The Artifact of Foex

by James L. Wolf

  Chet woke in the late afternoon and stretched. Then he froze—someone was in bed with him. He glanced over and saw the back of Quor’s bisque-colored head. She was curled away from him, lightly snoring. Oh, of course. She’d said she worked graveyard shift, so this was her sleeping time. Chet did feel better, he had to admit. Getting to the bathroom was easier than before, anyway. He slid back under the covers, grateful to be warm and clean.

  Pantheon, he had the biggest erection imaginable. He felt embarrassed, though no one was around to see it.

  He regarded Quor curiously. She was less intimidating asleep. It was funny... even Oak, perched in her single dorm room, had a poster on the wall depicting the past. There was nothing of the sort in this loft apartment: everything was scrubbed and aggressively modern as if Quor preferred to forget rather than remember. She seemed very alone. Though she’d complained about having no money, this urban apartment had to have cost something substantial. Chet wondered why she required so much space for just one person. Wasn’t she lonely?

  He crept closer to Quor. She was wearing a loose cotton shirt. His breath came quicker as he wondered what she else was wearing—or not. Would it be creepy to check? Chet’s dick grew harder at the thought. He felt like fucking, and Quor was Flame. There was no way she could catch any disease he might have. She didn’t seem to be in a relationship at the moment, and she lived alone; in fact, she was in bed with him, available. He nuzzled the back of her neck. She snorted, still asleep.

  Chet began thrusting against her just a little bit, and reached down to feel... oh. She wore a lacy thong and nothing else down there. His fingers accidentally—almost accidentally—brushed against a tit, and his breath caught. Would she mind? Abyss, she was Flame. They all had a maniac sex drive. Well, all of them except Oak, but Oak was just weird.

  Quor woke with a snort. She looked over her shoulder, eyes drooping with sleep. “Chet?”

  Stop being such a pansy, Fenimore had told him. Everyone thought he was too shy, too reticent. Chet firmly took hold of Quor’s shoulders and rolled her onto her back. She blinked at him, suddenly expressionless. He kissed her on the lips, working his way down. He couldn’t wait. He mounted her, fingered the lacy thong aside and entered her swiftly. Her breath caught. Chet fucked her hard, gasping as he bore down on her. She was tight and wet as any Flame. In fact, she felt phenomenal.

  Quor’s expression did not change. She looked at him steadily. Then she looked away. A tear slid from her eye down to her ear, the wet track tinged purple with ichor.

  Chet paused, confused. He realized... he’d never asked her consent. Was this rape? He wasn’t raping her, was he? Chet remembered—with an intensity that encompassed his whole being—lying under Rhiys while being penetrated. But this was different! Maybe he could just finish... but she was crying. He was causing her pain. He’d never wanted to cause anyone pain. He wasn’t a bad person despite his past lives. Was he? Chet felt a wave of nausea, his hands and knees aching at the memory of being Fenimore’s table. Of being an object waiting to be fucked, unable to change his fate. Of having no choice.

  He had a choice now. Withdrawing from her wet, tight sex was one of the toughest things he’d ever done. He found the strength to do so.

  Chet turned away, hands covering his face. The depths of his shame scored him, sharp as a blade. Nothing he could say would make this any better. Nothing. Pantheon, he’d murdered girl after girl when he’d been a Magician, and now he was a rapist.

  I should just go home and dedicate my life to Genis, like my father wants, and be my brothers’ butt boy until the day I die, he thought. It would be a punishing and miserable existence exactly the way he deserved. Self flagellation at its finest. Abyss, maybe he should just acquire a gun and end his life swiftly, get it over with. Out of nowhere, he felt a wet sweater gripped in his hands, the sensation of Aureate’s bubbling skin. There had been an utter finality to it when Knife had fired his gun, killing her. The flashback made him sway in place.

  “You stopped,” Quor said as she sat up. “You stopped before you came.”

  Chet looked over his shoulder, hardly seeing her through his misery. “Does it even matter? I thought once... I didn’t ask.”

  “It matters to me. I’m male, too. I know how hard it is to stop in the middle.”

