. “Silent alarm went off here half an hour ago. You wouldn’t know anything about it, would you, Westie?” he adds, pointedly not glancing down at Jared’s brand-new UnderArmour-branded kit.

“Nope!” Jared says, and Karyo is pleased to sense only confidence in his master flowing through the empathic bond.

As they talk, Karyo has noticed one of the businessmen in the little watching crowd, a good-looking thirtysomething with messy strawberry blond hair. The man is radiating sadness, as though he had had to haul himself out of bed that day and force himself to go to work. He stares at the scene listlessly, eyes hollow. A brush along the contours of his mind reveals that he is a good-natured but insecure man who has recently been dumped, by a petty, self-obsessed pretty-boy model with whom the businessman has become infatuated. He’s trying to hold it together during a normal business day, but he feels very lonely in spirit, certain no other man will see him.

Karyo smiles, a plan forming in his imagination. He’d done something similar a thousand years ago, and it worked out very well indeed.

LaGuardia nods. “Well, we’ll know what happened soon enough,” he says, his tone deliberately casual. “Just waiting for the CCTV to download.”

At this, Karyo senses a new flicker of concern in Jared. Whatever “CCTV” is, Karyo senses that Jared believes it is a danger, precisely because his ancient, just-awakened master and protector does not know a thing about it.

In the bat of an eye, Karyo is at Jared’s side, looming over him despite their difference in height measuring mere inches. LaGuardia startles again, noticing the massive, alluring god for the first time. “What is it, pet?” Karyo asks his familiar, casting an unfriendly eye at the good-looking detective.

“Surveillance,” Jared says, though he makes it a question. Would the ancient god understand?

The river god nods reassuringly, and Jared’s shoulders visibly loosen. Karyo knows surveillance. The other gods, who ignored mankind and never sought their company or elevation, had for millennia spied on him and his minions—often with malicious intent. Maybe even now they were present, somewhere, watching Karyo navigate this unfamiliar plane of existence.

Human surveillance, however, is of no concern to them. “You forget, my buck,” he tells Jared, wiping his hand across his face with a crooked smile. The chagrin washing across Jared’s face is amusing to observe. The two of them had only just revealed themselves after being hidden all morning—even while they were inside the clothing depot. There was nothing for any human watcher to see.

LaGuardia’s brows raise. His patience is wearing thin and the presence of this strange new giant is clearly too much for him to continue playing it cool. “Forget what, exactly?” he presses. “What do you two know?” He looks between the two hunks, clearly more skeptical than ever. Mukulski comes back over, worried about LaGuardia’s raised voice.

Karyo can sense the suspicion in Jared’s companion’s mind. He smiles, a plan forming in his imagination. This man’s attention is focused and intense. No need to stifle that, just redirect it. He’d done something similar a thousand years ago, and it worked out very well indeed. Besides, Karyo has had enough of the pesky detective’s intrusive questions. “You two humans are partners, you say?” the River God asks LaGuardia and Mukulski. The directness of the question and the strange dissonance it causes in their brains causes them both to nod.

“Partnership is good. How long?”

“Five years,” LaGuardia spits out. “What’s it to you? Now answer my questions.”

“Five years is a long time to be just partners. It must be lonely, just the two of you. You have found such success working together. Why deny yourselves?” Karyo looks over at LaGuardia and indicates his partner. “I think you should take him as your lover. I think you feel you need to.” Turning, he fixes his gaze on the lonely Detective Mukulski. Channeling his power through his familiar, he gifts the good-looking man with literal attractiveness—a strong emanation of enticing pheromones that will arouse and draw men to him, as many as he could want.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” La Guardia asks incredulously. He grabs for his radio. This is just too weird. It’s a crazy day, what with the bridge and this robbery and all the disruptions, but he needs reinforcements for this hulking… this…

Suddenly, the detective’s nostrils flare. “Dispatch, requesting backup!” he calls into the radio. “All units, this is…” La Guardia trails off. He becomes increasingly distracted. “You smell that?” he blurts out. Losing his train of thought, the radio in his hand falling to the ground with a clatter, the tough-as-nails detective begins sniffing after the masculine aroma, abruptly leaving the river god and his sexy famulus.

The river god observes the detective approaching his partner, sniffing desperately. “LaGuardia?” Mukulski asks, confused and incredulous, laughing nervously as the other man begins circling him, and then nuzzling his neck.

“Damn the gods! You smell so good!” LaGuardia blurts out, and clutches to his partner all the more.

Damn the gods? Karyo almost takes offense.

Not wanting the detective partner to feel accosted, the river god gives him a strong inclination to welcome the attention, and the two are left in an odd tableau of the detective mashing his face into the hair, skin, and pits of his partner, snuffling desperately, and Mukulski grinning, feeling flattered and increasingly intrigued,

“LaGuardia,” Mukulski sighs. “I didn’t know you cared so much…” He meets the other officer in a smooch, and the two studs—their muscles expanding right in front of Jared’s eyes—are left as grunting, heaving beasts, their detective work put to one side for now.

Problem solved, the River God nods.

Jared watches, intensely aroused by the god’s effortless enhancement of the men around him. Karyo grasps Jared’s bulging shoulder in his meaty hand, reveling in the dramatically increased lust of both the sexed-up little scene with the detectives and Jared’s deep appreciation of it. Around them, muscle-boosted cops move in unconscious patterns around the taped-off space like the ritual warrior dances Karyo remembers, eyeing each other with newly amped-up levels of lecherous desire.

Karyo feels it all, drinking it in through his excited familiar. Soon he will have to feed on another mass orgasm. After centuries of dearth, that morning’s debauchery was like a gluttonous feast, and though he does not yet need another, he covets the sensation nonetheless.

As he stares down at Jared hungrily, knowing his familiar will be the willing instrument of his god’s pleasure in this regard, Jared turns to gaze up at him, his pretty, long-lashed hazel eyes dark with need. He lifts a blond eyebrow teasingly. “No fuck-me stink for me, my lord?” he asks.

“You do not need it, beautiful buck,” Karyo says truthfully.

