Huge thanks to Newoldguy77 for his quick and very helpful editing. All characters are 18 years of age or older.
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In the beginning, when planets burst into existence, four new consciences were born on one tiny rock among the billions. These four beings each had an affinity for a core element: Earth, Air, Water, and Fire. Later, much later, when humanity sprung into existence and began to try to understand their home, they would worship these four as the First Gods.
As with all life, the gods were driven to procreate. First, Water and Air became lovers and had many children: Cloud, Rain, Storm, and Snow. Storm was loved by both Air and Fire and from their seed birthed Thunder and Lightning. Many years passed before Fire tired of Storm. He fucked Earth and they made Volcano. Then, he fucked Water and they made Life.
Life fucked everyone. If the other gods had been promiscuous, Life was a sex addict. For a while, it seemed like every day Life was having a new child. Well, not exactly a child, as all gods were fully mature when born. The point is, Life was constantly making new gods. First, there was bacteria, then sea sponges and coral and jellyfish, then more and more fish and then amphibians and reptiles, then birds and mammals.
And then came humans. If Life had thoroughly disrupted the relatively calm and pleasant existence of the First Gods, then Man was ten times as chaotic. There was an explosion of minor gods that came from Man.
It seemed, too, that as quickly as Man could create a new god, that god would grow old and die. For example, Pyramid had a wonderfully full, but ultimately short, life. Every god and goddess who came from Man was frantic with need to gain power and maintain relevance to avoid fading away into nothingness as they had seen happen to so many of their siblings. The minor gods of humanity were a chaotic, squabbing, and hypersexual bunch.
Our story begins with the god, Writer.
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Writer stroked himself as he watched a scribe chisel words into a stone tablet. Writer appeared as he had when he first came into existence, a human man in his late teens. He was actually thousands of years old, though. While other gods of humanity had thrived in the same time period, gaining enough power to appear as beautiful and strong men and women, he was still a pimple-faced scrawny young man.
As he watched one of his most prolific followers slowly etching symbols into stone, Writer considered his problem. While Blacksmith and Mason and Hearth had unlimited followers, he had only a few scribes scattered in small communities. Some wrote on stone, like this one, but others wrote on turtle shell, or even in the dirt. Writer much preferred his followers who wrote on stone, at least that would last so he could not fade away. Still, if he ever wanted to grow stronger, he needed to make some new gods that would support him, as so many others had.
But what god would fuck him, looking as sickly and weak as he did compared to so many others? What could he offer? Writer considered the other gods and wondered which would be desperate enough to lay with him, even though they were powerful. He didn't need another weak god, he needed power.
Writer frowned as the answer came to him. This wouldn't be pleasant, but he knew what he needed to do.
The smell of death and blood was pungent and strong before he was even close enough to see the god he was looking for. By the time he got within shouting distance, he had to breath through his mouth to avoid gagging. Still, vomiting might not actually dissuade this god from fucking him, he mused.
"Tanner!" Writer called.
Tanner, a tall, hairy, muscular man looked up. His black hair was lank and greasy and hung down in unkempt locks. His naked body was covered in blood and sweat. He had a deadly sharp blade in hand and was skinning a great beast that Writer could not identify.
"Who is it?" Tanner demanded, his voice deep and cold.
"I am Writer."
"What the fuck do you want?"
Tanner was known for being gruff and unfriendly. It was said that his problem was simply that he wasn't getting enough sex. But, for all his strength and power, few other Gods could stand the stench that accompanied him. Writer, however, was desperate.
"Well," Writer said with an ironic grin to hide his anxiety, "I'd like to fuck."
Tanner stared at the pimple-faced, skinny, young man. Writer knew he wasn't much to look at, but he sincerely hoped that Tanner was horny enough to fuck him anyway. Writer needed some of Tanner's power, and the only way gods could share power was through sex.
"Take off your clothes," Tanner commanded with a hint of interest in the proposal.
Writer quickly undressed, exposing himself to the large man. Gratefully, and with a little disgust, he saw how Tanner's penis stirred and grew more rigid. Writer's own penis remained flaccid, no matter how he tried to excite himself by imagining one of his scribes instead of Tanner.
"You don't look like you want to fuck," Tanner commented.
"Maybe, maybe you could fuck me?" Writer suggested meekly.
Tanner's cock was massive, and it was a bit terrifying to imagine it in his ass. But he needed the power, needed it desperately. And, he was a god, human concerns about damage to his anus or infections from the animal blood that covered Tanner, those didn't matter to him. This would probably hurt, but if it worked, he would heal, and faster than he could now.
At least, Writer thought as he eyed the large god's rigid cock, it looked like Tanner wasn't adverse to the idea.
