Cupid and Psycho

My mom is a slut.

What do you expect of the Goddess of "Love" anyway? Granted, she's pretty hot for a woman her age, but, really - how about a few standards there, lady? (And if I told you exactly how old that is, she'd have my head on a platter. Yes. THAT head.) But no. Instead, she's more than willing to fuck anything with a Y chromosome. No wonder Vulcan left her for one of Vesta's ex-devotees. At least with a former temple virgin, he had a chance to go where no man had gone before. Or was that come where no man ha... whatever.

Nice job, Mom.

But she's not why I'm here.

Well, OK. She IS why I'm here. If it wasn't for Mom's insecurities, I would never have met Psyche in the first place.

I'm sure you've heard about at least a few of my mother's escapades. Just ask any of the other Immortals. They'll tell you that when it comes to her beauty and sex appeal, Venus doesn't have issues - she has a fucking subscription. Mere rumors of mortal competition are enough to drive her to acts of vengeful jealousy. Since she also happens to be the Goddess of Beauty, Mom usually takes care of these things herself by afflicting the poor girl with a nasty case of acne or cellulite, but I guess she felt that Psyche could still pose a threat despite those things. She wasn't willing to take that chance, so my dearest mother asked me to do her dirty work for her.

I take it that you're at least familiar with my MO? All it takes is a nick with one of my darts and BINGO! Instant amorous addiction. We're not talking love here. It's all about lust. Ah, let me switch to Greek for a moment. They call me Eros. It's the root of the word "erotic." My darts kick off the process. The romantic stuff may or may not follow. You don't believe that I still used arrows, do you? How archaic. Think tranquilizer rifle, instead. I like to roll with the times. I can make you wetter, hotter, harder... we have the technology.

Anyway, Mom asked me to snipe her competition and set her up to fall for the ugliest and most despicable man on earth. I told her that I would try to squeeze her in between my scheduled hits and she finally dropped the subject. I finally got a chance a few days later. I was in her area anyway, so I thought I'd get it over with. I quickly homed in on her and positioned myself for the shot, running through a list of suitably unappealing paramours. I was torn between Donald Trump and William Shatner, but all thoughts of bad comb-overs and toupees vanished when I got a good look at my target through my scope.

Psyche was the most gorgeous creature I had ever had the pleasure of almost shooting. Tall and slender, with just enough padding in the right places to soften the edges... High, firm breasts that bounced just enough to let you know that they were indeed real... Mahogany hair which spilled in thick waves down her back to brush the luscious curves of her ass... Skin like fresh cream spilled over pale amber...

The woman was Sex, personified.

And you guessed it. I just couldn't go through with it.

That would have to wait until after I had fucked her in ways that only an Immortal could.

I knew that Mom would be pissed when she learned that I hadn't followed through with her order, but hey, she's not the only one around here who needs to get laid every once in a while. Can I help it if I'm a little more discriminating than she is? Fuck. Even Bacchus is pickier and he's blind drunk 99.9% of the time.

My only chance of dodging Mom would be to persuade Psyche to sneak away with me as soon as possible. Lucky for me, that wasn't as tough as I thought it would be.

It seemed that she and my mother had a lot more in common than just unearthly beauty.

Psyche was a high-end call girl.

Yes, my love-of-the-moment was paid by the hour, or so my sources assured me. So I booked her as soon as she had an opening and that was still almost a week away. Between the premiums for short notice service and special requests, this was the most I'd ever spent on a woman, in any context. Fortunately, while she preferred cash, she also accepted the Olympian Express Card. In addition to my number and expiration date, I provided her with a time, place and a list of the things I'd be requiring of her for the session.

I was set.

So why didn't I "just use the darts?" I'm not personally responsible for making everyone on the face of the earth fall in love, you know. I just make you people horny. For the most part, love takes care of itself. The darts are reserved for those who are meant for epic romances. We're talking "'Til Death Do Us Part" kind of stuff and I wasn't looking for commitment. All I really wanted was a decent lay. Besides, it would have eliminated what little challenge still remained in the situation and if I, Cupid, the God of Desire, wasn't able to seduce a woman, albeit a prostitute, it was time for me to retire.

