F2: Spilling the Seed

FAWC 2: Spilling the Seed

(Author's note: This story is a submission to the second Friendly Anonymous Writing Challenge (FAWC). The true author of this story is kept anonymous, but will be revealed on August 16th, 2013, in the comments section following this story. Each story in this challenge is centered around a random determination of four "mystery ingredients." There are no prizes given in this challenge; this is simply a friendly competition.)

(The mystery ingredients for this story were Recklessness, Food, Obnoxious and Color. )

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'What a little beauty!' Zeus Father of the Gods thought enthusiastically, leaning on his elbow in his magisterial throne and rubbing his hand carelessly up and down his lightning rod.

By his right side stood the voluptuous Demeter, Goddess of the harvest, her bounteous and fruitful figure completely obscured by a great quantity of hideous brown sackcloth. Zeus possibly regretted the complete covering of his ex-lover's attractive figure less than he would have done if the ox eyes of Hera (his wife) had not been fixed on him.

To his left hand stood his brother Hades, ruler of the dead and the Underworld. His saturnine features were in his habitual cold expressionless stare in spite of the seriousness of the charge against him.

Persephone was in front of them on the steps leading to Zeus' throne. Her head of black coiled curls was bowed. Her slender form sprawled in apparent humility and shame, the rainbow hued diaphanous robe appropriate to her status as Kore, the Maiden, scattered in bright folds about her. Through the shimmering layers of cloth could be seen the loveliness of her long limbs, her curving full breasts. Other Gods than her own father (that infamous old lecher) were evidently conscious of the manifold appeal of her figure, the glistening long curls of black hair sliding on skin of a delicate brown that suggested the delicious tang of spices: cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar.

"The mortals cry daily to us in piteous starvation," Hera spoke up grumpily, interrupting Zeus's besotted musings.

"Yes, right," he said crossly.

"Demeter," Hera snapped. "You had no business to go back on your responsibilities. You must once again perform the arts and rites to make the harvest grow."

There was a rustle in the heavy sackcloth. A lesser Goddess would not of course be so rude to the ox-eyed wife of Zeus as to suck her teeth and toss her head. Nevertheless, Zeus coughed loudly and spoke over any noise that might have been made.

"Hades. Persephone-Kore, my daughter, shall be freed to return to the earth's surface. She and Demeter are the twin Goddesses of the harvest, Demeter can't be expected to carry out the arts and rites lonely and sad at heart, mourning the loss of her child. Nor can you expect to entrap so lovely a dark maiden, with all the beauties of her youth: her soft skin, her full breasts ..." Hera might have made a snorting noise and possibly Aphrodite sniggered. Zeus chose to believe Goddesses of such high stature would not make disrespectful noises towards their patriarchal husband and leader. "Nor can you expect to entrap a young maiden in the obnoxious pit of Hell to which you abducted her after foully despoiling her maidenhood."

The young woman sprawled on the steps gave a quivering shudder at his words, the rainbow robe shimmered about her long soft brown limbs, the black coils of hair danced about her shoulders and then were still.

Hades was looking down at her. His thin white face remained cold and expressionless. If he expected her to confront him with his crimes, he was disappointed. It was said that he liked a little spirit. After all, he was always transporting people's spirits down down to the bottommost reaches of the Underworld. So there was a flutter of puzzlement among the Gods and Goddesses as to why he should have picked out the demure maiden Persephone. She had already rejected the manly charms of Mr Hot Stuff Apollo himself, among other suitors. The Gods had left the Kore Persephone to the serious work she appeared to prefer: the complicated arts and rites of the harvest which she practiced with her mother Demeter. Now Hades of all Gods had apparently, with a recklessness nobody would have suspected him of, carried off the lovely young creature in her dancing robe of color, to his noxious dark realm in the Underworld.

"So-o, there we have it," Zeus pronounced. "Persephone-Kore: return to your mother. Demeter: resume the arts and rites to bring forth the harvest with our daughter by your side. Hades: not good, not good at all, brother. Go back where you came from. I'll be in touch to discuss your punishment."

Zeus was about to bang his fist with the lightning rod in it on the arm of his magisterial seat when Hades spoke.

"A word," he said.

"You what?" Zeus said crossly.

"A word with Persephone, before I go," Hades' voice remained expressionless.

