Voice From the Past
By Jen

Hey, Ares.  Yes, you in the leather.  I've got a bone to pick with you.  What's this myth that seems to have got out of control about Iphicles?

You know, the one you started.  Yes, you know what I'm talking about, don't you.  The propaganda you've nurtured so carefully that it's now generally accepted as fact.  The belief that Iphicles only overcame his repressed and inhibited self, realising his true passionate nature, when you fucked him.

I mean, mention me and wild, hot, dirty fucking in the same breath - and the same expression of incredulity dawns on every face.  Yes, you know what I'm talking about.  And you know who I am, don't you Ares. Until my death, I was his wife.  Rena.

Not the Rena of generally accepted myth.  That reserved maidenly image.  The virginal ice princess. The wife whom Iphicles cherished, to whom he made gentle tender love, but who didn't like anything adventurous.

Excuse me, but I don't think so.  If I'd wanted to be like that, I'd have married the real Hercules.  No offence - Herc's a special guy and would make someone a wonderful husband - but having seen the two of them side by side.... well, I mean, enough said.

Oh, and you know some of those tricks you pride yourself on having taught him?  Well, I know Iph - he doesn't want to hurt your feelings, and that's why he hasn't told you.  But believe me, he and I had them down to an art form long before you came on the scene.

Having problems visualising it are you?  Well visualise this: the first formal dinner we held in the castle.  All the city's notables had been invited.  Dignitaries, nobility, prosperous merchants, you know the score.  Respectability stamped all over them.  We were both running a bit late getting ready.  I'd just changed and was putting my hair up when Iphicles came into the bedchamber.  He'd been out riding, checking reports of minor border raids.

"Can you give me a hand?" I asked him, having problems with the pins and not being able to see what I was doing.

He came up behind me and took the length of my hair in his hands.  But instead of holding it up so I could get the pins in, he let the length of it fall over his hands and bent his head to smell it.

"Iphicles," I rebuked him.  I was worried about this dinner.  The impression we made would be so important for the rest of his reign.  His answer was to move closer behind me so I could feel his long body against mine, his hand lightly brushing my hair away from one shoulder, his lips against my ear.

"Yes?" he whispered, his low voice casing me to shiver suddenly and press back against him.  He smelled of fresh sweat and horse.  His lips trailed down across my bared shoulder, and his arms slipped around my waist.

"You said you wanted a hand," he told me, his hand trailing down across my stomach, sending a jolt through my entire body, focusing in a sudden warm liquid melting.  I lifted my head and met his eyes in the looking glass.  I was breathing quickly.

"I do," I got out.  His hands now moved upwards and brushed lightly across my breasts.  My nipples had hardened under the dress and I watched in the mirror as he ran his fingers over them, again and again.  I was pressing back against him, feeling his erection hard against me.

I would have turned to him, but he kept me close against him, watching us in the mirror, watching his large hands cupping my breasts, running across my nipples.  With a strangled sound, I reached behind me to undo his pants, and took him in my hands.  His head went back and his eyes half-closed as they always did while I stroked him. I ran my fingers over the sensitive tip, running one back down the length of the shaft, feeling it move against my hand.

Anyway, I'm getting distracted here.  Nothing there to particularly disprove your story, is there Ares? Husband and wife have a quickie before guests arrive.  But that was just the beginning.  I was just setting the scene for you.  I sat beside him at dinner, talked polite nothings to the guests, was the airhead they expected so they didn't feel threatened.  And all the time I was aware, so aware, of the closeness of our seats and the long length of his thigh pressed against mine.

My hand dropped to his leg, feeling the soft warm leather under my fingers, running my hand along his thigh.

Meanwhile, I kept talking to the po-faced magistrate who sat opposite, smiling interestedly at his description of the latest death sentence he'd meted out, while my concentration remained on Iphicles, feeling his muscles tighten under my hand, stroking the soft leather. Stroking slowly, so very slowly, up the inside of his thigh, working higher and higher until my hand reached his cock which was now straining against his leather pants.

He made a sound then.  He couldn't help himself, and covered it immediately by pretending to choke on the wine he'd been drinking.

Smiling and talking, nodding encouragingly, graciously drawing an increasing circle into our conversation, I sucked-and-fucked him until I brought him off there and then under the table in front of every important man in Corinth.

"Your majesty?"  A particularly slimy type.  "Excuse me for asking your majesty, but are you alright? You look a little flushed."

Iphicles nodded wordlessly for a moment until he could trust his voice.  Covered inside his pants with his cum, his body still trembling from the effort of not making a noise. He swallowed.  "It is a little warm in here, don't you think?" he appealed to the gathering in general.