  There was something about her tone that wasn’t quite—present. The words were casual. Almost too casual, he thought, frowning. Chet dared take a second look, peeking at her like a dium about to have its elongated nose chopped off. Quor looked... odd was too simple a word. She was rocking in place in a subtle way that barely registered as movement. Her expression was a fusion of clinical analysis and raw, gapping vulnerability.

  “For whatever it’s worth—probably nothing—I’m sorry," he whispered, eyes closed tight.

  Quor made a small noise low in her throat. He glanced over in surprise and couldn’t look away. She was shaping. It wasn’t anything like Chet had seen before. She—the pronoun didn’t quite fit—was changing her race, gender, facial features, body type, everything, by the second. Chet felt like he was going crazy, and all he was doing was watching. What did it feel like on the inside? He suddenly understood Quor was instinctively trying to shed her skin—to distance herself from her own physical sensations and emotions—but couldn’t. All she could do was this.

  “Quor, stop.”

  “You... don’t get... to tell me what to do!” she hissed. Pantheon, her voice had gone from bass to soprano in a single breath. Didn’t it hurt?

  He didn’t know how to react, except to walk out of the apartment with his metaphorical tail between his legs. Then what? Take a vow to a god he disliked? Buy a gun? Who knew? Chet began sliding to the edge of the bed and was stopped by a hand clasping his wrist. Tight. Chet looked at Quor. She’d gone back to her bisque-skinned beauty, yet there was something sharp and pinched about her face, or maybe it was just her expression.

  “Oh, no, you don’t get off that easy.”

  What did she want with him? Revenge? Chet hung his head. “Go on. I deserve whatever you do to me.”

  She snorted. “You’re a self absorbed twit.”

  He could hear the amusement in her voice, though he honestly didn’t know what was so funny. What could he possibly say to tell her how bad he felt? Words clotted in his mouth.“I don’t disagree. It’s just whatever you do can’t be worse than what I’m feeling now, even if you did horrible, unspeakable things to me.” Like a Flame villain in a melodrama? Her rapid shapeshifting had looked unhinged, scary.

  Was she going crazy? And would she take him down with her?

  Quor paused. To Chet’s surprise and discomfort, she put her arms around him and drew him downward, so they lay together on the bed. Her other hand traveled down his body until it was just above his cock. He jerked away, wanting to fight, wanting to protest—this was getting creepy—but he was breathless with anticipation. A beautiful Flame held her hand right above his penis. Chet grew hard as if his dick wanted to meet her halfway.

  In a sudden movement, she grabbed his scrotum with the accuracy and speed of a rhamph—a large, flying mammal that hung around the seashore—picking a snail out of its shell. Was she going to castrate him with her bare hands, the way Journey had threatened Fenimore? Quor gripped the base of his ball sack firmly, but her touch was light and lacked a crushing, squeezing quality. Yet.

  “What are you doing?” His voice squeaked up at the end.

  “Is it not obvious?” Quor’s voice dropped—though it was still feminine—to a low purr. “My bed, my apartment. My rules.”

  Chet’s heart pounded in his ears. He’d invited her to do whatever she wanted to him, but he wasn’t so sure that had been a good idea in retrospect. Yet the part of him that still shuddered in horror and despair at his own actions was mollified. “I guess that’s better than my plan.”

  “Which was what, exactly?”

  “Um.” Now that she’d invited him to say it out loud, Chet realized how st
upid it sounded. “To go shoot myself in the head. Or dedicate myself to Genis and live out a miserable existence just like my father wants. Either way.”

  Quor chuckled low in her throat and patted him on the chest with her other hand. “Yep. I called it all right. You’re a self-absorbed doedicu.”

  “Hey!” Chet glared at her. “If I’m an idiot, how about you? You could have slept—elsewhere. Or turned male, or something.”

  She gazed at him so long he looked away, uncomfortable. “Chet, are you blaming me for your lack of judgment?”

  “I’m just saying the lack of judgment wasn’t mine alone. I mean, you should know I’m dangerous.”

  "Is that how you see yourself? Point of fact, I did think about the couch, and I considered turning male. But the first is very hard and modern, plus it smells like ass when you put your nose right on it. The couch came with this apartment. As for the second... by all accounts, it wouldn’t have made a difference to you. Would it.”