"A word with the Kore?" Zeus said suspiciously. His gaze was suddenly caught by the uplifting of the young woman's head. Large brown eyes, liquid with tears, were lifted to him in pleading. So had her mother once looked, with eyes of the glistening brown beauty of the fertile earth. "No-o," Zeus started to say on his daughter's behalf. Luckily he was no mere mortal father who only thinks he knows best, but an omniscient God. "Er, I mean .... Very well. One word. Just one. Come along, my dear ... er, my dear." He managed to hustle both the indignant Demeter and the indignant Hera out and the other Gods and Goddesses traipsed chattering after them.

Hades stood at the top of the steps, looking down to where Persephone sprawled in her robe of color, head of black coiled curls once more bowed down. Finally he said: "Is my last word to you to be 'Goodbye'?"

She was thinking, remembering. She was remembering the day he came by the grove of sunny trees watered by a small brook where she sat working at some details of the arts she and her mother and their attendant nymphs created in order that the harvests would grow. She was alone that day, perhaps a little bored for her head lifted at the sound of his chariot wheels clattering above the liquid laughter of the cool brook. She looked out from the glancing sunlight of the pleasant shady grove of trees. She caught a piercing eye in a white face, a red flash that suggested dark knowledge of depravity. The corner of her soft mouth curled up even as her beautiful brown eyes dipped down.

His eye was already caught. If she had given him the brazen stare, his eye might have glanced over it, he might have ridden on by. Her eyes dipped and his followed, his gaze fell in the deep cleft of her big breasts and trailed down her tall curving figure in the shimmering robe of color.

He pulled up the four horses, brought them back around and stopped his black chariot by the sunlit grove of trees. The horses stood breathing spurts of fire and tossing their black manes.

"Melinoia, Honey," he said in a careless tone. "I suppose you would not object to giving me a cool drink on this hot day from that attractive stream between, I mean beside, your legs."

The curl in the corner of her mouth curved further upwards, causing a luscious dimple to dip in her lovely brown cheek.

"You're a cheeky devil," she said. "You better have quite a thirst – and a tongue as good at lapping up sweet juices as it is at spinning words, if you want to drink from my stream. I say that because I have no cup," she explained with a mock demure glance from her beautiful brown eyes.

"Oh, I'm a real devil," he assured her with a glinting grin. "I'll make a cup with my hands for those fine breasts of yours if you like."

"I think you are The Devil, not 'a real devil'," she responded, flinging her head of coiled black curls back and laughing at him. "Are you going to come and get it then?"

When she named him and made it apparent that she knew who he was, his eyes flared briefly red then narrowed. He grinned in sudden savage interest. Looping about the guard-rail the reins of the four black beasts which drew his chariot, he came slowly into the grove and sat beside her.

They regarded each other with a frank mocking stare.

"Well Kore," he said. "Is it to be show or tell?"

She was surprised at that. She was of course no meek and mild virgin; a Goddess – the daughter of Gods. She had taken no husband but she had sometimes responded to the call of her own body, dallying with the drunken fumblings of the satyrs at bacchanalian parties. She realised that she had been naive to expect a senior God of Hades' stature to behave like some immature satyr and her cheek blushed dusky rose with embarrassment. With the blood rose her spirits and her wits, she realised in delight that she had been right to suppose he would have a far more inventive notion of sexual play than the single-minded satyrs, intent on thrusting their rutting phalluses into any available passage as quickly as possible.

Hades observed this delicate color rising in her delicious skin with the red glint in his eye.

"Tell me your beauties then," he said in a careless tone with a laugh as cool in it as the stream by her side.

It was as if because he hung back: diffident, not pressing her to share with him the ecstatic pleasure of their bodies, she could admit to her desire to do so.

"I will show you," she answered.

His dark eyes with the red glint in the white face watched intently as her long slender fingers moved – not to the rounded promise of her breasts lapped in rainbow raiment, but to the skirts of her robe. She was parting the diaphanous skirts, pulling them back. Her long legs were parting, she lay back with a luxurious moan of surrender. Her head of black coiled curls was tilted so that the soft liquid brown eyes could still watch him, anxiously. Even a Goddess may fear that her most secret beauties are not quite what a chosen lover prefers.

