Brazen Statues

The names, characters, places and events in this story are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

Thank for reading and I hope you liked this tale. Please do leave a comment as I read all of them and take them all onboard.

BRAZEN STATUES.

Flying through the night time ether he felt more tired than he should. That is what being confined inside a bottle for a hundred years does to you, he thought. It wears out your psychic strength. Giving in to his weariness his spirit swooped downwards looking for a place to rest up for a while when he noticed a pleasant little urban park beneath him. Although he didn't need to, as he could have rested anywhere, he alighted and settled onto an empty bench. Within a few minutes a blue smoky form emerged from out of the cold late October air. He shivered.

Night came early this time of the year and it was full dark. However, like a cat, he had excellent night vision and the dim light was no problem. He settled back against the bench and took in his surroundings. It was a pocket park over the road from an ornate nineteenth century courthouse with an old Civil War howitzer sited by the steps. Rows of elaborately carved pumpkins ran up the steps. A road ran between the courthouse and the park but at this time of night there was little traffic. As he watched only one car drove past, a mom taking her children back from trick or treating. Once the car passed, near silence fell. The only sounds he could hear were a bunch of teens celebrating Halloween by making out at the far end of the park.

He breathed in deeply, taking in the pleasant fall scents of rainfall, wet grass with a distant whiff of wood smoke. He looked around the park and saw that he had settled on a bench next to a rectangular pond. Several ducks lay sleeping on the grass with their heads under their wings, undisturbed by his smoky form materializing out of thin air. At either end of the pond he noticed a bronze statue up on a marble plinth. More pumpkins surrounded both plinths. The first statue was what he presumed was meant to be a nymph. It was of a pretty young woman holding a large vase or pitcher on her shoulder up by her head. Her curly hair was fashioned in what looked like a French braid. One small, pert breast was bare while the other was concealed by what was meant to be a gauzy robe that draped over her breast and down over one leg, strategically covering her privates, but leaving her shins and feet bare.

The other statue depicted a comely Greek youth, probably a shepherd, completely naked except for a fig leaf that covered his groin and a scarf. How the fig leaf was meant to stay in place wasn't explained but was obviously there because of Victorian sensibilities. However, the orange scarf was evidently some student's idea of a Halloween jape. He had short, curly hair and was playing pan pipes.

He reckoned the park and statues had been placed there by a proud town as part of the fin de siècle movement to beautify their city around the turn of the last century. Undoubtedly the park had fallen on hard times in the past with endless rounds of budget cuts but he thought that groups of proud locals must have since reclaimed it from urban decay because the park looked well kept and tidy. The only neglect he could see was the amount of pigeon droppings covering the statues' heads and shoulders.

With a start, he was jerked out of his reverie when the courthouse clock struck eleven. He shook himself but did not feel like resuming his long journey home just yet. He smiled to himself. It seemed such a shame that these two young, beautiful virtually naked people should have been cast gazing at each other for over a century without being able to properly meet or do anything. All they had done was to stare over the pond at each other's nearly naked bodies without being able to speak, to touch each other, to hold each other or to do what comes naturally to two such young attractive people.

With that, he made a personal wish. For a moment nothing happened. The two statues remained cold, dead, and lifeless. The bronze stayed hard and a dark weathered brown. Then a lick of flesh appeared at their feet. First their toes became warm and pink, then their feet and ankles, then rapidly up their calves and thighs before spreading like wildfire up and across their bellies, their chests. Warm flesh spread even more quickly up their necks, across their shoulders and along their slim arms and into their hands. But it was their heads and faces that held his attention. Gone were their immovable expressions of sad yearning as their lips reddened and they yawned and stretched. An instant later, their sculpted guano covered hair disappeared to be replaced by the soft waves of their own natural hair. He noticed that the youth was blond while the nymph had dark hair.

They yawned and looked about with bewilderment.

"That is so heavy," said the nymph putting down her water filled pitcher and rolling her shoulders to ease her aches. "To think I've been holding that thing for year after year."

"I'm lucky," said the shepherd. "All I've had is these pipes."