I spent the next five days constantly thinking about Psyche. I resumed my hunts, but my heart (no pun intended) wasn't it. I found myself fantasizing about what she would feel like beneath me instead of focusing on my work. Was she a screamer or a gasper? A moaner? Pink or brown nipples? Shaved or trimmed?

I botched at least half a dozen hits over the first two days. Most were harmless misses, but in one instance, instead of hitting a 19 year old Mormon missionary, my dart sank into the thigh of a tiny little old lady who was out walking her pair of Yorkshire terriers. So he won't be falling head-over-heels for the 39 year old cougar in the next house he was to visit and instead, he will be pursued by a geriatric great grandmother who will be trading in her Yorkies for bloodhounds in order to track down the sexually inexperienced man-boy of her dreams.

It's a problem I've been working on for centuries now. It used to be that anyone I hit would immediately lust for the next person they saw -- sex, race and bubonic plague bedamned. I eventually got the hang of imprinting individual darts with certain impressions, customizing them to work more effectively on their intended targets. Regardless, when one goes awry and hits an unsuspecting victim, the dart reverts to its original nature.

The kid doesn't have too much to worry about. That old woman has only half a dozen years left, max and if he's lucky, senility will set in soon and she'll forget who the fuck he is.

So yeah, I was pretty much worthless on the job. I decided, why bother? I only had a few more days until she was mine. Work could wait. Instead, I dug out my camera and followed Psyche around snapping shots of her incredible ass... and amazing tits... terrific legs.

Stalking? I was NOT. Immortals are supposed to watch humans, remember? You're always begging for our attentions. And you dare to complain when we humor you? You might want to reconsider your assessment.

Surveillance. There you go. Much better.

Finally, the big day arrived and I actually felt much calmer that morning. I squeezed in at least 15 hits that morning, a good thing since I had some catching up to do. The day passed quickly and I headed directly to the hotel room to clean myself up and wait for her. Yeah. A hotel room. Do you want the rest of the story or not?

I had given her a set of directions to follow for the course of the evening. Nothing too unusual. I'm sure that in her line of work, she's seen much stranger. All I really required was that she stay blindfolded, remain speechless and refrain from touching my back for the entire course of the evening.

No, I don't have a nasty rash.

I'm CUPID. I have wings. Just because you can't see them right now doesn't mean that they're not there. I can make them invisible at will. It's tough enough to go about my daily business while trying to sneak around with a rifle, let alone that. Not exactly low profile. No, I WON"T let you touch them and if you don't stop being a snoop, one solid flap and you'll loose all of your paperwork and that five gallon macchiato of yours.

So there I was, naked and anxiously pacing the floor of my suite, when, just as the agency had promised, Psyche arrived on the dot. Believe me, if you saw her, you wouldn't want to waste any extra time with stripping either. As I had instructed, she knocked three times to signal her arrival and I watched through the peephole as she donned the blindfold and rapped on the door twice more. Psyche's long, dark hair was dramatically piled atop her head, the trailing tendrils framing her exquisite face with almost medusan splendor. This accentuated the sleek lines of her throat and shoulders above the simple black dress she wore and what looked like miles of bare leg were displayed below its hem. She adjusted her blindfold and I watched as she took a deep breath before issuing the last two knocks. But as appealing as the package was, what really did it for me was how she ran a single, slender fingertip along her collarbone in nervous anticipation.

It was all I could do not to throw open the door and take her right there in the hallway. I was trembling with excitement.

And Gods don't tremble.

I opened the door and Psyche extended her hand, expecting me to guide her into the room. Instead, I slipped an arm along her back and the other behind her knees, scooping her up and retreating back into the room, closing the door behind us with my heel as I did so. Psyche first gasped and then giggled as she realized that one of her heels must have fallen off in the hallway, but stopped herself before she said anything. Instead, she kicked off the other shoe, flinging it across the room with abandon. I was impressed. But the last thing I had on my mind at that moment was expensive Italian footwear.