She gave a panting sigh of satisfaction to see his tongue flick suddenly, uncontrollably over his thin lips. His face remained expressionless but his eyes glinted red, fixed on the tiny coils of black hair about the cleft of her cunt. Persephone began to breathe faster with excitement, feeling her blood rise, her thighs tighten, just to have his gaze poised to penetrate her.

Her fingers moved to her sex and slowly she parted the folds of flesh. She held open to his view the soft petals of pink and rose, the exquisite flower of her vulva. His face was suddenly lit by greedy adoration, he moved as swiftly as a snake, bending his face to her eagerly parting legs.

His tongue began to flick about the spur of her clitoris, the great soft petals of her labia, the flowering vulva, the small bud of her arsehole. She was already excited at exposing herself to him and seeing the worshipping gleam rise in the normally dead dark eyes. At the lapping caress of his tongue, she began to cry out with pleasure, her hips jerking her sex up to his face. He was grunting as he licked the ambrosial cream from her cunt. He knelt, stooping his face to her. In great excitement, she realised he had so far lost control that he was jerking himself off while tonguing her. His tongue flicked rapidly, harder about her clitoris, she felt the warm waves of orgasm rise through her body. She was cumming with cries of pleasure and spurts of juice which he lapped up like a cat. His tongue sank suddenly deep into her, he made a great groan himself, a sound as of the earth splitting open down to the hideous depths below. He pressed his tongue hard deep into her cleft, jerked his seed into the ground before her.

He moved his face up away from her sex. Coming suddenly up over her body, he lay in the arms she held out to him, wrapping his powerful arms about her. His kiss was full of her fertile sweet salt juices. The thin lips, the expert tongue caressed her mouth as thoroughly as he had caressed her sex. His expressionless face had softened and he smiled as he lay enwrapped in the rainbow colors of her robe and her arms.

"Is it so terrible?" she asked.

He was startled by this.

"Hell," she said. She put up one hand and ran it over his dark hair. He quivered at the unaccustomed feeling of a caress.

"A dark noxious place full of the fumes of wishes that ought never to have been dreamed of, dreams that were violently betrayed," he said in a bleak voice. His eyes looked coldly away from her; but he pressed his body closer to her warm long curving body.

"You must enjoy your times riding about on the surface of the earth then?" she ventured. A finger came tickling round the coils of his ear and she saw the smile light up his eyes again.

He spoke the harsh words in a gentle voice. "To drag off the screaming souls of those reluctant to go from their miserable short lives, away from everything they know of?"

Eventually he mounted his chariot once more – off to some hideous battle or disgusting plague, to collect the souls who were his due. She stood with her head dipped down and the rainbow skirts of her robe mussed about her. When her head lifted, her warm brown eyes were forlorn.

"Will you come back?" she asked.

He laughed. She saw the red flicker rise in his eyes and her heart flickered.

"I will come again," he answered her. He laid the reins to one side and another with a snap and the impatiently pawing horses were gone.

Persephone turned and ran suddenly back into the cool shady grove. She found the place where they had lain in reckless passion and knelt like an animal. She pressed her face to the ground, sniffed, she found the damp patch of earth where he had spilt his seed and knelt there, smelling the musk of his spunk.

When next he found her, she was practising the steps of a dance to bring forth the young green shoots of the corn. She was out in the hot yellow-red desert, in a stony gully. Wherever her bare feet landed, tiny desert flowers sprang briefly in the rocks.

She tossed her head up and saw him. He lounged in his black robe on one of the bigger rocks, his dark eyes fixed on her dance and a smile hovering on his thin mouth. She burst out laughing with pleasure – causing a stream to spurt suddenly from the top of the gully and making it a permanent oasis.

He made way for her on the rock and they lay in the hot dry sunshine, kissing with abandon. His fingers – cool and long, came groping under her robe and across her warm brown thigh. She grunted in eager expectation as she felt the tips of his fingers parting the lips of her cunt.

Hurriedly she tore open the bosom of her diaphanous robe. Her round brown breasts fell free and his mouth closed on one. He was flicking a tongue over her nipple, now sucking at her breast. His fingers played about her clitoris, teased at her vulva. She held his shoulders in the grip of her long fingers. Her body quivered with her cries of excitement.

