The Bacchae

"Listen!" he said.

All Helene could hear was the pounding of her own heart in her ears. In her desperation she reached down and began to rub her pussy with her own hand, seeking that orgasm that was dangling just out of reach.

"Quiet!" Telemachus hissed, grabbing her wrist. "Listen! They're coming."

Helene felt a sudden chill when she saw his eyes, bright in the darkness, wild with lust and fear. She made herself hold her breath and listen.

There was a sound, a din in the forest, and it was getting closer. She heard voices, women's voices, rising and falling, keening like the ocean wind around high rocks, occasionally punctuated by a scream that raised the hairs on the back of her neck: the cry of a woman either in pain or at the peak of her sexual pleasure.

But in her need Helene didn't care about the Bacchae anymore. Let them come, let them watch. This was what they wanted anyhow, wasn't it? The sexual coupling of a man and a woman. This was their holy sacrament, their form of worship, obeisance to the will of the god.

Now she heard a crashing, the sound of tambourines, another scream. She could see the light of the torches glisten behind the dark tree trunks. The sound filled her veins suddenly with molten lust. She sat up and grabbed Telemachus by the hair, saw his startled eyes as she dragged him down to the ground. She scrambled around on top of him, holding his shoulders to the earth..

His cock was still hard, glistening with her wetness. Holding him still with one hand on his shoulder, Helene straddled his hips, planted one foot on the ground and raised her pussy up. She let go of his hair and opened herself up with her other hand, then fit the big head of his stalk to her hole and sank down on him with a groan of deep relief.

"Helene! Get off me! We have to get out of here!"

"Fuck me!" she snarled down at him. "Fuck me hard, you prick! Fuck me and make me come!"

She gave him no time to obey. She got both feet under her and held his shoulders down as she bounced up and down on his aching hardness, gasping and moaning in pleasure. Her dark hair fell from her head, the ivy hung in her face and he could see her expression, wild and feral, a woman in the full flush of female heat, desperate for cock.

"Oh gods of Heaven!" she wailed. "I'm going to come on your fucking cock! Oh! Oh!"

Her cry of hysterical release rose and then choked off in her throat, and in the brief, unearthly silence Telemachus could hear the cries and moans of the Bacchae coming closer, the clash of symbols, and the deep lowing of a great bull.

Helene arched her back on top of him, offering her tits up to heaven as her stomach knotted and clenched with the fury of her orgasm. He felt her squeeze him inside. he felt his own release gather in his balls, his ass, hot pleasure lance down his legs. The drumming was louder, the cymbals clashing. There were lights all around them.

"Evoe! Dionysus! Evoe! Io!"

He heard the voices of the women around him now, loud, impassioned, but it was as if a great black wind had caught him up and the earth fell away from his back as he was lifted up and twisted about. Helene's spasming cunt was pulled from his tool and with it his semen began to spurt into the air in hot, fulsome gouts, jetting into the dark night. There were faces around him, women's faces, contorted into expressions of lust and orgasm; something hot and wet upon his spurting cock, a mouth, sucking, fingers massaging his balls, pushing into his anus. Breasts pushed into his mouth. He couldn't stop coming.

Still quaking with orgasm, Helene felt herself grabbed under the arms and pulled up and off him. She felt something beneath her, the body of an animal, huge and powerful. she could feel the hard muscles rolling slowly beneath the skin, the animal heat and stink. She was looking up into the sky through the trees, seeing the great swath of stars above her, and then there were hands and mouths all over her, holding her ankles apart, holding her wrists down against the beast's great roiling flanks. She was being kissed along her thighs and the soft mouth of a woman sucked at her pussy, sucked the juice from her body as more lips fastened on her nipples.

Her legs bucked and shook as another orgasm tore through her body. She knew that she was atop the god now, that she was spread open upon the terrible body of holy Dionysus, and that it was his pleasure that was filling her and driving her mad. She looked at the stars as they blazed with color and she knew that she was up there too, riding the sky with the wonderful Bull of the Mountains. The hollow moon had no secrets from her and she knew all things as she came and she felt the divinity plunge into her soul like an enormous turgid cock, burning hot and swollen with the semen of stars, the virility of all creation. Impossible pleasure gushed from her as the god's cock thrust at her from the far end of the earth, splitting her open and obliterating her in a cascade of ecstasy.

She heard Telemachus screaming but there was already such a din of cymbals and sistra, tambourines and shouting that it meant nothing to her. She could not focus her eyes and she could not stop coming, writhing in ecstasy, her eyes filled with the images of the woman's breasts and legs, white teeth and flashing nails as they bent over something and tore at it with their hands and mouths

Then she was on the ground and women were pulling her to her feet, garlanding her with ivy and smearing her face with something warm: semen or blood, she didn't know which and it hardly mattered. The crash of cymbals was loud in her ears, and the spell of the god was upon her. Joy and fevered desire ran over her and through her like a tempest as the women sucked at her and kissed her, and Helene kissed them back, opening her legs, her mouth; all she had she opened to this divine presence.

