Ilainus is hurrying down the dark road, torn between fear and wild elation. She is trying to avoid stumbling in a rut, giggling, and tripping over her long white initiates’ robing. A long-haired girl nearing the close of her sixteenth year, the plumpness of a child rounding into the bows and bends of a woman, out on a dare in a spring’s night.
She slows, panting. Doubt is overcoming her. An initiate in the Temple of Athena since early childhood, specially selected, she’s been told, by Athena herself, she has dedicated herself to the service of the goddess. Ilainus hopes one day to be among Athena’s elite, among her chosen women. She has felt the goddess’ attention upon her, felt her special notice and affection, and glowed in the regard of the tall, severely beautiful goddess of wisdom and savage warfare. Now what she is doing could well be construed as an act of disloyalty. For those devoted to the Goddess Athena, personal contact with males is forbidden. Itinerant peddlers and bards have been Ilainus’ only acquaintance with men within her memory, secluded and cloistered within the Temple as she is. But the surge of spring, the teasing of her best friend, and too many romantic ballads, has swelled the curiosity within her. How does it feel to be kissed by a man? A foolish, ridiculous curiosity, certainly, but still, she wonders; would it be different from the soft, sweet passion of the kisses of girls? The taste of a man’s mouth, his tongue, would it be similar or not? Would it indeed be as rank and repulsive as the matrons of the Temple assured the girls it was? And dared and bedeviled into it, where would she find a suitable male to participate in this experiment? Ah, but here is his Temple, just around this bend, and who better, but Cupid the god of love?
Inside the Temple of Cupid, it is quiet and beautiful with marble and alabaster, jeweled vases fresh with flowers, and many tapers lit with cool long flames. Ilainus is flushed with exertion and excitement, hair in disarray, ripe with anticipation and trepidation, and the potency and verve of her presence seems out of place in the still of the deserted temple. Now at a loss: how to summon the god? And quick, before she loses her nerve. Empty of hand, no offering at all, she feels suddenly gauche and terribly foolish. What would she have said to him, anyway, if he had been, as she’d imagined, lounging beatifically, his fine white wings aflutter on a sumptuous throne within his temple?
She turns slowly, reluctant to depart, feeling both relieved and disappointed. And he is there in the doorway, as still and lovely as a statue, and indeed his feathers do quiver in the night breeze. His eyes are large and fine, and his bare torso is golden and elegant with muscle. He crosses his arms languidly and a suggestion of a smile curves his lips. An eyebrow rises, “And what are you doing here, little girl?”
Her planned insouciance has fled, she blushes violently, blurts: “I’m Ilainus? An initiate at the Temple of Athena? I wanted to ask… a favor from you?” She hates the way her voice rises awkwardly with each statement, but can’t seem to control it.
“Favors,” he sighs, bored. “Its always favors from the God of Love.” He even yawns. “Okay, little girl, what is it? What fumbling, blemish-faced adolescent boy do you want falling hopelessly in love with you?” He pauses. “Or considering which temple you serve, which girl?”
Her blush deepens. She can’t look at him. “Its more in the nature of… an experiment. I wondered… I wanted to know…”
He makes a face of impatience with her clumsy stammering, but he sees that she is lush of figure, pretty of face, especially delectable. “Yes?” he prompts.
“I wanted to know how it would be to kiss a man, err, a male god.” Her voice is small. She looks down. She is tense, awaiting the derisive laughter sure to come.
His eyes take a slow tour over her. What would immortality be, anyway, without mortals to play with? And what a slap in the face to Athena, that haughty bitch!
“Well!” he says, “I guess I could say I’m honored!”
Ilainus looks up to see if he is being sarcastic, but he is only smiling down at her. With a sweeping gesture, he ushers her before him, back into his temple. She is bewildered to see that the temple is changed. It has become a luxuriant, lavishly alluring bedchamber, complete with a huge, much-pillowed bed draped in rich coverings of mauve and deep green.
“Oh!” she gasps in surprise, as his arm encircles her waist, urging her forward.
His voice is low, right at her ear, and the feel of his warm breath makes her shiver, “The first time should be very, very special.”
And then she is off her feet, swept, as it were, into his arms, carried to the bed amidst the rustle of his long wing feathers, as romantic a thing as in any troubadour’s song. She cries out to Wait! Wait! And is tumbled down to the bed. His lips are upon hers. The lips of a man, of a god, his tongue making a leisurely entrance, warm, wet, persistent, and Ilainus is discouraged to discover it to be exceedingly similar to the many kisses she has shared with girls.
His hands find her breasts, pulling at her clothing to bare them. ‘This is the God of Love!’ Ilainus thinks to herself sternly, striving to achieve a greater appreciation of the moment. And in fact it is exciting, the quickening fan of his brilliant white wings as he bends over her, the tug of his mouth on her nipples, turning them into hard, eager points. But he is pulling at her robes, and despite her attempts at thwarting his aim, she is soon quite naked.
“Stop, stop!” she orders, but his lips cover her protests and his hand passes over her body, over her round hip, and his fingers insinuate themselves between her young thighs, try to spread her legs.
“No!” she cries, wrenching away. “No! You know I am Athena’s! You must not touch me!”
“Ah, your sacred virginity,” he says, reaching to draw her back to him. “I know, I know. Don’t worry. Shhh, come back here, I just want to hold you.”
His expression is warm, reassuring, coaxing, as he pulls to draw her back toward the bed. “Shhh, lie down with me, Ilainus. You’re so pretty. Shhh, let me kiss you again.”
Suddenly, the chamber is filled with deep laughter. In surprise, Cupid releases her hand and she staggers back to collide with a tall, hard form. Roughened hands grasp her upper arms and then slide around her, holding her.
“Oh, its you.” Cupid says sourly. “What are you doing here?” His wings jerk with frustration.
“In the neighborhood. And what are you doing? Seducing one of Athena’s little girls?”
Ilainus is pulling to get away, to be free from the man who holds her. She feels the supple leather he is garbed with. The arms, which bind her to him, are sun dark and thick with muscle. His scent is powerfully male, a thing she has no experience of. He is laughing at her struggles.
“Let me go!” she shrieks. His hand descends over her writhing body in a slow caress; he tugs lightly at the dark gold hair curling at the junction of her thighs, and then releases her.
She whirls to face him and it is Ares, God of War, in all his lethal splendor. She feels a thrill of danger. He is the nemesis and rival of her chosen goddess, his sister Athena. His presence is overwhelming, his bearing potent and powerful, arrogant and domineering,
“She came in here wanting to experience being kissed by a man,” Cupid is saying, standing with crossed arms, folded wings. “I obliged.”
“How charitable,” Ares remarks. “I especially enjoyed your assurances that her virginity is safe with you.” He is smiling evilly.
Ilainus is looking around, desperate for her cloths. She spots them on the far side of the bed and lunges past Cupid in pursuit of them. Suddenly it is the God of War, reclining at his ease on the massive bed, drawing her against him inexorably.
“So, you were curious about kissing a man, hmm?” he says.
“Yes, I was, and I tried it and now I’ve got to go!” Ilainus is in a panic to flee, realizing, finally, the danger of her position and also pretty tired of being hauled all around.
“Tell me, is your curiosity… sated?” His tone is amused, his hands on her stroking, stroking, as he holds her down. His lips are hot against the side of her throat.
“Hey!” Cupid is protesting, irate at this incursion.
Ares raises his head and stares at him. “Why don’t you go fly away?” Cupid opens his mouth to object. “Shoo!” Ares orders. “Now.”
And with a face full of resignation and resentment and a shimmer of still air, Cupid, the God of Love is gone.
Ilainus trembles as he turns his regard upon her. But his eyes are beautiful, gold and brown and intense, and his lips are so lush, full, as he lowers his mouth to barely graze hers as she stares wide-eyed up at him. “Shall I kiss you? Expand your experience further? Satisfy your… curiosity?”
She is shaking now, her breath is coming fast, and she can’t find her voice. But he knows her answer. He always knows.