Feeling the tendrils of the human desire he craves stealing through him from Jared and all the men he’s touched and twisted, the mighty god bends impulsively to take Jared’s eager mouth in a long, passionate kiss that he knows will only inspire the transformed mortal to provide his lord with the ultimate satisfaction—by becoming, in Karyo’s eyes and his own, the most perfect, sex-power-channelling, mortal-elevating, fuck-compelling familiar he can be.

By the time Jared surfaces from the stultifying kiss, the scene has changed. His friend, Detective LaGuardia, is now on the police radio, sitting in the front seat with the door open one leg still out of the car, his boot on the pavement. The man looks punch-drunk happy as he draws the radio to his mouth and dreamily speaks into the radio. Jared smirks. Another satisfied customer, he thinks, the old cliché drifting through his mind.

LaGuardia’s cuter, skinnier partner is nearby on the sidewalk in front of the still-closed main entrance to the building, busy interviewing the harried-looking store manager—a balding but well-muscled young man decked out head to toe in his own company’s merchandise. The detective is an island of calm and focus, taking notes with an old-fashioned pencil and paper notepad.

Fifty feet away, on the other side of the taped-off area milling with cops, things aren’t so serene, and soon the shouting has Karyo turning that way in annoyance. A fit-looking, mop-topped college-age kid in a tight, charcoal-gray UA tee and dark, round glasses is trying to show a pair of uniformed cops something on a tablet he’s gripping from both sides, but the more loud-mouthed of the two patrolmen is refusing to listen.

“What do you mean the camera’s not showing anything?” the hot cop shouts venomously, jabbing a finger at the cute geek holding the tablet. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Jared shakes his head. Shame he’s so good-looking, he thinks. For anyone who actually meets him, that ragey, irrational hot-headedness must completely undo the effortlessly attractive effect of his GQ-model face, large blue eyes, spiky, untamed hair, and compact, gym-rat body. His short-sleeved uniform exposes a tattoo sleeve of angry-looking blue and black designs, probably bending departmental regulations, Jared thinks.

“Show me the God-damned video, you idiot!” the cop shouts, frustrated and angry.

Karyo’s eyes narrow, definitely ready to take offense if this abuse of the divine keeps up.

Jared senses strong emotion from Karyo and looks up at him, surprised to see scorn and disdain on his godly face. “That angry creature does not deserve a uniform. Or such beauty!” he growls. “His soul is full of unwonted dominance and violent behavior.”

“Is he… bad?” Jared asks, fascinated by his master’s reaction. “Evil, I mean?” Suddenly Jared wants to know what a god thinks about good and evil and resolves to ask him. Are creatures—er, Gods—like Karyo completely beyond human morality, instead seeking satisfaction through their own sweet visions of order and perfection? It seemed so, at least so far. Which means… reckless, violent men like that cop must be destructive to a such vision, Jared muses. Like entropy, mindlessly unraveling the captivating and deeply structured intricacy of the universe.

In response to Jared’s question, Karyo shakes his head slowly, peering further into the dangerous man’s soul. “His cruelty is made of fear,” he observes.

The cop feels a tinge of strangeness. He looks over at Jared and Karyo. “What are you two jerks looking at? I’m trying to question this witness.”

Karyo has seen enough. “He needs to be adjusted to be only as large as his courage.” The God waves his hand at the cop, and nods in satisfaction. Jared feels… well, he feels something. He looks back over at the shouting cop in trepidation.

The scene. around the three men is only escalating, and the shouting is beginning to attract attention from the cops working the scene as well as the civilians beyond the tape.

Jared frowns at the mouthy cop. Before, his uniform looked a little snug, but now it is loose and baggy on him. Was it tighter before?

The shouty cop’s partner, a more avuncular-looking older man with a trim waist and graying temples, seems alarmed by his buddy’s behavior. “Calm down, Jake,” the partner says, clearly exasperated at his partner’s antics.

The admonition only enrages the hot, rule-breaking loudmouth. The man is shouting and gesticulating, not noticing that his short sleeves are now past his elbows. He’s shrinking, Jared decides, though no one seems to be noticing. The man stumbles a bit as his black shoes begin to look comically oversized, and the collar of his uniform shirt is wide enough to show off his entire thick, rounded, freckle-spotted set of traps. “‘Calm down’?” he repeats scathingly. “Are you kidding me?”

Just then his belt loses purchase on his hips and his pants drop to the ground, his gun holders and sheathed taser hitting the pavement with a thunk. Others around him startle in surprise.

The cop carries on yelling, not noticing he’s steadily losing size like a falling soufflé. “I will not ‘calm down’! The video of the perpetrators has got to be somewhere!” he shouts up at his partner. His police hat falls down over his eyes and he yanks it off, tossing it furiously aside, the loose sleeves fluttering like sails off his arms. Unfortunately, it smacks into the geek’s hands, knocking the tablet clattering to the ground.

The cop hasn’t noticed yet. “A major robbery, and no video!? This fuckwad’s incompetence—” he shouts in an increasingly small and squeaking voice.

Somehow, between one second and the next, Karyo and Jared are standing in front of the shouting cop and his partner. “You there,” the mighty river god directs the policeman’s partner imperiously. “Take care of this little man,” he commands.

Jake the loudmouth’s eyes widen as his clothes drop away completely, the giant folds of the uniform shirt’s collar sliding off his now bare shoulders like calving glaciers. “What the fuck?” he shouts. He’s now barely waist-high, then only the size of a police dog at the shoulder. And naked, exposing his muscular fireplug body. Karyo nods and the useless old uniform puddled at the cop’s bare feet vanishes as though it had never been, hat, shoes, and all.

No one else seems concerned, as though the small cop had arrived on the scene this way and nothing had happened. But the cop himself is suddenly panicking, fully cognizant of his humiliating transformation. “What the fuck, guys?!” he groans uselessly, his head darting back and forth. Instinctively, the other police, Karyo, and a horrified Jared close in to prevent this naughty boy from running off, like an untrained terrier.