  “I—no.”

  “There you go. Chet, have you thought this through? You were raped several times in rapid succession this week. You’re attempting to compensate, re-learning your boundaries, probably trying to sort out the negative messages from the positive ones. Trust me, I know the feeling. On top of everything, you’ve suddenly discovered your past. Not just any past, either, but blood-soaked lifetimes serving a drunken, abusive asshole of a god.”

  Chet stared at her. “You make it sound like... Quor, did you know him? Foex, I mean?”

  “I did.” Her mouth was tight. “There was one lifetime when he really got to me. I had a thriving herbal import-export business based in Door, which was the center of the Magician’s world back then. My business was a little too successful. I came to the attention of Foex, and he proceeded to break me down over the next twenty years. Speaking of rape. He was psychologically abusive in so many ways. I went from a secure business owner who rode with her own caravans to a degraded shut in. All that, and he just wanted two things.”

  “What?”

  “Big tits and a tight box.” Her free hand, lying on his chest, had curled into a fist.

  “Pantheon. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, not your fault.” Quor smiled at him, and it was a genuine smile. “Have you figured out your name yet? Your old name? You have all the pieces in your hand, you know.”

  Why was she being so congenial toward him? She was treating him like, um, like a friend, or at least a benign acquaintance who’d lost his way. “Does it make a difference when I did those horrible things?”

  She snorted. “Listen, the power-hungry sociopaths are always with us. Doesn’t mean you’ve ever been one of them. Think.”

  With her hand cradling his scrotum? Not likely. Yet his mind was racing forward, trying to put the puzzle pieces together. He and Fenimore had been killing girls—he shuddered at the memory of blood running down table grooves—and making prongs, possibly for the Raptus. The Raptus... of course he knew the two Magicians who’d made it. Even if he hadn’t heard about the Raptus until this week, he’d long been obsessed with the Magicians Tene and Zang. He knew their writings by heart, and...

  Oh. He looked at Quor, utterly dumbfounded.

  She smirked back. “You got it.”

  But which one was he? Zang or Tene? Chet wanted more than anything to have been Zang for his wisdom and delicate prose, not Tene in all his fear mongering. Yet he didn’t want wishful thinking to lead him astray. It occurred to Chet that—if this were true—he’d lost much: his honey-colored eyes to start, and many other attributes as well. Like fame and power? Pantheon.

  Quor let go of his balls. Chet sighed with relief and was about to say something about getting up when Quor took hold of his cock. All thoughts left his head. She stroked him slowly, making each movement count.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I told you, my bed, my rules. You took me without my consent. Turnabout being fair play, notice how I’m not asking for yours.”

  “Are you sure?” He gasped under her practiced touch. Her other hand was playing with his nipples, making him writhe. He was so, so hard. “After what I did?”

  “You don't get to decide for me. This is not about you, either as a reward or punishment. It’s about me. I’m in control, you are my meat, and you will take whatever I choose to do to you.”

  “Y-yes, good Flame.” It felt strange to be put back on the bottom, but didn’t he deserve it?

  Quor looked like she was pondering the situation. Chet watched her for clues, both terrified and elated as to which way she’d jump. He no longer feared for her sanity. She’d survived Foex and undoubtedly many others, so she’d certainly live past his aborted, botched rape. He waited upon her whim.

  Her first move was to shapeshift to male. Quor remained bisque skinned and many of his facial features remained the same, only thickening his chin a bit. A feminine kind of masculinity. Despite this, there was nothing womanly about Quor as he positioned himself at the base of the bed and parted Chet’s legs, lifting them above his head to study his ass. Chet’s anus tightened reflexively at the thought of being penetrated again, and Quor grinned in reaction.

  Quor grabbed a bottle of lotion from nearby bedside table and applied it with verve. Chet loved the idea of taking another cock, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. Abyss, Quor had been so hot under him as female, though he cringed from the thought. Quor positioned Chet’s feet on his shoulders and was about to enter him, then paused.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I mean it. What?”

