Iphicles reached down his tight leather pants, wondering for the hundredth time why in Tartarus he was even going through with this. He knew why he was going through with it, the same reason he had for everything. To please his lover. It had all started innocently enough, at least as innocent as you can get while in bed with the God of Love.
"I want you..." were all the words Cupid could say before Iphicles captured his mouth in a delicious kiss. Slowly going to his knees, the king paid attention to his lover's nipples and well muscled abdomen before reaching his goal. With a fluid motion, the king engulfed the god's cock.
"Iph, if you ever want a divine position, the God of Cocksucking job is all yours."
Iphicles slurped loudly in response. It had taken many nights of practice, but Iphicles could finally take all of Cupid's cock into his mouth until he felt the head brushing the back of his throat.He then began to rock slightly, fucking his own mouth. A sudden rush of air as Cupid's wings spread signaled his climax. Iphicles swallowed every drop, then pulled Cupid to him on the rug.
"I'm serious, babe. I want you to come to a party on Olympus with me. Don't worry, you won't be the only mortal. Even better, it's a masquerade ." Cupid said that last bit with a grin that was infectious. Iphicles shivered as he heard the words, 'masquerade'.
Even after all this time, he was still embarrassed about his doomed attempt to disguise himself as Hercules. Cupid didn't seem to notice as he went on about the romance of masks and secret lovers.
"Costume? Could I be a pirate?" Iphicles laughed at how silly it sounded, but them images of holding Cupid as his prisoner made the smile on his handsome face turn much more feral. The rest of the day and most of the evening was spent as the Dread Pirate Iphicles, Greece's most notorious scoundrel conquered his prize bounty, the God of Love.
Iphicles had almost forgotten about the whole thing until he woke up to find strange clothing on his bed. All of it black leather, from the boots to the vest that exposed more than it covered of his chest. He watched the outfit as one of the servants filled his tub. The clothing seemed to give off heat of its own volition. Shaking off these thoughts,
he slipped into the warm water.
The king closed his eyes, imagining the tight leather encasing his body. He could feel its softness against his cock, teasing him to arousal. Maybe one of the many studs on the vest would be at the right angle to rub against his nipples, leaving him in a state of subtle pleasure-pain.
As Iphicles reached down to stroke his cock, the images grew more real and decidedly darker. The weight of a whip in his hand, sticky blood covering his cock as he fucked a bruised but still beautiful ass. The strength of his orgasm surprised him, he'd never felt that kind of rush. Rising quickly, he dried himself and began to dress.
Which is how Iphicles ended up covered in black leather with an ornate sword hanging from his hip. He was about to say fuck it and change, when he felt soft lips nibbling at the sensitive spot behind his ear.
"Beautiful, baby, almost perfect, just let me make one teeny adjustment."
Iphicles felt Cupid's fingers slide through his hair, causing a curious vibration. When he looked in the glass again, his bright copper hair had turned black as night, the curls tousled and shining. It made him look like he'd been just been fucked. It obviously looked good to Cupid, Iphicles could feel the god's cock pressing into his ass.
"Isn't it great? I had to get Strife to help me swipe this from Ares. Definitely worth it, lover." Iphicles looked at the god, a frown on his face as he saw no costume on his lover. "What are you going to wear?" He asked, trying to not sound like a whining child.
"Oh just you watch, it's going to be fabulous!" With that, Cupid began to glow. His wings shimmered, then disappeared. Iphicles gasped as he saw the rippling muscles of Cupid's shoulders without the wings. His blond hair changed to a dark brown, and a wreath of laurels crowned his head. His clothes became those of a soldier, the crest of Rome emblazoned on his chest covering.
"Caesar? You're going as Julius Caesar??" Iphicles asked incredulously.
"Yep, and if you're good, maybe we can try some Greco-Roman wrestling later. Right now, it's off to Olympus."
Iphicles closed his eyes as he disappeared from the castle.