His kiss demands passion, his tongue plunders her mouth. His hand twists in the long tangled mass of her hair, holding her to his will, as it becomes her most urgent will also. His mouth drops to the pale curve of her throat, his beard scrapes her skin, and she arches up harder against him as he sucks at her flesh. She hears a noise and in some distant part of her mind is shocked to recognize it as her own moaning. Her thighs seem to part of their own volition, as his fingers trace a path downwards, now dipping into her sudden wetness and stroking where she is most sensitive. She cannot stop her hips from rising off the bed to meet the knowing touch of his slick fingers. His mouth is now on her breast; she feels the teasing pressure of his teeth and wet pull of his suck, and she is panting and shaking and everything is out of control. Through a blur, she realizes that through his will as a god, he is divested of clothing, as naked as she. Pressed against her thigh, hot and hard; she knows, intellectually she knows, what it is, but wants to see, has to see. Feeling the push against his shoulder, he raises his head from her breasts. His eyes are defocused with lust. He follows her gaze, suddenly smug, powerfully male, and shifts so his cock swells into view. No better music to his ego than her gasp of astonishment.
“Touch me,” he says. “Touch me.”
She shakes her head no, no, but she wants to. Her hand is moving towards him, and he takes that hand in his, guiding her to him, curving her hand around him. Heated, rigid and curving upwards, his cock jolts in her hand as she tentatively grips him. The bulging head, brownish pink, is slick with the seep of fluid. Ilainus finds it impossible to believe that this could fit inside anyone. She slides her hand along his length, her eyes transfixed, and hears his hum of approval and pleasure. More clear fluid appears, and her fingers are slippery with it. She snatches her hand back in alarm, and hears his low laughter.
“I want you,” he murmurs. He sees her mouth open in protest and waves his hand in a motion to silence her. “Keep that virginity my sister values so highly in you. There are other ways.”
“I’ve got to go! I can’t be doing this! Let me up!” Her voice is breathless, scared. She twists her head back and forth as he covers her with his body and his lips seek hers again.
“You don’t want to fight me,” he says, his eyes inches from hers, his weight bearing her down, and Ilainus does not know if he is stating fact or making a threat. Then he is kissing her again, deeply, encouraging her to give her tongue to him. His knee nudges her thighs further apart and he is sliding his hard cock against her wetness, not entering her, but stroking where she is swollen and so responsive.
He rises up, holding her thighs up and apart with his hands behind her knees, slowly rubbing against her. She is so wet. She feels the bedcovers damp beneath her. She stares, rapt, at the sight of his cock covered in her wetness, moving against her, pressing against the pink center of her, parting the damp gold of her curls. Her hips shake in his hold with the intensity of her need. Then he stops, shifts, and it is his mouth, hot and greedy on her now, urging her, demanding that she come for him. And she does. Helplessly, uncontrollably, her hands clutching at his shoulders, eyes clenched shut, as an agony of pleasure flows in waves over her. Until it recedes to tremors and she is collapsed against the pillows, eyes shut, body limp, vaguely feeling the wipe of his wet mouth against her thigh.
Sprawled open to him, she feels him trace the tendons of her thighs, the tender skin, and then to gently part her inner lips with his fingertip. She hums in pleasure at this touch, too limp to stir or open her eyes. He fondles her at his leisure, and then his hand leaves, and her eyes fly open, startled, when his fingers return smeared with a cool, oily substance. She sees a small clay jar, conjured at his will, upon the bed.
“What!” she cries, struggling to rise as he spreads it upon her.
“Lie back,” he tells her. It is in the nature of an order. His eyes bear into hers, forcefully, and full of lust. Her eyes shift, nervous, considering her chances for successful defiance.
“One way or another, ” he assures her, “willing or not. And either way is fine with me.”
Ilainus lies back, and an unfamiliar ache of desire flows through her. Her flesh tingles under his touch, as he deliberately builds her arousal. She sees his magnificence, the War God, darkly sensual, arrogant and dangerous. A shiver grips her, and he smiles complacently at her, fully aware of what she is feeling.
His fingers circle her engorged clit and her hips are rising to meet him. Her nipples stand out atop her ripe breasts and her breathing is fast and ragged. She wants to come again, needs to. The lubricant he has spread onto her feels so good. His hand comes back with more, guiding it down, lower, and then his finger enters where she never imagined anything would. She jumps and gasps, tries to twist away. He deftly holds her still as his finger insinuates itself through the tight ring of muscle guarding this passage, slides deeper.
“Don’t! Don’t!” she is panting, eyes wide.
“Relax, don’t fight,” he tells her. He lifts her legs so that they are spread high on his shoulders. His other hand returns to skillfully caress her clit. Now two fingers, slippery with oil, push into her, and she cries out in mingled shock and discomfort. “Let me spread you, make you ready.”
His cock standing out, inflamed, the head distended, wet anew with fluid, gives her answer to her question. “No, no, please no!” she is too frightened to be ashamed at begging. Again, he tells her to relax, lie still, and there seems nothing to do but to obey. Inexorably, his fingers slide in and out of her, in rhythm with the quickening stroke of his other hand, and she finds herself now writhing in fervor beneath him, moaning, arching her back up off the bed. His breathing is fast, too. He seizes her mound with one hand, rubbing the heel of his hand upon her, swelling her arousal, and runs his other hand thick with lube over his cock before guiding it to her.
She feels the pressure opening her, his thickness incredibly entering her, hears his voice hoarsely telling her to relax as she tenses in fear and pain. Her feet drum upon his back in panic, her hands push ineffectually at his hard, furred chest until he takes them firmly, pinning them beside her shoulders, leaning into her as he enters her fully.
He is slowly moving, in, out, and she stares up into his face, astonished. Ares, the God of War, is fucking her. Is deep inside her, big and hard. Her stomach does a slow roll of desire. Her fingers grip his tightly as he holds her down. Tilted over her, his lower belly moves upon her clitoris as he thrusts into her. His eyes seem immense, catching and holding her own. “I’m going to come here, deep inside you, fill you with come,” he whispers to her. She tears her eyes away, and is moaning, shaking, craving her own release, pushing herself against him. And the pain of him moving faster, at a more urgent rhythm, adds to her pleasure, her need, drives her to a climax which makes him cry out at the force of her contractions, and then shove deep, deeper into her as his own orgasm propels him.
And its over. She whimpers as he pulls out of her. He sprawls on his back, his breathing still ragged, pulls her into the crook of his arm. She is sore, swollen, and unbearably sensitive between her legs, her clit still tingling. Her hips jerk once in a spasm as he passes a hand over her, and he smiles in satisfaction. What could be better than sodomizing a luscious young girl and outraging his sister Athena at the same time?
Ilainus is still, amazingly calm, lying against him. She is even drowsy, drifting towards sleep. The War God is lost in pleasant reverie, envisioning war with his sister, Athena. There is a shift in the air, and Cupid is returned, over his pique, arms akimbo, standing beside the bed.
“Oh man! You went and fucked her!” His wings vigorously fan the air. “It reeks of sex in here!”
Ilainus sits up in a hurry, her arms covering her breasts. She is sticky and sore and suddenly realizing she must get out of here and back to Athena’s Temple. Cupid indolently flops down beside them on the bed, grinning lewdly at her. “This bed is soaked!” he exclaims.
Ares stretches with predatory grace. “Still a virgin,” he remarks languidly.
Cupid eyes her as she shifts uncomfortably and glares at him indignantly. “You fucked her ass!” he crows. “Athena’s going to fry yours!”
“I’ve got to get back! I’ve got to go! Is it dawn yet? I’m all messy!” Ilainus is in frenzy.
“Ummm,” Cupid reaches out and squeezes her butt as she scrambles off the bed. “Anything left for me?”
“Hands to yourself,” Ares admonishes. “Where’s the obligatory hot spring in this Temple? She can clean up and then you can whisk her back to her virginal little bed at Athena’s.”
Cupid gestures lazily and a door appears where there was none before. The gurgling of a hot spring can be heard through it. Ilainus hurries in, desperate not to think, concentrating only on cleaning up and getting home. She slams the door shut behind her.
“I’ve got something left for you!” Ares growls, and pulls Cupid over to him. His cock is hard again, jutting up over his belly.
The God of Love moans and eagerly takes Ares’ cock into his mouth, sucking long and avidly. He rises back and circles his tongue wetly around the swelling head. His eyes are glazed with lust. “You taste like her,” he breathes. His own cloths are gone; his cock rises long and pink. “Fuck me like you fucked her,” he pleads.
Ares rises, seizes Cupid roughly around the waist, pushes a pillow under his stomach and bends him over it. His cock pushes at him, demanding entry. “Lube, please!” Cupid begs. “Please use lube!” Ares’ cock returns, slick now, and plunges full into him. Cupid is moaning, the force of the hard thrusts rubbing his cock against the pillow he is bent over. Ares’ hands grasp his hips with brutal passion, driving into him, and then he slips a hand under to take hold of Cupid’s cock, relishing the way the other god groans in lust as his hand pulls and squeezes, forcing him towards orgasm.
