1 comments/ 12964 views/ 2 favorites Erotic Mythology Ch. 01 By: Louise Brown Althaea held her newborn son in her arms, only seven days old. While staring into the fire on the hearth, she made an attempt to enter into a trance to see what fate would hold for her handsome son. At first, she thought she'd failed, but the crackle of the fire in the palace nursery stopped snapping as an odd wind breezed past. Still staring at the hearth, Althaea stood up, moving closer to the window to listen to the Moerae singing in the wind. Clotho, the youngest, sang of the child's lineage and of his nobility. Lachesis, the middle sister, sang of the child's heart and bravery. Althaea had smiled in quiet acknowledgement of the first song; her pulse quickened with excitement on hearing the second. She locked her vision still onto the fire, particularly on the smallest piece of charred wood, for she knew she could keep her concentration at least long enough until it would burn out. As excited as Althaea was on hearing of the sung glory of her young prince, her heart sank when the eldest sister, Atropus, began her sad lament. "He will live," she sang, "Only as long as this brand remains unconsumed." Desperately wanting her son live a more prolonged life, wanting him to find adventure and eventually rule as king, she set him down, grabbed a pair of tongs, and pulled the small brand from the fire. She let it cool on a stone, then taking the charred piece in one hand and her son in the other, carried them both to her bedroom. She laid her child onto the bed, placed the brand into a small wooden chest, and tucked it away to be hidden in her drawing room. Althaea suckled her son on her bed that night, assuring herself that her prince would indeed lead a brave and noble existence... and a very long one, at that. ========================== The forest had its usual sounds as Actaeon listened carefully. He had sent his hounds into the hills to flush whatever prey they could find toward him for an easier shot. Though he would normally make some sort of noise, a slight crunching of underbrush, a small splash in the stream, this day Actaeon was pleased that he padded silently along the banks... perhaps he might even find a deer or a boar to feed his party in the distance without the aid of his beloved fierce hunting dogs. A certain splash or trickle coming from the stream seemed out of place, though, and Actaeon moved slowly on to investigate its source. He approached stealthily and spied what a less intelligent man could have mistaken for a woman bathing in the running water; even though he came from behind her side, Actaeon knew her features to be too perfect for that of a mortal. He had never seen one before, but was certain he was in the presence of the stream's naiad. Actaeon silently laid his bow and quiver next to a tree and removed his sandals, then crept upstream along the bank until catching her profile. Her dark hair was immaculately trimmed above her shoulders, baring her body underneath. Her breasts were full and spherical, her waist lean and firm. While she sat in the flowing water, what he could see of the soft curves of her calves and thighs were nothing short of magnificent. He ached to see more of the naiad's body, his cock growing harder with every witnessing second, but he dared not frighten the creature away. Still, his aching and desire took control of his body, and he reached down beneath his tunic to stroke his member. Though the palm of his hand was rough against his tumescent cock, it gave him at least some relief as he fantasized about taking the naiad. It was said if a mortal were to mate with one, he would become king of a city that would grow on that site. Power and lust drove him on, and Actaeon took a few steps farther upstream to espy a more frontal view. The only sounds in the forest were that of the streaming current of the water and the spattering on the creature's skin as she bathed. Actaeon watched her beautiful face, her small nose, her deep eyes, the sway of her breasts with her every motion. Her bath was near completion and she stood up. The curve of her hips amazed him and the sight of her naked pussy almost drove him to orgasm on the spot. He had to have her, and he had to have her now. Actaeon took three silent steps toward her, pulling and jerking on his cock, then grunted in disappointment stepped on a twig just shy of the stream. The snap of the wood alarmed her and the nude creature made direct eye contact with the hunter and with one swift motion, lifting her arm straight out, palm extended, urged the man to stop in his tracks. Actaeon could not move a muscle, except to continue stroking himself. He seemed unable to stop, compelled to masturbate while his feet were trapped in the muddy bank. Faster and faster he stroked, until his cum began streaming out of his member. With every drop that landed onto the ground, a squirrel or rabbit sprang from it; with every drop that fell into the stream, a fish would appear with a splash and swim away. Actaeon panicked immediately. Even a naiad might have her desires and had she deemed him worthy, he could have indeed become a king. But with his body controlled at the whim of the creature before him, he knew he was standing before, and had insulted, the virgin goddess of the