She lost sight of Telemachus, lost sight of everything in the wild frenzy of primal sex and desire. She was on the ground, another women leaning over her, kissing her mouth as she shoved her fingers between Helene's legs and pumped and Helene's hips rose to the woman's strokes as the cries rang around her, cries of lust and carnal desire, cries of women satisfying their own needs, letting themselves be plundered and used, even as they used others. Her body shook as if with the force of thunder but thunder more sweet than anything she'd ever known. She opened her mouth to the other woman's fevered kisses as her body teetered on the edge of an abyss of ecstasy.

She wouldn't fight, she couldn't resist. He was all about her: Dionysus, her God, her Lord. It was as if he held her up to his mouth and drank pleasure from her body, and she would deny him nothing. She let it pour out of her, amazed that she was capable of such ecstasy.

Helene screamed as she came again, her body arching up like a bow, her young loins thrusting obscenely up onto the older woman's impaling hand which pumped at her even as the woman fed her breast into Helen's open mouth and groaned as the girl sucked at her in herblind desire.

And then she was on her feet, breathless and dizzy. The woods spun around her as she staggered after the wild party of half-clothed and naked women. It was not a question of following or not: the god was in their midst, a huge black bull adorned with flowers and ivy, capering and tossing his enormous head, and all must follow, throwing themselves on his powerful back, covering him with kisses, falling to their knees in adoration of the monstrous cock that thrust up beneath him; a man's cock but impossibly big, from which oozed a stream of lubricious fluid, precum and holy semen, and those who could reached out and filled their hands with this chrism and smeared it on their faces, over their breasts and cunt, its touch brought instant rapture.

Helene was weeping with joy and excitement as it all made immediate sense to her now: the things that grow and the stars of the sky: all must yield to the divine madness of the god of the mountains. The world was a smear of flesh and darkness as she adorned herself with the plants of the field and pulled boughs from the trees to wave about the god: Dionysus, the Lord of the Wild Mountain, Bromius, who drives all mad.

Penelope heard them coming just as Meneus was about to take her at last, his phallus poised to enter her and finally fulfill her desire and make her a woman.

"No, no!" she begged, wrapping her slim legs around him. She lifted herself up, trying to impale herself on his cock as he stood over her on his hands and knees, his face frozen in fear as he heard them too. "Fuck me now! Meneus! You must!"

"They are coming!" he said, his face white. "The Bacchae! They'll kill me! Let me go, Penelope! Let me go!"

They could hear the cries now, the terrible shrieks of the women, the earth shaking lowing of the great bull.

She would not let him go even though she felt them too, felt them as a sudden rush of hunger in her virgin cunt so intense that nothing mattered but having him pierce her at once and fill her with his hard male strength. She urged her body up at him, her hips rolling obscenely as she tried to find a way to take him inside. She clung to him with one leg around his back and the strength of her arms as he tried to free himself of her embrace, tried to get to his feet and failed.

His feet found no purchase on the soft earth and he stumbled and fell on top of her, and as he fell his cock pierced her like a sword.

"Agghh!" Penelope screamed as his member tore into her, ripping the curtain of her virginity aside, spearing into her depths, farther than she had thought possible. She felt the blood begin to seep from her and looked up to see Meneus' handsome face wild with fear, not even knowing what he'd done.

He looked over his shoulder even as she clutched him reflexively inside her, and then seeing that there was no escape from the madness that rode down upon them he turned back to her and surrendered to his own lust. The spell of the god worked on him too and he grabbed her tight, pulled her to him. thrust himself into her to the very hilt and covered her open mouth with his own, smothering her cries of pain and pleasure.

Penelope's eyes rolled up into her head as she felt him stretch her virgin cunt with his wonderful hardness. She clung to him with all her strength and suddenly she felt the force of the god engulf her like a great wind and she was tossed and thrown about like foam on the ocean's tempest. All about her she saw the sharp light of the torches and her ears were filled with the chanting and moaning of the Bacchae, but she couldn't tell earth from heaven nor herself from the hands and mouths that reached for her and took her.

There were bodies all around her, above her and below her, women's bodies, writhing with need, taking her hands and making her touch them, sucking at her breasts and kissing her nipples, licking her with the tongues of animals. She felt hands on her ankles, pulling her apart, and more hands holding her wrists above her head, pressing her into the earth.