And Cupid comes helplessly, spurting onto the pillow, his head thrown back with the force of it, passive in Ares’ hold as the God of War thrusts faster and harder into him and finally releases his seed inside him with a deep grunt of satisfaction.
Ares gets up, leaving Cupid collapsed over the pillows. He stretches, joints popping, cleanses and garbs himself in his tight black leather with the merest of thoughts. Ilainus bursts from the door and he anticipates her need and tosses her her robes, miraculously fresh and whole. She struggles into them, clumsy with haste and embarrassment. She cannot look at him. She cannot believe what has happened. She is flooded with guilt and shame at dishonoring her vows to Athena. What had begun as a light-hearted prank has turned into something debauched and perilous. She has betrayed her Goddess by putting herself into a position in which Athena’s greatest enemy has had the use of her. It is an affront she fears Athena can never forgive, and the thought fills her with dread. To ask him to keep it secret would only further the offense to Athena. In the space of hours, her world seems to have descended into ruin and she feels that there is no way out.
“I’m going home,” her voice is weak, ill.
“Whisk her back, Cupid,” Ares says. He can easily read everything she is feeling. “I think her curiosity has been well satisfied.”
Cupid groans, stretches, gets up, and he, too, is fresh and dressed. “Come on, sweetie,” he says, throwing an arm about her shoulders. Shimmering air, brief vertigo, and she is standing in the predawn before the Temple gates. “Consider yourself whisked,” Cupid says. “Among other things.” He winks obscenely at her and is gone.
So it is a day later and Ilainus has not risen from her bed; she barely mumbles to questions, saying only that she is ill. The Temple matrons are worried; they can discern no sign of physical sickness. The girl will not eat, her sleep is filled with nightmares, and there is no explanation for it. Ilainus, though unaware, is the favored novice of the Goddess. Finally the women summon Athena.
Athena arrives, concerned at the bedside of the initiate she has been pleasurably observing for many years. Even though the girl is obviously not her normal self, her youth and beauty stir Athena. “Ilainus,” the Goddess speaks softly, “what is it?”
In an agony of guilt and shame, Ilainus clenches her eyes shut tight and cannot reply. She feels the Goddess sit lightly beside her, smooth her tangled hair, and she feels such devotion and disgrace that tears seep from her eyes.
“What has happened? Are you hurt?” Athena presses. Her intuition is suddenly pricked; she has a feeling that something is definitely wrong. Something has been done to her girl. “Who has harmed you?” her voice has become sharp. She jerks the coverings from Ilainus, seeking some understanding, some evidence.
The girl’s skin is a pale gold, smooth and glowing with health and youth. Her breasts and hips are full, round. Athena has been waiting for the child to become a woman; she sees that she has waited too long. For a moment she is transfixed by the sight of the girl curled naked upon the bed, then her eyes narrow. The soft skin of her throat and breasts bears slight scrape marks, there is a darkly pink suck mark on her breast.
“Who has done this to you?” Her voice is cold, hard. Ilainus shakes her head mutely in terror. Fresh tears flow from her eyes. Athena swallows her rage, gently touches the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t be afraid. I'm not angry with you. You must tell me. Please tell me. This was not your fault.”
Ilainus is shuddering, sobbing. “It is my fault! You’ll hate me! You’ll send me away!”
“No, no,” Athena assures her, taking her into her arms, letting her young initiate cry on her shoulder for long moments until the sobs abate into exhaustion. Her mind is racing; keen with a suspicion of who is behind this. Ilainus is limp as Athena lays her down upon her back. She closes her eyes in shame as the Goddess runs her hands over her body seeking indication of injury and confirmation of the perpetrator. Athena is not unmoved as her hands touch Ilainus. She parts Ilainus’ thighs slightly and strives to control her hunger for the girl as her fingers search her young body. Ilainus feels Athena’s hands pass over her, pausing on her clit, examining where she is still swollen from the rough, protracted stimulation. Fingers part her inner lips and Ilainus jumps as a finger enters her, feeling, confirming the existence of her continued virginity. Ilainus is mortified as the fingers continue their investigation, down lower, where she still aches and throbs dully. Cool hands lift her legs to scrutinize the large, hand-shaped bruises faintly visible above her knees, on the back of her thighs, where his hands held her open and spread.
“Say his name,” Athena’s tone is icy, imperious. “Open your eyes, Ilainus. Speak the name of the one who hurt you, who has raped you.”
Ilainus is caught and held in the Goddess’ stare. “Ares,” she pronounces, and then falls to abject weeping again.
Athena holds her as she cries. Ilainus is sobbing that she herself is to blame, is so bad, and is so terrible as to cause this to happen. She gasps out the story of her dare, her curiosity about kissing, and her nighttime visit to Cupid’s Temple. She arrives at the point of Ares’ appearance and cannot continue, she is choking and crying too hard. Athena has conjured a cool damp towel and is wiping the girl’s face, calming her, soothing her, assuring her that she is not to blame. Ilainus’ tears dry, her breathing evens, she relaxes beside Athena who is stroking her hair, caressing her flushed cheeks. When the Goddess bends over her, her lips are silken, her tongue quick and wet. Ilainus’ eyes widen in surprise, and then she slants her face so that Athena can kiss her more fully. Her mind is reeling. This is the Goddess whom she has revered, worshiped, loved from afar, and aspired only to be somehow, someday, worthy of. Now the Goddess’ hand trembles with desire as it cups her breast, slim fingers catching her nipple. The Goddess spreads kisses across her face, her eyelids, back to capture her mouth. Ilainus becomes aware of the slim, strong thigh pressed between her own, and at first is anxious and embarrassed that the Goddess will feel the wetness of her growing arousal. Ilainus has been passive, unsure, and then Athena whispers for the girl to put her arms around her, and Ilainus does, tentatively at first, and then holding on tighter as Athena’s tongue begins to gently circle her hard nipples. She is breathing fast and realizing that Athena is deliberately exciting her with her thigh upon her; she catches it between her own, pushing herself tightly, wetly against the warrior Goddess’ muscled bare leg.
“Good girl, good,” Athena murmurs her approval, her voice husky with her own hunger. She slides down, parts the girl’s thighs, and laves her tongue adroitly along the responsive flesh there. A slim finger slides wetly inside the tight, virginal passage, and she is rewarded by Ilainus’ moan and squirming hips. Her mouth returns avidly to the girl’s clitoris and she licks and sucks, relishing the taste and wet and heat of her. She slows, savoring Ilainus’ insistent, plunging hips, and her urgent sounds.
Ilainus rises, shaking, on her elbows, “Please,” she begs, “please!”
“Are you mine, Ilainus?” the Goddess demands, her clear voice almost harsh.
“Yes, yes! Athena, yes!” Ilainus cries, and her hips arch up of their own volition.
“Then come for me, girl. Come!”
Her mouth returns, her finger slips in and out with a liquid sound. Ilainus’ head tosses back and forth on the pillow, she clutches the sheets with white-knuckled hands. Then her climax over-comes her, seems to roll on and on, up her body until she shudders and falls languorous and limp back upon the pillow. Athena is cradling her against her, pressing soft kisses along her pulsing temple. Safe and loved in the Goddess’ arms, honored by the desire her chosen deity has shown she feels for her, satiated, relaxed and relieved, Ilainus drifts into a deep, peaceful sleep.
Athena casts a warm look at her sleeping novice, and then rises. She covers the girl gently, savors the scent of musk that rises from the bed, and then turns away. Her face hardens into a cold resolve. Suddenly she is fully garbed and armed for battle. Her lips are thin, her eyes lethal with rage, and then she shimmers out of view.
A crag high above the raging battle is his vantage point. To his practiced eyes, it is already apparent which way the fight will go. His favored warlord will win, the only undetermined factor being how long it will take and how many will die; fairly boring stuff.
It is with relief that he turns from his ennui to face the rage of the suddenly materialized Athena.
“Hey Sis, social call?” he drawls.
She is planted in a fighting stance, her hand on her sword hilt. “You raped my girl,”
He raises a dark brow. “Big tits? Nice ass? I don’t think so.”
“You raped her,” Athena repeats, her voice icy, deadly.
He smiles wickedly at her. “She loved it. You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve fucked a girl who came so hard. Whew! Incredible.”