The pair carefully climbed down from their plinths and stepped over the assembled pumpkins. He noticed that the youth's fig leaf had dropped to the ground and lay unheeded by the gourds. However, the nymph clutched her wisp of gauze tightly around her body but it did little to conceal her maidenly charms as her small breasts bounced delightfully as she hurried around the edge of the pond to greet the youth. In the chill night air her rosy nipples stuck out discretely in the manner of an old oil painting.

They were directly opposite his bench when they noticed him sitting there.

"Sir, did you do this?" the nymph inquired timorously.

He stood and bowed low. Through his unclear blue smoky form they could just make out the trees and a bandstand beyond.

"My name is Zazzomathad and I am a djinn. An occultist trapped me in a bottle for over a hundred years so now I am on my way home to the City of Brass. However, I saw you standing there and took pity on you. Fortunately, it is Halloween when the veil is thin and wishes can be granted. So I am giving you life until the clock strikes twelve. Then you must be back on your pedestals until I or another djinn pass this way again." The djinn spoke with a pleasant but slightly foreign accent.

"But, sir, what will we do with an hour of life?" the shepherd asked.

Zazzomathad smiled and glanced down at the youth's groin. Like most Greek statues, his cock was small but beautifully formed. Under his scrutiny the youth's cock grew larger and more upright.

"I'm sure you two can think of something. Now, do not waste time as you must be back here by midnight and it has already gone past eleven.

The nymph leaned forwards and whispered in the young shepherd's ear. A slow grin emerged and his eyes twinkled. Hand in hand the pair hurried down a winding side path and into a stand of bushes.

Zazzomathad sat back and relaxed. It was good to help someone who would enjoy his gift, even if only for one precious hour. He looked up at the empty plinths and hoped that nobody would walk past during the next sixty minutes and wonder where the statues had gone. But at this time of night in late fall? He didn't think that very likely.

From the bushes he heard a commotion, a great crashing of disturbed branches, and a flock of pigeons took panicked flight into the night sky, their wings beating noisily. The birds circled the park unsure whether it was safe to return. He wondered what the couple was up to. He could discorporate and watch them invisibly but thought they deserved privacy. And he was tired. Instead, he merely yawned and stretched out along the wooden bench.

They were young and probably in love after having gazed immovably at each other for so long. What were they doing? He imagined them lying tenderly together on a bed of leaves, her gauzy veil spread out over the litter as some protection. He traces his fingertips over her nipples making them stiff and sending deliciously tingling feelings through her beautiful breasts. He would lean forwards and open his mouth; she would look up demurely but with a glint of her own needs in her eyes and their lips would meet. A first kiss, chaste, gently trying each other but then a second, with more passion, as their needs overwhelmed them. A third kiss, deeper, more heat, more emotion as their feelings for each other consumed them.

Still kissing, looking into each other's eyes, breathing in their scents together with the fall smells of damp leaves, he would roll her over onto her back and straddle her, taking his weight on his elbows and knees. Maybe she would guide him into her tight-fitting, virginal vagina or perhaps his now fully erect cock would spear her. She would throw an arm over her mouth to stifle a cry of mixed lust and pain as her maidenhead was breached and she became a woman. His thrusts would take her deeper and deeper while at the same time their ecstasy would take them higher and higher into euphoria as the two became for a moment of time one and there was nothing in the world except themselves and then his balls would release their pent up load, the dam would burst and he would flood her love canal with his own love-juices.

They would collapse together after their soaring climax and then rest, panting breathlessly, together. They would look deeply into each other's eyes, satisfied, their lusts spent; and then kiss gently but lovingly.

He hoped that it would be worth waiting over a century for such a moment of ecstatic bliss together.

Or maybe it would play out differently. Nymphs were supposed to be daughters of minor gods he thought. Certainly they had celestial blood in their veins. Maybe she would be more dominant over a mere mortal like a humble shepherd boy from the mountains. She would walk into that secluded glade in the bushes and command him to lie down on the carpet of leafs. He would lie down on his back, his rigid phallus pointing into the air. She would command him to close his eyes as a mortal cannot witness a divine being taking her pleasure and live. He would lay there, a whimper escaping his lips. She would straddle him and with her fingers gently stroke his cock until he was almost ready to explode, his hips making little bucking movements as he wanted, needed, to penetrate her heavenly body.