  “It's just... you were so hot before. As a girl.”

  Quor’s lips quirked up. “Ah, I think I know what you want.”

  He pushed out his chest and—Chet gasped. Tits! Beautifully rounded breasts, big enough for him to hold securely. Was Quor still a guy? Yes, his erect penis hovered over Chet’s thighs. Chet couldn’t believe it, yet it made sense, all things considered. Quor smirked and slapped his belly, making him yelp.

  “Put your feet on my shoulders. Now.”

  Chet scrambled to obey. Quor penetrated him with a grunt; he didn’t mess around with a small cock like Journey had. Chet whined under his breath, grimacing at the pain. Quor settled himself above Chet with a satisfied expression and began pumping him. The movement made his tits jiggle and shake. Chet’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. So hot to be fucked, his ass fuller than full with those amazing tits bouncing over him. Loving every moment, Chet took hold of those breasts, caressing and kneading them. Exactly what he’d always wanted, even if he’d never admitted it to himself.

  Pleasure washed over him in waves, and he came, basting their stomachs with his juices. Quor didn’t even pause. Chet lay back, his hands full of tits and his ass full of cock, and just took it.

  So perfect.

  He came twice more before Quor shot deep inside his ass. To his shock, Quor didn’t withdraw. Instead, he rocked gently inside Chet’s ass, subtly pumping. Making himself hard again? Chet groaned, but he had no choice. Quor was in control. After a time—a shorter span than Chet had thought possible—Quor began humping him again with vigor.

  “Oh, please,” Chet moaned, his ass protesting.

  Quor didn’t hesitate: he slapped Chet lightly across the face. “Who’s in charge?”

  “You are, good Flame.”

  “Don’t you forget it.” Nevertheless, he slowed down. Long, toe-curling strokes that made Chet feel like his hair was writhing like a sea creature.

  Would it ever end? Did Chet want it to end? All his nerves were singing, fully awake and alive. He’d never felt more feminine, not even doing drag under Fenimore’s exuberant care. Chet came again. His scrotum felt flaccid, emptied of semen.

  Chet let go of his thoughts, his very being, and let himself be fucked. It was like being a table again but better. Quor didn’t ask anything of him, and Chet didn’t have to give anything. It was pure fucking, nothing more.

  When Quor fi
nally released him, Chet glanced at the clock, then looked again. “Pantheon.”

  Quor was already burrowing into the bedclothes, and covered them both with alacrity. “You’re lucky it’s a weekday for me. If it had been a weekend... well. Your ass would never be the same.”

  Chet rolled onto his side, amazed he could close his aching legs. “Thank you,” he whispered as Quor spooned him.

  “You’re welcome. Now shut up and let me sleep; the alarm’s going to go off in an hour.”

  “Yes, good Flame.”

  Quor was shaking him. She was back in female form and wearing scrubs again. “Come on, Chet. Get dressed, and I’ll feed you something. Then I’m putting you on a plane to Allistair before going to work.”

  “Wha—? I thought there was a strike.”

  “It ended a few hours ago. Hopefully we can squeeze you in, and maybe you’ll even get to Allistair an hour or two before the others arrive.”

  “Oh.” Chet blinked, remembering why it was so important to get to Allistair. “Yes. That would be good.”

  “Chet... considering what’s at stake, do you think I should come with you?”

  It would make sense. Quor would be resistant to the Raptus’s influence, thanks to Aiena’s attempt to close all loopholes. Chet was not. She might solve all his problems for him, and that was an issue, wasn’t it? “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I kind of feel like I have to do this myself. Like it’s my own nut to crack.”

  “This is your manhood rite, eh? Like we used to do in the coteries. You need to ride your doedicu three miles and dismount successfully without getting walloped by the tail.”

  “Yes!” he cried, staring at her. She understood. Her turn of phrase clicked in his head; it could be a curious exercise, speaking to Flame. “Did you ever do it? Ride a doedicu three miles to become a man?”

  “Oh, yes. Didn’t stay a man long, but so it goes. Come on, food first and the rest follows.”

  “Right.” Chet frowned. He was forgiven one transgression. Perhaps he could make this work after all.