“You raped a novice of my Temple. I will make you suffer for this.”
He does a mock shudder of fear. “Does it bring back some old memories, Thena? Seems to me she’s not the only virgin who really loved me fucking her up the ass.”
All the color leaches from her face, leaving only the frigid glare of fury. Beyond lucid thinking, she rushes at him, drawn sword in hand, a high, savage war cry echoing in the air. He draws his own sword in the flicker of an instant, brutally deflects her slashing strike and gleefully takes an aggressive stand, preparing to move in, breathing deeply in the joy of battle. But his fun is unpredictably cut short as Athena in a frenzy of rage all out of character, is carried by momentum to roughly collide with an outcropping of rock and plunge off the rock-strewn peak. He has time to glimpse her descent; shock and frustration clear in her face, before she causes herself to vanish.
“Now that has to be embarrassing,” he remarks to himself, bending to retrieve the helmet knocked from her head and left behind. He turns it idly in his hands as a heinous smile slowly spreads across his face.
Ilainus is dreaming. He is touching her, kissing her. His hands are warm on her breasts, pulling her nipples into aching peaks. His tongue teases her lips, pushes into her mouth and she welcomes it there. She is wanting more. She grasps him closer, the hard heat of his body; holds him with her arms, wraps her legs around him. In her dream she knows that he will soon make love to her, and she needs him urgently. Her whole body craves him, his mouth, his hands, and his cock deep inside her. She feels him hard and hot against her but he will not enter her. He is enticing her, playing with her, his eyes so amused, the head of his cock just nudging the wet entrance Athena’s finger had only just parted. She is thrusting her hips, desperate to have him, feeling just on the verge of climax; and she begs him, crying out, “Ares, Ares!”
A savage slap knocks her almost off the bed and out of the dream. A hand twists in her hair, cruelly pulling her close. Ilainus screams with pain and fright.
“You little whore!” Athena hisses into her face. “You’re coming for him even in your sleep!”
“No! No! Athena, please, no!” Ilainus pleads, terrified at the rage in the Goddess’ face.
Athena slaps her again across the face. She brutally seizes her between the legs. “This,” she says, her tone freezing, “is mine.” Still holding her viciously, she leans across and takes up an object holding a place of privilege on the small table alter. Athena holds it up to show the girl. It is a fine ivory column etched in the likeness of the Goddess. Ilainus moans, shaking her head, No, No, her eyes rolling whitely. Ruthlessly, Athena forces Ilainus’ legs open with her knees. Shock and fear have lent a strange clarity to Ilainus’ senses; dirt from Athena’s boots is a dark smear on the bedcovering, the feel of Athena’s battle armor pressing against her flesh is cold and hurtful, Athena’s face is pale and twisted and unfamiliar. She feels the cool ivory pressing into her, tearing her open.
“Mine,” Athena says, her tone harsh as winter. Her eyes bite down into Ilainus’.
“Yes, yes I am, Athena.” Ilainus’ voice is jagged with fear. She sags passively, closes her eyes, resigned to the worst her Goddess can do to her. She feels guilty, to blame, deserving of whatever hurt or punishment Athena wishes. “I love you.”
The painful pressure between her legs ceases. The force holding her legs open is gone. With her eyes still clenched shut, she hears Athena draw a deep, ragged sigh. Then, strong hands turned suddenly gentle, pull her up, cradle her against her. The Goddess is rocking her against her own body, skin smooth and bare, suddenly devoid of cold armor and hard leather. Ilainus feels a shock greater than any before, at the warm trickle of the Goddess’ tears upon her throat.
“Ilainus, Ilainus,” Athena sighs. “Never love anyone who is hurting you. Never. Remember this.”
Ilainus is held against the quietly weeping Goddess. Athena’s breath touches her cheek as she rocks her in contrition, whispering how sorry she is. Athena tells Ilainus how she loves her.
“I know.” Ilainus says. She stirs in Athena’s arms, takes the Goddess by her slim, strong shoulders and pushes her down upon her bed. She stares into Athena’s exposed face, her vulnerable eyes, and sees the girl in the goddess. She covers Athena with the warmth of her body, pressing her down, catching the Goddess’ mouth with her own and pushing her tongue inside. She senses Athena’s surprise and kisses her deeper, rougher.
Athena is compliant as Ilainus spreads fierce kisses down her throat. Ilainus seizes her breasts hard in her hands and Athena gasps. “Gentle, gentle, Ilainus,” she murmurs.
But Ilainus doesn’t feel gentle. She pinches Athena’s nipples, hard, then again. She relishes the way the Goddess writhes beneath her in pain and arousal. She is straddling Athena’s hips and she reaches down between Athena ’s legs, her fingers searching, finding the smooth heated wetness. She suddenly moves back, takes hold of Athena and turns her over on her stomach. Ilainus wraps the Goddess’ fine hair around her fist, rolls down on top of her, her groin pressed damply to the narrow curve of Athena’s buttocks, her face pressed into her neck, kissing and sucking on the pale flesh there. There is no tenderness in Ilainus’ ardor. Her hunger for the Goddess is suffused with anger and resentment towards the deities of Olympus. The Olympians are cruel, even and especially in love. Manipulated and used by the God of War, his pleasure egocentric and self-serving. Cultivated by the Goddess all her life as a protégé and lover, no doubt loved by Athena, but how selfless was that love, how conditional?
She sinks her teeth into the soft skin at the junction of shoulder and neck and Athena cries out and bucks beneath her. Ilainus holds on tight, holds her down. She brushes her mouth down the back of Athens’s neck. She is filled with a sense of ruthless power and lust. She is aware that the Goddess is choosing to submit to her, but is still intoxicated by the dominion she holds. An arm around Athena’s waist pulls her up to her hands and knees. Athena’s hair falls to cover her face. Ilainus pushes a finger deep into the Goddess’ wetness. Athena’s breathing quickens and she spreads her thighs wider, arches her hips up. Ilainus feels the heat and wet building between her own legs. She fucks the Goddess harder, one finger, two, reaching with her other hand to circle Athena’s clitoris. She makes Athena cry out as she comes. Ilainus feels the contractions on her fingers, feels the moisture spreading down the inside of her own thigh. Athena collapses down to the bed, spent and shaking from her climax. Ilainus is trembling and damp with sweat. She grits her teeth, clenches shut her eyes, tries to rid herself of the powerful craving which has suddenly gripped her. Ares. The heady, male smell of him, the heat and strength of him, the sound of his voice, deep, persuasive and arrogant, telling her he wants her; she is suffused with the need of him. She shakes her head to dispel the treachery of such thoughts. But she is so wet, and in the thrall of such lust. She can almost know how it would feel for him to grab her hips in his calloused hands, position her, urge her shuddering thighs wide with his knees, push the heat and hardness of his cock smoothly into the wet need of her.
When Athena gently pulls her down, slides between her thighs and takes her in her mouth, Ilainus comes quick and hard, a small scream escaping her lips. Then they lie quiet together, breathes fused, hair spilling intermingled upon the pillows, in a peace that needs no words.
And when words come, they are in the amused, complacent voice of the War God.
“Well, well, well,” he says standing dark in his leather at the foot of the bed. He is holding the ivory statue of the Goddess, now faintly etched with the blood of Ilainus’ virginity. “I don’t even know where to start!”
He rests a booted foot on the bed, smiling sardonically down at the two women. He traces a finger down the ivory likeness, “A whole lot of material here.”
Athena rolls from the bed, instantly garbed. “You dare to intrude here, in my own Temple?” Cold fury rises in her tone.
“Just returning your helmet,” he materializes it, tosses it at her. “And of course checking on your health, Sis. Looked like a nasty fall you took back there on the cliff.”
“Get out!” Athena commands, her hand on her sword hilt.
“Just leaving,” he shrugs. His eyes fall warmly on Ilainus wrapped in the bedcovers. Ilainus looks away and an indecent grin spreads over his face. “I ’d hate to be interrupted too. If I were in your place.” He lets the statue roll out of his hand to drop onto the bed beside Ilainus. “You get tired of being fucked by statues, Ilainus, you know where to come.”
When Athena’s sword slashes, it parts mere air as he is gone with a shimmer and a wicked echo of laughter.
Days pass, war is in the air. Forces amass, supplies are compiled, families relinquish loved ones, cities within the war zone agonize or evacuate. All is chaos between the Temple of the Goddess Athena and the War God's Temple in a bordering province. Athena gathers her council of women warriors. Ares musters his favored warlords. Tactics are formed, plots shaped, weapons are sharpened and ready.
