Nympholympics 7 – Acceptable Decadence

“A little more… a little more…”

John found himself squeezing the hand of another man. The grip looked like a prolonged handshake. On the other hand, Roland was doing the same. The fellow between them waved his head left to right while he kept comparing.

They were lowering the amount of magic in their system, letting their strength wane from their individual peaks to something closer to mortal. The goal was to get as close to each other as possible.

“That’s just right!”

Whether a firm handshake was the best way to measure that was doubtful.

John did not care, he stepped away with the confirmation given. The ring of roughly seventy people, less than half of which were his own haremettes, loosened up around them. John vaguely recognized several faces in the crowd from his many visits in the courts of the Greater Empire. Some were important, to the point that John was fairly certain one of them was on the ruling council of the Golden March, the rulers of Abyssal Spain.

Aclysia handed him another drink. John took a sip from it. He distantly noted that it was more juice than usual. He also was too tipsy to care much and not drunk enough to get angry about it. He handed the glass back, then faced his opponent.

With their strength roughly matched, John had to actually pay attention to the differences in their build. Roland was shorter, but not by much, John was thinner, but not by much, the ultimate difference in weight and reach between them bordered on the inconsequential.

So John decided to just have fun with it.

Roland matched the thought. Without any signal between them, the two men suddenly charged at each other. Neither of them stopped, leading to a harsh meeting of shoulders and collarbones. They put their arms around each other.

“DO YOU HAVE NO TESTOSTERONE, YOU EEL?!” Roland shouted, smacking the side of John’s hairless chest.

John hissed at the stinging imprint of the palm. “Do you not shave, you monkey?!” he returned in a similarly aggressive fashion. They pushed against each other, pushing and pushing, failing to move more than the dirt between their toes.

“Think you have insults, boy?” Roland grunted.

“Oh what do I care if you are insulted? Come back to me when you have conquered something yourself!” John shot right back.

The two of them suddenly disentangled. They swung their fists at each other. John was no born physical fighter. He had noticed that many, many times in his life. Even with superhuman reflexes, his genius did not extend to sports. He always started one foot behind when it came to learning these things.

Unfortunately for his opponent, John had started learning melee combat several years ago.

John snapped back, dodging a right hook, then baited Roland into swinging a second time. Then, he dived right in. The Gamer’s fist slammed into Roland’s stomach. Muscles flexed, taking the impact well, but John was not done. He moved to the side, dodging a flying elbow, then kicked the back of Roland’s knee. He sank down, going halfway to the ground.

“Now that’s a proper posture!” John said, the **** and the heat of the combat getting to him.

Roland growled, yet a smirk was on his face. He hurled himself at John with such ferocity that John did not see it coming. They went to the ground together, John managing to get to the top. Just knuckles slammed against cheekbones, cutting the skin from the impact. Blood dripped into soft grass. In a whirl, John found himself on his back, taking several shots to the stomach in quick measure.

The brawl that followed was chaotic, senseless ****. It was filled with verbal degradations, punches above the belt line, and insults of the roughest variety. It all oozed the kind of unnecessary masculinity that John usually stayed out of. There was nothing logical about it. Alas, inherited instincts cared very little about reason.

There was something oddly bonding about beating the shit out of each other.

John landed a heavy blow to the man’s head, then backed away. Roland groaned and rolled onto his side, taking the hand offered to stand up. “Fuck you,” the older man declared. By now, he was bruised in ways that John would have found deeply concerning in the mundane. “Man, you really are invulnerable, huh?”

“Something like that,” John grunted. It was close enough in the current situation. “Undine, patch him up.”

“Much obliged.” Roland’s aggression was nowhere to be found. His blood was still up. His heartbeat was visible in the throbbing of a thick vein on his neck. Still, the spar had not gotten to his drunken head or, rather, his intention to keep this friendly had not changed. “Oh, that’s cold!” he groaned, to the amusement of the onlookers.

“You’ll shuhhrvive,” Undine slurred in her crystal clear voice. The slime girl was drunk, more drunk than John, and likely more drunk than almost anyone else. She was wobbling where she stood. Her feet had dissolved in favour of a broad base, giving her lower body the shape of an upside-down vase.

