"So we're going to do another one."

"We are, you seem quite perky at the prospect."

"I got a George Eliot special hand job last time so of course I'm perky. What's this one going to be?"

"We're going to do a little bit of Greek Mythology for the Fantasy and Sci-fi category."

"You're taking this Omnium thingy seriously then?"

"Indeed I am."

"So what's the story, morning glory?"

"We're going to do Orpheus rescuing Eurydice from the Underworld. I've printed you out a copy of Virgil's version, just have a read so you get the gist. Obviously I'm Eurydice..."

"Because you've got the breasts and pussy."

"... and you'll be Orpheus."

"Because I'm gifted in charming Sirens."

"Rebeckah Jones is not a Siren. She's a flame-haired slag who spreads easier than melted margarine, and you drooling all over her cleavage with your cock hanging out of your zipper wasn't charming anyone." 

"Have it your way, CG, it wasn't your leg she kept rubbing herself on." 

"That's because she's a heated fucking bitch who'd happily fuck every Tom, Dick or Harry in the neighbourhood. Your leg, my leg, the leg of a table if she had half a chance." 

"You really don't like her, do you?" 

"Not much." 

"Maybe we ought to get back to Orpheus and Eurydice and their mythological Sirens rather than our local neighbourly ones." 

"She's a slut." 

"Fine, she's a slut, now what's the story. Oh for fucks sake, CG, I can't read this, it's Latin." 

"Of course it's Latin. Virgil was a fucking Roman. It's not my fault you're a cultural philistine. Ignorantia non excusat." 

"If you don't stop being a bitch and tell me the story, you can do this stupid thing all by yourself. Understood?" 

"Fine."

"So?"

"Fine. You're Orpheus, son of somebody and somebody, recipient of Apollo's lyre which you are incomparably gifted at playing, you were an Argonaut and sailed with Jason, out-seduced the Sirens with your lyre, returned home and married Eurydice, me, who then promptly gets bitten by a snake, probably your trouser snake if you ask me, and dies. You're inconsolable with grief so set off to rescue her from the underworld. You charm Cerberus the three-headed dog..."

"That's me, the bitch tamer." 

"... with your music, and likewise Charon the boatsman who transports you across the river Styx, and finally you persuade Hades himself through your display of unextinguishable love and grief with a couple of natty little tunes thrown in on the side."

"Fine, so what scene are we going to enact?" 

"Well, Hades agrees to release my soul to accompany you back to the world above but on the singular condition that whatever happens you're not to turn around. Turn around and it's straight back to the underworld for me. Got it?" 

"Got it." 

"And we're going to do a little bit of role play, so if you'll sit there facing that way and I'll sit here just behind you and no matter what you mustn't turn around. Okay?" 

"Sounds simple enough." 

"Turn around and it's straight back to the Underworld for me." 

"Look, I've got it, you don't need to keep going on. Just start, why don't you." 

"Oh Orpheus, my blessed husband, how brave, how clever you are." 

"Think nothing on it, babe, rescuing damsels is my everyday."

"Is it far to Plutonium, to the gateway to the world above? How much longer must we endure this doomed and desperate place?"

"You do know that if you'd been a better wife and not swooned away to death at the sight of my trouser snake you might have ended up in the Elysium Fields rather than slumming it down in Hades pit of despairing shades." 

"Some of them were quite nice." 

"Yeah right."

"What was that?" 

"What?" 

"Didn't you feel it? There it is again." 

"No. Nothing. What is it?" 

"It felt like a hand, or fingers at least stroking across my stomach. Ohhhh." 

"What?" 

"More. Lots more." 

"Where?"

"Ummmm, everywhere. Ohhhhh, one's cupping my breast, stroking, caressing across its underside, pushing it up, flicking upwards, mmmmm, circling my nipple, fondling the flesh, teasing at its tip, capturing, twisting, Ohhh fuck that's good."

"Who? What?" 

"Shades. It's the shades of the departed, Orpheus. I can feel them all about me, pressing against me, writhing their insubstantiality against mine. Oh fuck." 

"What happened?" 

"Someone, something, emptied an amphora of oil over my head, Orpheus. I'm slick. I'm sheened. Glistening in their ghostly glow. Squirming as their fingers caress my every crease, fondle my every furrow, their inhuman digits teasing my quivering flesh."

"Fuck, Eurydice, I'm throbbing, stiffening, swelling. If only I could view your slithering, coated flesh."

"No peeking, Orpheus. Remember... oh fuck, fuck, fuck."

"What?"

"They're in me. Oiled arse cheeks pulled wide. Fingers delving into my spasming sphincter. My cunt filled and stretched. Oiled and dripping as they rub against each other. Thrusting and insistent. Pinned atop their stiff digits. Skewered and sodden." 

"Fuck I'm hard. God, I need to see this." 

"Nooooo. Hades. Underworld. All eternity. Me. Oh God, the shades, they're becoming clearer. Merging. Forming. I can barely put one foot in front of the other. Men. Warriors. Musculature. Sweat sheened and battle grimed. Faces. Clear, recognisable faces."

"Who are they? Can you tell who they are?" 

"The shades, they're pushing me to my knees. I can't stand. Can't walk. There are shapes between us Orpheus, crowding in, I can barely see you. That's Achilles." 

"The Achilles?" 

"Agamemnon, Perseus, Theseus. Warrior heroes blocking my path to you. OH MY GOD."

"What? What is it Eurydice?" 

"These boys are hung. Hung like fucking monsters. Fuck I've never seen cocks like that before. Makes your trouser snake look like an elver. A wriggly, baby elver, all slimy and insubstantial." 

"Oh babe, crawl to me." 

"Huge cocks hanging beneath their leather skirting. Low slung, swinging with every step, slapping against rippled, muscled, thighs. Every one of them thicker than my arm. Dangling before my ogling eyes. Swaying mesmerically. Nuzzling against them with my nose."

"Oh fuck." 

"Revelling in their scent. The sweat of their exertions. The musk of their manhood. True heroes. Alphas. Monster killers. City sackers. Sword wielders. Proper heroes. Proper hero dick for me to lap my tongue up their trunk-like flesh. Gnarled. Veined. Ruinous." 

"You bitch. You fucking bitch."

"True heroes, not a pathetic lyre playing dickwad who's busy with two fingers jerking wildly at his baby cocklet." 

"Yes." 

"My hands filled with thick sausage, fingers unable to close about their girth. Wanking wildly..." 

"Uh huh." 

"... two cocks slapping into my face. Rubbing myself against them. Kissing. Licking. Nibbling. Heroes who rescue their damsels by thrusting and slashing and pillaging not by twaddling about on some pathetic baby harp whilst jerking off their unsatisfying little winkie. That's what you're doing isn't it Orpheus. Walloping your winkie."

"Yes."

"Pathetic."

"Yes."

"And what do you think Rebeckah Jones would think of such a contemptible, worthless example of manhood? Huh! She's hardly going to want to nestle your flushed, dribbling face in her substantial cleavage." 

"No." 

"Not a chance. Oh fuck it. You might as well cum, but you'll have to clean up your own mess. I'm not doing it this time."