Athena is serene, planning death and destruction. Her plans flow smooth, composed calmly, and deadly in intent. She anticipates the war ahead with cool pleasure. There is no capacity within her psyche to precisely comprehend the significance of human mortality. Although she can love, mourn and miss chosen mortals, she cannot help her mentality which adds the silent but compulsory word 'mere' in preface to 'mortal.'
Ares is filled with glee and dark cheeriness. Boredom is momentarily at bay and he is in his element. Warriors, weapons and war! The pandemonium, the exhilaration, of battle and bloodshed! Within the stricture of combat, surrounded by the killed and the killers, Ares feels the power of his godhood as nowhere else. Yet it is within this same arena that he believes he comes closest to understanding what it is to be mortal with all its sting and rapture.
And he laughs to himself, a self-satisfied mirth, to think that he could begin this entire war, entice his cold-hearted sister into battle, with the simple act of seducing her temple novice. If it mattered more, he would speculate as to whether it was love for the girl or pride that motivates Athena.
The truth, of course, is that it does not matter. A mortal girl, to love or to use, by one god or both, is a pawn in the only battle that essentially does matter to those deities of Mt. Olympus; the struggle in opposition to the great, sucking vacuity of tedium that is immortality. Ilainus hurries along a dark road and she will pay tithe to one or both, the Goddess and God, almost not knowing that her passions and hatreds, pains and joys, are the small sustenance feeding the gods through the heavy eternity.
The catalyst for the impending warfare finds herself at loose end, feels all but invisible. All around her, preparation takes place with efficiency and alacrity. Expeditious action surrounds her, speeds past her, and she feels as though she is fixed, immovable, in some kind of vacuum where she cannot take action or effect change. Athena is so busy, so distracted. Even when making love, even while professing love, she is preoccupied, not really focused on the object of her ardor, the reason for her war. So Ilainus descends into a despair of guilt and self-reproach. She is to blame for all this. She is responsible for the destruction and carnage now being planned and so soon to come. All the pain and death will be her fault. Bludgeoned with guilt, she has repeatedly tried to dissuade her Goddess, her lover, Athena, from her resolution of warfare, but the Goddess dismisses her pleas as one would dismiss the nonsensical pleadings of a child.
A morning comes when Ilainus is awoken to the clatter of armor, horses hooves, and all that has become the usual medley of sounds as the Temple readies for combat. She opens her bleary eyes, alone yet again in the bedchamber of Athena where she now sleeps, and a plan surges suddenly full blown to her mind. If Athena will not listen, perhaps someone else will.
Leaving the Temple is surprisingly easy. Her departure is not even noticed among all the activity. She takes a mount to hasten her journey, and gallops down rough side roads, avoiding the convoys and traffic of the main.
Still spring, still spring, she thinks in a kind of horrified wonder. It was such a short time ago that her curiosity led her into this debacle, changing her, changing everything forever. She travels in a kind of fugue state, the morning, then afternoon slipping past and through her. And then she is there.
Her arrival, much as her departure, goes largely unnoticed. She wends her way past wagons, warriors, corrals of stamping mules and horses, fires lit to dispel the coming dark, and is at the portal of the vast Hall of War where Ares is master, controlling all. Under the leer of the gathered warlords, she slips from her horse's back, still feeling vaguely unreal. Leaving the reins hanging, with averted head and eyes, she starts through the crowd, which seems to part almost magically for her. Then, abruptly blocking her way, a tall, leather clad figure. Her eyes rise up past the sword, the massive chest and shoulders, and it is he, Ares, that dark God of War, grinning down at her, no surprise at all in his gaze.
"Ilainus," he says his voice deep and satisfied. Only her name, only his eyes hot upon her, but suddenly it is as though her depression, her suffocating guilt and the pressing weight of feeling she is insignificant and almost unreal, are a burden that slips from her effortlessly. The noise of the courtyard, the smell of the fires and animals, the slight chill of the evening air, all rush upon her, filling her senses, flooding her with vitality.
"Ares," she says, and her own voice sounds somehow new to her ears and not at all the voice of a young, foolish girl. "I've come to speak to you."
"Of course you have," he says, his voice low, insinuatingly intimate.
She frowns at him, then is angered to feel herself blush as his smile widens. Knowing his train of thought, she is cannot stop her own mind from following. She stares at him, seeing the full curve of his lip, and remembers his mouth on hers, kissing her, pushing his tongue inside her mouth. She can almost feel again the wet suck of his mouth on her throat, her breasts, and between her legs, teasing her, tasting her.
Ilainus jerks her eyes away from him, takes a step back. There is a flutter in her belly, and her cheeks are burning. She clears her throat, determined to not to let him bait her. "I need to speak with you."
"Well then, come inside," he says, sweeping an arm before him. There is a brief scramble as his warlords disperse, one of them leading away her horse. She lets him usher her before him through the tall heavy doors that swing shut ponderously behind them.
He leads her through torch lit hallways, his boots ringing upon the stone floors. She is struggling with her sudden fear and trepidation as she follows his broad back. She is beginning to doubt her impulsive plan. She is feeling vulnerable and unsure of herself. Is she compounding the misfortune she has already caused by coming to appeal to the God of War? But then she hardens her resolve. How could things get any worse? And surely this is better than passively sitting by and letting so much devastation take place.
And then he pauses at an open doorway emanating the warm glow of light. "Please, come in," he says, beckoning her to enter before him. Reluctant, distrustful, she finally does.
It is his private chambers. A fire warms the air. The walls are hung with brilliantly colored tapestry. Deep rugs are underfoot. A huge bed dominates one side of the large room, covered with rich heavy fabric from a foreign land; fabric dyed an intense, vivid red.
"Welcome," he says. "Make yourself comfortable."
There is nowhere to sit but the bed. Ilainus glares up at him, takes a step back to further the distance between them. He laughs at her and takes a casual step closer. "I'm surprised my sister isn't keeping a better eye on you, Ilainus," he says. "Letting you wander off like this again!"
"Stop it!" she exclaims, gathering her anger around her like a shield. "I'm here to tell you that you need to stop this war!"
"What war is that?" he asks, and he is once again close to her. She can smell the leather of his clothing, and under that the scent of his skin, warm and male.
"You know what war! The war you and Athena are preparing for! It needs to stop! You need to stop it!"
"I need to stop it? Shouldn't you be discussing this with Athena, your lover of Wisdom and Warfare, and Weaving for that matter, though she tends to downplay that." He is laughing at her again.
"She won't listen!" Ilainus' voice is rising in frustration.
"Of course she won't!" he says, and his hands are suddenly upon her shoulders, pulling her against his chest. "She never listens." He lowers his face into her hair coiled in a braid atop her head. He breathes in the sun and spring in her hair, the energy and life of her and exhales slowly. "But I'll listen to you, Ilainus, I'll listen to you all night long."
She is pulling ineffectually away, pushing at his chest, and hating her defenselessness. "People are going to die if there's war! So many people, and for nothing!"
"Nothing?" he says, his breathe hot against her head. One of his hands is deftly loosening her braid. 'We go to war for you, Ilainus. Out of love for you, my sister must avenge your honor."
"No, no!" she cries, fighting him. "I can't let you both start a war over this!"
He keeps his face a careful blank, hiding his satisfaction as she stares up frantically at him. He leans his face down, enjoying the way her eyes widen, the way her breath comes quicker. "For the chance to fuck you, Ilainus, to fuck you every way, any way I want, I'd gladly go to war. Or not."
His eyes bear into hers. He is so close that she can feel the heat of his skin. "Or not?" Ilainus whispers, and the trap swings shut.
"Or not," he breaths, knowing he has her.
"It's because of me that this began. I've got to stop it." She hears her own voice sounding crushed and defeated, and while this is genuine, she knows that another, darker part of her kindles with fervor and is glad to be prey to his predator. She is mortified, too, wondering if he can guess at this.
"So!" he says, abruptly stepping back, releasing her. "The terms are these: I end this war with my sister. You remain here for, oh, three days and nights. I have you any way I choose, do to you whatever I want, and then you can run home to my sister. No war, no death, I fuck you, you can leave. Agreed?"
Ilainus feels dizzy and vaguely ill, as though she were on the edge of a terrible abyss. She stares at him and can't seem to answer.
"Well?" says coolly.
She finds her voice. "How will you make sure this war stops? What if Athena won't stop?"