wild, Artemis, herself. "What makes you, mere mortal, believe you are allowed to see me like this, or even at all?" The hunter could never find the correct words to respond and didn't bother trying. Artemis continued, incensed, "And I suppose you'll boast to your friends how you spied a goddess? What impiety is this?" Actaeon knew with the slightest wrong word or gesture he would be dead in an instant. Artemis in firm tone warned, "If you ever speak again, I will turn you into a stag. Do you understand?" The hunter nodded in agreement. He also knew that the magical silence he'd enjoyed was long gone as the bark of his hounds grew louder and, beyond them, the rest of his hunting party. The goddess stood her ground, awaiting his reaction. "Actaeon! Actaeon!" his friends called from the crest of a hill. They hadn't yet seen him, but the hunter knew they'd approach within a minute. "Actaeon!" He wished the goddess would vanish, but she remained in place, standing naked before him. "Actaeon!" At any moment his friends would see her as well and have a similar fate cast upon them. The dogs were coming closer, barking wildly, running as hard as they could down the hill. "Actaeon!" He couldn't bear to see the party arrive. "Actaeon!" "No! Turn back!" he shouted in warning. "If you ever speak again," the goddess reiterated, and in that second, the mortal transformed into a stag. Artemis watched as the dogs were first on the scene, unable to recognize what was once their master, and now their prey. The hounds tore into the deer with their fangs, shredding it limb from limb, and the goddess disappeared before being seen by any other man. The hunting party later that evening savored their venison, but the spirit about the camp was dim as no one would ever know what fate had befallen their leader and friend. All that was found of him was his bow, arrow, sandals, and slashed tunic. ========================== This spring brought feelings yet unknown to Atalanta. She was as old as there were numbers to count. She could scarcely remember her first hand of springs, except that each one brought relief from winter's grasp. In her second hand of springs she remembered how spring brought the longbeards out into the woods, how they played with her and taught her to speak. In her first foot of springs she ran faster than any of them could and learned to hunt for herself. In her second foot of springs she noticed how her body had changed and grown, and adapted to it. Now she was on her last toe, her twentieth spring, and this one brought feelings yet unknown to her. She couldn't help but notice every female beast in the woods lately seemed to be amid estrus, and Atalanta, who had always felt more animal than human, began to feel the same burning within her. She wandered a passage in what was once her mother's cave, left the fur cloak and boots behind, pulling out her sandals and the cloth tunic she'd received a year before as a gift from Pirithous, a shortbeard and her friend. She glanced about the cavern and missed her mother so, the warmth of her large body was comforting on a winter evening, even while she slept. With a sigh, Atalanta left the cave to wander back into the forest with her clothes and few remaining winter provisions in a sack. It would take at least a few days to get the musty odor from the cloth as it had sat unused in the cave during the past four months. She thought to at least wash out the damp smell before finding more woodsy aromas to help camouflage her scent when hunting over the spring and summer. Atalanta broke off a juniper branch, then scooped some water from the nearby brook into a small pot with what wild flowers she could find. Her fire was started easily enough in a clearing, and soon the water was close to boiling. She left her tunic in the hot, scented water to initially clean it. She realized how hungry she was and roamed into the forest wearing only her sandals, her bow and arrows over her shoulder, and a leather strap tied tightly about her waist with three sheathes, two for her swords and one for her knife. She made her way deeper into the woods without a sound, every step with an air of confidence. Before long she found the tracks of numerous animals, and knew her supper was not far in front of her. Sure enough, she found a doe, and Atalanta selected an arrow and drew her bow, but before she took a shot, she witnessed a buck approaching. Atalanta watched as the male mounted the female from behind. "By the gods, what must that feel like?" she wondered, burning inside. The deer were done in less than a minute; Atalanta never shot. Instead, she dropped her bow and arrow to the ground, no longer tracking the animals startled by the sound and scampering away in skittish panic; she merely stared at the knife dangling off her hip. The handle fit the grip of her hand perfectly. Atalanta thought that it might fit another part of her body perfectly, as well. She hurriedly tugged at the tool, loosening it from her belt. Not wanting to cut herself on the blade, she jammed it underhand into a large tree, then dropped to her hands and feet the way she'd seen every other female beast in the forest. The maiden of the woods pressed backward on all fours until she felt the knob of the knife handle touching against the slit of her labia, then plunged herself