Postinemesis Garden
The long, rectangular room was quiet except for the stirrings of Henning, who was perched on a chair specially made for him. Always restless, the cockatrice was wearing his ceremonial hood, which made him even more prone to fidgeting and complaining. At the other end stood two minotaurs, the older Robles Roblesson and the junior guard, Meta Metasson. Each was armed with an axe, which under ordinary circumstances was to be held at perpetual attention. Meta was trying hard to conform to that expectation; Robles, less so. They flanked the main door to the room. There was another door, but it was cleverly concealed and not for general use; it was to the side of Henning's perch.
From under the thick velvet hood, some muffled squawking emerged, and after that some of Henning's usual complaining. "When are they going to get here? It's so stuffy under here. We've been waiting a long time, haven't we?"
"One of these days," muttered Robles to no-one in particular, "I'm going to run that freakish little runt through with a spear. Then maybe I'll roast him."
Meta wrinkled his nose and bowed his head, giving the senior guard a sidelong glance full of disapproval.
This made Robles smile. "What do you think he'd taste like? Do you think the venom would make him spicy?"
He was interrupted by the door suddenly opening. Robles and Meta snapped up, and even Henning straightened up and cocked his head to the side, straining to hear the sounds through the hood.
A satyr, somewhat shorter than usual, was flanked by two centaurs in the hall on the other side of the door. He was passed along to the two minotaurs. Robles seized the small individual by the shoulders. Meta waited for one of the jurists, a human who was even punier than the satyr, to enter. The minotaur then closed the door, and the party marched toward the cockatrice at the far end of the room.
"The Masters of Justice have decreed that you must face the merciful death, as the details of your guilt leave room for doubt, Markonius of Cherry Glen," said the human. A shudder passed through the body of the satyr.
Meta glanced at the condemned individual, suddenly curious. "So that's 'Smooth Marko!' He's short," the minotaur thought to himself. "But then, he only chased after those puny little human women-even he'd have no trouble overpowering them." A smile crossed Meta's face as he rubbed a ring, worn on his right hand, with his thumb.
"It's all a misunderstanding," began the satyr.
"This is not your trial. This is your execution," the jurist said. "I leave you to your fate in the Postinemesis Garden." He turned and left the room.
Robles passed the prisoner to Meta, who stood behind the small satyr. The minotaur rested his massive hand on Marko's shoulder and watched Robles walk up to Henning, who was shifting impatiently from one foot to the other. He leaned forward and whispered in Marko's ear. "You must be rich or important....or maybe one of those ladies enjoyed your attention after all, and put in a good word for you? It didn't do any good after all-this is worse than having your head lopped off, believe me. Petrifaction is reversible, but it'll never happen. You'll be in the garden for good." He squeezed the satyr's shoulder and added to himself "You'll be in my garden...all mine."
Robles lifted the hood from Henning's head and the cockatrice stared directly at Marko and Meta. Meta felt his ring finger tingling; the sensation spread throughout his body as the petrifying effect of Henning's stare was neutralized. Marko, having no such protection, closed his eyes and turned his head back and forth before Meta switched his grip, moving to the back of the satyr's neck. "Relax, open your eyes. You don't want to look undignified in the noble Postinemesis collection, among all of your brave predecessors!"
Marko squealed and tried to turn his head, but Henning caught his eyes as the satyr opened them. Marko took one last breath, a long sigh that might have been relief, and grew colder and firmer under Meta's touch. Meta kept staring at Henning; the cockatrice glanced up for a second, locking eyes with the minotaur, and then looked away. "Would you do me, you crazy bird," thought Meta. "If not for the ring, would you really do it? I bet you would." A wrinkle crossed his hairy brow, and his ears flattened slightly. "I hope you would."
The process came to an end, and the cockatrice hopped down from the perch. Putting on blinders that were stored in the base of the ornamental seat, he started his usual ritual of more complaints. "I'm so hungry! They'd better still have something out for me to eat." He waddled past Robles, dragging his serpentine tail behind him. Robles smiled at Meta as he drew his fingers slowly across his hairy neck.
He then turned to follow Henning. "You got that by yourself?"
"Sure," Meta said. "I can take care of this." Putting down his axe, he opened the secret door which led to the storage area for statues such as Marko. He lifted the inert stone onto his shoulder, and carried the unfortunate guilty party to his new home. The door slowly closed after him.
The Postinemesis garden had fifty two inhabitants; now there were fifty three. Meta knew them all. "Where should we put you, 'Marko the Maurader'? Maybe someplace where there's plenty to see, but not much to touch. Shall I introduce you to the charming Marion, who seduced and murdered a demigod's brother for the sheer pleasure of it? She's as charming as she ever was.
"But maybe she'd be more than you could handle! Let's try Babbette." He passed various statues on their way to a favorite corner of his; some of the statues indeed looked noble as the condemned faced their punishment without fear; others cringed and cowered as Marko would do now, in perpetuity.
He set Marko down, facing a beautiful centauress. "Her name's not really Babbette. She has been here a long, long time; I don't know if there's a record of what her crime was, let alone what her name is. But isn't she beautiful?"
Meta stood behind Marko, leaning over his shoulder. He rested his chin against one of the satyr's stubby horns. "I bet it kills you, staring at her now. I find her hard to resist." His long tongue slowly licked across the satyr's cheek. There was a hint of saltiness; there were dried tearstains on the stone face, left over from the petrifaction chamber. "I thought maybe you'd cry," Meta muttered softly to the statue as he licked across the face again and again, getting all traces of the delicious, slightly intoxicating salt off of the cold stone.
He straightened up, rubbing his chin, and started to undo his small loincloth belt in the back. He patted Marko's belly and grinned. "There are eight of your fellow inmates here, Marko, all with direct views of you. They can see what I'm doing to you; what I'm doing right now." Meta leaned down and patted Marko's crotch, and grunted with approval. "I've heard satyrs were well endowed! You're a good representative for your kind, Marko."
He whispered into the statue's ear. "Henning told me once that he thought you...all of you...that you were really still alive in there, and you knew what was happening to you. How else could you be brought back, if you weren't really, truly dead?
"I don't know about all that, but I do know this: everyone can see me feeling you up, you sick little goat man. What are you going to do about it? What can you do? Maybe I'll bring the most beautiful of my friends here for you to see. Maybe I'll let you watch us sometimes."
The minotaur's shaft began stiffening; the end bobbed in time with Meta's heartbeat, reaching its full engorgement quickly. Meta walked over to Babbette, and stood at her side. "What do you think of this," he said to Marko with a smile as he stood on his toes, settling his thick cock against the small of her back and on top of the beginnings of her equine parts. He slid forward and backward, closing his eyes and sighed, a gentle moo.
"Sorry it's been a while, honey," he said to the female statue. Leaning to the side, he let his horn clink against her rocky hair. The contact made its mark, both in her hair and a chip in his horn...one of many, for each surface. "I missed you." He groaned, rubbing himself with his hand and pressing his organ against her flank, squeezing it and giving it some pressure as he bucked his hips faster, and faster.
With a loud grunt, he shot his load across her back, splattering both the horse and back of the female form. "I promise I'll come back soon," he said as he collected his loincloth. "I'll see you all soon. Sorry I have to keep my visits short. But you've got all the time in the world."