And Meneus. Where was Meneus? She was suddenly empty and aching, her virgin's blood still wetting her slit. She forced her eyes open as if against a driving wind, forced them open and found herself looking into the eyes of Dionysus, the living god.

The face was that of a youth, impossibly handsome, almost girlish, with no beard and hair wild and long that was twined with ivy and bryony and flowers of the mountain; and yet at the same time it was the face of a bull, raging in the pride of his lust. He was both and neither and yet the face didn't even matter because of what she saw in his eyes: a terrible depth and the light of stars, remote and cold and knowing no end. His eyes drew her in, pulled at her and she felt herself falling upwards to meet him as his mouth came down on hers and she tasted his breath in her mouth.

It was the taste of a man, and the taste of blood and wine, and of something more, something beyond tasting that filled her with the power and joy of her sex and of a pleasure beyond imagining. Her body shuddered and rang with his implacable power and virility, as if stars burned within her.

And then she was looking up at the huge figure of the Bull, the enormous cock, bigger than a man's arm and dripping with come, hard, potent, and reaching for her. She knew she could not take him. It was impossible: she would die. He would split her open like a melon and she wept, thinking of her death in such a fashion amidst the insane cries of the Bacchae, the sucking mouths and eager hands.

And yet then the fear was gone. It was as if her soul knew what to do and she opened her thighs to him

His bulk blocked out the stars in the sky and she felt the heat from his body as he closed with her. The women chanted and cried out as he put the enormous glans against her tiny cunt, and Penelope was seized by a lust so terrible that she decided she would take him; she would take him and gladly die just for this moment. Her body thrust itself up to him of its own accord and she felt the god enter her.

He stretched her, hurt her, ripped her open and she screamed, but then He was alive within her and her ecstasy was immediate. With his touch she began to climax and she never stopped as he filled her with his prick, stuffed her to bursting with his virility and potency. She didn't split, she didn't die, and through some miracle she couldn't understand she was able to take him, take him all. He was in her and yet around her at the same time, as if his shaft surrounded her, enclosed her from within, and she found herself in the embrace of bliss so intense that tears streamed from her eyes and she could hardly draw breath. There were hands on her, pushing her and coaxing her, no longer holding her down, and she wrapped her limbs around his mighty body, felt his hard muscle as he worked his lust upon her. She held on as he rode her.

They soared up and beyond the earth, beyond the belt of stars as he fucked her, his cock as hard and as long as the marble pillars erected in his honor in the town square. With each thrust his hips seemed to draw back to the limits of the sky, and he sent his cock rushing home into her as if he were plumbing the depths of the sea in a rush of violent sensation. Penelope had never imagined such divine male power, such force and implacable desire, and as he was male, so she was female, giving herself to him again and again, joining her human passion to his divinity.

She could not tell what she was anymore, whether she was herself or whether she was the soft and fertile body of the earth, ripe for him, aching for him to plant his seed, pulsing with life, taking his strength from her and setting forth his vine, buds and leaves and clusters of fat grapes, swelling with juice. She felt him growing stronger inside her, harder, bigger, the incessant urgency of life itself. He held her to him and squeezed her like a bunch of grapes until she flowed like wine through his fingers

And then he burst within her. With a wild scream and a final surrender she felt herself fall too as she felt the god's seed gush into her in a blaze of glory, explosions of light illuminating a paradise of killing pleasure and darkness. She was lost to the world, certain she was dead, waiting only for the darkness to extinguish her completely. And then she felt him reach down and grab her, take hold of her as she slipped away and pull her back up into the light of the world and the hysterical cries of the revelers.

She opened her eyes now to the sky above her. She was dripping with sweat and soaked with wine and gism and beside herself with an ineffable joy as she looked up into the wild and handsome face of Meneus, lost in his own ecstasy as he jetted his seed into her body, his jaw clenched, his muscles shivering with the strain of his ejaculation.

With a final gasp he fell on top of her, sobbing for breath, and she felt his heart hammering in his chest, echoing hers where he pressed against her. In the distance she heard the wild screams and fading racket of the god's procession disappearing over the brow of the hill, torches blazing, like a thundercloud being blown out to sea.

Meneus' cock twitched once more inside her, the last bit of his semen oozing into her bruised and battered pussy. She had done it; she was a woman now and no one could deny it. She knew now what other women knew, and what they talked of with each other, and she knew why it was that when the harvest was in and the grapes crushed they left their homes and became Bacchae, following the god, dancing and singing into the mountains and wild places.

The wind blew against her sweat-soaked body, chilling her, but Meneus still trembling above her still kept her wonderfully warm. She felt the soft grass beneath her naked back and looked up into a sky ablaze with stars.