back onto and surrounding it. Rare was the moment she would ever show physical discomfort, but she let out a groan of pain when the tool broke her hymen. When she realized a few tears trickled from her face, she wasn't certain if it was from the aching of her vagina or from the aching of her heart, the futility that there was no way the tree could fuck her. She pulled her body forward, then plunged backward again. It still hurt, but she tried it again, and again. "No, this just isn't working," she bemoaned, and leaned ahead until she felt the squishy closing of her lips from off the knife handle. She felt so terribly wet inside, unlike any other wetness she'd ever before known. When she turned to retract the knife from the trunk of the tree, she was surprised to see lines of blood on it. She glanced between her legs and knew the wetness was that of her bleeding. It was so strange and different to her, though. She had bled there every moon for nearly eight toes of springs, but this one didn't bring the painful tingle to her nipples or the restless and angry feelings for a hand of days. Atalanta was hurt, but this time she strangely yearned to feel more of it. Picking up her weapons, she walked slowly back to the clearing. She took a stick into the pot, drawing out her tunic and flung it into the brook to cool before putting it on to wear. She stepped into the stream to clean her knife, pussy, and legs. As Atalanta sat down into the cold water, she rubbed herself, at first to wash away the blood, then more and more simply because it felt so nice to do it. She pressed the fingertips of one hand madly over her clitoris, while forming a small cock with three fingers from her other hand, fucking herself in ways she couldn't against the tree. Her body was a jumble of sensations... the icy chill of the water flowing around her legs, but between them ever-increasing warmth from within. More and more this spring she had felt a burning desire, but this was a burning pleasure. A few moments of longing exploring of herself later, she found her body taut in the brook, then as though she were part of the water itself, let go, relaxing and flowing downstream. Atalanta cried out in the glory of nature, satisfied by her own tender touch, drifting slowly back into consciousness. Over the span of an entire moon, she never saw a single man in the woods, but between moments of hunting and cooking rabbits, fishes, tubers and other vegetables, Atalanta spent every waking moment finding new ways to please herself. She learned to plunge the blade of her knife into the ground and to squat over it, using her powerful legs to lift and lower her body on the handle until she brought herself to climax. She carved a phallus from a leg bone and polished it smoothly with the fat of her kills, using it in nearly every way possible when lying on the grass. She found new ways to touch herself with one, two, or three fingers. Yet, with each orgasm she felt, the need to feel a real man mating with her nearly drove her into a frenzy. ========================= The forest had its usual sounds as Meleager listened carefully. Though he would normally make some sort of noise, a slight crunching of underbrush, a small splash in the stream, this day he was pleased that he padded silently along the banks... perhaps he might even find a deer or a boar to feed his party in the distance. A certain splash or trickle coming from the stream seemed out of place, though, and Meleager moved slowly on to investigate its source. He approached stealthily and spied what a less intelligent man could have mistaken for a naiad or even a goddess bathing in the running water; even though he came from behind her side, Meleager knew her features to be too perfect for that of a deity. He had never seen her before, but was certain he was in the presence of the maiden huntress, Atalanta. Meleager silently laid his bow, quiver, sword, and shield next to a tree, then crept upstream along the bank until catching her profile. Her hair was long, dark blonde or light brown he couldn't quite discern, and slightly curled, covering her shoulders and the top of her body underneath. Her breasts were sloping and smallish for her frame, but athletically firm. Her tan nipples were very small in diameter, but stood out hard and erect from her body like two tiny fingertips. Her waist was lean and slender, and while she sat in the streaming water, what he could see of the shape of her calves and thighs were as muscular as any man's. He ached to see more of her body, his cock growing harder with every witnessing second, but he dared not frighten the woman away. The only sounds in the forest were that of the streaming flow of the water and the spattering on the woman's skin as she bathed... that is, until Meleager heard a pleasureful, guttural moan coming deep from within Atalanta's being. He watched her beautiful body while she played with herself in the stream. In a moment he saw her face contort, her voice calling out in a tremor. He waited until she had begun to find peace, her eyes in a dreamy bliss, her shoulders drop, her body in relief, before coming forth. When she saw the shortbeard, she immediately tensed and reached for her swords nearby, but Meleager lifted both hands in truce. "I am unarmed," he offered, then