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In the eyes of the masses, temple oracles were the pinnacle of purity. The gift of prophecy came from being touched by the gods so all oracles were held in regard but temple oracles… they were selected by the priests as children, their talent the most remarkable, their appearance the most pleasing. And they remained in the temple, living in luxury, untouched by anyone unless the gods themselves decided to make a lover of one of them. It was a crime to so much as touch a temple oracle without their permission and if a temple oracle did walk the streets it was under heavy guard, hidden by curtains or dressed in layers of fabric so that no ordinary person could gaze upon them.
They were one step beneath gods in the eyes of the general populace.
Slade knew the truth about them. By the end of their eighteenth year, most oracles had a lover in the nobility. Most oracles could be bought with a few golden trinkets and the offer to invite them out of the temple for a bit of entertainment.
After all, the gods rarely spoke. Oracles got bored.
Sex passed the time.
Slade didn’t bother much with oracles. He was not common enough to see them as anointed; not rich enough to see them as sex toys. He was a general, born poor, clawing his way up through the ranks.
Oracles were nothing but complications for him.
In a war, soldiers could be killed. Women and children could be taken as slaves. Nobility could be raped and butchered.
Oracles… The generals, the senators, the kings… They saw them for what they were: god chosen whores with nothing to occupy them but sex. The foot soldiers saw them as minor deities. If a general was seen to kill an oracle, his men refused to follow him, believing he would be subject to the wrath of some god. If he took an oracle prisoner, he was expected to keep them in nothing short of a gilded cage – an expense impossible during an active campaign. But oracles were seen as the treasures of a temple. If they were not carried off, a victory was not seen as sure and those who remained were invigorated with the notion the gods were on their side.
The city state of Bludhavia had fallen. The king’s corpse was sitting on his throne, growing bloated around the spear still wedged into his gut. His wife and daughters were being passed around by other generals. Slade had fucked his son the night before – the right of a victorious general – before having the young man shipped back to King Luthor to decide whose bed the former prince would spend his life chained up in.
The temple was under guard, the last place Slade’s men had not stormed. He was considering waiting for the arrival of General Julius. He was an impulsive man who wouldn’t think twice if Slade ordered he rape and pillage his way through the temple. And then Slade could have him put to death for the crime and have the oracles declared too impure to be considered property of the gods and treated like normal prisoners. But General Julius and his men were not good or honest. They’d rape the oracles but they’d steal other temple treasures for themselves. And then Luthor would be demanding to know why Slade didn’t have the full bounty to hand over. Better if Slade was seen to visit the temple, seen to make an inventory first. Then General Julius’ men would know they would have to be honest with the material goods even if Slade gave them a day or so to break the oracles.
The temple would have no doubt only found competition in the grand palace for the most awestriking building in Bludhavia. With the near destruction of much of the city state, it truly held the crowd. Priests were dutifully cleaning the white marble columns of the sot and smoke rising from the embers of the decimated city. Guttering that had once run with the blood of sacrifices to the gods now kept the blood of soldiers from reaching the temple steps. Even Slade’s riotously celebrating men kept their distance from the temple, partly out of fear of the armed guards keeping them out but mostly for fear of whichever god the temple was for.
Roland. The Blockbuster.
A barbaric god for a lawless city.
Slade’s guards parted wordlessly for him. The leader of their group moved to meet him.
“The priests have reported us their numbers. They say that there are six men and boys who remained in the temple. Their staff numbered twenty-one but all the others fled. There was also a brothel operating out of the catacombs but all those who ran it and staffed it fled too.”
“And oracles?” Slade questioned.
“Four.”
Slade turned, eyeing the commander with suspicion. A temple of such size should have had triple that, even if most only had a minor gift.
“Bludhavians do not honour their gods as we do. No families give their gifted children willingly. Those oracles they have are captured from raids or seized from criminals.”
Slade nodded. He handed off his helmet to the commander and removed his sandals. He didn’t care much for the gods. They’d never shown him favour even when he had given them the respect they required. He’d lost an eye, lost a son, lost his home.
But his men were watching and he could lose a lot more if they believed he had offended the deities.
