3 comments/ 35995 views/ 15 favorites The Making of a Goddess Ch. 01 By: zephrbabe Bent over the supine form, the moon cast his silhouette in silver and ice. He leaned back from the woman who had mysteriously appeared in front of his destrier, taking in her features by Diana’s light. She was unconscious, her dark lashes resting against high cheekbones. Her face was pale- too pale for women of this region; she must be a Northern woman. He registered this, but noted with a frown that her hair was nearly black, unlike the fairness of those northern women. He looked a long time at her mouth, the rosy lips seemed petal-soft and tempting. He leaned down to her, intending a tiny taste; her breath whispered against his cheek. He stood abruptly and, without effort, took her up, and placed her on his war-horse, noting appreciatively the way her shift draped over her lush backside. He mounted behind her, placing a large hand in the small of her back to keep her in place. And the man took the reins in his gauntleted hand, and nudged his horse in the direction of home. The only thing left on the ground after man, woman and beast disappeared was a pair of horseshoe-shaped crescents of molten rock. *** Ariadne jerked up in bed, breathing heavily. What a dream! She must have gotten to bed late after getting out of the bookstore. She would have to stop reading that book of Greek mythology she’d acquired a few days ago. Hmm, too bad. I was enjoying it. It was then that Ariadne noticed that the bed she was in was not her dainty, quilted bed, but a bed of an entirely different personality. This bed was easily twice the size of her own queen-sized bed, and about seven feet long. The proportions were enormous, but it was the rest of it, illuminated by a pair of torches to either side that took her breath away. It was carved out of ebony and was covered with intricate knotwork. She glanced down at the covers; they were animal pelts, with a black velvet blanket under it all. She glanced up in trepidation, and saw where the posts ended and transparent silk banners- also black- hung from the stone ceiling Had she died and gone to Hell? No, of course not, she reasoned with herself. The bed was far too comfortable for her to be in Hell. She dangled her feet over the edge of the bed, letting her bare toes trail on the cold floor. She leapt lightly to the bear pelt on the floor, moving quietly across it, towards the heavy oak door. She managed to reach the door without incident or demonic apparition. As she reached for the doorknob, however, an arm snaked around her waist, throwing her off balance and into a very solid chest. She could feel the man’s stubble against her cheek, and was startled when he whispered in her ear. She didn’t understand a word of it, but chills ran freely on her spine. She soon realized he waited for an answer from her. “I can’t understand you,” she said firmly, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. Instead, his arm tightened around her waist, and he growled to her, his words passing her ears in the garbled tongue he’d spoken before, but reaching her brain in strangely accented English. “Where do you think you’re going, I said?” Ariadne drew herself up to her full five foot eight inches, her muscles stiffening and pressing her harder against his chest. “I am going home,” she said, her voice quivering slightly. She was frightened of this place, this man, and her fear was rapidly turning to anger. She took a deep breath and grabbed his muscled arm with both hands and wrenched it around. Her assailant was thrown over her shoulder and landed heavily on the floor. She briefly reflected that he was immense and her momentum would probably leave a few cracked ribs. She prepared to drop onto his windpipe, elbow first. As she finally fell upon him, he was no longer there. Her elbow met with air, and she tumbled over, hitting the stone floor hard. His arm came around her again, lifting her off her feet, and tossing her over his shoulder. She could see down his back for an instant. In the dim torchlight, the only thing Ariadne could tell was that he was clad in black leather. She might have laughed at the color theme, if she hadn’t been dangling over his back. She could feel him moving beneath her, and thought he was going to leave the room. Instead, he dumped her on the bed, the torches guttering wildly. The man, keeping to the flickering shadows, retreated to the corner, his body movements telling Ariadne he was very angry. “I just want to go home,” she whispered, not knowing whether he’d said anything at all. He became less visible in the shadows, and Ariadne’s anger finally got the better of her. “Why have you brought me here? Speak!” Her voice quivered, but was full of imperious command. This was her dream, after all, so why shouldn’t he obey? It surprised her greatly when a low rumble of laughter emanated from the shadows. “You think to challenge me?” His voice, again in her head, was laced with humor, and a deeper tone