bent to pick up her tunic beside the bank, readying to toss it to her. He did seem honest, as most shortbeards were, but he was handsome as well. He stood only an inch shorter than she did, and the brown hair on his head was as well-groomed as that on his face. His shoulders were broad, his arms strapping, and his legs looked strong and swift. The woman stood, but kept her hands at her sides, unwilling yet to catch the garment. As she stepped out of the water, he saw she was taller than most of the men he knew, every inch of her body lean and muscular. She walked toward him with grace and carried a pride he had never before seen in any woman. He asked, "Atalanta?" "I am. How do you know me? We've never met." "I am Meleager, Prince of Calydon. It is part of my learning to know of all of the royal lines." "Royal lines?" she curiously inquired, stepping directly in front of him. Meleager gave Atalanta her tunic, then waited for her to don it before continuing, though it did little to conceal her form at all; the shrunken cloth clung to every inch of her wet body. "You are Atalanta, daughter of King Iasus and Queen Clymene, Princess of Arcadia, granddaughter to Lycurgus, the son of Aleus, the son of Aphidas, the son of Arcas and grandson to Zeus and Callisto." "I'm a princess," she replied, mocking him in disbelief. "I'm Princess of Arcadia." "Yes." "That's impossible. I don't even live in a city, much less a palace! The only mother I've known was not even human, and father I have none, nor ever had." Meleager asked to take a seat on the stream bank, then explained how Atalanta was abandoned by her father. Iasus had bragged to every he knew when Clymene became pregnant how they'd have a son to rule all Arcadia. When a daughter arrived instead, Iasus couldn't bear to face the humiliation and had the infant lain atop a mountain peak, abandoned to the wild. The girl would have certainly died exposed to the elements had Artemis not interceded. The goddess sent a bear to suckle Atalanta through infancy, and throughout her childhood, hunters would take turns caring for her over the winter months. "You are," Meleager said, "A living legend." Atalanta paused a moment to contemplate the story. "What you say makes sense, I suppose... but having known nothing else but the forest my entire life," she added, "It's all so much to swallow. It does explain something, though." "What's that?" "Why Pirithous has always called me 'Princess.' The first time he said that and I'd asked about it, he only said that I was Princess of the Arcadian woods." "You are that, and much more." It was Meleager's turn to pause before speaking again. "Well, if you would allow me, I would very much enjoy hunting with you this summer." The huntress felt she was up for an adventure, especially with a man as handsome as this. "Very well, I will." "I will take your leave now to let my party know not to expect me soon, but I will return at sunset, if you'll be here." "I'll be waiting," Atalanta smiled back, then smiled more broadly while watching the rounded ass of the prince bounce up and down with every step away that he took. ========================= Atalanta was more than ready for Meleager's return while she tended what would be their evening fire, and he did so even before dusk had fallen. The two each eyed the other as a hunter watches his or her prey. There was no doubt that a sexual tension had built between them from their earlier encounter, each knowing exactly what they wanted. The prince was first to break the ice. "Before I saw you in the stream this morning, I was of the understanding that... well, legend had it that you were a virgin." "I still am." Meleager was somewhat shocked, and it showed in the stuttering of his voice. "But... but ... but it seemed to me..." he looked downward, "That you seemed to..." with a shuffle of his feet, "Know what you were doing... to me." Erotic Mythology Ch. 01 There was a definite sparkle to Atalanta's not-unkind laughter. "Well, a woman has needs, you know!" She gently brushed her hand along the side of the prince's face, cradling underneath his jaw as her blue eyes pierced through him. "It's true that through today I am a virgin," she bit her lower lip in an anxious pause, "But I hope by the sun's rise, I won't be able to say that, any longer." The prince could barely breathe while he pressed forward, taking Atalanta into his arms and slowly kissed her. The huntress and the hunter embraced, at the same time so tightly as to not let go, yet loosely to be able to feel each other's bodies with roaming hands. Their kisses grew deeper and longer, and weapons and clothing fell to either side of them. The princess burned inside, turned, and went down on all fours to await Meleager's entry. She was surprised to feel his hands caressing her ass, back, and waist, but nothing more. Panting in heat, she hissed to him, "Fuck me!" With that, the prince's hands withdrew, and she moaned in agony when he denied her needs with, at first, only a simple, "No." "What do you mean, 'No?' Don't you want me?" "More than anything of which I can dream," Meleager replied. "But, I don't want to merely 'fuck' you... I want to make love to you. You're not a beast, you know. You are a woman... the most beautiful woman my eyes have ever seen." Atalanta's heart melted. The