The Letter of the Law
The craftsmen who'd built Iphicles' bed had made a handsome piece of furniture designed for breeding generations of Corinthian monarchs. After years of devoted waxing, the Circassian Walnut glowed with a mellow gold patina. The tester hung with rich damask draperies, the ten-foot posts were turned with beaded reeding; the high headboard and footboard were carved with intricate arabesques. It was heavy enough to rupture Atlas. But boy did it squeak when it rocked.
And the damn thing was rocking now-right up against the wall on the other side of Hercules' bed. The steady rhythmic pounding echoed through the stucco, the lath, his bed, his body, and just went on and on and. . .Hercules pulled the pillow out from under and jammed it over his head. That helped. Blocked most of the sound, but now he could feel it - ka-chunka, ka-chunka, ka-chunka. . .
He'd told Iph that he didn't mind staying at a tavern in town, but Iphicles had gotten 'that' look on his face. The one that told the whole world Iph was thinking Herc thought he was such a saint he wouldn't stay in sinful luxury when he could enjoy morally uplifting squalor. Then came 'Oh right! Oh, never mind! followed by the pathetic, sullen, whipped puppy look got to him every time. So he'd given in, and -- gods, they must be going for a 'personal best' tonight!
He took the pillow off and put it back under his head. What was wrong with 'him'? Why couldn't he tell Iphicles that he was just too embarrassed? He was dying. Everyone in Corinth knew what was going on between his brothers. One of these days he was going to ask Ares if he'd noticed an upswing in the number of petitioners coming to his temples in the morning. (Rumor had it that the god was always in a better mood in the morning these days.) He glared at the wall over his head. Wonder why? And the servants! He'd heard them giggling. They were keeping score and making book on which piece of furniture was gonna go next. (How in Tartarus could a rectory table get split in half like that? Maybe the iron rings on either side of each end had something to do with it.) 'They aren't related,' he'd wanted shout 'If they wanna fuck like weasels all night, it's nobody's business but theirs.'
Really, it was none of his business but.he looked down between his legs and snarled, "and it's none of your business either!" His cock waved back at him and said, "right Herc! You are absolutely right.but can't you just 'see' it?"
And he could-that was the trouble. He could see Iphicles on his knees worshipping Ares' cock with his mouth. He could picture his brother's tongue lapping up the clear juice from the blunt head before swallowing it whole. (He groaned because that image was accompanied by muffled slurping sounds from next door and Ares' voice urging someone to 'take it all and suck me hollow, you beautiful bitch.' Didn't they realize you could hear everything through that damn wall?)
He could visualize Iphicles on his face with Ares ramming into him. In his mind he heard the moist slapping sound of flesh hitting flesh. He pictured the god's ass and thigh muscles working, sweat pooling in the small of his back as he bent over Iphicles, his powerful hands gripping the king so hard they left bruises on Iph's body. (Didn't they realize everyone would see them the next day?)
He could imagine Iphicles on his back, bent double with his legs over Ares' shoulders, that huge pecker sliding in and out. . . in and out. . . over and over. . . as Ares keened. 'Oh, shut up!' He stuck his fingers in his ears. . .and. . . he was going to pound on the wall himself in a moment. . .And worst of all--Iphicles sitting in Ares' lap with his head lolling blissfully on the god's shoulder and all that god-cock crammed up his ass and the god's arms around his waist, hands flying up and down the king's glistening scepter. . . up and down. . . (It sounded like little chunks of plaster were falling off the ceiling.) . . .over and over.
His own godly (okay, 'demigodly') cock bounced up and down on his belly hollering 'Me! Me! Look at me!'
Considering how much they annoyed him individually, Iph and Ares deserved each other but. . .Hercules smiled ruefully at his cock, gave up and put the pillow under his ass. There was just something about the picture of his brothers glutting each other that was too hot to resist. He let his thighs fall open and, when he took himself in hand and began stroking, his cock practically purred its pleasure.
