Ariadne sat up, her head pounding. She was still in the god’s chamber, the dark bed to her left, the low table and the single window far to her right. The door- still locked, she imagined- at her back. And, she noted with dismay, she was still on the floor.
And sitting in the cold gravy.
“Crap.”
What had woken her?
Who cares?
Her conscience whispered.
Just find that god and get on him.
“What, he’s gone?” she said, searching the floor. But, no, he was still there, sleeping like a baby, except that naked babies didn’t stir Ariadne’s lust, and babies aren’t usually half-covered in blood.
The remnants of their clothing were strewn around the room. Ari’s underwear was still wetly clinging to the far wall, and her nightgown was just a memory of clothing. Torn to shreds and dotted with the god’s blood, she lay on it, one arm still entangled.
Jesus, you paint a depressing picture.
“Fuck off, bitch,” Ariadne growled.
The door swung open, and a tall, incredibly voluptuous woman entered, her face calmly condescending. She was beautiful as no mortal woman can be: her blonde hair was curled within an inch of its life, falling gracefully over curved shoulders and voluminous breasts. She was clad in a nearly transparent sheath that was pleated carefully to mimic Egyptian royal attire. In other words, she was naked from the chest up.
“What now,
Aphrodite
?” Ari snapped sarcastically.
“What
now
, Aphrodite?” echoed a voice. The god had woken, his features hidden in his tangled hair. The goddess flew to his side, her white hands fluttering over his wounds, her eyes devouring his body. But she spoke to Ariadne, her voice cold as ice, “What have you done, foolish mortal? To mar the perfection of a god is blasphemy!” Here she turned to her, her blue eyes glowing with a creepy inner radiance, her perfect face frozen in a look of utter hatred. “It is death!”
“But
otherwise
, welcome to Olympus, mortal,” came a voice from the doorway. It was pure male, honey and heat. Ariadne tried to cover herself with the scraps of her nightgown. Aphrodite’s pale face flushed and she rose to her feet, her grace and calm returning.
“Be welcome, Bacchus, and enter.”
“Thanks, don’t mind if I do!” And he did, with as much pomp and circumstance as can be expected from a gorgeous youth such as him. He was dressed- although, “draped” might be a better choice of words- in saffron silk. Well, it was a saffron silk loincloth, and looked as though he’d slept in it. Otherwise, he carried a small set of pipes and his head was encircled with a wreath of grape leaves.
Ariadne could barely speak, and the word “pheromone” jumped into her mind. How could it not? She’d just had sex with a god, and the gods of love and hedonism had just entered the room. She was forced to concede to herself that Bacchus was certainly good-looking. He had light brown hair and was very tan. He was oiled, and had no problem admitting it. In fact, as Ariadne would later learn, the god of wine enjoyed the application of it very much.
“But, you’re so young,” slipped out of her mouth before she knew it. Aphrodite looked as if she would burst with arrogant indignation, her ringlets quivering. Bacchus laughed, a rich sound.
Like chimes in a breeze.
“Yes. Were you expecting a large, older man? Riding a donkey, perhaps? Drunk out of his mind?” Bacchus laughed and shook his head. “That is one of my incarnations; the third aspect of wine and merriment: the after-effects.” His light smile stiffened a little, and he stepped further into the room. The god next to Ariadne rose, his body language threatening.
“Bacchus, leave my chamber before you regret it.”
“Oho! Threats, now? Was it not I who spared you the inconvenience of a hangover a few days ago? Or have you already forgotten?” The youth’s face grew stormy, and the god at Ariadne’s side stiffened and clutched his head. “I can always give you back what I took away.”
“Why don’t you two take this out into the hallway, and I’ll take care of the mortal in here,” Aphrodite said sweetly, her luminescent beauty shimmering around her.
“No!” both gods barked at the same time. Ariadne looked from one to the other, and decided that she wanted to get out of the room.
“OK, I think it’s time for me to put some clothes on.” All three gods looked at her. Bacchus seemed to see her nakedness for the first time, absorbing her form. Ari could feel her skin blush, noting belatedly that her thighs were coated with cum. Aphrodite looked at her with arrogant aloofness, and a touch of disgust, and Ari felt that her body was absolutely dumpy and utterly grotesque. But the third god, who she thought was looking at her, but couldn’t tell, was staring at her body, making her feel luscious. He also was becoming more aroused with every passing second.
Aphrodite also noticed his erection and stepped forward to take him in hand. “What in the blood is this?” she screeched. Ari saw the goddess had stepped in the gravy, and wasn’t yelling about the god’s boner. Her bare feet were coated.
The goddess bent down, dipping her finger in it, and tasted. Her beautiful face scowled, her blue eyes turning on Ariadne. “This is one of
my
potions.” Ariadne’s face was blank.
Ares stared down at her, his mind clearing of the lusty fog that had occupied it for the past few hours. A potion? But, this woman was mortal, and had no way to obtain it.
“A potion? No, I think you’re mistaken, it’s just some gravy Hermes brought me with the rest of the food,” the woman said. She motioned over to the table by the window where a full tray sat.
Aphrodite beckoned Ares and Bacchus to her, and they stared in horror at the feast before them. “Did you eat anything?” Aphrodite said sharply.
“No. Why?”
“Because... Well, just because,” Bacchus said sheepishly. Ares scowled down at the food: on a silver plate lay a side of veal, drenched in the “gravy” with an empty dish of it on the side. The meat was next to a sizable helping of ambrosia and a golden apple was waiting to be eaten as dessert. The thing was, it was doubtful if the mortal would’ve survived until dessert. The foods before them were fit only for the gods. In other words, they were so delicious a mortal would die of pleasure.
“Because,” Ares growled, “It would have killed you.”
“But we... we...”
“Fucked?” Aphrodite supplied snidely.
“Right. We made love in the gravy stuff, and I’m still here.”
“Yes. A miracle, considering.”
“Considering what, exactly?”
