Qingu cocked his head watching the delectable mortal as she went through the process of denial that all mortals seemed to do when meeting a god. Her outrage was delicious. It smelled of equal parts desperation and desire.
Even though he had been imprisoned for the last hundred thousand years, brought low by Marduk, the son of a hyena and treacherous mate of the Queen of Heaven, he had been able to keep abreast of mortals. He knew of the empires they built that turned to ash and sand over time. He knew of the new god they had crowned, Elihu, the desert dwelling god of unwashed sheep herders and celibate Romans. He knew of the Age of Reason, the revolutions to overthrow men who would claim to be the dead god’s right hand, and the toys they built to make themselves faster than a swift river. He read their words, enjoyed their music, laughed at their obeisance to the ridiculous notion of sexual purity. How could a man judge if a wife were fertile unless she had many lovers and at least one child with one of them?
He also knew that the gods he had sought to rule so long ago were dead, his sweet Tiamat, the treacherous Marduk, the beauteous Damkina, the fierce Ishtar, and the rest of his brothers and sisters, all dead for lack of worship. Their altars were buried in the sands of the Euphrates, their immortal bones scattered in the heavens. He alone, through Marduk’s treachery, was left.
And now, he had one of these mortals before him, putting her delicious body on lewd display. It had been too long since he had dallied amongst the temple priestesses that were in charge of earthy pleasure. Surely she was a long denied gift of his Queen. Yet… the woman was not in proper awe of his superiority. He craved worship more than he needed to bury his divine cock in her. He needed her on her knees before he ploughed her.
“Come, my fire-crested beauty, I will tell you my story whilst we dine.” He held out his hand and almost laughed at the pout displayed on her face at his change of plans. “When we have sated ourselves with food, then, I will let you worship my body.”
The mortal gave an undignified snort before clambering from the bed. He thought he heard her mumble something about dreams and wishes before she joined him at the couch that he caused to appear before the table. He lay down and she followed, after a small amount of hesitation. He tucked his arm around her waist, pulling her close to him, aligning his hips against hers. She smelled of acrid sweat, wool, and a softer female scent. It was not an unpleasant odour, and did cause his cock to lurch back to life. He ground against her, and was gratified to feel her return the pressure.
“You said you’d tell me your story,” she said after a breathless moment.
He smiled into her hair, buried his nose against her neck and sniffed before licking the salty sweat from her nape. “Yes. My troubles began in the month of Tiamat, the Goddess Queen, and my life was falling apart rather spectacularly…”
And so he told her of Marduk’s treachery, how the little civil functionary had tricked him, Qingu, Dragon Lord, into relinquishing the tablets of Creation and Uncreation that his Queen, and future wife, had sewn to his chest. How Marduk had betrayed all the gods by taking those tablets and creating lesser beings, mortals that would aspire to godhood in the end. He told how the cretin had sacrificed one of Qingu’s most trusted servants, and scattered his remains, relaying to Tiamat that Qingu was dead, while in fact, Marduk had imprisoned him for a thousand millennia. It was only after the mud people of the earth had rebelled, and rejected the pantheon that Tiamat had sought out her one time affianced, only to find that Marduk’s treachery had no limit, and Qingu was effectively lost to her and them. He let the mortal see his years of lonely solitude and desire to pass on as his family had before him. He couldn’t help himself, he had been alone to long to be able to control his emotions properly. Marduk reigned, made stronger by the worship of the mortals he created, and Tiamat’s power shrank, but before she lost all of it, she gave Qingu one way to escape his prison. He had three wishes to grant, and those wishes would set him free, if the mortal creature who found him would ask for it.
The mortal woman, this Madeleine, remained silent as he spoke, looking at him with some amusement, before she finally spoke, “So, in this outlandish dream, I’m the one who gets the wishes?”
“Yes, my lotus-blossom.” He dipped his head, hiding his amusement at her disbelief. “And I believe that I have already granted one wish to you. I have given you my name.”
“No, that wasn’t one of my …,” she began, but stopped as he slid his hand down her thigh and then up again, rucking the robes up to her hip. His hand dipped down, touching the curls at the crest of her mons, and his questing finger sought the wet heat between her legs. She stiffened and then let her legs fall open slightly. “Oh… yes…”
Her responsiveness to his touch was a balm to him, better than mere worship. He slid down her body, shrugging off the robes he wore as he did. He reached her breast and sucked the pointed crest of its nipple in his mouth, abrading it under the slick silk with his tongue. She arched into him as he suckled, and then groaned as he quit. He raised his hand, the blue flame of his power concentrating in it, and then banished her clothing. He slipped further down her body, enjoying the whiteness of her flesh, laving the rounded softness of her belly with his tongue and dipping lower. Once again, he stopped, his questing fingers stilled. “Open your legs further for me.”
“I’ve never… I don’t know…,” she gasped but complied with a pretty flush across her cheeks. “Are you sure?”
His only answer was to continue his quest. He had said he wanted to kiss those lips, and it had been so long since he had let the juices of a woman, mortal or divine, cross his tongue. He all but buried his face in her quim, stroking her to a frenzy, her juices flowing across his very talented muscle. She jerked against him, her legs opening wider until her inarticulate, hoarse cries reached their peak. He slid three of his fingers into her, loving the pulse of her muscles around them as she came.