"Wait," she would whisper imperiously.

With her fingers, she spread her labia, pushing them deeper between her folds, enjoying the feel of her silky slickness as she circled the nub of her clitoris, slowly at first then faster and faster until she was almost ready to scream out with her desire, with her uttermost needs. Her pale face flushed, her breasts swelled and her nipples as hard as pebbles. Then and only then, she glances behind her to check the shepherd was still lying there, eyes closed, cock hard as wood, waiting for her.

Still with her delicate feet either side of him, the nymph lowers herself down, pausing a moment just before her virginal vagina touches his phallus, breathing heavily in expectation, she lowers herself down onto him, biting her lip against the mixture of pleasure and pain as her maidenhead tore and his hard cock fully entered her oh so wet love tunnel and now she knows about the pleasure that Aphrodite sang to the nymphs so long ago. Still squatting over him she rode his cock up and down, up and down until in one shuddering, explosive climax, he erupted deep inside her and they both knew in full the pleasure of the Olympian gods.

She stood and helped him to his feet and whispered that he could look now; that he was hers and she was his for as long as they should both exist.

But then again, Zazzomathad thought, the ancient Greeks were renowned for a certain kind of love. They may have done things very differently. Perhaps they walked hand in hand into a clearing in the bushes. But then the shepherd saw a fallen log. He would lead her over to it and then, with his greater strength, push her over the log until her shapely ass was in the air and then kick her ankles apart.

He would look down and even in the deep gloom of the bushes he would see the delightful oval of her vulva, so open, her neat lips ever so slightly spread with her natural juices lightly glistening making her so available and vulnerable. But above them, partly hidden by the perfect hemispheres of her buttocks, the forbidden entrance of her anus and the dark delights within.

He would lean forward and gathering saliva, spit directly on that tight, puckered hole.

"Please," the nymph would moan but whether in acceptance or denial neither of them knew.

With his fingertip at first, he would work his spit into that hole, pushing against her resistance, before gradually, with difficulty at first, working his finger deeper and deeper inside. She would moan and squirm against his penetration. Maybe he would give her a slap across her buttocks, leaving a handprint on her pale, creamy flesh. A second finger would join the first, widening and stretching her tight little hole until he was satisfied that she could take him in.

Eventually, he would withdraw his fingers and then she knew that the main assault would begin as she felt the tip of his rock hard penis touch her now widened hole. Then a fresh onslaught as his cock pushed through any lingering resistance and up past her sphincter and up into her rectum. She felt like she needed to take a shit but couldn't but as his penis thrust deeper and deeper into her bowels strange sensations swept over her mind. It felt so wrong yet it also felt so good and she felt so slutty. She cried out in mixed lust and denial against the onslaught yet before long it felt as if his cock was rubbing up against her G-spot and she felt herself trembling on the edge of an earth shattering orgasm even as she felt his molten seed flood out and up into her bowels. She cried out like a vixen in heat, a yowl of anguish and sheer orgasmic lust.

He pulled out with an audible plop and she felt her anus slowly closing up. On weak arms she pushed herself up from the log and turned to him with a smile.

"Wow. That was not what I expected at all," she said.

***

However it happened in Zazzomathad's imagination, he looked over as the young couple pushed their way out of the bushes and walked hand in hand back up the path to the waiting djinn brushing leaves from their bodies as they did so.

Zazzomathad looked over at the courthouse clock. Even as he did so, the chimes struck the half hour.

"That was quick but you still have a half hour before my spell wears off and you must become statues again," he said. "I am sure you do not want to waste this opportunity."

The nymph looked at the shepherd and smiled up at him. "That's good," she said quietly. "But this time, I'll catch the pigeon and you shit on its head."

***

The following morning, long after Zazzomathad had departed, the team of volunteers went into the park to pick trash and tidy up. Mostly pensioners they carried their tools in wheelbarrows. One old man looked up at the classical Greek statues by the pond and noticed that there were no white bird droppings staining their heads and shoulders. And did their smiles look more satisfied than last week? Impossible though that was, he couldn't be sure but he thought so. And today there were no pigeons anywhere near the pond or the statues...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The djinn Zazzomathad also appears in my earlier story, 'Mr. Ginger and the Djinn'.