“I will make a record of the contents and see about preparing transportation for the oracles,” Slade said.
He might even have some clothing sent from the palace to dress them, really play into the act that he had every intention of delivering the oracles to Luthor unharmed.
The priests had reported honest numbers. There were six of them remaining and all greeted Slade when he entered. They offered him the blessings of their god and the finest wine from their collection. He offered the first sip of wine to the statue of Roland that towered over the lobby.
“I am here to inventory your vaults,” Slade told them once he had drunk. “But first I will need to see your oracles.”
The head priest stepped forward. He was a grey-haired man who had probably decided not to run because his legs were not strong enough to carry him any good distance.
“We have four,” he said in a shaking voice.
Still, he seemed determined to lead the way to the chamber in which the oracles lived. Slade fell into step beside him, aware that the remaining priests were whispering, trying to determine what Slade’s visit meant to their fates.
“Two were captured during a raid on Gotha four decades ago,” the head priest explained. “The other two were seized from ships that passed through our waters.”
“Untouched?” Slade asked.
“They are oracles,” the priest answered. “Our Lord Blockbuster permits that oracles be restrained as all mortal creatures are permitted to be but the violation of their bodies is a gift purely for the gods.”
Slade scoffed.
“And do the gods ever come?”
“Not in my lifetime,” the head priest said.
In shocked Slade a little that the head priest said he was forbidden from entering the chamber of the oracles. In Luthor’s kingdom, oracles took their lovers into their chambers all the time. Priests entered, fucked their lovers and headed out to perform sacrifices. Bludhavia did have some strange rules, to shackle but not sleep with.
The head priest did not protest when Slade stepped over the threshold, however. Still, he did seem a little disappointed Slade was not immediately struck down.
“I will leave you to your business,” the head priest said sullenly.
Then he turned and left. Slade took in the space. It looked to be something of an entrance hall, fine fabrics hiding the stone walls of the temple. A mosaic of Blockbuster filled the floor, staring up at a painting on the ceiling. It was another painting of Blockbuster, this time with the other gods and goddesses kneeling, collared and bound, looking like nothing more than slaves being passed to their master.
Slade had never seen such blasphemous art. Still, he was not a fool. Luthor believed himself to be all but a god if the rumours were right. No doubt there were such depictions in the private rooms of his palace. In fact, Slade had once fucked an artist who had admitted to carving a statue of Luthor fucking the God of Youth.
Movement ahead of Slade distracted him. He looked over, seeing an older woman was standing there. She was dressed in white silk with a purple shawl draped over her shoulders. She gave him a resigned sort of look and approached.
As she moved closer, Slade saw there was a golden collar locked around her neck, half-hidden by the shawl.
“Greetings, General Slade,” she said softly.
“You know my name?” Slade said.
“Your victory was prophesised.”
Slade nodded. The woman took the pause that followed as a sign to introduce herself: Evana.
“And are you the one who prophesised by victory?” Slade asked.
“No,” Evana said. “I was not so unfortunate.”
Her age suggested she was one of the ones who had been taken from Gotha, her accent too.
“Did the prophesy say your fates?” Slade asked.
Evana gave a small nod.
“You leave Bartimus here to die,” Evana said. “I doubt he’ll make it three more days now. The smoke from the city burning… And you will let me and Sectus free.”
Slade’s brow furrowed.
“Why would I do that?”
“Dick did not say why,” Evana answered. “He did not have the time. It was not a prophecy given peacefully. The king insulted him, he returned with the declaration the war would be lost and the city would burn. He told us our fates and then was dragged away before he could answer my questions about it.”
“Dragged to where?” Slade asked.
Evana turned, pointing behind her. Slade studied through the far entrance, seeing that it opened up to a courtyard with covered paths around it. A little boy was peeping out from behind one doorway but he was not where Evana pointed. Instead, she was directing Slade toward a large door with a heavy lock on it.
“What fate befalls him?” Slade asked.