With his other hand he was jerking at his cock. The anticipation of his spilt seed was causing the junior Goddess of the harvest to throw open her legs to his fingers in even greater excitement. He was probing her lush soft depths with one finger, now two came snaking in. The soft muscles closed and opened about him. He grunted in time with her rising cries of pleasure, sucking hard on her glorious breast. Jerking at his cock, he sucked and fingered at her lovely body. All too soon he came spurting into the rockface, he was so eager for her: warm, soft, wet for him. She was still heaving and moaning to him, he lay pressing his sticky penis to her and plunging his fingers in her fertile depths until she clenched about his hand and his dark eyes consumed the vision of her face wild with ecstatic orgasm.

She lay panting and laughing in his arms. He kissed and caressed her, thrilled at the uncontrollable heaving of her round breasts, the pouting of her soft mouth.

As she settled in his arms, she resumed their conversation. "Do all souls come to you in torment?" she asked. "Is it universally vile and terrible, in the obnoxious halls of Hell?"

He looked steadily at her. "There are some rare wise souls who have lived in contentment and die at peace," he said. "Some few come willingly. Their time with me is tranquil."

"It can't be easy, harvesting the miserable souls of those unwilling to die," she said, her arms closing round his shoulders.

He gave her a bleak grim grin. "It is my allotted task," he answered. "Anyway, better to rule in Hell."

"But you have to serve Zeus," she pointed out. She added: "My father."

"Not always," he replied, running his salacious gaze over the breasts tumbling free from her robe with the red glint in his dark eyes.

The third time he came across her in an Alpine meadow, bestrewn with the tiny colourful stars of sweet flowers. As he dismounted from the silver-trimmed black chariot drawn by the four angry-eyed black horses, she was coming running to him. Her long limbs were light and free, she was graceful as a deer.

Ignoring his offered kiss and outstretched arms, she flung herself to her knees at his feet and began pulling at his black robe. Divining her purpose, he went hurriedly to draw it aside for her. Quickly he opened to her eager gaze his powerful mature loins and the rising godhead of his cock.

She stared greedily. Her long fingers were on his lean thighs and she gazed full on his thickening rod, his bollocks hanging in the darkness within his robe. She put one hand to cup his balls and with the other she reached to grip on his dick.

He was hard and long now. The purple head of his cock was thrusting at her out of the foreskin. She put her warm soft lips to it and kissed it. He gave an earth-shattering grunt of lust. His hands gripped on her head, resisting with a great effort the impulse to shove her onto his swollen cock. Of her own volition her mouth was opening, the softness, wetness, closing around him. She began suckling gently, then harder. First nuzzling the plump plum at his cock's head. Now she was thrusting her mouth, sucking down deeper on him. Her long fingers were wrapped, one hand round his shaft, the other cupping and fingering his balls. She sucked and moved her mouth in rhythm with his ecstatic moans. His thighs, his buttocks were trembling, he thrust towards her sucking, forcing himself deeper into the warm cavern of her mouth where the tongue formed a firm bed for his dick to slide over.

Hades gave a shout that split the crag above them, opening a cleft deep as those awful passages through which he was wont to steer his dreadful chariot, laden with the howling souls of the damned. Silky streams of salt seed were spurting into Persephone's warm red mouth, she had been eagerly awaiting his cumming and she drank greedily, letting the excess spill down her chin. She sucked gently on his softening penis as he stood quivering at the knees. Finally he removed himself and sank to sit panting beside her in the short sweet grass and flowers of the sunlit meadow.

This time she did not ask him about the dark world over which he ruled, noxious with fumes of burnt out hopes and cloudy with the limited dreams of dim-visioned mortals. Probably the intelligent young woman had learned all she wanted to know by asking casual questions here and there while waiting for her lover to return. When his breathing had quietened to a steadier rate, she said simply: "Take me with you."

His eyes flared red, he licked his lips with a grin and bowed his head in assent. "Despoina," he said in the husky voice of desire.

He handed her into the black chariot, having named her his Mistress and Queen. The four black horses stamped sparks with their hooves and blew flames from their curling nostrils, curvetting in protest. He gripped the reins and lashed the ends at their flanks, making them leap for the cleft in the cliff-face which he had screamed open in the great cry of lust and pleasure as he spilt his seed in Persephone's mouth.