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A Valentine’s Day Novella by Oleander Plume

Don’t call him “Cupid.” Eros is queerer, snarkier, louder, and larger in every way imaginable than the cutesy cartoon figure you see on greeting cards this time of year. And, after suffering a great loss, he is now officially anti-romance. Just how anti-romance? With the accuracy of his bow and arrow, he made the prime minister of Spain fall in love with a bull. In short, Eros is done.

But God has Eros in her sights and has sent him an assistant, the serious-minded Archimedes (“Arc” to Eros), who, with all his good-naturedness, as well as his unwavering focus on bringing love and romance into the lives of the people on Earth, is the bane of Eros’ existence. When Arc gets him to open up about his heartache, Eros drops the snark and his defenses, long enough, at least, to enjoy a blissful, unexpectedly kinky night with a man who’s gone from foe to beau.


I removed my quiver and dropped it to the floor, then handed him my bow.

“Why are you giving me this?” he asked.

“I told you,” I said. “I’m quitting.”

“I see,” Arc said pensively. “Obviously, more desperate measures are required.”

Arc snapped his fingers and the room changed. A large, four-poster bed appeared, and the white satin sheets were covered with rose petals. Classical music was playing on low volume, and dozens of candles lighted the space.

“What do you think?” he asked.

I said, “I think you’re starting to like me a little.”

“On the contrary, Eros, I don’t like you at all.”

He waved his hand and in a blink, I was on my back, naked, wrists bound to the headboard with red silk scarves.

“Oh, I get it,” I said. “You’re going to beat me into submission. Didn’t know you were into torture and all that crap. I thought you were an angel, not a demon.” I struggled against my bindings without success. “What are you going to do first, you sick fuck, peel off my skin, or pull out my fingernails with pliers?”

Arc smiled and dropped his toga. Two words. Duh. Amn. Drool pooled up in my mouth and I forgot my name. From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, he was glorious perfection. His cock was long and thick, with a glossy crown and a tight sac that was shaved clean. All topped with a well-trimmed patch of pubic hair. If my hands had been free, I would have buried my fingers in that silky thatch while I licked every crevice of his monster dick.

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