Prometheus and Medea

Everyone is well over eighteen.

Medea knew she was taking a chance, but she needed the blood of a god for the potion to work. Passing through her garden, the scent of jasmine and sandalwood heavy on the night breeze, she told herself that she would be all right, that there was no risk in what she was doing. And anyone watching her pass would have agreed. Medea was beautiful, an enchantress with black hair and dark eyes, slim and sensuous. And no one was her equal in magic, except maybe her aunt, Circe.

Tonight, she was on a mission.

In the pocket of her sheer blue gown that only enhanced her soft full breasts and rouged nipples were several bulbs of opium, the white sap thick and potent. They were her bargaining chips to assure her there would be no future retaliation.

Although she needed his blood, there was a belief among the priestly caste that the chained god would soon be free. She needed to make sure he did not turn his anger against her once he was free.

Her dragons, sensuous snakes of the sky, flew swift and sure into the dark mountains to the crag where Prometheus lay chained. She had seen him once before, the god who had loved humanity too much, a creature condemned to suffer the most terrible of fates. How many days and nights had he lain in the cold and biting wind, his body food for demonic birds? How many mornings awoke to his screams?

Like all immortals, he was beautiful, so her thoughts sometimes wandered to other things. Did he miss tender touches and kisses? Did his body ever hunger for release? She considered that as a bargaining chip.

The dragons their immortal light illuminating the barren land around them lit upon the only flat ground they could find. Medea stepped out of the chariot and made her way towards the Titan. She could see him in the faint light of the moon, chained to a rock, his bed for the Ages. He was watching her, and no doubt already knew why she was there and what she carried in her pocket. He might even be aware of her stray thoughts. He was after all the farsighted.

But not so farsighted if he believed Athena would have stood up to her lying father for him. She heard the scrape of chains on rock as he tried to move to get a better look at her.

Prometheus, the eternal idealistic youth, forever young, forever damned. By the light of day his long hair was the color of sun-bleached autumn fields, his eyes were the color of the ever-changing sky before a winter storm. At night, he was just a shape on a rock. The perfect shape of a man.

In that faint light she could see just enough of him to tell that even after countless centuries of sun and wind and cold, he was still flawless. Gods were that way. His hands chained over his head and his feet chained at the other end of the boulder had him stretched taunt. He was so beautiful.

"Do you know why I am here?" she asked curiously and moved closer. She wanted to touch him, to run her nails up his trembling thigh. Did he sense that? Would he mind if she ran her nails over his perfect body?

"You want my blood," he answered softly, and there was knowledge in voice. He knew her thoughts. And if he knew her thoughts and was not protesting, then...she stepped up to the boulder and let her nails brush the inside of his thigh.

"I seek a trade, Titan," she said and let her nails continue up his body, letting them ever so lightly brush his groin. His cock stirred with need.

"My blood is not cheap," he answered breathlessly as she closed her hand around it.

"No, it's not," she answered and released him. She heard his faint cry "The prophets say that your time of freedom is near. I do not want you retaliating against me."

"If you torture me, I will destroy you," he responded menacingly, but her hand returned to his body stilling his protests. She could feel the deep breath he took and held. When was the last time a woman had touched him?

"I want to be generous," she said and allowed her hand to find more interesting parts. "I bring opium so the bird won' t be so terrible when it attacks. And I can be nice in other ways."

He was too proud to beg with words, but his body quivered at her touch. He wanted more than a taste; he wanted to be overwhelmed. She grasped his cock in her hand and stroked it again, using the foreskin to tease the head. Her hand was too dry but there was a remedy. She bent over and took him into her mouth, gently sucking on the swollen head until he moaned loudly and tried to move his hips in time with her.

She stopped before he climaxed and waited for some of the pressure to subside. He gasped and made a whimpering sound. This was torture for him, but it also led to greater pleasure. She stroked him again and looked at the face she could barely see. Here was a god with his perfect body in her hands, literally. It wouldn't' take much for her to enjoy him.

Releasing him, she moved to his head and stared down into the face of hunger and desire. He opened his mouth and tasted his first kiss in eons. But his mouth did not taste stale or bitter. He was sweet, and laying her hand on his breast, she could feel the pounding of his heart.

She moved down his beautiful body, back to the straining erection that demanded her attention. Unfastening her gown, she let it drop to the ground. Now he could see her perfect body, her full breasts and taunt nipples.

"Please."

Medea smiled and hefted her breasts. Playing with her nipples, she knew what he wanted. Climbing over this heaving body, she lowered one of her ripe fruits to his mouth. Prometheus feasted on her offering, and then the other, and Medea reached down her body and stroked her pussy. But this was not how she wanted to cum.

Drawing back from his hungry mouth, she grabbed his cock and held it up. Slowly she lowered herself, the sensation of his cock stretching her vagina sending delicious shivers through her. Bracing herself with one hand while toying with her nipples with the other, she rode him hard and grinded against him. Her orgasm was hard and incited him to his own.

He tensed and there was no turning back. Thrusting his hips upwards he spilled into her, his cry not that of a wounded animal or a terrified god but a man spending his passion in a woman s body.

Medea stayed with him until there was nothing left to give. He lay there with his head back, his eyes shut. How long had they been doing this? Why? The sun was starting to bleed red in the East. The bird would be stirring.

"The opium, please," he asked, the pain in his voice almost unimaginable. What should have been a pleasant rest was now preparing for the attack.

"Are you sure now?" she asked and dug the bulbs out of her pocket.

"Yes, now!"

She cut them open with a small knife, and when the white sap ran, she pressed it to his lips. He sucked on the white juice as if his very life depended on it. He even sank teeth into it to get every drop of it.

"When it comes, it won' t bother you," he gasped through the horrible misery growing in his mind. "Soon," he whimpered to himself. "Soon."

Medea grabbed her gown and watched the sun rise. A great bird, larger than anything she had ever seen approached from the east. This was it! With a scream it extended its talons and attacked the Titan s vulnerable body. But deep in the opiate, he felt no pain, his eyes more closed than open.

Hot red blood spilled over the sides of the rocks, staining stone and grass. Remembering her errand Medea pulled out a suave container and scooped up the thick clotting blood. There was so much! So much blood. She paused and looked at Prometheus, and the sight stunned her. He was so beautiful in that early golden light, a look of peace on his face as the black eagle ripped strip after strip of purple liver from his body.

The bird looked at her and screamed a warning. This was his prey, and he would not share. Medea would not challenge him for the Titan s body, and she had what she needed to make the magical potion. Running back to her dragons, she climbed into the chariot and told them to go home now. With deafening defiant screams, they obeyed her.