Still cradling that incredible creature in my arms, I turned to face the door and lowered her feet to the carpet, pressing her against the the smooth, cool wood with the full length of my body and buried my face in her hair. I inhaled deeply, drinking in the fragrance of her skin and catching a faint whiff of orange blossoms. Sliding my hand to her throat, I drew her head back sharply against my shoulder and thrust my hips against the soft curves of her ass. My cock pressed the filmy material of her dress deeply between those gorgeous cheeks, diving toward her heat, while my eyes were drawn to the satiny mounds of her breasts as Psyche arched backward and into my chest. I could almost make out the blushed margin of a nipple peeking out from the lacy edge of her bra. My mouth began to water.

And Gods don't drool.

Psyche was smiling, her pearly teeth almost glowing between creamy red lips, as she leaned into me, her head tilting back. Had she not been blindfolded, I would have been staring down into sea-green eyes more lethal than Scylla or Charybdis. I stepped back and she wavered unsteadily until I pushed her into the door once again, guiding her arms up and wide to rest her palms flat against the wood. My hands traveled down to the zipper of her dress and I felt Psyche tense slightly as I toyed with it, but instead of undoing it, I moved my hands down her hips to her hem. My cock was achin with want of her, as I drew the fabric up into my fists, my fingers digging into the soft skin of her thighs.

I heard her sigh softly as I inched the material upward, slowly exposing her sweet little heart shaped ass and Psyche instinctively spread her feet wider as she pushed away from the door to bend forward slightly. She swayed gently from side to side, dragging her fingertips downward until she could brace herself and started to grind into me. Nothing but a tiny black G-string stood between her sex and mine. I was tempted to simply push it aside and satisfy my need then and there, but instead, I slid a finger along the string, down between her glorious buttocks. I was promptly rewarded with frantic squirming and stifled giggles.

Psyche was ticklish.

Idea! I extended my left wing, bringing it forward until I could reach one of my long primary feathers. I prepared myself for the twinge and plucked the feather. It came away with a soft pop - more like pulling a tooth than snagging a hair. It hurt, but the girl was worth it.

Unfortunately, as it came away, my wing flinched reflexively with a loud flap, startling Psyche and forcing me to change my tactics as I attempted to distract her from wondering what had just happened. I snatched her up once again, spinning her toward the bed and she tossed her head back and laughed as I deposited her on the linen. It was easy for me to position her so that I could remove the dress, slowly, enjoying the feel as the zipper teeth parted for me and exposed the alabaster skin of her back. Psyche rolled over and wriggled as I pulled the fabric down over her arms... then her breasts... hips. Peeling it away from her and revealing even more of the glory that lay before me.

She lay there in nothing but her bra and panties, her breath short and shallow with excitement and I was almost shocked to realize that Psyche was, in fact, turned on. Well... of course she was aroused, but I expected that in her line of work, sex was more of a job and less of an adventure. I was just pleased to find that she wasn't completely jaded from her experience.

I sat down beside her on the edge of the bed and drew the feather across her cheek. Psyche flinched with the unexpected contact, but soon settled down as she realized what it was. I played it across her lips, staining the very margin a brilliant crimson as it brushed her lipstick. From her mouth, I moved down along her neck, first tickling her chin and then the hollow of her throat. It was clear that she was fighting the urge to swat it away, but Psyche kept her hands balled in tight fists at her sides while I continued to tease her.

By that time, her chest was heaving from the effort of restraining herself as I reached down and undid the front clasp of her bra, releasing them from their lacy constraint. My eyes were instantly fixed upon those perfect breasts. Tight and round, topped with exquisite little coral nipples that cried out to be suckled. I took my feather and flicked it across the tip of her left breast and Psyche squealed at the sensation.

Reluctantly, I tore my eyes away from her tits and set them traveling along her breastbone down to her sleek stomach, the feather echoing their path. I explored her navel with the very tip and Psyche was twitching and jerking from the stimulation, every muscle in her lithe form tensed and straining. I stood and moved to the foot of the bed so that I could reach her satiny thighs and all that lay between them... And that was when I noticed it.

My wing was bleeding.

Talk about a mood breaker.

Evidently when I plucked that flight, I managed to snap a blood feather in the process. No wonder that bitch hurt! And while it's not ordinarily a big deal, when you combine that small injury with the fact that my heart was racing faster than Mercury on meth, you have the makings of a nice bleeder. Drops were falling fast from my wing tip on to the carpet, permanently staining it. (There's a bit of trivia for you -- Immortal blood does NOT come out of fabrics. It's a fun prank we used to play on drycleaners.)