Desperate to please their new king, the idiots nodded, one or two even going so far as to shed their over tunics in the freezing great hall.

So we carry on with our meal.  Yum, nice olives.  I mean, how much conversation can one make with these brain-dead idiots?  I don't want to think about the fact that we're going to have to go through this torture regularly.  "Next time, you're on your own," I tell Iph quietly.

He shoots a glance at me.  "I thought I was *that* time," he says.

I smile as I look back at him, and at the sight of those intense eyes, the high cheekbones, dark hair framing his face and those full beautiful lips, I can't help it.

My tongue flicks out to moisten my suddenly dry lips. I'm just imagining him standing up, saying "Please excuse us, honoured guests, but I just have to go and fuck my wife.  I'll be back later."  His muscular arm is close against mine, bronzed and hard. Gods I love this man.  I love to fuck him, to be fucked by him, but more than anything, I love just being with him.

Then he's getting to his feet.  "Excuse us friends," he says, "But the queen is feeling a little overheated.  I'll just take her out to get some air."

Gods he is shameless!  And I love that about him too.  What *is* that 'inhibited' crap you're putting out about him?  He took me out of the hall and fucked me slow and hard against the wall of the corridor.  Anyone could have come along, could have opened the door to the great hall where we'd have been seen by everyone.  Anyone could have - maybe they did, I was certainly beyond noticing.

We walked back in a while later, his cum still dripping down my thighs, and at least I was flushed enough to lend some credence to his 'overheated' comment.

Anyway, that set a precedent.  After that it was a competition between us to see who could be the first to bring the other off at any formal dinner.  I know it was the thought of it that got him off as much as anything else.  The thought of sitting there in plain view  of all his guests and coming against my hand under the table.

Or of having the demure-seeming Queen of Corinth shifting in her seat as her husband's fingers slide up her thigh and slip inside her, stroking her, bringing her to the point where she wants to sweep the plates from the table and have him take her there and then, regardless of onlookers.  The times he fucked me on the table in his council room, knowing we could be walked in on at any minute.  The times we fucked on the throne, with the guards just outside the open doors.  He was - is - amazing.

But I guess I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, am I Ares?  You're lucky to have him.  And I don't expect to see him in the Elysian Fields any day soon.  I suspect you'll find a way to keep him with you always.

But I wonder if you know him as well as you think.  I wonder if you're half-way to believing the impression you've gone to such lengths to create in other people's minds.  I wonder, do you really believe he's submissive?  Do you really not know how he likes to take control?

The first time we did it was when he'd been invited to King Taisl's wedding.  He accepted the invitation - it was an honour for a Greek king to be invited, a reflection of the alliance forged by necessity on the battlefield turning to a real friendship.  I remember him explaining their customs to me, explaining that I would be expected to remain separate from the men, maintaining my reputation as a virtuous woman.

"While you...?" I pushed.

His lips twisted self-deprecatingly.  "While I try to find polite ways of refusing the dancing girls and other slaves they roll out for my 'entertainment'," he informed me.

I glared at him.  I was not happy about this.  Not at all.  "Hmph."

His eyebrows quirked at me, his eyes sparkling in amusement at my transparent jealousy.  "Excuse me?"

"I said 'hmph'," I snapped at him.  I was not taking this a joke, however much *he* might.  I might have to put up with being without him for days at a time, making small-talk with virtuous ladies, but it didn't mean I had to like it.

He kissed me.  "Rena, it's not like I want to do it," he told me, "It's just the way they do things there."

"So you'll be surrounded by beautiful slave girls will you?"  When I was like this I hated myself.  It was all because I loved him.  I couldn't bear the thought of being without him.  I still can't.

"And boys," he corrected me, his eyes glinting mischievously.  Then he saw my face and realised I really was upset.  "Rena, I have to go," he told me, "I'm king.  It's a hard job..."

"That's what I'm worried about," I muttered rebelliously.  Then it came to me.  Well, why not? I leaned up one elbow looking down at his face.  "Iphy," I coaxed, one hand slipping under the sheet and onto his chest, lightly stroking.

He looked up at me, the beginnings of suspicion dawning in those amber eyes.  "What?"

My hand explored just a bit further, skimmed teasingly past a nipple before coming back and stroking it gently, very gently, feeling it rise beneath my touch.  I pushed the sheet back and bent my head to it, taking it in my mouth, sucking it, running my tongue around and against it until he made a small noise of pleasure at the sensations it
was sending through him.  I judged my moment well.  "How about taking me with you as a *non*-virtuous  woman?" I suggested.

He frowned, not understanding.  "You said they have slaves for your entertainment," I reminded him, my mouth against his ear, my fingers gently rolling his nipple still.  "Why don't I go with you as your own personal entertainment slave?"  And with that I returned my mouth to his nipple and bit it gently before looking back up at him.