“You need never be afraid again,” the river god speaks directly to Jake (now Jakey), and the small cop and the cop’s jaw drops as he stares up at him, a mess of conflicting responses not yet settled in his head. He looks down confusedly at his small naked form. “I’m—I’m not supposed to be±—

“Best leash him quickly,” the River God interrupts, warning the cop’s partner with a wink, “lest this naughty boy run away.” The other officer looks slightly confused for a moment, but then his expression clears and he falls into the new routine. Retrieving the cop’s leash from the cruiser, he darts back and fastens the collar around his thick neck. Apparently, the partner now fully accepts the situation, a small, bulky, completely nude officer partner on a leash, as unremarkable.

Karyo’s attention returns to the little cop. “Your partner will care for you, little man,” the river god says sternly. “Be a good boy from now on.”

Though still flustered, the now-small police officer calms instinctively as the leash is tugged and he receives a few disciplinary swats on his butt from his partner. The ex-loudmouth looks around and his brain fogs with understanding as the concept of a small officer is now entrenched in the police department. None of this is strange at all, the small officer starts to realize. He winces as a burning sensation seers his glute and chest. Jared can now see the small cop now has his badge number tattooed on his rear and his meaty pec, as a good small officer should.

This is the new normal, and only the small officer is taking a while to slip into the groove and accept his total commodification. “I—this is—” Jake the small cop sputters, but his usual easy flow of rage has been dammed, like a boulder falling across a stream, as his inner fear falls away.

“If you don’t keep quiet you’ll get the muzzle again,” the partner warns fondly, as though he’s had to say something like this a dozen times before. The small cop’s anger and upset seem to be lingering, and his partner decides to retrieve the muzzle, knowing it will calm the little guy.

“Please, not the muzzle! I’ll be a good boy,” the cop pleads. But his partner is resolved to administer the punishment. As he fits the leather muzzle over Jake’s nose and mouth and it snaps shut with a tug, he does indeed relax, hanging his head slightly.

“C’mon, Jakey,” the partner says, leading him on the leash, “let’s go look for clues.” Karyo and Jared watch as the pair heads down the alleyway toward the back entrance, one unformed and normal, one bare-ass naked and barefoot, muscular but small; and so, for him, also normal.

“No more anger, only service. It’s a thing of beauty,” the god intones, content with his work.

He turns his smile on Jared, causing him to tingle with lust. “Come on, my beautiful buck,” he says. “Let us find our river. And perhaps smoothies?”

The head down along the southern banks of the harbor, tickled to find the dawn-lit waters teeming with burly longshoremen, a few shirtless young men out on their boat for a early morning joy ride, and more. The river god’s minions, the transformed Coasties, are merrily swarming the waters in their new uniforms, not only on the shoreline and across the decks of their ships but even in the water, swimming stronger and faster than any mortal man would be capable of. The transformed Coasties stand out in Jared’s eyes, their enhancement and shared connection to Karyo through him making them seem brighter, hotter, and more saturated with virility than any other man.

Jared and the river god walk out on a long jetty toward the center of the lapping expanse, delightedly taking in the scene. The joy and beauty of his fellow recruits, upgraded and elevated into a new, better, and sexier life, intoxicates Jared, filling him with such sudden arousal that Karyo becomes fully and rigidly erect as instantly as Jared.

Karyo scans the horizon, drinking in his domain. The gulls call, the waves crash, the water flashes blindingly sunlight of dawn. The towers built by the humans—clever, clever humans—which ring the harbor like a necklace only serve to make his river—his river—all the more beautiful. Karyo’s heart and cock throb with pride.

Karyo then smirks. There is no presence to be felt of the other gods. His neighbors, his rivals, the ones who condemned him into the muck to sleep like a clam. Nothing, not even a whisper in the wind.

An inquisitive being might wonder what had become of these erstwhile lords of the land, and what befell them. But Gods are not naturally inquisitive beings when it comes to the larger scheme of things. They are as they are, and the world is their playground.

“Good riddance,” Karyo sniffs, and thinks no more of them. Buoyed by the sight of his river, the river god almost subconsciously sends his magic through the harbor, spreading irresistible need and euphoria through all of the men they see.

His lust is so strong that everyone swimming in the river suddenly dives down and then, a moment later, emerges a handsome, extremely muscular merman. At first it is just the Coastguardsmen frolicking in the drink, their powerful tails breaking the water behind them in a diversity of navy blue or shiny black scales as they revel in what they have become. Then others see them and are overwhelmed with giddy desire. Like ancient mariners heeding the lure of the sirens, dozens of brawny longshoremen, bright-eyed sailors, and even the partying gym-rat boaters who had come to see the damaged bridge impulsively dive into the deep water with the grace and surety of practiced Olympians, surfacing a moment later with long, gloriously strong merman tails to match their ever-more-powerful human upper halves.

The mermen start to play and canoodle with each other, kissing and even fucking in the water in little groups of two or three or four. A redolent atmosphere of delirious sexual urgency starts to fill the whole area as more and more hunky mermen aggressively find their pleasure together, their voices breaking out into bass and baritone song of the sea.

Jared is so turned on by this spectacle that in seconds he is driven close to orgasm. Several have spotted Jared and Karyo and wave for them to join them, swimming close to where they stand on the long. rocky outcropping. Some of the groups of alluring, too-handsome muscle-mermen put on a show for him, trying to entice him in. From behind, Karyo strokes his familiar’s powerful body. Leaning in, he asks playfully, “Do you want this?”

Jared laughs, overcome with happiness. “I want everything!” he says. Wanting to taste his release, Karyo presses closer, rutting his godly cock along Kared’s spine to provoke him, and immediately Jared’s resistance bursts asunder. As the clusters of happy mermen watch and cheer, a crackling, lightning-strong release wells up in Jared and crashes through him.

In a knee-jerk move, he suddenly bends forward enough to take his cockshead in his mouth and starts desperately swallowing his own gushing cum. Maybe he didn’t want to get his new uniform messy with seed—but that’s a pointless wish around Karyo! The river god cums too, covering Jared’s back and head with godspunk, and soon the whole contingent, mermen and humans watching from dry land alike, are shooting cum unstoppably. Jared can’t keep up with his own spend, and finally just melts back against Karyo as they both continue erupting with fabulous, mind-marinating spunk.