Olympus was everything and nothing like Iphicles imagined. Large, airy rooms, tapestries adorning most of the walls. What surprised the king was that for every shard of light was a shadow twice its size waiting to take its place. His survival instincts were screaming at him to leave NOW. He almost did, until a firm hand grabbed his ass. Then his lustful instincts told his survival instincts to fuck off.
Iphicles turned and was lost in a sea of midnight feathers. A voice drifted to his ear. "I love costumes, don't you? You can be whomever you want to be." The controlled voice laughed. "Or in your case, who someone else wants you to be."
Iphicles turned toward his companion. Billowing black wings folding against a muscled chest glistening with sweat. Iphicles was nearly mesmerized as a single drop maneuvered around a peaked nipple heading toward an obvious bulge in the stranger's pants. He could not think of who this person was supposed to be, until he remembered his Cupid telling him of an alternate world. A world where Cupid was the God of
War. A bloodthirsty maniac, by all accounts. The utter stillness of this person was the only flaw in the masquerade.
"Who are you?" the king asked.
"Does it matter? Whether I wear the wings of a god, or my own skin, I am true to myself. My mind, my desire, my life is my own. Wouldn't you like to say the same?" As he finished speaking the man touched Iphicles' temple.
With that slight touch, a change happened within Iphicles. A rage had starting building . He had to get away from these gods, before they destroyed him. He had to find Cupid, he had to go home.
"What in Tartarus do you think you're doing, Caesar?" someone wearing the countenance of the Warrior Princess asked the black winged man.
"Ares, I knew you were enraptured of our beloved Xena, but this is extreme. I was simply seeing who this Iphicles is. I mean, not only does he have the Gods of Love and War panting after that tight ass, but he could also be a useful pawn in my destiny."
"I'm warning you, Caesar. Touch one hair on his head..."
"Don't worry, lover. I'm more concerned with what's in his head, not the mop covering it. With that, he extended his wings, flying after the king.
Iphicles ran through the Halls of Olympus as if every conceivable monster were hot on his heels. Escape, escape, the word became a mantra to keep him going through the corridors as they grew darker. Each turn led to even more pathways, he was too lost to even consider going back to the banquet hall. The sound of the sword clanging as he ran was so loud that he almost didn't hear a broken voice calling his name. He turned toward the sound, which seemed to be coming from the room to his left. He almost kept going, but the pain was so evident in that one whisper, he couldn't stop himself from opening the door. For the rest of his life, Iphicles would wish that he had never stopped running.
Ares looked around the hall, searching for Iphicles. Even he didn't know what perversion Caesar was up to tonight, but he knew it couldn't be good. He finally sighted Cupid as Caesar, and was about to go ask him where the king was, when he was stopped by a very strange sight. Two Strifes were before him, grinning in that unsettling way he had. He dropped the facade of Xena, hoping that it would scare his nephew into leaving him to his task.
“Greetings, Unc. It's me Strife, great costume, dontcha think?”
“No way, bonehead, I'm the real Strife. You're that incompetent Deimos. Had any good split personalities lately?”
“Bonehead? You bad hair, pale faced, got yourself killed by Callisto moron, are calling me a bonehead?”
“Yes, and obviously I didn't get myself killed, as you say. I'm here, aren't I?”
“Yeah, 'cause you annoyed Hades so badly he let you out of the Underworld.”
The bickering stopped at Ares’ forceful shout. “Now I want one, just one of you to tell me where Iphicles is.”
“Which one?” the pair asked.
“You mean there's someone masquerading as Iphicles?”
“Maybe. We meant which one us do you want to tell you where little Iphy is hiding.”
“Be careful, he always lies,” one Strife pointed to the other.
“No, he's the liar, see, he's lying right now. I always tell the truth to you, Unc.”
“You tell me where Iphicles is now!” Ares demanded of the Strife to his right.