He'd arched backwards at the sensation my mouth sent through him, but controlled himself quickly.  "No," he said as soon as he was thinking with his brain again, "We can't do that.  What if anybody ever found out?"

"I'll be in disguise," I reassured him, then moved my mouth to his other nipple, sucking and licking until it too was rock-hard and he was breathing fast.  "And just think," I encouraged him, my mouth moving lower, "I'd be your slave."  My tongue swirled around his navel, then flicked out to briefly touch his aching cock.  He groaned and moved involuntarily.  "No," he was saying again.  "We can't..."

My tongue flicked at him again, and then I was kneeling between his legs, pressing them further apart to trail my tongue up his inner thighs, licking them then grazing them with my teeth, biting gently, soft bites all the way up before I took him in my mouth as he arched back against the sheets.  I rolled my tongue around the head of his cock and
looked up at him again.

"I'd be your slave.  I'd have to do anything you told me to," I reminded him.  The surge of arousal which that promise caused in him took us both by surprise.  He nearly came then and there.  The idea obviously did something for him.

We put out the information that I was going to visit my mother while he was away, and I dyed my hair, just temporarily, to be on the safe side.  It was supposed to turn out blonde, but ended up an unusual coppery colour - a bit ostentatious for my tastes. Iph seemed rather taken by it though.

So that's how it was that I was standing behind his chair that night when the feasting had finished and the men sat comfortably sprawled in seats dotted around the room.  They were talking, nothing deep, nothing political, just the sort of stuff that men talk about when they're together.  Battle stories, sex stories, and weirdest of all, battle *and*
sex stories.

I had to stand there silently of course, just making sure Iph's goblet remained filled with wine, that he had enough sweetmeats close to hand to nibble on, ready to do anything he might command me, but the rest of the time I listened hard.  To be honest, I hadn't realised quite how broad-minded Iph was. But even he was weirded out by the hamster tale, I could tell.

I could also tell that he'd been slightly excited all night.  My submission, my deference, the knowledge that he could tell me to do anything and I'd have to do it, not to mention my minimal clothing, were really turning him on.

As the evening went on, the wine flowed and the talk became even more explicit.  I brushed against him when refilling his goblet and the desire in his dark eyes made my breathing ragged.  It was only moments later that, with a slight inclination of his head, he ordered me to my knees in front of him.  I did as he commanded.  He opened his legs before me.  I could see his excitement and, keeping my eyes lowered as a good slave should, reached out my hand.

He pushed it away.  "Your mouth," his voice was raw with lust.  "Suck me."

Well, I didn't need telling twice.  And as I knelt there with his hard cock in my mouth, I could feel the control he was exerting over himself.  I was his slave, he wasn't going to fuck my mouth, I was going to have to do all the work.  Like I said, fine with me.  And he carried on the conversation he'd been having as though nothing was happening, as though the Queen of Corinth wasn't on her knees in front of him, blowing him off in public.

I was aware of a lull in the conversation after a while. Iphicles' breath was coming hard now as he leaned back in his seat, my mouth working up and down his shaft, every now and then pulling back enough to swirl my tongue around that leaking tip, tasting his essence, before I took him all the way in again.

My main concentration was on him, pleasing him, but I was aware of voices.  A disapproving question. Sorbonis, I thought.  He'd held back from the drinking earlier, hadn't produced any particularly juicy stories of his own, and had been frankly appalled at the mention of the hamster.

"It's a Corinthian after-dinner custom," Iphicles slightly breathlessly informed him.

Disapproving rumble again.

"Well that's because it's a *new* custom," Iph was having trouble both breathing and talking.  "But it's one I'm most definitely encouraging."  With that his hands were in my hair, holding my head down as his hips bucked and he shot his hot seed into my mouth and down my throat, again and again until he had finished.

"When can I visit Corinth?" Someone was asking.

Iphicles was fastening his pants without so much as a look at me.  I stood quietly to my feet and resumed my place behind his chair, eyes modestly lowered.

Later I accompanied him to his allocated bedchamber, as a good slave should.  He ordered me to undress him.  I obeyed, of course.  I mean, I was his slave.

But once I had peeled his clothes from him, without a word to me he walked into the bathing area and got into the bath that the household slaves had prepared earlier.  I folded his clothes and then, hesitantly as he hadn't told me to, but unable to resist, followed him into the bathing area.  He held out a soapstone in one imperious hand.  "Wash me."