The explosive thrill of shared, cataclysmic orgasm at the riverside creates a buzz of sheer energy in the air. The gulls zoom erratically, confused by the sensations. Menfolk along the banks enthusiastically spectate and cheer, swaths of hunky longshoremen and coasties enjoying the hot, newly transformed mermen. These slippery suckers’ allure could pull the straightest bro-man into the lapping river waters to be kissed and fucked by them. And many, many do.

Jared finds himself so overwhelmed with pure, glimmering satiation he barely knows where he and his massive god are as they wander the increasingly busy streets of Baltimore’s bustling Inner Harbor. Even the half-hard cock shoved barely out of sight in his new, bulging, body-hugging “uniform” pants is thrumming with intoxicating pleasure, remembering every lick and stroke of the past eventful night as if they were still happening—as though the oversensitive skin of his massively enlarged prick and huge, burgeoning balls were still constantly feeling each brush of tongue, lips, and hand, constant and persistent on his needy flesh.

It isn’t just his junk quivering with this steady, mind-loosening stimulation that’s more than just a giddy memory. Every second, his whole body feels the ceaseless rush of his transformation from a boring human to the muscle-swelled sex-avatar of an awakening, barely restrained river god. Indeed, he can sense the way his very cells were still percolating with potential growth, making him stronger, thicker, and more irresistible with every body-flooding heartbeat. As he walks, basking in the felt but unseen presence of his god and his own shared, transmitted afterglow, his body responds as though it were impossible not to, the way a flower can’t help but turn to the sun.

Each block they traverse, his pecs are infinitesimally thicker and denser, his abs that tiny bit tighter and more distracting, his legs and arms minutely stronger and more unstoppable, his bright eyes and smile just that much more irresistible.

This new life and body is a part of him now. And yet, at the same time, his beauty, his allure, even his pleasure—they aren’t truly his. Over and above any other stimulus he feels the rapturous pull of Karyo’s eternal leash on him, deep inside his ass, a silky, golden trammel bound around his eager prostate, like him thrilling with the anticipation of more unbearable, sybaritic pleasure to come. Jared is Karyo’s familiar, the conduit of change, and his god craves change—change that creates exponentially increasing swells of adulation, masculine devotion, and, most of all, immense quantities of pure, eagerly given, god-gratifying cum.

After a while he vaguely senses that they have paused on a busy sidewalk, the faceless masses moving around them in self-absorbed myopia, barely noticing the divinity in their midst—though some do stop to stare at the two burly, bearded Adonises, one somehow immeasurably hotter than the other.

“What is this place, pet? Do they trade here?” he hears Karyo say, curious as always about this new world he has awoken to.

Somewhat reluctantly, Jared surfaces from his pleasure-daze—mostly. His body still tingles with remembered gratification and the constant sex-energy link with Karyo underneath his conscious thoughts. He’s staring up at Karyo, as if he’s spent the whole morning looking at his god instead of where he’s been walking. A smile spreads easily across his face, and his cock squeezes and throbs at the sight of his delicious master.

Even if Karyo were utterly mortal, he would be irresistible. Jared rakes his eyes over him hungrily, taking in the exquisitely sculpted muscles squeezed into the looted high-fashion black sleeveless tee and snug, long-legged black jeans… the pure potency of his looming, seven-foot-tall form, somehow reaching into the mind to press against the exact, yearning idea of extreme, sensual male perfection… the tameless waterfall of his dark, blue-black hair falling on round traps and exposed, canteloupe-sized delts… most of all, the infinite draw of those piercing, nipple-hardening, blue-green eyes, so brimming with desire and raw, divine sexual power that they remain luminous under the river god’s bristling blue-tinged brows even in the brilliant light of a cloudless summer morning.

And this is his “modest” form, Jared marvels to himself. That morning he was even more impressive—truly godly!—only to size himself down so that he and Jared could show him his city. For a second Jared is overwhelmed, blissfully grateful that he is the chosen servant of this incandescently pleasurable being.

Karyo smiles indulgently at him, the gorgeousness of it nearly making Jared’s massive cock wrench free from his midnight blue uniform pants to slap wetly against his sternum between his hard-boulder-heavy pecs. Blushing with belated embarrassment, at the same time Jared can’t help but grin at his god’s fondness for him—even when he takes several seconds to emerge from his thoughts of bliss and of churning, endless possibility. “Which place, my lord?” he asks humbly.

Karyo lets his eyes glitter with amusement, knowing he is the cause of his familiar’s distracted state. Instead of speaking, he nods his thick-bearded chin across the busy street to a narrow, tall-columned building wedged in among the other, more modern structures. Incised into the stone pediment above the decorative Doric columns are the words “Baltimore Stock Exchange.”

“Ah,” Jared says, wondering how to explain this modern form of wealth redistribution to the ancient, newly awoken immortal beside him. “They do… trade here, my lord,” he agrees slowly, “but perhaps not in a way you would recognize.”

Karyo raises a dark blue-green eyebrow. “Are you being coy with me, pet?” he asks with amusement. As a tease, the god sends a zing of hot, sparkling stimulation through Jared’s golden leash. In response Jared’s cock throbs violently, again testing the resilience of his sturdy, butt-hugging UnderArmour trousers.

Panting, Jared says, “I think it will be easier to show you.”

Karyo smirks. “Very well.” They cross the street, easily avoiding cars and pedestrians, and enter the Exchange building, unchallenged by the guards whose muscled bodies no longer quite fit their gray, poorly-tailored uniforms. The guards were too distracted by massive life-affirming orgasms that had caused them to double over. Lucky lucky guards.

Karyo, the recently awakened great god of the mighty Patapsco River, scowls down at the wide, circular trading floor from the visitors’ gallery. “I do not understand,” the river god murmurs, and his angry tone makes it abundantly clear that the fault in comprehension lies entirely with the silly mortals below, not himself. “This is not ‘trading.’”

Jared takes in the teeming floor below with bemusement. He is inclined to agree with his master. Unlike Karyo he is familiar with the concept of stock trading, even if he has never experienced it in person. One of his more overbearing cousins is a stockbroker, in fact, though Jared has never engaged the man in any kind of conversation about it—once you got Caleb started on anything related to the corporate financial landscape he never shut up. The strawberry-blond alpha might even be down there at this very moment, mixed in with the scores of similarly fit-looking, relentlessly driven Type A obsessives frantically tossing millions to each other with old-fashioned secret gestures and multiple phones alongside the more modern utilization of hundreds of screens showing more numbers and comparisons than Jared would normally see in a year.