only women she had ever seen were all much older than she was, on the rare times she ventured to the farmlands near a city at all, and even though most of the shortbeards she knew were all well-spoken, there was something special about the way this one carried himself, both in words and demeanor. He held his hand out to hers, and took it when she rose from the ground. "Your first time should be as a princess, not as an animal," he smiled. The sun was just beginning its descent while Meleager began making a bed of wildflowers for them in the grass. Atalanta perched nude on a fallen log, watching him prepare a feast for the senses. Once the flowers were set, she eyed him curiously as he put a pot of water onto the fire, then went to fetch his knife. "You're going to cook now?" she asked with an arched brow, her eyes glued to the prince while he sharpened it on a stone. "You'll see," he smiled at her. Once the tool was honed, he beckoned her to approach. "Do you trust me?" he asked. "I do." Looking up at her from his knees, Meleager responded, "Then sit," as he patted the bed in front of him. She did, her feet flat on the ground before him on either side of his legs, her pussy slightly spread below him. The prince dipped his fingers into the warm water, then lightly splashed and patted over the long, fine hairs on her legs until they were wet all over. Atalanta sighed in approval the comforting feeling. Meleager then dipped the blade of his knife into the pot, the water hotter than before, slowly... carefully... shaving her legs. He delicately scraped the hunting knife along the flesh of her limbs until it was smooth to the touch, then caressed over them with his hands. The prince's cock throbbed in excitement; he felt a certain pride in making the lower half of her body as regal as the top. Atalanta couldn't feel enough of the man's touch as he carefully shaved the hair from her legs. She laid onto her back in the flowers, spreading her legs before him while he shaved her pussy. She was nearly breathless tilting her head back onto her hands while he crawled up her body and shaved her armpits. She sighed when realizing she hadn't felt as naked as this in two hands of summers. When he was finished and had set his knife aside, she wrapped around the prince with both arms and both legs, lifting her face to meet his, lost in the depths of passion. He removed himself from her face long enough to kiss over her neck and shoulder; she released him from her grip to give room to allow his descent. He flicked his tongue over her stiff nipple, then over to the other, his hands smoothing and massaging over her hips and thighs. It was obvious, though, that neither could contain themselves any longer, and Meleager fell atop Atalanta's body. Both were simultaneously reaching for his cock to aim it home, and the instant he pushed inside her, both groaned ecstatic release at the feel of one another. The prince steadily paced himself in and out of the princess's body, his steely broadsword of a cock sheathed to the hilt in her wet velvet. The harder he pressed into her, the more she slammed upward to meet him, both desperately craving each other. From beneath her rose the scent of the woodland blossoms, from between her the aroma of their wanton throes. Any creature in the forest certainly could have heard the fervent sounds of their obsession with each other. One did. Though Artemis could demand the chastity of the woodland deities, of mortals she could not; still, the goddess was disappointed to lose the child over whom she'd secretly watched these twenty years to the ways of men. The goddess hid from the couple, and did not vanish back to Olympus until she had witnessed Atalanta climax, and then Meleager. The princess squealed in lusty delight, then could hardly breathe at all as every muscle in her body tensed in unknown anticipation. With tremendously sweet release, she cried out in wonder feeling for the first time with a man what she'd grown to love over the past moon feeling alone, her body quivering in its entirety as wave after wave coursed through her. The prince had pulled his cock out from the warmth of the princess, his seed exploding in streams on her body... narrow white ropes of cum stretching upward to her neck, then to her breasts, then her waist, then dripping rivulets over her shorn vulva. As he fell to lay on top of her, the cooling, sticky liquid pressed between their bodies as the couple playfully kissed and floated softly back to Earth. They explored each other's bodies for the remainder of the night, and made love until neither had the strength to continue. It was near dawn when Meleager laid naked on his back, Atalanta was on her side, resting her head on his chest, when he leaned up to whisper into her ear, "I'd like to present you a gift, if you'd be willing to travel with me for a moon to accept it." "What gift could you offer me that couldn't be exchanged here? Everything I could ever want is directly beneath me," she said, kissing his nipple. "The gift isn't here, it's somewhere else. Even so, would you accompany me to accept it?" "Every moment I could spend with you is a gift from the gods. If it takes two hands and two feet of years to find it, I'll accompany you." The prince fingered gently through the mane of the huntress, gently