He sighed, wallowing in the guilty thrill of giving into to temptation, and massaged his balls with one hand. He could hear, "Now. I need you in me now! Give it to me you fucking, selfish, cock-sucking'. . . (Well, that was as close as close as Ares was ever going to get to begging, he supposed.) 'Oh, yeah'. . . He sucked on the middle finger of his right hand. That was an incredible image, too: Iph plowing a furrow in the god's ass. He felt below his sac and inserted the finger into his butt as far as it would go. Then he closed his eyes and just went with the beat.
Thank Zeus they 'could' keep it up forever, he'd time to catch up and let the cadence take him. He could almost pretend that it was Iphicles' hand on his rod and Ares' finger up his butt. He got so caught in it, it was almost as though he were there in the room with them banging out the ancient rhythm. The bed next door squealed like a flute, the wall echoed like a drum. And when his hot seed geysered up splattering his belly, it was a crescendo with cymbals and cannons that flung him out into the aether so far that his brain was still buzzing while he realized he was as liberally bespattered with plaster dust as he was with cum. Part of that grand climax had been the clap of thunder as the bed next door collapsed.
Hercules didn't bother with a robe. He flew out of his room and was in Iphicles' bedchamber a few steps behind the king's guards but ahead any other guest stumbling out of their room to wonder if it was the Sythians who'd laid siege during the night.
"Iph! Iph! Are you all right?" He could hear his brother swearing somewhere under the mess. The bed-boards had given way and the mattress had fallen through bringing the whole works down on top of whoever had been in it. He dove in, frantically pulling up damask and pieces of lumber and handing them off to the guards and courtiers as they entered. A cloud of feathers blew up in his face and he found Iphicles face down laughing hysterically. Only Iphicles.
"Hey, Herc!" Iphicles said, lifting his face out of s ripped pillow. "What a rush!"
His brother still had one ankle tied to a post with what looked like a star studded leather belt, but there was no sign of anyone else. Hercules was so relieved that he would have smacked him-if they hadn't had an audience--and if Iphicles weren't king. Instead, hoping no one else noticed, he unsnapped the belt and helped his brother up.
Then he was infuriated and awed to watch Iphicles pull his royal demeanor about him along with the sheet he knotted at his waist. Even plastered in odd spots with goose feathers, there was no doubt who was king, as Iphicles gravely thanked everyone who had come to the rescue party and directed the servants to pick up the mess and find him another bed.
The man had no shame, none whatsoever.
What Iphicles had was a thin piece of cotton with a wet spot on it wrapped around his waist that he kept hitching up because it kept slipping. And showing off the belt of muscle that girdled his hips and the tapering point of that dark, curly arrow shaped thatch pointing to. . . one of the maids giggled reminding Hercules that 'he' was only wearing his dignity. He turned red and stalked out knowing Iphicles' smile, with just a tip of tongue showing, was following him all the way.
Back in his own room, he lit a candle so he could dust off the sheets, grabbed the pillow off the floor and crawled back into bed, feeling sorry for himself. The candlelight made black shadows in the corners of the room. It was all a mess. And how come, no matter what happened, he was always the one who wound up feeling embarrassed?
He was finally drifting off when an arm slipped around his waist and soft lips tickled his ear. Still pissed; he tried to pretend he sleeping. But the insistent tongue sticking in his ear and the impudent hand tickling his navel as it reached to brush the smears of dried cum on his cock were impossible to ignore. A deep chuckle made butterflies take off in his stomach. He tried to stifle a giggle and wound up snorting instead.
He rolled over. His chin was taken between a thumb and forefinger, he was thoroughly kissed. "I knew you wouldn't be able to wait." Ares sounded smug.
Hercules took the god's hand, kissed it and folded it over his cock. "If that performance was for my benefit," he said, "it worked."
The god said, "umm," in his ear and sucked on the lobe. He took his hand off of Hercules' cock and cupped his head. "Not entirely for your benefit, little brother. If I can't watch you doing each other, somebody's going to pay for it."