“He did not say,” Evana replied. “I do… I know what generals do to oracles. If Dick is the only one who’s fate hangs in the balance, please let me make a plea for him. He was brought here by General Zucco as a boy. His family were peaceful performers who were raided by the general to make up for a failing during a raid. Dick was taken and forced to watch his family die. He has been here ever since and has never once submitted to the king if he could fight. If he is to die, do not be a coward and kill him by your own hand. Do not let him become the plaything of armoured thugs, fucked until he dies of exhaustion.”
“I have no intention of sparing any of you. Whatever mercy he saw, he was mistaken.”
The lock was easy enough to break. It was obvious to Slade why. The oracle was being punished for such a grim prophecy and his only potential rescuers were other oracles. They feared ending up like him.
Slade let the door open. The courtyard afforded little light, the sun still blocked from the smoke rising from the city. Still, there was enough light for Slade to see a wooden torch fixed to the wall inside. He lit it, letting the fire illuminate the space.
The room was mostly bare, except for a metal statue. It was a life-sized depiction of a man with the boyish looks and defined muscle of a depiction of one of the younger gods. His face, normally looking so serene in statues, was twisted in disgusted terror, a metal collar locked around his neck. It was not a well-made statue, however, with a large split down the middle.
But as Slade circled the statue, he realised it was intentional. There were concealed latches keeping the two halves together.
And suddenly Slade was reminded of one of the old myths. One day Blockbuster had been meeting up with one of his non-consenting ‘lovers’ when he realised that one of the younger gods, Nightwing, was spying on him. Nightwing had, in fact, been spying on him all day, hoping that he might find proof he could take to the king of the gods to have Blockbuster punished for all the pain he caused to humans. And so Blockbuster had seized the handsome young god and trapped him inside a statue with a plug in both his ass and mouth, his eyes forced to stare out and watch as Blockbuster took any lover he wished. Of course, the young god was eventually rescued and had the proof needed for Blockbuster to be punished but…
It gave Slade a good idea of where Dick was.
He tapped the statue and heard a yelp from inside as the prisoner within was awoken.
“Can you hear me?” Slade asked.
There was a muffled sound of agreement from within the statue. Slade realised there was likely something settled into Dick’s mouth. Clearly the king had cared about accuracy.
“I am Slade. I was told you predicted me coming.”
Another affirmative noise.
“I was told you said I would leave the old man to die and spare the other two.”
Another affirmative noise.
“And you? Do I let you go?”
There was a whine that Slade took for a no.
“Do I kill you?”
Another whine.
“Are you going to claim I take you back as spoils of war?”
The affirmative noise returned.
Slade scoffed.
“I have never bothered taking an oracle back. It is far too much work. You and your companions will be raped by General Julius until…”
Slade’s words died in his mouth. There was a beat, gentle but tinny, a finger beating against the metal of the statue. Slade realised it was a song. A song he knew. He had sung that song just the night before celebrating the victory with his men. He’d taught that song to his boys the first time he had taken them both hunting with him.
And to know something like that… The young man had to be a powerful oracle. Powerful enough that Slade should at least consider if he was maybe worth the trouble. The last thing he needed was for Luthor to hear word of an oracle who predicted the destruction of Bludhavia and learn he spent his last moment impaled on Julius’ cock before being butchered. Even though King Luthor knew the trouble oracles were, he would demand to know why Slade didn’t make an exception for such talent.
“If I let you out to pled your case,” Slade said, “you will behave. Any attempt to fight or run and I will personally lock you back in here and throw you into the ocean.”
An affirmative sound came from within.
It took Slade a moment to make sense of the statue. He realised the collar had to be removed first and then all the catches could be undone. Then one of the pieces came away. Slade stared. Dick was truly blessed by the gods. He had deeply tanned skin and midnight black hair, contrasting starkly with the brilliant blue of his eyes. His body was ornately muscled, lithe but powerful, reminding Slade of the big cats the Queen of the Amazons had had when Slade had gone to her to demand the release of some of her prisoners.
Still the young man could do nothing but stare at Slade with a shocking intelligence in his eyes. His body was held into place by the metal phallus stretching out his lips and the other inserted into his ass.
“I never saw the appeal in Blockbuster’s punishment of Nightwing,” Slade said as he moved in to inspect how the phalluses were secured. “I would have thought the point of capturing the handsome young spy god would be to drag him into the light and keep him on display. But I can see the appeal of such a fine creature being nothing but a statue for everyone else and a spasming, plugged secret for yourself.”
