Aphrodite's Chosen

"So, what do you think?" asked Cindy. Her hair was a bright green, and she wore a red vinyl minidress and matching pumps.

Christmassy, thought Kalisha Connors. But Cindy was asking her about the house. She looked around. She saw the attraction of a nice place in the 'burbs, with lots of space, a view of green lawn and flowers out the back window, and a deck. There was something about not having any furniture that made a house look even bigger. "Nice, Cindy. This from the settlement?"

Cindy van Meteren, formerly Cindy Wilcox, shook her head. "Not exactly. The divorce isn't final yet. This is from my dad. Seems he never approved of Steve, even if he never said anything. So he buys me a house, and sends me a note: 'Congratulations on your divorce.' Doesn't call, or anything."

"He has more money than time," murmured Kalisha.

"Something like that," said Cindy.

Kalisha opened a sliding glass door and walked out to the deck. From the deck, she could see the neighborhood and the neighborhood could see her. But a wall around the backyard below kept it private. "A nice place to sunbathe," she said.

Or have an orgy.

She giggled. Her life had gotten wilder, and so had her thoughts.

For the last two months Cindy had lived with her in her apartment as a live-in submissive, attending to her every whim. Now Cindy had her own place. Kalisha viewed the prospect with a mixture of emotions. Her tiny apartment was crowded with two, and she wasn't sure she liked what being a Mistress, or whatever she was to Cindy, did to her. It was fun to role-play, but keeping it up full time was exhausting, and she'd become a little shorter with other people when they didn't do as she asked. But going back to doing her own laundry wasn't exactly thrilling, and having Cindy go down on her every morning beat the heck out of setting an alarm clock.

"Mistress?" asked Cindy, coming up from behind her.

"Hmm?"

"Will you move in with me? My house is your house."

Kalisha shook her head. "It's very nice, Cindy, but I like being able to walk to places. The suburbs just aren't for me."

Cindy sighed. "I was so hoping-- but I guess you're tired of me."

Kalisha frowned. "Cindy, that's really not it. I like my place. Even if it's small, I like it, and it's mine. This is yours."

Cindy shrugged.

"I'll miss you," said Kalisha.

"You could order me to stay," said Cindy, hopefully, and then added, "Mistress."

Kalisha shook her head.

Cindy knelt and looked up at Kalisha. "You know I will do anything for you. Anything at all."

Kalisha ruffled Cindy's hair affectionately, wondering what the neighbors thought of this particular scene: the green haired girl in red vinyl kneeling before a tall black haired woman in a short black dress. "And right now, I want you to have a good time, enjoy decorating your house, and buying your own clothes. Find out what it means to be you, when neither Steve or I are bossing you around."

Cindy was silent a moment. "Kalisha, do you still want to be my mistress?" she asked.

"Yes, Cindy," said Kalisha. To her surprise, it was true.

"Good." Cindy got up and walked into the house, leaving Kalisha to stare after her.

***

Later that night Kalisha walked onto the stage at the 360 club to the sound of applause. The applause wasn't for her, it was for Wendy, whose clothes were scattered about the stage. The petite redhead had just finished her set and was walking back towards the dressing room, stark naked except for five-inch high-heel sandals. Her high, small breasts were shiny with sweat. Her shaved pubes kept them guessing as to whether all that red hair was natural, but Kalisha knew it was, as she'd shaved Wendy herself.

Kalisha winked at Wendy. Wendy grinned back.

Halfway along the lit runway, as Wendy and Kalisha were about to pass, they both stopped, and turned to each other in slow motion. Kalisha, over six feet tall in the four-inch heels she wore on stage, bent slightly, and Wendy, who even with five inches of help was about five-seven, tilted her head back. Slowly, they closed the distance between them, until their lips were just touching, until in a sudden show of passion they reached their arms around each other and kissed passionately, tongues intertwining.

Wendy groped Kalisha's backside, running her hands along the soft red velvet of her dress and sneaking under the short hem. Kalisha slid her hand upward along Wendy's side until it lingered on a firm breast.

The crowd watched the two lovers in silent fascination. Among them, Kalisha knew, was her boyfriend, Gareth. Wendy exposed Kalisha's back with one pull of her zipper, the sound loud in the hushed room. Kalisha's dress would have fallen to the floor if Wendy's body hadn't been pressed against her. They kissed again. Kalisha's ass was on view, her cheeks displayed between Wendy's spread fingers by a deep red thong. Playfully, Wendy pulled on the back of the flimsy garment, so that the triangle in front narrowed and pressed into the folds of Kalisha's pussy.