He smiles. "I'll go run to Daddy, tell him my sis is picking on me. He'll make sure she stops."
"Zeus?" she asks, and he nods.
"Of course, it'll be pretty embarrassing, running to Dad for help. I'll probably never live it down." He is closing in on her again, smiling darkly. "But I'm thinking it'll be worth it. Right, Ilainus? Do you agree to this pact? Will you sacrifice yourself to save so many? Will you give yourself to me now?"
Her heart hammers in her chest. She feels like she can't get enough air. She nods. Her body is shaking, she tells herself only from fear.
"Good. Very good," he whispers. He runs his hands through her hair, shaking out the tangled mass. She closes her eyes tight, her whole body tense. He pulls at the length of her hair in back, wrapping it around his hand, pulling her head back. "Still curious about men?" His mouth hovers over hers. "Somehow I don't think my sister has quite satiated all your curiosity. Open your lips to me, Ilainus."
She is breathing hard. She feels his tongue warm and wet touch her lower lip. Although her heart is pounding with panic, she is dismayed to feel a warm tingle between her legs. She opens her eyes, tries to pull away from him. "Stop the war first. Talk to Zeus first." Her voice is ragged, trembling.
His hand in her hair pulls her head back further. His other hand descends over her back to the round curve of her, forcing her full against him. "A kiss to seal the bargain first," he tells her.
She nods slightly in acquiescence because she does not trust her voice. She can feel him hard against her belly, pressing, insistent. She can feel that her nipples have drawn into hard points, aching against her tunic. His mouth is suddenly upon hers and she keeps her lips tight shut, trying to hold to the shreds of resistance.
"Let me in, Ilainus. Let me in," he breathes. Her stomach does a slow roll of desire. She parts her lips, his tongue enters her mouth and she moans, remembering his cock as it had once entered her, too. She is wet between her legs. Now so hot and wet, and the pain of his hand pulling her hair is somehow a sweet excitement. His kiss is deep and rough. His hand squeezes her ass hard and rubs her against the rigid swell of his cock through his clothing. Where once her hands gripped his upper arms to hold him off, now she grasps him in shuddering need.
And then he releases her, steps back, and she staggers, her eyes flying open. "My, my, my," he says. "Looks like it's a bargain. I'll just go have a quick word with Zeus, settle this matter, then get a message to Athena." His lips curl cruelly. "I'll let her know to expect you in three days. I'll tell her you miss her and are thinking about her."
Ilainus opens her mouth to protest, but finds she is facing only a waver of air and he is gone.
Some time has passed. Ilainus feels unable to judge quite how much. She has bathed in an antechamber, even nibbled on fruit. She sits before the fire, the warmth drying her long hair, warming her cold hands. She is despising herself for the anticipatory glow which keeps encroaching upon her, past her wall of guilt, fear, and recrimination. She clenches her eyes shut tight, conjures images of her Goddess, her lover, Athena; the gray eyes of the Goddess which regard her with love and tenderness, the way Athena is enamored by Ilainus' beauty as well as her spirit, the twilights when she has drifted to sleep with her head pillowed upon Athena's shoulder, feeling safe, secure, and cherished. Bathing, Ilainus had scrubbed herself clean of the silken wetness, which had so treacherously betrayed her. She berates herself furiously for this weakness. She belongs to Athena. She loves Athena. Although she has entered into this pact with Ares, she will not dishonor her love for Athena. She is doing this as a sacrifice, atonement for being the catalyst of this dispute, and to prevent death and destruction. She will not disgrace and shame herself by giving in to any contemptible lust Ares might engender.
Thus resolved, she continues to gaze into the constant fire, gradually relaxing in the comforting heat, mesmerized by the licking tongues of flame. Curled on her side, her hair spread out around her, she is drowsing into slumber, when a change in the air current jars her into wakefulness. She scrambles to her feet, faces him across the room as he stands with his arms folded, smiling, watching her. The silence stretches. She struggles to keep her face blank, impassive. His smile grows more sardonic.
"You took care of it all?" she finally asks, her voice cold.
"Yep," he says, unbuckling his sword, letting it slip to the floor. He walks towards her. "Get on the bed, Ilainus."
She draws in her breath sharply, struggling to remain composed, dispassionate. She looks at the bed, so blatant in its carmine decadence, and cannot move or speak. His hands warmly cup her face, his thumbs caress her lips. "Get your clothes off. Get on the bed. I want to see what I gave up a war for."
Swallowing hard, determined to show that she is indifferent and unafraid, she pulls her head away and makes her way across the room to the imposing vastness of the bed. Avoiding his gaze, she slips out of her clothing and sits carefully on the edge of the bed, her arms folded over her breasts. He comes to stand above her as she resolutely refuses to look at him. "Now lie down. Lie down on your back and spread your legs. Spread them wide."
Ilainus' face burns with indignity and the effort to not resist him. Her teeth are gritted, she centers herself on the bed, her thighs slightly apart. She cannot bring herself to spread them further. She stares up at the stone ceiling. She hears his deep laughter, and then feels his weight upon the bed. She stifles a cry as his hands suddenly take hold of her thighs, dragging them apart as he kneels between them.
"I said wide, Ilainus. Apparently my sister hasn't managed to teach you to do as you're told."
She tries to calm her rapid breathing. She will not give him the satisfaction of seeing her anger. She has resolved to show no reaction to whatever he might do. But she can't help but flinch at the feel of him touching her between her legs. His finger traces over her, parting her lips there, spreading her open. She holds to her anger, trying to build it as a wall against the slow heat she feels growing within her. He is stroking her, slowly, skillfully, and he grins impudently at her as his finger strokes lower, circling where he has already had her. She turns her head away, refusing to look at him. She is concentrating only on fighting the growing weakness, the hunger that is overcoming her. She knows she is losing, and hates herself, when she feels his fingers becoming slippery with her wetness. Fondling her, teasing her, and then his finger is slickly entering her, sliding in where only Athena has touched.
"A statue! Of herself! I still can't get over that!" He is laughing as he fingers her.
Rage over takes her. Rage against him, and against herself for her growing response, and rage that he knows what Athena did to her and is making fun of it. It is a savage relief to pull back her long, muscled legs, and kick him full force, knocking him almost off the bed.
"Whoa!" he says, and he is still laughing, laughing harder at her. "Now that's my girl!"
Ilainus throws herself at him in a fury, pummeling him, trying to kick him lower still with deadly intent. He is toying with her, she knows, enjoying her infuriated attack. She is tossed back and hears him laughing when she returns anew, her hair wild over her back and bare breasts and her eyes alight with anger. Finally, she feels him catch her around the waist, and he flips her over onto her belly. One of his hands is on her back, pushing her down into the pillows, while with his other arm he pulls her to her knees, her hips and butt in the air. His knees roughly push her thighs apart. She fights him, fights to get up, but then shrieks in pain and surprise as his hand slaps her butt, hard, and then returns to strike again. Tears of pain sting her eyes. She hears his voice telling her to be still, and she is. His hands caress her skin where it is reddened by his smack and she shivers at the combination of pleasure and pain.
"Umm, Ilainus," he whispers, both hands on her ass, gripping and petting her, spreading her open. She realizes suddenly that he is naked, having divested himself of his clothing with a simple godly thought. She feels his cock nudge her where she is so wet and she tries to strain away, but his hands hold her in place. "I know you've been thinking about me, Ilainus. Dreaming of me. Even when you're making love with Athena, I know you think of me sometime." She is shaking her head in desperate denial against the pillows. "Yes," he says, "you have. I felt it when you did. And it made me so hard, so hot, that I could hardly wait for this moment."
"No," she lies, breathless. "No." The massive head of his cock presses into her, withdraws, pushes in again. She is shaking, her heart hammering. As in her dreams and her fantasies, he enters her again, just slightly, and her muscles contract around him as if to hold him in, as he pulls out again,
Then his hand has slipped under her, his fingers have found where she is engorged and so responsive. He rubs her there. When he pinches her suddenly, she screams into the pillow and thrusts her hips up and back at him. "You're so wet," he whispers. "So tight and wet. I'm going to fill you with my cock. I'm going to make you come with my cock deep inside you. I'm going to break you in so good."
She realizes that she is panting, her own wetness is running down the inside of her thigh, and she is rocking her hips back at him, as wanton as a cat in heat, only wanting him to push his way inside of her. "Ares," she gasps. "'Ares, please."