Slade managed to unlock the phalluses and tugged Dick to the side. The young man collapsed to the hard floor, numbly shifting his arms until he could pull the phallus from his lips.
On full display to Slade, the young man was truly a gift from the gods. He was flawless, his beauty enhanced by the keenness in his eyes, the way his numb body still seemed coiled and ready to react. It was impossible for Slade to forget that the young man owed his imprisonment to defying the king.
“Has anyone asked the heavens if Nightwing has not been trapped in human form as some punishment?” Slade asked no one in particular.
He moved toward the young man’s plump ass and reached between the mounds for the base of the phallus.
“No,” Dick croaked out weakly.
Slade didn’t heed him, slowly drawing the phallus out and enjoying the whimpers as it pulled free.
“Go on then,” Slade said, standing back. “Make your plea for the sake of your life.”
“I will go with you. Willingly. If you spare the others.”
Slade froze. He stared at Dick.
“Their gift is nothing compared to mine,” Dick said. “The gods visit us even if they do not violate us. The Bat watched over me when he thought I slept. He told a companion I was the most powerful oracle in all the land.”
“Transporting an oracle is not worth the trouble,” Slade told him.
“If the oracle is willing,” Dick returned, “it is not difficult. And I will be willing if you vow to spare the others.”
Slade knelt down, gripping the young man’s chin with a crushing grip.
“If you are truly the oracle you claim, tell me how to get what I want.”
Dick swallowed.
“Tell your men you will take Gaius’ ship back to your homeland with me as cargo. They will have left by the time you return to your camp and so the journey to the dock will be a lonely one. Your men will see me as the oracle but you will have the opportunity to dress me as a slave on the way to Gaius’ ship. I will not resist so long as I have your assurance you will keep your word. Tell them I am the son of a noble and your personal prize and I will accept all you do to me aboard the ship. And when we reach land, Gaius and his men will immediately be ordered to take their slaves on to help with the rebuilding of a port affected by fire. Gaius and his men will not return for several years, long enough that they will not recognise General Slade’s personal whore as the oracle delivered to your temple.”
“And?” Slade pressed.
“And your oracles have lovers,” Dick said. “You wish for me to be yours but I cannot tell you what you must do to make that happen.”
“Why not?” Slade asked.
“Because within two weeks of my arrival, your king will demand I be placed into his personal temple and I will be…”
His voice caught. His eyes dropped.
“The others will be safe. A life warming the cock of a king will be luxury compared to a life grieving them.”
Slade chuckled.
He grabbed Dick by the wrist, hauling him to his feet. Dick yelped, struggling to keep his balance on legs so out of practice with walking.
“Do we have a deal?” Dick asked.
He was dragged out into the courtyard, resisting a little. But Slade knew he was not getting the full fight from the young man. He was obeying, trying to save his fellow oracles from the fate Slade could inflict on them.
Slade pushed Dick toward the entrance of the courtyard, back toward the main body of the temple.
“You have until the sunsets to provide me with a fantasy that will convince me to make you my cock warmer,” Slade told him. “Or else I will have all four of you tied to your beds and readied for Julius and his men.”
Evana brought Slade something to drink. He sat on a bench in the courtyard, watching as Sectus peeped occasionally out of his room. Evana sat by his feet, submissive, aware of the power Slade held. Dick had gone to see the priests once, not seeming to care about them seeing him naked. And had returned with a bag of supplies that he took into one of the rooms.
An oracle so powerful and insightful that he knew what exactly would convince people to do things as he wanted…
“You are wondering about him,” Evana said.
“Who is he?”
“He was the son of two performers,” Evana said. “Nothing more.”
Slade eyed her slowly.
“You don’t truly believe that,” he observed.
Evana turned away. She plucked at the grass of the courtyard.
“It takes many years for stories of the gods to pass amongst the people,” Evana said. “But oracles learn them first, particularly when it is business between gods.”
“And?” Slade pressed.