Kalisha slipped her hands between herself and Wendy, and pinched Wendy's nipples. Wendy backed up, and the dress fell to the stage. They paused for a moment, and Kalisha twirled, showing off her long slender body, her magnificent tits lifted by Victoria Secret's burgundy best. Her black hair, which she had grown out, fell into her cleavage. With a toss of her head Kalisha flung it back. She felt the desire of the crowd, and shut it out. There was too much. As Aphrodite's chosen she could sense the lustful thoughts of others.

From behind her, Wendy put her hands around Kalisha again, sliding up towards Kalisha's breasts, cupping them. She pretended to fumble with the clasp for a moment, drawing out the anticipation. When she finally managed to undo it, Kalisha did a spin, her bare breasts flashing briefly before pressing against Wendy's chest.

Wendy flexed her knees, sliding down Kalisha's body until she could lick the taller girl's nipples.

The thoughts of the audience rushed at her once more. The men and women in the audience were focused on the two on stage. And, closer to her still, Wendy's own lascivious thoughts and genuine love. It was a heady mix that Kalisha could easily drown in, losing herself completely to the moment of passion.

Unfortunately

there are laws about what you can do on stage

. She arched her back, ahhing at the feel of Wendy's tongue, sighing as Wendy crouched further to relieve her of her panties.

Legally, they could touch but there could be no penetration. So they slithered their bodies against each other, kissing and licking, their hands roaming along breasts and stomachs, backs and bottoms, finally slipping between spread thighs as they sank gracefully down to the stage. They teased, fingers diddling clits and tracing along folds, lips sucking on erect nipples, tongues licking down bellies before stopping. Kalisha blocked out the cacophony of lust and noise to focus on the beautiful girl she was making love to, and the frustration of not being able to taste her or slip her fingers inside.

Then she felt him. A single powerful lecherous thought from without. He wanted to join with her, to fuck her; nothing kinky, nothing out of the ordinary, but somehow it stood out. For a moment, she hoped the thought was Gareth's, that her closeness to him attuned her somehow to his lust, but it was some other male. She tried to push the lust away, concentrating on Wendy's own frustrated desire. Wendy's was thinking about whether she could get her entire small fist inside Kalisha. Kalisha knew she wanted to. "Later," she murmured to Wendy.

Bang, bang, bang.

The sudden sound was dull and wooden against the faux stone floor. Before she even looked, Kalisha knew the sound came from the same source as the desire she had felt.

There was a man there, standing at the end of the stage where the light meant for the dancers half-penetrated the anonymizing darkness. He was in his fifties, which made him twice Kalisha's age. He wore a large floppy hat, a flannel shirt, and blue jeans, and he was pounding a thick wooden walking stick on the floor. His hair was long and straggly, blonde mixed with gray, and his one visible eye was blue. The other was covered by an eye patch.

There was silence, briefly, followed by a man's voice. "Hey Buddy, siddown!"

The man with the eye patch ignored the voice, although he stopped pounding his staff. "Kalisha Connors!" His voice was loud, and carried. Kalisha stood up, feeling uncomfortable in her nudity for the first time. Wendy must have felt it too, for she grabbed the leather skirt she had discarded during her solo act.

Greg, the large black man who served as a bouncer, put his hand on odd man's shoulder. Greg towered over him by six inches or more, but the man just pushed his staff backwards. It didn't look like much, certainly not a crushing blow, but Greg toppled. Wendy gasped.

Wendy knew of Kalisha's own powers, and knew that the world was not as it often seemed. Gareth, too, who had been right behind Greg, ready to back the bouncer up.

"Kalisha Connors, we need to talk," said the man with the eye patch. He held his staff in two hands, a space clearing around him. Some of the patrons formed a circle around him, waiting for some signal to attack. They were looking to Gareth, tall, Nordically handsome Gareth, who commanded a presence in most crowds. He, in turn, was looking to her.

The man wasn't lusting after her now. His mind was on other things, and she could get no psychic impression. But her natural senses told her that the man looked confident, with little doubt in his ability to take on the crowd if need be.

Nobody gets hurt on my watch.

"Mind if I get my clothes on, first?" she asked.

The man leered. "Of course I mind. But I'm willing to compromise."

Gareth knelt by Greg's prone body.