“Where are the goods?” Karyo seethes, more venting at the unnatural behavior of the mortals of his domain than truly seeking information. In his experience of mortals, trade involved physical things, and even in the bygone days before he slept under the sea a port’s trade circle would be filled with bags of maize, beans, salt, cords of wood, bundles of leather, and so on. “What purpose does it serve, all this shouting?”

Jared glances around the visitors’ gallery, wondering if anyone is taking note of the god’s perplexity. The wide mezzanine-like area is well-populated, with a couple dozen people observing the antics below. Some are on their phones and seem to have an interest in the nonstop proceedings on the floor, but others seem to be just watching. A few have glanced Karyo’s way, either curious or amused. Jared notices one slim, limber-looking man in a well-tailored tan suit, with a long handsome face and just a bit of gray at the temples of his well-trimmed sandy hair. He looks away when Jared meets his eyes, resuming his interested perusal of the traders below in their white shirts, ties, and tell-tale lanyards.

“It’s mostly about buying and selling shares in corporations,” Jared explains to his lord. “These brokers get you a piece of a company, and you sit back and hope the company is profitable and earns you a return on your investment.”

“A company? A group of warriors?”

“No… like a business. It’s… a notion. Something separate from men.”

“Made up, then.” Karyo’s scowl deepens even further. Warriers, even enemy warriers, had honor. He did not like their words being taken on by others. “You make it sound like gambling,” he says with clear distaste.

Jared shivers as he feels the river god’s mood intensifying. He has been with Karyo long enough to know that something exciting is imminent in the gathering cloud of godly umbrage. The critical link inside him is already kindling, ready to exchange the god’s transformative power for the sexual energy of those he remakes. “It’s chancy, for sure,” he says carefully, glancing up at Karyo, his heart pounding with anticipation. “Some people lose everything, some people win big. Then the next day it might all be swept away again.”

“Meaningless,” Karyo growls, his indignation born of a sense of responsibility for the larger populace of vulnerable, interdependent mortals occupying his sacred lands. “These men should serve a better purpose in my harbor.”

“They should be useful to your harbor,” Jared agrees excitedly, deliberately egging his master on. He’s realizing how hungry he is to see more transformation and feel the crazy, ridiculously powerful rush of Karyo’s bucks releasing their loads and reveling in their bodies coursing through him like raging rapids directly into his voracious, nearly insatiable master, the mere brush of it fulfilling Jared like the experience of a thousand orgasms. Jared grows hard, so very hard.

Karyo glances at him, his fists working and his eyes afire, but there’s a glint there that tells Jared his god knows what his familiar is doing and is amused by it. “Yes,” he purrs, focusing all his attention on the trading floor mere feet below them. “They shall indeed become useful after all.”

Jared thrills as Karyo’s purpose fills the trading floor, the god’s power thrumming massively through his own core and into the men below of all colors and sizes. Within moments the traders pause in their hectic activity, looking at each other first with confusion, then with obvious and growing infatuation. Most of the men are competitive and driven in a field that requires fortitude and endurance, and as such are already athletic and fit, their gym-broadened shoulders and firm chests hard to miss under their crisp white dress shirts and attention-getting ties. With Karyo’s power pulsing through them, however, their muscles are growing even larger, straining the seams at the shoulders and pulling at the buttons across their chests, opening peekaboo gaps under the silk ties as their chests grow and thicken. Growing necks push at tightly fastened collars, demanding release. Down below it’s just as bad, their expensive-looking creased trousers filling with delectable thigh and calf muscle and hard, round, fuckable glutes.

Even as Jared worries that all this tight clothing must be uncomfortable, even painful, the rapidly hunkifying traders give up passively eye-fucking each other and take action. A frenzy of motion and groans erupts as the traders tear the clothes off each other, freeing them to expand to impressive size. In moments the men are reaching heights of eight or nine feet, packed with hundreds of pounds of corded, dense, deftly chiseled muscle in their beastly shoulders, mighty thick-furred chests, heavy arms, long prodigious legs, and bounteous round asses—not to mention their massive balls and their enormous, arm-sized cocks. Most of the latter reach their foot-thick pecs and some even higher, and every cockhead was purple with need and glistening with flowing, unstoppable precum. The only article of clothing left on them was the lanyard each wore, the badges now bearing only their physical statistics and capabilities.

It’s clear that the huge, randy beast-men can hardly keep their hands and mouths off each other. Jared watches with awe as the trading floor, once devoted to the pointless exchange of notional, transient wealth, devolved into a seamless, almost choreographed stand-up orgy. There are no couples or threesomes, just a single mass of variously flavored monster-sized beauties pleasuring each other, each ridiculously handsome, inhumanly large, and possessed of more strength, muscle, and fathomless libido than five ordinary men. All of it is now fully engaged in creating pure, delicious stimulation in every man in reach of their hands, mouths, and cocks, though without release—just endless prolonged touch, press, and tongue. The air in the building is now saturated with the redolence of sex and musk.

The libidinous backlash from the tantric orgy is already gushing unstoppably through Jared on its way to the smugly approving god, and he is forced to release his own chest-high cock and wrap his mouth around his tongue-greedy cockhead in case he bursts too soon with the monolithic orgasm building up in him. Karyo is still focusing the bulk of his attention on the traders and hasn’t turned to seek his familiar’s ready lips or erection yet. Even without touch, though, Jared feels Karyo’s psychic caress deep in his insides, the rhythmic tug on his anal leash driving him mad with desire and sparkling, incandescent joy.

Barely noticeably, the world reshapes to meet Karyo’s vision. The computers and desks vanish along with the torn and rejected clothes, ties, and shoes, leaving only a large, round, marble-lined pen full of beautiful beast-men methodically and gleefully demonstrating their capacity for mutual hedonism with each other in a wriggling mass of brawny, hairy, precum-streaked man-flesh. A cum-stained spiral ramp now leads up around the curved wall to the observation gallery where they remain standing. As Jared watches, so attentive to the wild, wonderful scene his god has created he’s barely aware of his own self-pleasuring, a pair of the massive, thickly built men is brought up the ramp by a cute, more normal-sized attendant, the two ex-traders too involved in kissing each other as they walk to notice anything else, their iron-hard, shoulder-high foot-thick cocks barely shifting as they move.