But he is taking his time, savoring her plea, her need. He eases inside her, stretching her, filling her. His fingers on her clitoris deftly control her arousal; he doesn't want her to come yet. Ilainus grinds her face into the pillow in an agony of desire. His weight is bearing her down and she is relishing the weight, the hard heat of him, the dangerous maleness. He lies upon her, his arm around and under her, hand soaked from her, fingers working her clit. He shoves his cock into her fully, finally, and she shrieks in hurt as the last vestige of her virginity is taken. He nuzzles under her hair, kissing and sucking at the side of her throat, exulting in the pain as well as the pleasure he is bringing her. He is thrusting wetly, deeply, in and out of her. His fingers move faster under her. Ilainus shakes beneath him, writhing in need. He is pressing her down, his body is hot upon hers, his scent and sweat upon her skin. He bites at her neck and his cock plunges hard into her.
"So wet, Ilainus." He whispers huskily and she moans. "You're so wet for me. You're so fucking tight. It feels so good to fuck you. Come for me, Ilainus. Come for me while I fuck you. I want to feel you come around my cock. I want to feel you tighten around my cock when you come."
She's shaking beneath him, feeling helpless, feeling subjugated by him, whimpering in need. He abruptly rolls her over onto her back, thrusts deeper into her. "I want to see your face, too, when you come," he tells her. And she is so close to coming, her hips buck against him; she thrashes her head, moaning. "Wrap your legs around me," he urges her, and she does, she does. She grabs his strong forearms in a desperate grip, welcomes his crushing kiss, and then it is happening. Roll after roll of pleasure so intense she cries out, from her cunt, up her body and to her head, over and over. She hears him groan as her inner muscles close around his cock, and then he is tilting her legs up, pounding into her hard and fast. She can feel him swelling, and then come powerfully within her, his head thrown back in the fulfillment and triumph of his orgasm.
She is sleeping, sleeping deep in the night that seems to stretch on interminably. Wrapped in the lushly red coverings damp with semen, redolent with musk, she rests on her side, breathing deeply, warmed by the God of War as he lies curled behind her, his massive arm pillowing her head.
He has awakened and smiles in the near dark. The fire has gone to glowing embers. He inhales the particular woman scent of her hair and flesh with the avidity of a predator. His cock rises against the roundness of her buttocks, and he caresses her curving hip and long thigh with his hand, pushing her slightly over, pulling her upper leg up. One sure thrust and he is full inside where she is still soaked and full of his seed. She comes awake, cries out and strains away.
"Shh, shh, Ilainus," he murmurs, holding her still, stroking in and out of her, deeply, wetly. His hand travels to her pliant young breast, touching her, enjoying the weight of her breast in his hand. He rolls her nipple in his fingers and she gasps in pleasure. Then he catches her hand in his, pulling it down to her fleecy mound. "Touch yourself, Ilainus," he urges her.
She snatches her hand back. "No!" she hisses in embarrassed protest.
"Yes," he insists, inexorably guiding her hand back. "I want you to touch yourself. Make yourself come while I'm fucking you. Do it, Ilainus."
Hesitantly, she obeys him, sliding her fingers through her profusion of dark gold pubic hair, finding where she is wet and swollen. He is thrusting in and out of her, faster, harder. She can actually hear how soaking wet she is as he moves. His hand squeezes her breasts one after the other, pinches her nipples roughly. "Ares!" she gasps. "Ohhh!"
Her fingers swirl around her clitoris, so distended and sensitive, and her breathing grows rapid. She rubs herself, and reaches back between her legs to feel the slick heat of his cock, so big and stiff, driving powerfully into her. A shudder of lust grips her. She's being fucked by a man, by a god, by Ares. He overpowers her, demands her submission, as his cock possesses her and he uses her for his pleasure. She has never in her life felt this desire to surrender, to be controlled, dominated by another, but now she writhes under his onslaught, and her soft cries fill the chamber. He laughs low, so satisfied, and rolls her onto her tummy, plunging deep and forcibly into her cunt. His motion is pushing her clit hard against the palm on her own hand beneath her. She rocks faster and faster, moaning into the pillow, needing to come so badly. She can feel him swelling inside her, fucking her brutally to slack his own lust. And with a hoarse yell, he comes hard inside her, grinding her underneath him as he does. Beneath the hot weight of him, her senses are suffused. The rich scent of his sweat, the tang of his semen fills her nose. His beard scrapes her tender shoulder; his breath is fast and warm on her neck. She is shaking with such overwhelming need. He is rocking his cock slowing within her. She feels semen flood out of her, overflow sweltering and profuse down to her throbbing clitoris, down to her hand pressed upon herself. The feel of this, the knowledge that he has filled her with come, claimed her and make use of her, excites her beyond shame. She rolls her hips under him, heaving against her own hand, rubbing his semen over her clit, faster and faster, panting into the pillow.
"Do you want to come, Ilainus?" he whispers from above her. "Tell me, Ilainus, tell me how much you want to come."
"Yes!" she says, gasping for air. "I want to come. Ohhh! I'm all wet; I'm all soaked from you! I want to come. I. I. ohh! Oh, there! There! There!"
Her contractions squeeze his cock and he is getting hard again as she finds the release of her own orgasm beneath him. He flips her over onto her back, leans on his side gazing at her. She is warm, damp from sweat and sex. Her eyes are shut, her lips swollen and parted as she struggles to catch her breath. He loves the flush on her face, the suck marks on her throat, her breasts shuddering with her quick heartbeat, nipples erect. She sprawls open to him, spent and sated, overflowing with his seed, damp with his sweat, thoroughly fucked, thoroughly his. He savors the sight, regretting only that Athena cannot see her novice now.
Ares idly takes his hardening cock in his hand, trying to decide if he wants to throw her legs up over his shoulders and savagely fuck her up the ass, or teach her how to suck his cock, swallow his come. Sometimes even a god has trouble making choices.
"A-hem!" There is a harsh clearing of the throat from across the room. Ilainus squeaks and tried to drag the bedcovers over herself. Ares languidly rolls out of bed.
"Hey, Uncle Hades, Lord of the Underworld, God of the Dead, the guy with the dragon-tailed dog. A social call?" Ares drawls.
"Not exactly," the dry, sere voice. Tall, grimly handsome, garbed in unrelenting black, face pale and austere, it is indeed Hades, Lord of the Underworld.
"You'll have to forgive the disarray; I was, ah, occupied. What can I do for you?" Ares smiles brazenly.
Hades impatiently waves away his nephew's nonsense. "You can tell me why you had me preparing for scores of newly dead warriors, promising that you would increase the ranks in my Underworld realm, and now I hear that there is to be no war, no deaths at all."
Ares shrugs indolently. "I worked it out. I made a deal. Traded for something more fun than war."
"So I see," Hades says, distaste evident in his tone. "I've heard that you raped your sister Athena's girl."
"Now why does everyone keep saying that?" Ares replies. "Does she look raped?" Ares reaches over and yanks the coverings from her naked body while she cries out in protest. "She's here of her own free will!"
"And you're playing around with her instead of waging a war." Hades shakes his head in disgust. "You're supposed to be the God of War, not the God of Fuck!"
"It's all good!" Ares smiles arrogantly. He pulls a squirming, disheveled Ilainus off the bed, imprisoning her against him. "Very, very good."
Hades is frowning darkly at him. Ares deliberately fondling Ilainus, lifting a lissome breast, clasping the soft fullness, sweeping one hand down her body while his other arm holds her struggling form against him. He takes hold of her between her legs, and then wipes his sopping hand down her hip. "Why don't you try her? This time of year Persephone's back with her Mom, right? Must get lonely down in the Underworld. Go on and fuck her; I've got her broken in real' good."
Hades' grave face twists in disdain. He turns to leave, not even dignifying the offer with a response. "You may want to be careful, Ares. Your sister's gone to see your father. I don't suppose she's very pleased with what you've done." There is a brief freeze in the air as he vanishes.
"Yeah," Ares mutters. "He always did like Athena better."
Ilainus tries to wrench herself away from him, but his hands tighten upon her. "Damn you to Tartarus!" she curses him. "How dare you treat me like a whore?"
He laughs down into her face. "But Ilainus, you are in deed my whore, as you agreed, for three days and nights. After that you can go back to being my sister's whore. That is, if she'll still have you."
Ilainus' eyes widen through the tousled curtain of her hair. It has not occurred to her that Athena would reject her. But what if she does? What if the Goddess does not understand Ilainus' intention behind this act?