She healed Roland by dragging her hand over his chest, leaving a trail of greenish goo behind that was quickly absorbed into the man. Swelling reversed, breathing evened, and the man’s eyebrows pulled together. The latter was not an effect of the goo, at least not a direct one.

Roland took several audible inhales through his nose. “By Romulus!” he exclaimed. “You just healed my blocked nose!”

“Ye whale cum,” Undine said, then snickered. “Because… you… no… hmm…” She turned to John, all pouty like, practically falling into his arms. “My joke made sense!” she exclaimed.

“I would be lying if I said it did,” John confessed.

“It’s… It’sh a pun...!” Undine insisted, giggled to herself, then wobbled towards Salamander. “Let’s make out, Sally.”

“Fuck it, if you’re offering.” The red-skinned elemental shrugged, sending her boobs into a jiggle that lasted until they mushed against those of Undine. The crowd cheered, watching two hot women make out. John whistled, then turned to Roland.

“More spars?” he asked.

“More spars!” he shouted. “Full strength this time!”

“Ya sure?” John asked.

“YES!”

Roland was already charging. His speed had notably increased. John’s had increased more. With the magic pumping through his system now, the Gamer easily sidestepped the attack and gave Roland a smack on the naked back. The elector-prince tumbled forwards, catching himself before he could plunge his face into the dirt.

The previous fight had been tilted in John’s favour by his sheer width of combat experience. Even a seasoned veteran who had been drilling for over a decade could not boast to have found themselves in as many dangerous situations as John did. What did a spar in a controlled environment compare to an **** where wave after wave of enemies came at John with the intent to kill?

This fight was just a man trying his best to overcome an unclimbable hurdle.

John continued to fight seriously enough to be a challenge, without breaking any bones. He doubted he could kill the man in one punch, the gap was not quite large enough for that, but why try? It was more fun for both of them if Roland got at least a little bit of a chance.

“Alright! You win!” Roland declared. “Up for some fencing?”

That challenge was over within 3 bouts. Fencing was among the physical challenges John excelled at and he had even more practice in it than simple close quarters combat. There hadn’t been much need to get out the rapiers of fire and ice that Purgatory could conjure recently. Still, his skills were sharp in that regard.

The gathering did not end with the fights. By that point, the crowds had been mingling. Salamander had fired up the grill and people were getting steaks and sausages.

“So, you’re a regular here?” he asked Roland, a new drink in hand. He had sobered up a little bit now and desired to top back up quickly.

“Sixth Nympholympic I attend. Been here since I discovered the event in my twenties,” Roland answered. “Met both of my mistresses here. Guess what they are?”

“A goblin and a cat girl?”

“Why, what an educated guess!” Roland joked, then made a waving gesture. One of the several goblins in attendance hurried on over. The words ‘Roland’s property’ were written on her forehead in sharpie. She wasn’t there to join the conversation. She was there to pull down the pants they had worn during combat and give her man a standing blowjob. “This place is heaven.”

“In a sense,” John agreed. “Little bit overcharged in the erotic for me. I have my own heaven wherever I go.” He gestured at the small cluster that still only contained haremettes. Undine, Siena, Aclysia, Beatrice, Momo and Lee all preferred to stick to themselves over the large social gathering.

“Two questions on that, if you don’t mind?”

“I generally do not,” John said and took another sip of the Bloody Mary. The heavy taste of tomato mixed with a hint of vodka and a much stronger spiciness born from pepper and a few drops of tabasco.

“How do you make that work?” Roland gestured at the crowd. “I would suspect that you have tricks up your sleeves that keep them placated, if it wasn’t for Lydia. I respect the queen too much to consider her feelings for you born from mutual usefulness alone.”

“You are her enemy, are you not?” John asked. Roland had voted for Maximillian back in the day. He was a traditionalist, which aligned him more with those that resisted reform than Lydia on matters of policy.

“Aye,” Roland confirmed, hand on the black-head of the goblin. He was clearly no stranger to holding conversations underlined by the wet slurps of a greedy cocksleeve. “Politically. Bavaria used to be the second most important realm within Rex Germaniae, before the Prussian ascension. I believe we will be again. All of that’s beside the point though: I find Lydia’s lack of spirituality disheartening. I think she dispenses too much because she values the function over the form to the point of absolutism.”