At the top of the ramp they are handed off to one of the middle-aged men who had been in the gallery the whole time, this one a good-looking thirty-something scion with blue eyes alight with the possibilities of his acquisition. Eagerly, he signs something on a tablet offered by the cute attendant. Then he’s leading the two handsome beast-men out through a large side-entrance. They’re still kissing and casually groping each other, though they’re starting to smile at the man leading them to their new lives. Muzzles and bits are flipped over their faces, and harnesses and restraints snapped on. Like giant draft horses, then clomp off into Balitmore.

The cute, fresh-faced attendant moves to the sexy man in the tan suit. “And you, sir?” the attendant says, as though he were a waiter at a nice restaurant. “Have you made a decision?” He offers the man his tablet, which now seems to have an array of photographs and personal details. The man in the tan suit smirks, scrolling attentively through the list on the screen before pausing on one entry in particular. He glances down at the former trading floor, evidently looking for the beast-man indicated on the list, and nods. “I’ll take this one,” he says, pointing at the screen.

The attendant beams. “Very good,” he says. “Would you like to take advantage of our two-for-one offer? It’s available only through the end of the day, in observance of the Man Exchange’s centennial anniversary.”

The man in the tan suit blinks at him in surprise. The idea clearly pleases him, though, as he takes a moment to adjust himself before answering, “Sure. Uh, whichever one he wants to bring with him, I guess.”

“Very good!” the well-groomed attendant repeats. He vanishes down a side stair, returning up the ramp a few moments later with a nine-foot, strapping blond specimen and the honey-skinned, slightly less massive friend the big guy is currently gripping by the ass as they ravish each other’s mouths. Both have inhumanly thick muscles and truly enormous cocks; the smaller, honey-skinned one has a wang past his shoulder and nearly up to his scalp, while the big strawberry-blond behemoth has a veiny, throat-high dick so wide it could almost be split in two. In fact, as the preoccupied duo comes closer, Jared sees that although the man clearly has only one prick, his foreskin sleeve contains two weeping cockheads, nuzzling against each other and overlapping slightly as they weep out their approval of the big guy’s lusty kisses and the smaller one’s fervent caresses across the well-shaped beef of his powerful arms and what little of his back he can reach.

It’s only at this point Jared recognizes the big one as the enlarged, erotic-fantasy version of his cousin, Caleb! Caleb, who had played tag with Jared as children, who had bought Jared his first beers in high school. Caleb, who was a family man, who loved boating and had a knack for sports scores. His cousin Caleb, now an ogre, a gentle giant of man, now a beast of burden, and a giant satisified, excited smile on his face. Ridiculously, Jared finds himself wondering if Caleb’s cock was like that before, then chuckles through the haze of his thickening lust. Jared worries a bit about the changes Caleb has experienced, not appreciating just how much his own mind, his own values, his own self have been warped in service of Karyo.

Slightly dazed by his deal-enhanced windfall, the tall, slender man in the tan suit manages to sign the tablet where indicated, then, after a nudge from the cute attendant, he leads the two ravenously kissing beast men toward the side exit. As they walk, the smaller honey-skinned one notices the tan-suit guy at last and turns to beam at him, prompting the behemoth hottie to likewise aim a sandpaper-stubbled, kiss-bruised leer at his benefactor so intense it makes Jared shudder with appreciation even from a distance.

“Anything for you sirs?” the attendant is saying, and Jared takes a moment to realize the question is directed at them. He glances up at the black-clad, semi-’incognito’ Karyo with a wide smile around his own mighty tool, already knowing what he’ll say.

“No, thank you,” the river god rumbles, and the attendant holds back a moan at the sound of his voice, unaware of the slight swelling of muscle on his still-thin frame. Karyo places a hand on Jared’s shoulder and adds, “I have mine already.”

The tantalizing appreciation and limitless, commanding lust in the look he gives him makes the subservient familiar finally burst down his own throat in reckless, adoring release. He even feels like he’s cumming multiple times over, which makes sense because in a way he’s climaxing not only for himself but on behalf of all the dozens of writhing, happy hunks in the man-pen below. Some of them start to cum, too, spontaneously fountaining spunk into the heady air and multiplying Jared’s stimulations, and soon he loses track of anything but the intense, penetrative ecstasy flooding through him. As the sensation escalates, all he can see through a cum-white haze is the bearded, satisfied, impossibly orgasmic face of his all-powerful, sexy-as-fuck river god master.

After his transformation of the stock exchange into the Man Exchange, ensuring along the way that this city of Baltimore has always had the benefit of such a splendid and community-building resource in one form or another, Karyo is exceptionally satisfied. He walks alongside his familiar without any destination, content to wander the cement pathways as he had once done alongside Watē through the forest trails, and many many familiars and bucks before that, reaching back to the forgotten days when men had first come to his river and awakened his distinctive need.

Before long they are leaving the business district and passing into a part of the city where narrow, colorfully fronted houses stand shoulder to shoulder along either side of the narrowed, car-lined streets. Though he knows little of these urban townhomes, more familiar with the longhouses and other more isolated family dwellings of their farming and hunting predecessors, Karyo finds he likes the look of the seamlessly connected houses. In his present mood of arousal, they remind him of two lines of painted men holding each other back to front and rutting casually for him, naked and pure in their affection for each other and their devotion to their covetous god. Perhaps living in houses that cuddle promotes cuddling within, he thinks with a smile.

A pang of another kind hits him, one he has not known before. “There are no smoothie brewers here,” he observes resentfully, suddenly craving the delightful treat. If only he knew more about what they were he could use his powers to make them, but ignorance is the foe even of gods and demons. “We should enter one of these homes and demand smoothies of them,” he says decisively.

His familiar looks both amused and alarmed. “I will find you a smoothie shop, my lord,” he says quickly, raising his hands with his palms outward, as if to calm a horse. “No need to bother these fine folk.”