“Nightwing is missing,” Evana said. “He has been missing for twenty years, ever since he was sent to spy on the would-be-god. It is believed that the would-be-god used magic from before the gods to do something to Nightwing. And Dick would have been conceived twenty years ago. And, from my gentle asking, I believe his parents had been travelling through Luthor’s kingdom when he was conceived.”
“Luthor is the would-be-god?” Slade said.
That made Dick’s prophecy for his future all the more darker.
“Does Dick know you suspect he is truly Nightwing?”
“Of course not. He has offered himself to you as a sex slave to save me and Sectus. What more would be do if he knew he had the soul of a god to bargain with? As much as we might hate it, the gods being distant from us is a good thing. Power like theirs does not sit well in bleeding hearts. I had hoped that life would keep him here. Blockbuster would be amused by the thought of Nightwing once more being his prisoner and, as life for an oracle goes, this is not bad. But life has never been that kind.”
She looked up at Slade.
“He will do as you ask. He will be docile and submissive, endure every humiliation, for the sake of innocents. He will use his gift to pluck the fantasies from your mind and perform them perfectly. So I ask of you to make him laugh and see if you do not find yourself fantasying about seeing a smile on his face also.”
Sunset came with news of a messenger. General Julius’ ships had made good time. His men were unloading at the dock. And Dick had been right. General Gaius had decided to take his leave since Julius’ men had arrived. His ship was being packed.
Slade lingered by the door to Dick’s room and thought of leaving the oracle behind, knowing that he would be dead within twenty-four hours. His mind conjured a horrific image of the young man’s naked body lying in a puddle of blood and cum, his limbs broken, his ass and mouth torn through violent use.
He did not believe the young man deserved such a terrible fate. If nothing else, his bravery and selflessness made him more worthy a warrior than most of Slade’s army.
He’d spare the young man. He’d let the woman and the boy go, give the old man space to die in peace. And Dick would make play he was nothing but a noble heir being broken in on his new life as a general’s cum dump until they reached home.
And then Dick would spend the rest of his life as Luthor’s sex slave.
That didn’t sit right with Slade. The young man deserved so much better, god or not. But if he was Nightwing, then he certainly should not be given to Luthor. If Luthor had found a way to trap gods in mortal bodies, then the last thing he should be getting his hands on was the power of a god. Then Luthor might actually get his wish.
Evana was right. The gods could do terrible things but they were not intentionally cruel. They just didn’t care. Mortals were ants to them, lesser beings to be toyed with and used. But Luthor… Slade could imagine a world where Luthor had seized control of the gods like Blockbuster restlessly wished he could, where anyone who caught Luthor’s eye was snatched away and forced to take his cock, where anyone who displeased him was killed with a wave of his hand. Slade could imagine the gods being reduced to shackled sex toys and Dick, if he truly was Nightwing, being Luthor’s greatest prize, reduced to a limping husk, voice hoarse from cum clogging his throat, stomach bloated from Luthor’s seed.
He needed to protect the young man. And the first step was to take Dick into his custody.
Slade opened the door.
He had expected Dick to be lounging in his bed, wrapped seductively in translucent fabrics, urging Slade to take whatever he wanted with his eyes. Many young men had done it. It was common practice for young strategists who knew they could not distinguish themselves with strength to offer themselves as ‘campaign wives’ to generals in exchange for being lauded and promoted when the war was over. That was how Gaius had gotten his command, a quiet eighteen-year-old willing to accompany Slade as his scribe during the day and his cock warmer at night.
But that was not a fantasy.
Instead, Dick was kneeling, utterly naked, a golden collar around his neck and a leash secured to a hook beside the door.
A phallus had been pushed between his lips, bound into place with leather straps. Another strip of leather had been wrapped around his cock, keeping him from being able to cum. His hands were buckled behind his back with leather and a large plug sat firmly in his ass.