I had to take care of it before the room ended up looking like a scene from a Quentin Tarantino flick.

I leaned over to whisper in Psyche's ear.

"Stay."

Then I promptly ran off to the bathroom to grab some towels.

It took longer than I expected to get the bleeding under control, but it gradually slowed and then stopped as I sandwiched my wing between layers of terry cloth. I threw the stained towels into the sink and headed back into the room.

I was greeted by the sight of a mostly naked and very unblindfolded Psyche standing beside my rifle, my case opened on the table before her and a dart between her fingertips. I guess I took too long, so she became curious and decided to slip off her blindfold and snoop around. Psyche must have spotted my equipment and checked it out. (She later said that she thought I might be a terrorist... I've been called a lot of things in my days, but never that.)

Psyche's head snapped my way when she heard the sound of my startled gasp.

It was pretty clear that she wasn't expecting to see some guy with huge fucking wings standing in the bathroom doorway. She was as shocked as I was and in her state, she fumbled the dart, nicking herself with the tip in the process.

Here's the deal: Never in my lifelong career had I ever before darted a fully aroused woman. I had no idea of how dramatically she would respond, or how quickly. There wasn't much of a wait.

The effects were nearly instantaneous. She dropped the dart and stalked me as I backed away from the bathroom door. I watched as Psyche's face shifted from a look of surprise to one of animalistic desire. It wasn't the soft, coy glance of a flirtatious young woman, this was a focused stare of urgent hunger and base need.

It was also the most erotic thing I had ever seen.

Events rushed by in a blur from that point.

Psyche lunged at me and I backpedaled toward the bed. I remember the feel of her mouth as she devoured mine, our tongues wrestling for control of the kiss. She won, grabbing me by the hair and biting my lip as she claimed her prize. A smooth leg snaked around mine as my rigid cock pressed against her hip and I took her breasts in my hands, pinching their nipples. Somehow, her G-string gave way, although I don't know which of us was responsible.

You're shaking your head. Do you mean to tell me that you would have been able to say no to her? You have no idea just how close you are to never getting laid again, dude.

Anyway, she wanted to fuck. I wanted to fuck. We wanted to fuck and be fucked.

So we did.

I lapped at her swollen pussy lips, blowing against the burning tip of her clit and reveling in the exquisite taste and scent of desire.

Psyche enveloped me with her mouth, guiding my cock so deep that her eyes, though still smiling, filled with tears.

I stuffed her cunt from behind as she knelt on the bed, each stroke punctuated by a thrust of my wings as I lost myself in her liquid heat.

She guided my rigid sex into the tight reaches of her ass, moaning and begging as she urged me further.

Each time, Psyche came, her clear green eyes rolling back into her head as she convulsed with ecstasy.

Each time, I filled her to overflowing with my come, arching and straining to give her all that she could take.

And each time, she wanted more.

I'm sure that I've forgotten more than I can remember at this point, but I do recall waking up the following morning, sticky with her juices and mine. Every muscle in my body cried out for more rest, but I saw that Psyche was still asleep, curled up tight on the far side of the bed.

I had my chance at a getaway.

Oh for fuck's sake, you'd better believe I was going to get my fine feathered ass out of there. It wasn't my fault that the nosy bitch got herself darted. After all, I didn't do a thing to violate the terms of her hire. Psyche was just lucky I didn't call her agency to complain about her lack of professionalism. If she had only followed my instructions and stayed put, it never would have happened in the first place.

I didn't want to risk waking her, so it was in my best interest to make a quick escape. I didn't bother to collect my clothing, but I grabbed my gun and darts, then snuck out onto the balcony and took off from there.

The wings come in handy every once in awhile.

The slut didn't take well to being "abandoned" as she calls it. The first thing she did was contact my mother. Mom, being the cunt she is, conveniently forgot that she had issues with Psyche and instead, turned against yours truly.

I didn't find out about this until about a week later, when I was on a job and who shows up, but an irate Psyche. She proceeds to berate me for leaving her then breaks down and declares her undying love for me. Thanks to her interference, I didn't make my hit. I did, however, manage to escape a second time.