“I don’t think you’re giving my queen enough credit here,” John defended his favourite European monarch.

“Maybe, maybe not – my point is that I disagree with her on policy, but I do respect her intellect, strong principles and person.” Roland stopped for a moment to focus his eyes on the goblin woman. He thrust into her throat a couple of times, tensed up, then continued the conversation with his thoroughly sucked dick back out in the air. “So when she decides that she wants to have you, despite all the trouble, I believe she does it out of love.”

John smiled and dreamily let his eyes wander over the crowd and his women in it. “I honestly got incredibly lucky,” he told the truth. “I have my advantage. I can just keep going… forever, so that covers the problem of satisfying them all.”

“Actually forever?” Roland asked, then grunted when John nodded. “Lucky bastard.”

He chuckled. “I won’t deny that. Anyway, the sex helps, but it’s more than that. I do my best to treat them right, but that would never be enough if I hadn’t somehow managed to gather all the greatest women in the world.”

“Contestable, but go on,” Roland threw in.

“They love this lifestyle and each other, that’s how this works,” John gave the answer. “I ‘cheated’ with some of them – I mean in the sense of how readily they joined the idea. Of course, Aclysia, Beatrice and Momo want to be part of a harem. They’re creations of my mind, weird as that is to say out loud, given the context… The rest, I just got varying flavours of blessed with.” He took another sip of the cocktail. “Your second question?”

“…I honestly forgot it,” Roland grunted.

“JOHN!” Eliana shouted across the lawn and began to stomp towards him. The pretty little psycho was, as per usual, completely sober. To get drunk, Eliana needed to pound either pure ethanol or a cocktail called Aphrodite’s Chalice. That one had the benefit of various magical ingredients that slowed the digestion process on the ****. It was also a mild aphrodisiac, thus the name.

They had neither, so all drinking would have done for the hyper-masochistic cutie was to give her flashing headaches. Her metabolism was too powerful for ****.

Before Eliana reached him, a catgirl stepped out of the crowd. She had blonde hair and a slender figure. “I’ll take my man back, if you don’t mind?” she asked in a tone that did not invite an answer. A truly cattish way to do things.

John did not mind, he was focused entirely on the way Eliana’s magnificent thighs quivered under her hasted steps. The bounce of her medium-sized breasts was nice too. Really, she was just a gorgeous packet all around. Eyes like shattered amethysts stared at him. The dots in one eye circled slowly, giving away that her rage was genuine, but overplayed. In the other eye, the six lines and one dot remained static.

“What has incensed you so, my love?” John greeted her.

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Eliana asked, breaking out into laughter. It was parts too shrill and parts too deep to be considered to be coming from a stable woman. The noise caused a few worried glances to be thrown the failed goddess’ way. They knew what she was. They did not know what she truly was. Broken or not, she was his angel and would forever be.

“Just voicing my concern,” he said, emptied his glass, and tossed it into his inventory. Hands empty, he did the one thing they were truly made for: scooping up the woman in front of him.

Eliana’s eyes widened. A blush spread on her face. For a moment, she looked all innocent and adorable. Then, she remembered that she had approached him in anger and her features turned into something that would have terrified one who did not know her. Well, it would have terrified most people that knew her too, John just knew her better.

“You charming donkey fuck will not distract me with your big hands and handsome-ass jawline!” she told him.

“You are, however, distracting me with your ass,” the Gamer said and gave her butt a squeeze.

“I heard that Irielz is doing fantastic! Showing a belly and everything!”

“I doubt that… succubi still have a cycle of 9 months and she was confirmed pregnant two weeks ago.”

“BREED ME!” Eliana yelled. “Put a fucking baby in my belly! Turn this flour into bread! Hammer me into a mother! Fucking fill me up already, you cock!”

“You know I won’t do that yet.” John reached his destination: the nearest house wall. The surface was smooth enough for him to put Eliana’s back against it. Now in front of him, stuck between him and the wall, she instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. Her hands, so small in comparison to his, landed on his shoulders. “I can, however, pound your brains out and drown your womb in cum.”

“Urgh, but it's all blanks… asshole… fuck… do it then!”

And he did… constantly.