The sight conjured up an old memory Slade had jerked off to more times than he cared to think. When Slade had been a new recruit, one of the young men he had signed up with had been caught slipping word to the enemy. He’d been seized by the general and his top men, dragged off to the general’s tent where his screams and pleas had emanated from until they had dropped off into grunts. The next day he had been found tied up beside the horses, his holes stuffed and the general’s seal branded over his heart. They’d kept him like that, dragged him along like livestock and opening up his holes only when they needed to get relief. New recruits like Slade had not been given the right to fuck him but Slade had been intoxicated with watching as the cocky young soldier had been reduced to a weeping, cum filled mess. He’d dreamt of fucking him, dreamt of one day catching a traitor he could do something similar to.
They’d not gotten many traitors after that.
Dick looked up at Slade with terror in his eyes. He shook his head pleadingly as Slade took the leash. He cracked it like a whip, dragging Dick stumbling up to his feet.
“You fucking little traitor. Look at you. Selling yourself out to the enemy like that,” Slade growled. “You’re lucky I don’t tie you up outside for the horses to breed.”
He manhandled Dick toward the beg, the young man making an act of sobbing, shoulders shuddering. Slade slammed Dick hard into the bed, wrapping the chain of the leash around the leather buckled around his wrists. It arched the young man’s back.
“Are you a virgin, you fucking traitor?” Slade snarled.
Dick nodded weakly.
“Bet you thought the enemy would reward you for your treachery with whores. Whores and drink and captives sucking you off. Well you’re going to spend the rest of your life as my whore, bloated with my cum.”
He ripped the phallus out of Dick’s ass and heard the young man scream into the gag. He was already hard. The sight of Dick had made him hard. Having him desperately flopping around between his legs like he was… Slade could barely contain himself.
He slammed hard into Dick’s ass. The young man screamed into the phallus locking up his mouth and dropped back onto the bed. Slade refused to let him though. He jerked hard on the leash, bringing the young man crashing down onto his cock, forcing him to take the full length. Those were the screams Slade remembered, the desperate, feral cries of a young man being forced to accept his place as another man’s fuck toy.
Slade pumped into him brutally, desperately. A part of him knew he should be trying to draw out the experience, savour it, but he didn’t care. He had a young man bound so perfectly beneath him and a tight hole spasming needily around his cock.
He came quickly, Dick sobbing into the bed beneath him. Then he peeled out of the young man as if there were others waiting to take his place. He drove the phallus back in violently, dragging Dick off the bed. The young man cried out as he hit the hard floor but barely had time to find his balance before Slade was unwrapping the leather around his face and pulling the phallus out from behind his lips.
For a moment there was a smile, a flicker that showed Slade the young man was enjoying the new game, perhaps more than he had even realised he would. And when Slade’s cock was slammed past his lips.
Slade had let Sectus and Evana leave during the night. Dick had been passed out in bed, bloated with cum but Slade had thought it was for the best. Gaius and his men would not wait forever and he needed Dick on that boat.
By dawn, Slade was gently coaxing Dick awake. He’d removed the collar and the leather binding his wrists and removed the phallus from his mouth. Gently he used a cloth to wipe the dried cum from the young man’s cheeks.
Dick blearily smiled as he woke up and Slade hated that he could see what Evana meant. He was not, could not, allow the young man to fall into Luthor’s hands.
“Are you Nightwing?” Slade asked.
Dick didn’t answer. He didn’t seem awake enough to notice. Slade sighed. He turned to Dick’s ass, seeing the phallus was still buried inside. His cum was buried inside the young man, too much to be emptied out quickly. If he removed the plug, cum would go dribbling down the oracle’s legs as he escorted him back to camp. It could flow freely once Dick was disguised as a captured noble born but in front of Slade’s men, in front of the guards of the temple, Dick had to seem untouched.
Which meant he would need to be plugged up with the phallus. Slade couldn’t help but smirk at the thought. If the people knew an oracle had been marched through the streets with a phallus in his ass, there would be riots in the streets.
He collected some clothes for Dick, the fine silks of an oracle, protecting his modesty and hiding any sign of the phallus still penetrating him. Then his thoughts turned to preparing Dick for his disguise as a sex slave.
“Where did you get the items for last night’s game?” Slade asked.
“Brothel in the catacombs,” Dick said.
“Right. Bludhavia has no respect. Dress. I’ll collect your slave disguise. And keep that phallus in or else I'll find one you can't remove and make you wear that."