“Very well.”

His familiar is still watching him, his lips quirking in a suppressed smile. “Is that the only thing you like about the modern world, then? Smoothies?” he asks.

“Not the only thing, pet,” he says, tugging none-too-gently on his golden leash. The mortal hisses with pleasure and stimulation.

Turning a corner they find a quiet street filled with more townhouses. A large vehicle is parked in front of one of them, its rectangular cargo area filled with furniture and boxes being carried inside by a small crew of men. They pause to watch. “Someone’s moving in,” Jared explains. Sure enough, Karyo notices the side of the vehicle is marked with lettering that reads “GRENEK AND SON, MOVERS.” A sun-kissed strong and balding gentleman is standing at the back of the truck, pulling a heavy-looking cardboard box out of the rear and onto an upright, metal two-wheeled device obviously designed to make it easier to haul cumbersome objects around. He wears a large leather back-brace belt.

A younger man with a strong family resemblance in face and scent is helping settle the box onto the two-wheeled device, frowning in exasperation. He bears the same hawkish nose, Italianskin, and strong build, though he retains a full head of curly brown hair and has fewer lines on his ordinary face. Judging by their stocky frames and very different look from the half-dozen others on the crew, they are unrelated, mere hirees performing their labor by rote with little care for the family business; whereas the two men—Karyo is sure they are the titular Grenek and Son—are clearly passionate about their jobs and their role in helping reshape people’s lives.

“Dad, you’re being unreasonable,” the younger one, who must be in his forties, is saying as Karyo and Jared move closer. “I love you, but if you think I’m going to let you keep hauling the boxes in your sixties you’re nuts.”

“Don’t call your father nuts,” the balding man remonstrates, pulling another box from the back and wrestling it onto the hand truck, stacked on top of the first. He is old, Karyo observes, but still strong and healthy, like his son, despite his seeing far more winters. Around them, the blank-faced crew retrieves an armchair from the truck and hauls it carefully inside. “And don’t tell your father what to do,” the older man adds. “You want I should sit on my ass and watch you do all the work? You’re the one that’s nuts.”

The son grunts in annoyance. “You’re driving me crazy, Pops.”

Karyo chuckles at the familiar father-son friction. “Some things in the mortal world do not change,” he observes. “It is reassuring.”

“I guess,” his familiar agrees.

They watch the father and son argue some more, each trying to wrest control of the hand truck from the other, while the crew works impassively around them. Karyo senses they are both good-hearted and will never abandon one another, and the river god wants to reward this behavior. “Does he have only one son to help him?” he asks with a frown. “Has he not been blessed with many sons to help him?”

His familiar shrugs his broad, muscular shoulders. “It’s pretty normal,” Jared says blandly. “Lots of couples have only one or two kids—or none at all.” He glances up at Karyo. “Not as much call here in the city for large broods of sons and daughters to work the farm for you,” he adds.

“This man could use such a ‘brood,’” Karyo observes. Smiling, he now knows what he will do. He flexes his divine power, causing his familiar to draw in a sharp, aroused breath in anticipation.

The father and son both blink, as their world pulses. They quickly shake the weird sensation off, and continue working unloading the van. In plain sight, their muscles swell unawares, especially those in the shoulders, chest, arms, and legs they will use most for lifting and hauling. Each of these muscles, Karyo deepens, multiplying the density so that they could lift their truck between them if they needed. At first their clothes strain and start to rip before melting and vanishing entirely. The father’s handsomeness and allure increase to match the enviable shapeliness of his form. The son, a chip off the old block, follows suit, entering the flower of youth. They finish up, the son looking not much more than a baby-faced twenty and the father, by appearance at least, only slightly more mature—a decade older at the most.

Each then blinks. The world feels different somehow. Lighter. Happier. Brushing against their minds, Karyo shifts the dynamic between them, so that the son expresses his passionate love and devotion to his father with physical affection, with their particular ritual being the son’s playful suck on his hunky father’s footlong, permanently hard cock during each move with every return to the truck, the father sitting on the back of the truck naked and ready with his fat, uncut cock tall and straight and ready. The son, meanwhile, now wears the company’s new uniform—tight blue jeans with GRENEK AND SON embroidered on the back left pocket and his tall, flat, raging erection erupting from the waistband in front, trapped by a tightly cinched leather belt. No shirts, no shoes, no problem.

That’s not enough, though. Turning his attention to the disinterested, hired moving crew, Karyo makes each of them in turn a son of the sexy patriarch, each absolutely identical to the first in appearance and passion, until the naked, hard thirty-something-seeming senior Grenek has seven eager, identical hard-muscled, jeans-clad, swoonworthy sons all taking turns suckling at their father’s delicious, unflagging cock with each round trip to the truck. Getting caught up in the scene, Karyo even replicates a couple of the sons so that there are nine hunky, impossibly strong, utterly devoted movers in all, all with cock-hungry lips and hard-ons shoving rudely from their waistbands. As Karyo tinkers the changes naturally seep back into the timeline. The family has always been like this, and the sons play their roles with excitement and deep, unalterable love.

The plethora of sons instantly makes the moving pass with much greater speed—though it does create a bottleneck at the father’s crotch, as each son jockeys for his long deep suck and his father’s corresponding pleasure. “That won’t do!” Karyo says with a grin, his mind already stretching to touch the father’s groin. The god’s final twist makes the groin in question blossom with five equally sensitive, equally wide erections—so big and fat, they bump and bob against each other like pontoons, making Jared blink at the sight—purely so that multiple sons can take their turn as needed, fulfilling the father and sons’ mutual devotion and deep affection both during their moves and at other times, too.

Karyo folds his arms over his chest, satisfied. “Wow,” Jared says roughly, watching the identical hunks hefting heavy boxes and furniture with no effort at all, stopping only to enjoy a long hard cock down their eager throats before turning back to work. “Damn, that’s so hot.”

“It is,” Karyo agrees, eyeing the proud, very contented father with a nod. “Now he has indeed been blessed.”

“I’ll say,” his familiar grunts, as though the god has pronounced a great understatement. He looks up at Karyo, a light glinting in his bright hazel eyes. “So, are you going to make a copy of me so you can be sucked off twice over?”