“Wrong choice, Unc,” the Strife on the left said gleefully.
Ares watched as the godling he was currently holding by the throat changed into Deimos.
“Sorry, please play again later. Good Luck.” Deimos said before both he and Strife
Ares made a mental note to deal with those two later. Something painful and slow. He'd speak to Hephaestus about getting some special toys for the occasion. First, he had to find Caesar. He knew wherever the emperor was lurking, the king would not be far behind. The war god stalked through the hall, receiving mixed looks of fear and desire from the revelers. He wondered what he looked like to them. He could feel his cock growing harder by the second, the rush of hunting a potent drug. He was so focused on finding his prey, that he nearly ran past Cupid. He pulled the god away from the Fury he was currently charming, to a quieter spot.
“Where in Tartarus is Iphicles, Cupid?”
"How'd you know it was me? How do I know who you are?" Cupid asked of the
silently glaring war god.
“Ares? It must be really you, no one can flare those nostrils like that.” Cupid joked.
“This is no time for games, Cupid. Where is Iphicles?”
“I don't know, but if something has got you this worked up, it worries me. Let's go find the king, shall we?” Both gods disappeared.
As Cupid and Ares each took a separate wing of the Olympian Hall, the object of their search was about to get the surprise of his life. Iphicles looked around the corridor, hoping to see a familiar face. When none was forthcoming, he opened the door to the chamber. The room was nothing spectacular, like so many he had seen in his life. What was in the room, was the most extraordinary thing Iphicles had ever seen.
In the center of the room, was a pillar of a dark marble. Iphicles blinked. No, it couldn't be. Cupid was shackled to the pillar, his naked skin shining in the flickering light. The love god's eyes were dilated in ecstasy, as the sweat and what could only be blood poured from him. Blood obviously drawn by the whip of Cupid's companion, Ares. Iphicles watched as Ares lashed his prisoner's chest over and over with a most unusual whip. It had a black leather handle, but the lashes ended in silken roses, and the cords were dotted with silver thorns. He could almost feel those thorns in his own skin,
when he heard his name mentioned.
"Ares, thank you so much for rescuing me from that weakling, Iphicles. I tried to get him to be more like you, I even had Strife steal some of your clothes. Nothing worked. He just didn't have your strength."
Another lash. "Tell me who you belong to, Cupid. Who owns your body, mind, and soul to use and abuse as I see fit?"
"You do, Ares." Another lash.
"Are you ready for me to fuck that ass?" Another lash, which turns into a sort of a caress, as Ares brings the handle of the whip down across Cupid's cock. Slowly, he begins to fuck the bleeding god with it.
"Are you ready for my cock?"
"Yes, Ares, please fuck me in a way Iphicles never could."
Ares began to pull off his clothing slowly, eliciting another gasp or moan from Cupid as each inch of skin was revealed. A strong shoulder, a nipple peaked, tight abdomen. Finally, Ares' huge cock was freed, curving upward and toward Cupid's body. He slowly approached the love god, discarding the whip for a wide candle.
Standing between Cupid's stretched thighs, Ares began to fuck the chained god. As he set a rhythm, Ares placed the candle over one of Cupid's nipples, tipping it slightly to coat the aching pebble with wax. Cupid's screams of pleasure and pain echoed throughout the room.
In, out, in out. Iphicles couldn't tear his eyes away from the motion. The voices in his head were screaming. All the ones that had said he was weak, worthless. Even his own mother had never really believed in him. Anything he'd ever gotten was by default. His crown only because Hercules didn't want it. His wife because she had first thought him to be Hercules. The only one who he thought was different was Cupid. Cupid loved him for him. Iphicles cursed himself a dozen kinds of fool. He had often been told that he
resembled the god of war. What more proof did he need than Cupid's choice of
costume for his lover, and his reaction to it. He slipped out of the room without ever being noticed.
If Cupid wanted it rough, he was going to get it.