"Come here,"
Writer took one slow step, then steeled his nerve and strode toward the giant, stinky, dirty God. He stopped when he as just an arm's length away and waited. Tanner set down his knife and studied him curiously, but did nothing, and said nothing.
Writer realized that if he wanted any of Tanner's powerful seed, he would have to do more than just be a passive recipient. He reached out one small hand and placed it on the larger man's bicep. The feel of the massive muscles under the sheen of sweat and blood was actually a little arousing. Writer's cock stirred.
Feeling emboldened, Writer reached up both of his hands and wrapped them behind Tanner's neck. He pulled himself up on his tiptoes, while also pulling Tanner's head down to his. Writer pressed his lips against the other god's. Tanner tasted salty, with a tang of iron.
At first, Tanner just let himself be kissed. But when Writer cleared his mind and forgot the terrible smell and his fear of the god's giant cock and just enjoyed the kiss, his own penis hardened and pushed against Tanner's. When Tanner felt that sign of arousal, he kissed Writer back, hard, and lustily.
The two gods sighed, both in relief at finally finding a lover who wasn't disgusted by them. In the world of gods and goddesses, power gave beauty, and all gods wanted from sex was power. Both Writer and Tanner had been outcast, uninvited to share in the sex that all the minor gods needed so badly. But now, they had found an equal need in each other, and they abandoned themselves to it.
Tanner wrapped his arms around Writer and pulled the smaller man into his firm embrace. Their penises rubbed against each other, trapped between their pelvises which were pressed hard together. Writer ran his hands down Tanner's back, which was slick with sweat. He knew that his chest and stomach and penis were getting covered in blood and gristle. Instead of being disgusted by the thought, Writer was excited by it. Writer had never considered that dirty sex could be fun, but he was learning today.
Tanner lifted Writer and pulled the smaller god's legs around his waist. Writer felt the head of Tanner's massive cock pressing into the crack of his butt. Writer clenched his jaw and pushed himself down onto the hard penis. The intrusion split his asshole and he could feel his own blood add lubrication to their mating.
Pain exploded as Tanner sunk his full length and width into Writer's anus. But with the pain was pleasure. Anal sex wasn't new to Writer, but usually, it had been him who was fucking one of his scribes. One time, he'd let a scribe fuck him in the ass, but the man's penis hadn't been nearly as large as Tanner's. The experience had been mildly disappointing and left Writer with confusion about why so many men appeared to enjoy having their ass penetrated.
Tanner's penis was doing things that little scribe's could never have accomplished. Writer felt full, stuffed, and he felt pressure inside that built and grew wonderfully. Tanner held the smaller god and thrust him up and down over and over again on his cock. Both gods moaned and grunted as they fucked, standing there next to a half-skinned carcass.
Finally, hot fluid flowed into Writer's anus, adding a new layer of lubrication to the mess that was already filling him. The sensation of the hot liquid, and the power that it released into him, set Writer off on his own orgasm that left his body tingling with pleasure.
Gently, Tanner pulled the smaller god off of his cock and set him down on the ground. Writer's ass throbbed, but he could feel as the influx of power set to work closing up all the new wounds inside him. He stretched and grinned as he felt new muscles growing in his arms and legs and chest. Writer felt his face and was thrilled to discover that his skin was clearing of pimples.
He grinned up at Tanner, only to see the larger god looking at him sadly.
"What's wrong?" Writer asked, concerned.
He hadn't cared much about Tanner as an individual when he'd come here, but he found that he cared now. This giant had given him pleasure and power, and he got very little in return out of the deal.
"Leave," was all Tanner said, his voice thick and guttural.
If Writer wasn't imagining things, it almost looked as if the big god had tears in his eyes. Suddenly, Writer felt like an absolute jerk for using the other man. He'd told himself that Tanner was using him too, and he had. But now, Writer was handsome enough that many of the other gods would happily have sex with him, and unlike Tanner, there was nothing about his domain that made him inherently unattractive.
Writer clenched his jaw with grim resolve, "No."
Tanner glared at him, "You got what you wanted, now get out."
"Fuck. You." Writer said, with all the eloquence of his profession.
"What?!" Tanner roared.
"I said, fuck you." Writer repeated, enunciating clearly.
Tanner grabbed his skinning knife and swiped it at Writer, slicing open a deep gouge in his chest.
"No wonder no one likes you. You're a rude asshole." Writer said as he used a bit of power to close the wound.
Tanner growled, "You came to me, little god, I didn't invite you here."
Writer grinned, "Yeah, you did. I distinctly remember you telling me to 'come here.'"
Tanner stared at Writer, considering how to argue this simple fact. Eventually, he decided to ignore the comment entirely.