Instead of answering, Karyo bends and presses his mouth against Jared’s, the two of them falling quickly into a thorough and very heated kiss. As they make out, Jared opening unbidden to admit his master’s long, sinuous tongue, Karyo playfully slides his finger along the crease of Jared’s ass through his trousers. This of course makes the overstimulated mortal stiffen with a desire that would not be quenched—not today, anyway.

Their kissing draws the attention of a few of the identical sons, though neither Karyo nor Jared take much notice of their approving whoops and wolf-whistles.

Finally, Karyo pulls free and turns, sauntering down the residential street away from the movers, their truck now altered, like the young men’s jeans, to read GRENEK AND SONS. “Are you volunteering to share your privileges and duties, my pet?” the river god calls teasingly over his shoulder.

“Fuck no!” Jared yells happily, scampering to follow his inhumanly arousing god toward their next adventure.

The urban neighborhood they found the movers in is close to the river, and as they head back toward Karyo’s divine waters they find the spot on the banks occupied by a bustling fire station. The firefighters are all out in front of the building, laughing and razzing each other as they wash the shiny, state-of-the-art fire engines, scrubbing them down with happy affection. It so happens that the firefighters are all young, fresh-faced men, looking fit and cheerful in their white tee shirts and dark trousers and boots, and as they lark about with hoses and buckets of sudsy water, joking and trading stories with each other, it’s obvious to Karyo they love their job and each other, each possessing a rock-solid sense of duty, protection, and service to their community.

Warmed by this, Karyo decides to reward the firemen. Completely unaware of their own transformations, each of the firefighters blooms with unending energy, perfectly sculpted muscles, and sexual prowess. Their clothes shift to the same dark blue-green uniforms with the subtle white wave-like tendrils with which he has already gifted many of his manly minions throughout the city, accentuating their protruding pecs, impressive stature, and enticingly bulging groins that draw every passing eye.

Of course, there is no need for wives or, indeed, any kind of distractions to their service, so the river god sweeps away any opposite-sex attractions and ensures they can appreciate one another completely and absolutely in their fraternity of protective guardians of the city. As they wash the fire trucks, the batting with towels and other hijinks turn to gropes and kisses, all while still getting done everything that needs doing. Indeed the engine cleaning is even faster and more thorough, as the shockingly sexy firemen playfully work together to finish quickly and completely so they can hurry inside to fuck.

Then the river god senses the fire chief, watching his men cavort around the engines from a little office inside the station. He’s gray-haired and square-jawed with pale blue eyes, handsome and proud, like a gracefully aged matinée idol; but Karyo can see that he is feeling his years a little too strongly. The aches and pains of middle age are getting to him, making him feel burned out. His sense of duty and devotion is slipping through his fingers, and the commitment and zeal for his calling is flickering in his still-strong core.

This will not do, Karyo thinks. The river god seeks to give the fire chief a renewed sense of purpose, so he focuses on that waning glimmer of devotion and fervor and makes it blaze blindingly bright. The chief grins, burning with unquenchable devotion to his house and his men. The years burn away like a mist until he is a young, strapping lad no more than 20.

Running out to meet his men frolicking around the gleaming engines, the chief is greeted enthusiastically as a rookie firefighter by the other firefighters, even as they continue to blossom and swell inch by inch into magnificent, muscular hulks. The river god’s gift has imbued the fire chief with a sense of absolute enthusiasm for the firehouse, and in his devotion he becomes a sexual servant of the other firemen—a dedicated servant who gleefully takes the edge off their eternal horniness, who bathes, comforts, and serves the firemen like they were living day and night in one of the Roman bathhouses of old. At first, the fire chief’s eyes are wide with uncertainty, but as he greets the firefighters with utter devotion, pulling down their uniform pants to suck their huge, wrist-thick erections which are his daily duty to satisfy and make cum, he quickly moves mentally from shock and confusion to acceptance and joy.

The river god watches, quite happy with his new harem of men. Content to stay near his river, he wills the men to recognize him as their master. They greet him and his familiar with wild enthusiasm, carrying him into the new open-air home he has willed for himself above the firehouse. This will be his new home and the new focal-point of his power and presence.

He smiles at his firemen bucks, and at the mermen in the river and all the other men he has turned into his happy, beautiful, sex-loving followers. After such a jarring awakening he is truly at peace, happy that there are so many many more men he can play with, on this now densely packed city on the Patasco River, as the bridge is rebuilt and the fresh wounds of the city are healed along with the old.

The setting sun finds him reclining in his new verdant rooftop dwelling, being serviced and pleasured by a dozen brawny, beautiful men in an intense, shared state of extreme arousal. A memory surfaces of the envoys of other long-gone gods confronting him, revealing themselves not as brethren but as jealous rivals incapable of understanding his communion with the sex-loving ape-men that had wandered into his domains so many epochs past.

“Am I so bad?” the River God thinks. Other deities have demanded thousands of men to march into battle, to die in service of their petty divine masters… to kill and dominate and sacrifice their brethren. The River God, on the other hand, brings only joy and pleasure to his pet men. He is content with his small cadre of servant men, on the lapping shores of his river, the Patasco, his faithful familiar by his side.

He smiles down at the huge blond man licking his nipple, his wide hazel eyes full of pure adulation. Karyo regards him with true fondness. This familiar—he had a human name, did he not? Karyo finds that in his state of bliss he cannot remember it, but it does not matter. It was cheeky of him to try to retain it after turning his being over to the river god. He does not need it. Gazing at the familiar, he erases the man’s memory of that name, replacing it with a new name of Karyo’s choosing: Eniha, the old river folk’s name for male pleasure.

Eniha, fully freed from all cares past and present, smiles back at him lovingly and obediently, for the first time in his life completely and unalterably happy.

Karyo relaxes into the arms and devotions of his men. In recent days he has heard that the mortals have a saying for moments like this: life is good. With a sense of relief that almost surprises him, Karyo, sinking into a cataclysmic orgasm that spreads its way through the city and along his river, sparking the fountaining, rapturous orgasms of thousands of libidinous men, laughs, long and easy. Eternal life, he thinks, is good, too.

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