Ares watches her with a mocking half smile, comprehending her thoughts exactly. He even understands when she squares her shoulders, telling herself that even her love for Athena is worth the sacrifice if it averts war and death. He could have told her that this is never so, but doesn't feel like bothering.
"Now, my pretty little whore, it occurs to me that your education is sadly lacking in yet another area."
She frowns at him in incomprehension as his hands on her shoulders slowly push her down to her knees before him. At this point, complete understanding dawns.
"Oh no!" she vows. "I can't do this!"
"Probably not." he sighs. "But there's always hope."
She turns her face away, avoiding the persistent obtrusion. He takes her head in his hands and is unable to contain his laughter at the apprehension in her expression.
"How does it.? I mean, what does it, uh." she stammers.
"Taste like?" he provides helpfully. "Ambrosia, babe. Nectar of the Gods."
He nudges himself against her lips, and reluctantly she opens her mouth.
"Use your tongue," he advises. "Make it wet. And watch your teeth!"
He pushes further into her mouth. Startled, she instinctively pulls back and racks him with her teeth.
Exclaiming in pain, he releases her and steps back. Ilainus is unable to contain her sudden laughter; she clasps a hand to her mouth to smother her giggles and, off-balance, plops back to sit on her butt.
He shakes his head in wry disgust. "This is what happens when you raise a girl in one of Athena's temples. Utterly useless when it comes to fellatio!" He holds a hand out to her. "Bath time!"
Due to some strange and inexplicable phenomenon, nearly every temple consecrated to the Greek deities boasts a natural hot spring. Ilainus descends slowly, sighing her pleasure, into the hot water. Cut branches of rosemary are heaped in baskets around the spring; in the steamy air they release their fresh green scent. Ilainus lies back, her hair fanning darkly gold, her eyes closed, pink lips parted slightly. Ares enjoys the sight. He silently watches as she washes her hair, combing the wet tangles with her fingers. Her skin is flushed with the heat, rosy and ripe, her breasts are buoyant and sway under the water. She is as pleasing as the perfect peach of summer. An astonishing miracle of a girl; she is lush in her fleeting mortality, plump with vigor and vivacity, juicy and sweet in the transitory splendor of her youth, purely delicious. There is sadness for gods and goddesses in loving mortals. Ares feels it, shrugs it off, and reverts to lust. Gazing at Ilainus, he imagines Athena touching her: The slim, cool hands of the Goddess caressing the warm, full curves of the girl, embracing her, licking the responsive peaks of her breasts, sliding downward to part her thighs and press her mouth against the damp heat of Ilainus. And licking, licking, while Ilainus squirms and rolls her hips, cries out. He envisions Athena stroking a slender finger in and out of the girl, her finger and then hand becoming wetter and wetter, soaked with the girl's passion. The girl would proclaim her love for Athena. He wonders if Athena would tell the girl she loves her, too. He wonders if this would be true.
He moves through the water and catches Ilainus around her waist. He is kissing her wet lips, his tongue avid in her mouth. She is crushed against his darkly furred chest, but instead of struggling, finds herself wrapping her strong legs around his waist, her arms around his neck. Beneath the heat of the water she can feel the hard jut of his cock against her belly. His mouth slides to her throat, sucking at her skin and she moans and holds him tighter. He backs up to the edge of the small pool, sets her back from him, then pulls himself up to sit upon the edge out of the swirling water. He reaches for Ilainus and pulls her between his muscled thighs. She is unwilling to examine her motive as she willingly bends to take the swollen head of his cock into her mouth. He hums in pleasure as her tongue circles him slowly. She takes the hard length of him in one hand while with the other cups the weight of his scrotum. She takes him further into the warm cavern of her mouth, the wet of her tongue making him smooth and slick. She is encouraged by the catch in his breath and begins to tentatively move her head, letting him fill her mouth. Her hand grips the shaft of him and she can tell that he likes that, too. It is a feeling of power that suffuses her now. Perhaps his disparaging remark concerning her first attempt rankled more than she will acknowledge. Perhaps she cannot help but feel a kind of pride that it is her touch, her mouth, which makes him moan. She intensifies her efforts. She feels a tingling growing between her own legs. And she wants him to come. She wants to make him come! Control him if only for that long instant of orgasm. The idea stirs her and she presses her thighs together beneath the water. Her hand moves faster, her mouth is wetter, her tongue kindling his excitement. His head is thrown back, eyes closed, and his hands grip the stone at the edge of the spring. She feels him swelling even further inside her mouth. Against her tongue the skin of his cock feels stretched thin and hot. He is groaning. Then there is a warm, thick spurting within her mouth, hitting the back of her throat. His hands are suddenly cradling her head, holding her still when she would draw back. Her eyes water slightly and she compulsively swallows deeply. The taste is reminiscent of the heady smell of crushed green fields.
"Now that's my girl!" he says, his voice husky. He pulls her up and close to him, kissing her deeply, his tongue probing where his cock has only just been. He lowers his head to her breasts, circles her taut nipples with his tongue. Ilainus' stomach spins with desire. His fingers trail down her body where she is still submerged in the water. Expertly, he finds her clitoris and teases her adroitly. "Do you like that?" he asks her, his amber colored eyes gleaming up at her.
She nods her head. "Yes," she murmurs. "Yes." Her eyes are closed in languor.
Keeping his thumb on her clit, he leisurely traces his finger down through the center of her nether lips, and then slides inside her. His lips brush hers as he fucks her slowly with his finger. His tongue traces her parted lips. Her hips push towards his touch, and her breath comes fast.
"I have to wonder, though, Ilainus," he whispers, "if you come as hard for my sister as you do for me."
Her eyes fly open and she rips herself away from him. "You fucking bastard!" she hisses at him in rage.
"Does that mean that you're not going to answer the question?" He raises his brows in feigned query.
"You're despicable!" she says, wading to the shallow end, scowling in anger.
"Yep," he agrees, coming towards her. "Now why don't you just bend over the edge here and be quiet?"
"No!" Her chin juts stubbornly. "No more. I've had enough!"
"Enough?" He smiles evilly at her. "I'm not nearly done with you."
Too fast and too strong for her. She curses and struggles as he holds her bent over the edge, her belly against the flat stones. She shrieks as she feels him spreading lubricant on her, in her, knowing his intent.
"Stop!" She demands, kicking back at him, her lower legs still in the water.
Brutally, he grabs her long, damp hair in his fist, pulling her head back and her body against him. "You want it rough, Ilainus? Is that how you want it? I don't have a problem with that."
The pain from her pulled hair brings tears to her eyes. She gasps for breath. She knows, rationally she knows, that it will do her no good to fight him. But something inside her spurs her to not give in, not submit meekly. She lets herself sag against him in apparent defeat.
"Ready to play nice?" His voice in her ear. He loosens his hold on her, and then shouts in pain as her elbow crashes into his stomach.
His cry of pain brings a deep satisfaction to her. She is half turned, intent on aiming lower this time, when he catches her against him with both arms. She is furious to hear his deep laughter, to feel his whole body shake with mirth.
"I don't suppose it's any coincidence that you're fucking both the God and Goddess of War now, is it?" He bends her again over the edge. "Ummm, I do love a little fight before fucking, don't you?" He brings his hand down hard on her hip, then again. She bites her lip against crying out, but when he slaps her again, she screams. He switches hands, slapping her other hip and buttocks. His face is dispassionate, calculating. He is after all, leaving a visible message for Athena.
Ilainus is shaking, fighting the weakness of tears. When he tells her to hold still and spread her legs, she complies wordlessly, but whimpers as he begins to sodomize her. He rocks slowly in and out of her, enjoying the tightness of her ass. She moans as he pulls out and then pushes into her again. His hands slide under her and hold her heavy breasts. He pulls at her nipples until they are hard. "I thought I'd already taught you," he murmurs against the nape of her neck, "about pleasure and pain. How pain heightens the pleasure."
His mouth fastens on the side of her neck, licking, sucking. He squeezes her breasts, pinches her nipples. Ilainus is at first ashamed to feel pleasure start to tingle through her. When he pulls her back so that his hand can move down over her clitoris, shame gives complete way to heat. His cock is full in her ass, he fucks her cunt with his fingers, the heel of his hand rubs her clit.
"Is that good, Ilainus?" he breaths.
"Hurts," she pants.
"Yes, but is it good?" he responds, his voice hoarse with lust, and she helplessly pushes her hips back against him, giving him answer, giving herself to him.