"Is he okay?" asked Kalisha.

Gareth hesitated, then nodded uncertainly as Greg stirred.

"What was that?" said the bouncer.

Kalisha sighed. Her life was never going to be normal, that was for sure. She slipped into the dress Wendy handed her. Underwear could wait. The man claimed a table in the corner, lit only by a candle. Kalisha sat down there, and Gareth sat beside her, his bulk a comforting presence.

"I already know you want to fuck me," Kalisha said as a conversation starter. "Is that what you wanted to talk about? Because the answer is 'no.'"

The man's one eye twinkled. "Very perceptive," he said. "But no, there is more." He tilted his head to indicate Gareth. "Does he know what you are, truly?"

"Funny time to be start being concerned about my secrets, given the display you just put on, but yeah," Kalisha replied. "And who are you?"

"My name is Jack Wooden, and like you, I have been chosen by one of the ancient gods. I come to make a bargain, actually. I need you to find something for me, something I've lost. And I, in turn, have things to teach you."

"What sort of things?" asked Kalisha.

"Magic," Jack said. "Once you get the power to learn it."

Gareth frowned. "Odin," he said.

"Very perceptive, my friend," said Jack.

"What is it you lost?" asked Kalisha.

"My eye."

"Excuse me?"

" My glass eye, which I have invested with a fair amount of power-- you might say I'm half blind without it." Jack chuckled. "Normally, I have a fair amount of power to sense things-- in fact, paradoxically, if I had my eye I could no doubt find it, but that isn't horribly helpful. Now I see only dimly." He jabbed a finger at Kalisha. "You have information that will help me find my eye. I don't know what it is, or how you have it, but you do."

Kalisha shook her head. "I don't think I've seen any glass eyes around lately."

Jack shrugged. "Maybe you know of someone who would steal it."

"Loki," suggested Gareth. "That guy in the club."

"No," Jack said. "I know of Loki's servant, and he is weak. It is the sort of thing he would do, but I tracked him down and forced him to speak truth. A limited kind of truth, but trust me, he cannot lie to me. Deceive, perhaps, but not lie. He told me two things: that he does not have it, and that you know the one who does. More I could not make him say."

Kalisha knew one other of the chosen, and if he had a magic glass eye, he wasn't the kind to give it back. It was a wild leap, but if she knew the thief she couldn't think of any other conclusion to leap to.

"You have a guess," Jack said.

"Yes," said Kalisha.

"But you're not sure you want to help me."

"Something like that."

"Magic is a very flexible thing," said Jack. "You would find it useful, I'm sure, to know more of it's nature. Of course, I could try to find the one who has it myself, and bargain with them for the return of the eye, promising them what I promised you. I would prefer to do it this way -- the chosen of Odin teaching the chosen of Freyja magic, there's something delightfully mythical about that. But I will do what I have to do."

Kalisha frowned. The man she thought of was the servant of the God of Wealth, Cindy's ex-husband, and her boss at work, Steve Wilcox. She knew things about Steve he didn't want revealed, which kept him in line at work, but he was evil, no doubt about it, and she could only push the blackmail thing so far. What she had over him would hurt her friend, Cindy, Steve's ex-wife, just as much as it hurt Steve. She doubted he'd just give up the eye. And she definitely didn't want Wilcox getting any extra power. She didn't doubt Jack had power to offer, either, after seeing what he'd done to Greg.

"Alright, but one thing," Kalisha said. "You said you could teach me once I get the power to learn. How do I get the power?"

Jack smiled. "We all get power different ways," he said. "Loki's servant gets it from pulling tricks on people-- small amounts of power. He gets much more when he plays tricks on someone who is chosen -- I like the term avatar, by the way, even though it's not precisely right. Another I know gets it through settling people's differences. He, too, would get more if avatars were involved."

"And you?" Kalisha had a pretty good idea of what her own source of power was.

Jack's eye darkened. "I imagine if you did some reading you'd figure it out. My source is through sacrifice. But though I'm not the best person in the world, I'm not willing to kill anyone to get power, mortal or avatar."

"The bit with the staff was pretty impressive-- and I can feel you in a crowd, so I know you have power. How'd you get it?"

"When I met the god, I had two eyes," he said.

In spite of herself, Kalisha gulped. "Yuck," she said. Even Gareth looked a little green.

"I'm an avatar myself, so it was a satisfactory sacrifice," said Jack. "But that doesn't mean sex with yourself would do it for you."