He continued stroking her as he rose. He positioned his now aching cock against her entrance and with what little control he had left, he plunged into her. She screamed his name, called out to god, and broke apart in his arms. He joined her, suddenly hoping that his seed would find root in her womb. He found that he wanted to live and to bind this little mortal to him forever. He knew a little demigod in her belly would do that very well.
They lay panting into the cool silence of the chamber for a while. She broke the silence with her next wish. “I wish that I could be respected in my field and not have to struggle forever against the stigma of my gender.”
Qingu laughed against her skin, too tired yet to pick up his head. “Your wish will be granted, if you promise to worship me with that very profane mouth of yours.”
He flopped over on his back. “Now.”
She looked doubtful. “But, I’ve never… only… bad women do that kind of thing.”
“I will teach you that pleasure is not a sin, my flower,” he said as he summoned a pot of honey tipping it haphazardly over his cock. “The god of your land is a liar if he says it is. Now, worship me so that I might pleasure you again.”
She slid down his body, following the same path he had on hers, peppering his oiled skin with biting kisses. Once she reached his cock, she hesitated, opening her mouth as she worked his foreskin back. She regarded the still slick head with some trepidation, but opened her mouth and let her questing tongue wipe the honey off the mushroomed head. She opened her mouth slightly, before asking, “Am I doing this right?”
“Oh, yes, my gazelle.”
She dipped her head, sucking more of him into her mouth, licking the path of the honey off his skin. It took all of Qingu’s self-control not to buck into that cavity and take his pleasure as he would. He was a god, no matter how lonely he had been, he could show her patience. She soon became confident as he voiced his pleasure, but too soon, his control began to fray and he pulled her away from him. “Enough worship, my flower. I would give you pleasure now.”
He eased into her this time, drawing the sighs and moans from her with his gentleness. He would have his freedom and her too, if he gave her enough pleasure. He said, “It is time for your third wish, the one that might just give us what we both want, my treasure.”
He ghosted her skin with a brush of his lips, his hair falling in a cascade around them. Her sheath convulsed around his iron-hard rod causing the Dragon Lord to plead with her, something he had never done in his long life, “Please, my precious gem, please…”
“I wish that this… we… could go on forever, that this isn’t just some fevered dream, and that you were… my lover, my friend… I wish…” He thrust into her harder with each phrase, frenzied now that his goal was in sight. She panted, “I wish… Oh God! I wish you and I were together and out of here…. I’m going to…”
Once again she reached her pinnacle with him and he froze, spilling his seed into her. His senses expanded into the realm beyond the physical world for the first time in his aeons of captivity, and he felt his Queen, weakened but alive, give her benediction to him and this mortal. Tiamat let a soul loose from her own womb and pushed it into his mortal’s body. When Qingu kissed his thoroughly modern mortal, he tasted himself and the tiny flame of awareness in Madeleine’s belly. Her wish, along with his, had been granted. They fell asleep in the aftermath of the divine storm of magic.
Madeleine awoke from her nap.
She stretched, feeling the creak of the camp bed, hearing the shouts of workmen as they went about the excavation. Her body ached at the remembered pleasures of her dream, almost as if she had been stretched and opened. A soft burn of pleasure filled her womb at the thought of such a thing actually happening, especially as she remembered her wanton behaviour. She chided herself, even as she blushed, remembering the succubus’ actions.
It was only a dream.
She rose from the bed, drawing on her clothes that felt a little rougher, a little more pedestrian than they had before her nap. It was if her flesh remembered the whisper soft feel of silk, and the burnished warmth of bronzed skin against hers.
It was just a dream.
Voices drew nearer as Madeleine readied herself for a foray outside the tent. She could make out Dr Nassir’s but the other was softer, strangely accented, as if he spoke only rarely. She exited the shelter and stopped, her mouth working in shock.
Qingu, the god from her dreams, with his unfashionably long hair, bronze skin, and tawny eyes, stood before her, speaking to Dr Nassir in an earnest manner. His attention flickered from Nassir’s face for a moment, his expression guarded. Nassir followed his gaze, “Ah, Dr Whetstone! Your husband–Dr Ophiuchus, isn’t it?–he has finally arrived to help us with those petroglyphs. It is such an honour to meet you, sir.” Nassir rubbed his hands in gleeful anticipation before he added, “Your wife has been such a bold leader on this dig. I must say, I can’t get over my pride at having backed her on this expedition.”
“M-my husband?” She felt rooted to the spot. “I-I… yes, of course…I must have dreamed… heavily.”
She stepped down the path, taking her dream lover’s outstretched hand. Dr Nassir moved quickly and excitedly ahead of them.
Her putative husband lowered his mouth to her ear murmuring, “Dreams are fabulous things, are they not, my lotus blossom? They grant all sorts of wishes, even ones we didn’t know we had until we wished them.”
He lowered his free hand to her abdomen, and she gasped as an answering flutter moved under his hand. “Tiamat has granted us great joy, my fire-haired wife. Let’s not waste any more time on defining what is and isn’t reality.”