Well, I did.  I lathered the soap between my hands and began to move them across his hard muscular body.  His dark hair was damp at the ends where it brushed the water, and I moved it forward to soap his shoulders and back properly.  My hands slipped over his water-slicked, tanned body, then I started to wash his chest, muscles firm, nipples hard under my ministrations.

I felt as though I was drowning at the sensations this was sending through me.  To be so close to him, to touch him all over, but unable to do what I wanted without his permission.   Oh but I'd have him when this game was over - I'd chain him to the bed if need be (it wasn't as though we hadn't done that before) but I'd make sure my desperate desire was satisfied finally.

With a sudden surge he got to his feet and stood to let me clean his lower body and legs.  And gods.  I mean Gods.  When I say he had an erection, I mean He Had. An. Erection.  He was so hard, so excited, that it was all I could do not to jump him then and there.  But I had to do what he told me.  I included it in my ablutions, but only briefly, unable to trust myself. Then I turned my attention to his legs, running soapy hands up and down them.

When he decided I'd finished, he stepped out of the bath and stood there.  I suddenly realised he was expecting to be dried and hastily picked up the bath sheet which had been left out.  It was soft, so soft under my hands as I used it to dry off every inch of his beautiful body.  And then, when he'd had enough, without a word he walked back out to the bedchamber.

And that was the first time I'd ever hated my husband.  He lay on his back on the bed, not even looking at me, and he stroked himself.  Took his cock in his hand and stroked it, lovingly, temptingly, a finger rolling over the head where it
was already weeping, wiping off the moisture and raising the finger to his full lips and extending his tongue to lick it off before sliding it between those lips and sucking it.

I thought I was going to kill him.  That or explode in frustration. But I just had to watch as he stroked himself idly.  His finger passed over the tip again, taking more moisture, then he started to rub it over his own nipples.  His head tipped back on the pillows, his eyes half-closed and his teeth bit down on his lower lip.  I heard a whimper, and took a moment to realise it was me.

Eventually he stopped.  His finger very deliberately rubbed over the head of his cock again, and then he held it out to me.  "Suck it," he commanded, not even looking at me.  Gods, I was on my knees beside him faster than you can believe, my mouth surrounding his finger and licking at it, sucking it, tasting him on it, then taking it in all the
way, desperately wishing it was his cock, sucking, playing it with my tongue, gently nipping at it before he withdrew it from me.  I knelt there, watching his hand return to his cock.  He wasn't even bringing himself off, just tantalisingly moving his hand over it.

Finally, at last, at long last he rolled his head sideways on the pillow and looked at me.  "Take your clothes off," he commanded.

I did.

"Lie down on the floor."

I did.

"Touch yourself."

I did.

And then I thought I wouldn't be able to stop. With an animal growl he was suddenly on me, rolling off the bed and on top of me, pinning my hands to the floor.  "Do you want me?" he asked, the tip of his cock teasing me, pushing against my wetness but not enough, not far enough.

"Yes," I panted.  "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please my Lord."

He thrust very slightly into me.  A foretaste, nothing more.  I moaned.  His eyes were dark with desire and pulled at my very soul, his hair falling down around his face as he looked down at me.  "Please," I begged, then lost all control as he pushed into me.  Slowly, sheathing himself fully.  "Oh Gods," I gasped, "Oh Gods."  He moved slowly, tantalisingly, moving all the way in and then out again, driving me crazy under him.  I was hanging onto him, my nails ripping his back to shreds as he thrust deep inside, again and again, harder and harder, until I was screaming with the sensation and with a groan wrenched from deep within himself, Iphicles finally came.  He collapsed forward onto me and kissed my sweating shoulder.  "Rena," he whispered when he was able.

I wrapped my arms around him and held him so tightly.  My king.  My precious wonderful husband. "I love you," I told him.  "I'll love you forever."

And the thing is, it's true.  I still love him as much now as I did then.  And that's why I want to see you make him happy Ares.  He deserves it.

I know you think you're such a stud Ares - the great god of war himself.  That's why you've put out this tale about how much he needs you in order to find true sexual fulfilment.  It also excuses you spending so much time with him.  It means you don't have to confess to your feelings for him.

You can pretend it's just the sex.  I know it's more than that Ares.  Maybe it's because it's a feeling I'm so familiar with myself, but every time I see you look at him, your eyes give you away.  But tell me Ares, would you do what I did for him?  Would you ever yield all your precious control to him?  Would you trust him enough to let him order you, control you as he chose?

I thought not - you're so predictable.  Well, let me tell you, you don't know what you're missing.  What was it Iphicles always used to say to me?  'If you love somebody, chain them up'.  So why don't you try it Ares - give him the control.  You never know, you might just like it.  And I know *he* would.

Oh, and by the way - if you do ever try it, be sure to tell me about it.

The End