kissing her forehead, then her face. She sighed softly, "I love you." Meleager tenderly kissed her mouth, then said, "I'm falling in love with you, too." Atalanta smiled as she finally went to sleep. ============================= Over the span of the next ten days, both of them were happier than either could remember. They made their way north through Arcadia and into Achaea, hunting for food when they weren't making love by day, laying together every night. Atalanta loved the feel of the cool breezes against her newly discovered body, and continued the practice of shaving herself whenever she felt hairs trying to reemerge, knowing it excited her lover as much as it did herself. Each seemed to anticipate the other's moves, not only while having sex, but during the hunt, as well. One would flush for the other, and Meleager was almost as deadly with a bow as Atalanta was. Neither hungered for anything, except each other, and once night fell and camp made, each of the couple would absolutely devour the other. The princess was ready to return toward Arcadia when they saw the coast of the Gulf of Corinth, but Meleager reminded her he wanted to present her a gift, and that it lie across the sea. She was enamored with the prince to the point that it barely surprised her at all that he'd had a ship waiting in Aegium. It was the first time Atalanta had ever been on a boat, but Meleager was able to make it seem romantic. There were as many stars at night on the sea as there were atop a mountain. Before morning the couple disembarked at the port of Crisa, and from there, only a day's journey lay ahead of them, he promised, to receive her gift. The journey was up the side of a mountain, and both found great comfort in how the other was able to scale the face of it. They seemed to do everything well together, fitting in as nicely as his cock into her pussy. Once on top of the crest, Atalanta saw a temple unlike any she'd seen in the Peloponnese. The princess was bade to strip and bathe in the sacred spring, then was clothed in fine white linens and had her hair brushed luxuriously before entering the Oracle at Delphi. The princess, encouraged by her love to seek her future, stepped alone into the shrine. There, the Priestess foretold: "A husband will be your bane, O Atalanta; Flee from the intercourse of husband; And yet you will not flee, and, Though living, you will lose yourself." Atalanta stepped down from the shrine in the manner most others did: contemplative and somewhat confused. "How can a husband hurt me?" she wondered, "And why should I flee from the most wonderful feeling I've ever known?" Meleager, on seeing the princess descend in her new attire, almost fell over at how beautiful she was, of the light that seemed to radiate from her. As had happened every summer since she could remember, her hair lightened in the sun to blonde and her skin mellowed into a tan as deep the most lavish leather, but the changes that had taken place over the past half-moon were gradual and he hadn't really noticed them. Now her colors were accentuated by the clothing he'd had left for her at the sacred spring, and his heart pounded through his chest. She was about to share her concerns of the Oracle, but the prince put his finger to her lips, letting her know that the exact interpretation of the secret of the Oracle would be for Atalanta alone to discover. Their ship awaited in Crisa, but instead of sailing for Achaea, they instead made for the small city of Pellene, farther away, Meleager explained, than anyone of consequence would know them. He paid for a room for the night; they ate supper, drank wine, and retired for the evening. The bed inside was softer than anything Atalanta had before known. Though they'd spent nearly every non-hunting moment at each other's side, the princess grew more and more amazed by this handsome man, how every superior thing, his ship, her new clothes, this room, seemed to be at his beck and call. Tonight, she silently acknowledged to herself, his generosity toward her would definitely be rewarded. Atalanta began the evening bathing him in their room with warm, scented water. Next, she laid him, still damp, onto his back in the feather bed, kissing him sweetly. Kneeling over his hips, she lowered her crossed arms to the hem of her linens, slowly lifting them up over her head. The prince, though he had seen her naked many times so far, stared at her as if this time was his first. Tossing her clothes off the side of the bed and onto the floor, she reached ahead for a small bottle she taken before and hid by the pillows. Her breasts tumbled softly down from her body into Meleager's face. He remembered the first time he saw them when she was pleasing herself in the woods, recalling then that they seemed smallish then. He realized now the only reason they did so was because she was sitting slightly backward at the time, and even so they were being judged next to the frame of her powerfully built shoulders. Leaning forward like this, though, they were enormously round, full, and sexy. He reached for them with both hands, taking one of her small nipples in between his lips, sucking for dear life. Atalanta moaned in pleasure for a moment as he did, but realized she wanted this night for him to be the pampered one, and allowed him