"It would be incest. A king should set example of moral probity," he said.
"Moral hypocrisy, is more like it." Ares' voice was hoarse when he spoke again.
Then he snickered as Hercules blushed. He stuck a tongue in the demigod's mouth and chewed and nibbled on his lips until they were swollen and tingling while teasing his nipples into tender little points that sent painfully pleasurable jolts to Hercules' cock and made it nose around for some tactile comfort.
Finally Ares' hand moved lower on its own and started doing some of the sweet things to him that he'd earlier imagined being done to Iphicles. He spread his knees to give better access and caught his breath as a slick finger penetrated his ass. His cock stood up straighter as he pushed down on the first intruder and more fingers began to work him. He groaned as one found the sweet spot inside, and he whimpered when it went away.
Ares rolled between his legs and abruptly lifted his knees up, completely exposing him, and started to torment his starving hole with the promise of that hot, thick shaft. "I don't understand you two. It gets him so hot imagining what I do to you," Ares said, "he might as well be in here doing it with me." It was a damned inconvenient time for a discussion of Iphicles' hang-ups. Hercules growled.
"What?" Ares inquired. "Did you say something?"
He threw his head back and closed his eyes, feeling harassed. "Please," he begged. And was breached.
With his eyes closed, the rest of his senses were overwhelmed as the thick shaft sank into him and a dark, rich perfume filled his head. His ass, slowly filling with the god's cock, tingled and throbbed until he felt Ares' balls softly slap his buttocks. Hands lifted him higher, draped his legs over powerful shoulders so that he was almost bent double. Then Ares pulled out until just the head of his cock was inside his ass; he posed withholding the down stroke and bent over to whisper, "Just before the bed fell, I almost persuaded him that if you put me in the middle, you wouldn't be touching each other."
His ass muscles contracted involuntarily. Ares began pumping, the strokes hard and powerful, riding as though he were one of War's stallions. He thought he was going to be split in half. Drops of sweat fell in his face. Heat gathered at the root of his cock.
The strokes started to come faster-short and brutally hard, but he started to laugh as he realized the bed was thumping against the wall a quarter beat behind each stroke. He hoped Iphicles was having a good time. In communion with him, Ares reached down to twist his nipples, laughing too. His mouth was so close that Hercules could take each puff of warm air for a breath of his own.
The inarticulate crying in his ears was his own voice until Ares covered his mouth and fluttered his tongue inside. His cock erupted then; hot thick fluid cascaded down his stomach as Ares filled his ass. The boundaries of flesh between them dissolved for an eternity.
When he came back to himself, his legs were down and Ares was rubbing his thighs. The god's cock was still embedded in his ass, though, and still hard. He open his eyes, Ares rocked gently and an outgush of semen drenched his buttocks and the bed beneath him. The hot, wet sensation induced a shadow of his orgasm and his muscle contracted again.
Ares reached under and dabbled his fingers in the cream and said, "If you won't commit incest with each other, tell me what this is."
He reached up to stroke his brother's beautiful face and protested. "It's not the same, you and I didn't grow up together."
Ares took one of his ankles, eased it carefully over his head, twisting his own body as he manipulated Hercules.' Briefly they lay spooned and the demigod arched his spine, straining to push himself onto his brother's big cock as far as he could. With a thrust of powerful thighs, Ares pulled them both upright.
Hercules sat in the god's lap completely impaled. Overcome with rapture he let his head fall back. Ares bit his shoulder, fondled his engorging sex and said. "Iphicles is next door. He's imagining me doing this to you, so tell me what this is."
The god's hands lubricated by their blended seed flew up and down on his cock. He imagined Iphicles was kneeling in front of them, mouth poised as though to drink from a fountain. "It's a sacrifice," he said, pressing his cheek against his brother's so that Ares only had to turn a little for his kiss. "It's a compromise," he whispered starting to spasm. His cum overflowing the god's hands as he told him, "It's love."