So she had to make love to an avatar. The only avatars Kalisha knew were Loki's servant; Steve Wilcox, who served the god of wealth; and Jack Wooden. Of the three, Jack Wooden was the least distasteful.

"Yuck," she said again.

Jack smiled, and Gareth looked like he wanted to wipe that smile off Jack's face with a quick right to the jaw.

"All right," said Kalisha. "I'll try to get your eye. But as to the magic thing-- well, we'll see."

"Always a sensible order, Eye first, then seeing." Jack leaned back in his chair and smirked. "I approve."

***

Steve Wilcox laughed. To think that not long ago he had been feeling sorry for himself! Losing his wife to that slut Kalisha Connors had been a setback, not just because he missed having Cindy give him blowjobs, but because Cindy's father was filthy rich and Steve was planning to inherit someday. It was annoying seeing Connors every day at work, watching her take her extended lunch hours while he, ostensibly her boss, simply had to grit his teeth. He couldn't get her fired, because then the shit would hit the fan, and most of the shit would hit him.

But now he had the eye. He rolled it in his palm, admiring it through his thick glasses, and smiled. Pluto, Hades-- call the god of wealth what you will, he had more than one aspect. Death and the underworld was also his domain. Since he had been chosen by Hades he had been going about his worship in the lesser way, attempting to amass a fortune. He had been successful at that despite the loss of Cindy's father's money, but not hugely successful. He knew a dozen wealthier men.

So as difficult as it was to part with money, he had been happy to pay fifty grand for the little glass eye offered him by the diminutive stranger. The risks of murder were too high to be wasted on ordinary mortals, but the eye allowed him to track down more suitable sacrifices. He had spent an hour praying over the wavy, gold handled knife he had chosen, and now he felt ready. He opened the door, and descended the stairs to the basement.

There they were, in his own little dark underworld, only a single bare bulb lighting the windowless room. Once it had been a place for him to take the deliciously reluctant Cindy. She had screamed so nicely. The fact that she had hated him only made it the more fun.

There were two people there now. One, the larger, sat in a chair in the middle of the room, which Steve had built manacles into long ago. The steel bands for the thighs, designed to hold apart more slender legs, didn't fit the muscled legs of the large man with long blond hair who sat there. But the manacles on his wrists and ankles were sturdy, and the chair well bolted to the floor. He had been a dupe, to be so easily led here and drugged, thought Wilcox. Whatever deity chose him, he had chosen poorly. His mind would be clearing now.

Chained to the far wall was the other, her hair almost as dark a brown as the hated Kalisha's. Wilcox vowed to think of Kalisha while he wielded the knife on that one. She was smaller, shorter, but she would do. Where Wilcox had left the man his flannel shirt and stonewashed jeans, he had cut the woman's long black dress to ribbons. She had pleasant curves, thought Wilcox, and a nice round ass. Perhaps... but no. Letting his sexual desires get in the way of proper worship had been part of his downfall with Cindy and Kalisha.

The crash of nearby thunder was accompanied by a flickering of the light, but the house did not lose power. Wouldn't delay the blessed event anyway, thought Wilcox, even if I have to do it by candlelight. He held the knife up in the air, so that the light reflected off it and caught the blond man in the eye. Both of his intended victims had been ignoring him, but now he had the man's attention. Still, the man said nothing.

Wilcox did not admit to himself that his grandstanding was an attempt to delay a step that even his atrophied conscience knew was deeply evil.

He played the light along the wall the woman was resolutely staring at, and she, too, turned to look. She saw the knife. And laughed.

Wilcox took a step back, surprised, before he recovered himself. "Tonight, chosen ones, I intend to make you rue the day you ever pledged to serve your gods. You shall die to honor Hades, god of the Underworld, and into his domain you shall go."

The woman smiled. "You shall get no power from this, little man," she said. "You know we were chosen, but you never even bothered to find out by whom."

Wilcox shifted his grip on the knife. The woman's laughter, and now this quiet confidence, infuriated him, and he wanted to silence her in the worst way. Still, compelled, he asked, "Who, then?"

"The moon herself, most worshipped of all things save the sun, chose me, little man. She waxes and wanes, but you heed not her cycles. You seek to sacrifice Luna's chosen on her most holy night, when the moon is full? She will take her own, that is certain, and gain the power to chose another, who will know you for what you are. And she shall gain vengeance."