to suck on the other before kneeling back up before him. Tilting the bottle over his chest, she poured out some of the oil onto him, smoothly pressing it all over, delicately massaging the prince. She scooted down a bit, oiling and rubbing over his belly, then again down and kneading his wonderful legs. When she moved back up, in the offing before her was his marvelously large, throbbing penis. She fingered a small dribble of oil onto his balls, almost tickling him with the levity of her touch, then gripped around the shaft of his member, slowly pull and stroking it up and down. At first, she teased him with slow, lengthy drags from the palm of her hand, then she grasped more tightly and began tugging harder on his cock. She locked her gaze on his soft, brown eyes, watching the wonder that befell him while she stroked at the same pace at which he usually orgasmed when making love to her. His eyes strolled down from hers, down to her breasts heaving and jiggling from the motion of her arm, down her trim stomach, down to what he could see of her bare vulva from behind her fist pounding up and down his cock. When he slowly glanced back up at her, Atalanta wore a proud smile down at him, proud of what the prince had thought of her and of the state to which she'd brought him. She sensed he was nearly ready to climax and didn't want to waste it in her hand, so she swiftly mounted him, riding astride him, letting her body fall on top of him, his engorged cock into the warmth of her pussy. The princess moaned louder than the prince did, needing the relief as much as he did. She placed her hands onto him, kneading his strong chest for balance, while her remaining weight forced down on the balls of the feet just above his hips. Using her powerful legs, she lifted and lowered her body furiously on him, fucking him deep and fast and hard. She was amazing to witness, and Meleager couldn't hold out much longer, though he wished that he could. He cried out in glory as he exploded within her. Atalanta watched the prince cum, her eyes never leaving his face, seeing his expressions go from lust to ecstasy to release to wonder and awe to love. Atalanta's eyes returned the same wonder and love back to him as she lowered her body onto his. They kissed deeply, slowly, and peacefully until the touch of each other's bodies brought them peace no longer. It took practically no time at all for Meleager's cock to return to full strength and for the princess to beg, "Fuck me." This time when she got to her hands and knees on the bed, the prince trembled in lust for her. He found his way behind her body and guided the head of his cock to her slit. He pressed himself within her, then clutched onto her hips before plunging himself the rest of the way in. Atalanta groaned in delight at being taken from behind. The room was filled with the sounds of slapping flesh as his pelvis and hips pounded against her round, soft ass. In the moments when neither of the couple were moaning, they could also hear small, squishing splashes coming from the wetness of her pussy being plugged from his shaft. The entire room smelled of flowers and oil and sex. Meleager drove into the princess firmly and with more strength, and the harder he fucked her, the more Atalanta screamed for more. He stopped fucking her when she first climaxed, wanting to feel the vibrations of her labia on his cock, then when she was close to catching her breath, the prince took it away again, fucking her wildly. With all the force he could muster, he slammed into her pussy while pulling her body back onto him from her hips. Soon the princess was out of control, and Meleager was sliding in and out of her pussy, her upper body violently rocking back and forth at the prince's whim. Again and again she called out in orgasmic pleasure as her belly and womb imploded in waves of cum. Between climaxes, she whimpered for more; the mighty huntress was being dominated by the only man to whom she'd ever submit. The prince realized the exchange of power between the couple wasn't to last much longer, though, when he felt the familiar, boiling tingle growing within his scrotum. Pulling out at the last conceivable moment, his cock erupted all over her ass. Before he had the chance to soothingly rub it into her skin, Atalanta had turned over, sat up, wrapping her arms around him, and laid her face adoringly against Meleager's chest. ============================= Meleager and Atalanta said their goodbyes the following morning... the prince said he had to take care of things in Calydon after having been gone for almost an entire moon; the princess said she wished to take advantage of the summer to prepare for the winter ahead. They were apart for a moon, then together for the next, happily hunting, laughing, talking, and making love together. They had one more moon apart from each other, and yet one final one together in the autumn, spent in the same manner as the two glorious ones they'd shared. Both worked to help Atalanta store food and supplies for the winter. Atalanta never asked to winter in Calydon or to see the kingdom's palace; he never offered. Still, she couldn't help after settling into her mother bear's cave and covering herself in furs when staring into the fire, wondering what in the names of the gods the Oracle meant.