that made her feel as if he would love to best her, and would do so easily. She shivered, but stood on the bed as best she could, her balance precarious. “Of course.” The steel reentered her voice. “You’re not a god, after all.” The silence was palpable, and Ariadne could feel the hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end. A shiver of doubt coursed over her, leaving her cold. She couldn’t hear him, even in the silence of the room, and leaned forward to get a better angle. Instead, she fell forward, and would have fallen off the bed if there hadn’t been what she felt was an arm, gently pushing her back. She hadn’t seen anything touch her, and was shaken with the possibilities. She fell back on the bed, her face a mask of surprise. She quickly recovered, however. Her courage was backed by her confidence that, in a dream, she could do whatever she damn well pleased. Ariadne sat up, her eyes becoming more accustomed to the dark. “I know you’re still here.” Nothing; he was silent and invisible. She could nearly believe she’d imagined it, except where she was sitting, and the fact that her elbow hurt like a bitch. Ariadne crawled back from the inky, unnatural dark of the other side of the room. She took a torch in one hand, careful not to catch the coverings on fire, and stepped of the bed. The cold seeped into her feet, and was contrast to the hot branch in her hand. She walked steadily- despite the torch’s violent guttering- towards where he had spoken from. She reached the wall. There was nobody there. A slightly hysterical laugh escaped her. And another. She nearly dropped the torch when he materialized out of nothing in front of her. “Holy shit. How? No, I don’t want to know.” He was scowling, and so was she. His muscular arms were crossed over his chest, and his legs were braced apart. It was the classical stubborn pose. His face was tilted down towards hers, and she stared angrily at him. When he spoke, his mouth actually formed the words that she heard. “What odd language do you speak, mortal?” “Ha! So you admit to being otherworldly,” she burst out. His scowl deepened, but Ariadne hardly noticed; she could feel herself sinking into hysteria. “Of course.” He growled something in his own language. She just knew he was cursing her. The torch guttered suddenly in her hand, and she did drop it, the brand extinguishing as it hit the floor. She could feel the residue of power in the air: it was oily and cloying. He’d made her drop it, she knew, and the idea that he had utter control over her irked her. Ariadne let out an exasperated sigh, and turned towards the bed, and the other torch. She knew she’d have to wait for better light, and rest before she could tackle him efficiently. And it was a dream, anyway. “Look, I can’t deal with you right now. I’ll just go to sleep and wake up in my own bed in the morning.” For some reason this saddened her. It wasn’t as if working in a used bookstore was an exciting life for her. Okay, so it was her bookstore, but it was going under anyway. She’d get up in the morning and give it to her assistant. Man, even her assistant wouldn’t want it. Face it, Ari, she told herself, this is just a dream, you can’t stay here forever. *** Crap. It’s morning. Man, what a night. What a dream. “What the hell am I still doing here?” An unidentified flying body leapt from the bed, glimmering blade in hand. Looking at it with an appraising eye, she could see it was meant as a dagger. A two foot long dagger. The man, who she didn’t recognize as either of her ex-boyfriends, was absolutely, wonderfully, stark naked. Light streamed through the window, illuminating his body, and glinting cheerfully along the blade that would equally happily run right through her. “Who the hell are you?” He was tall, and she knew he was much taller than she. His hair was blue-black and curled around his ears, the tangled mass hiding his face. His muscles were tensed to fight. He finally heard what she said, and straightened up. He was magnificent, his body a bodybuilder’s defined musculature: long legs and arms, a sculpted torso and a too well proportioned… “My god! Put some clothes on!” “So I am your god now, woman?” His voice was silky and dark. “Oh. It’s you,” she growled. At least it wasn’t someone she’d never met, she reasoned sarcastically. “What were you doing in the bed with me, anyway?” “Should I not sleep in my own bed?” “Well…” She wanted to say “Not with me,” but she couldn’t bring herself to be so prissy, and especially not while he still had no clothes on. “Hey, at least put some pants on or something.” So you can continue to stare at his chest? her conscience asked. “No.” “No? You’d rather wish me in nothing at all?” Humor laced his voice. Humor, and something under it; sexual energy. “No, that’s not what I meant. I was thinking out loud. No, put some clothes on.” As he did, easily slipping back into his black leather pants, she watched his back ripple. It was all Ariadne could do not to stare at his tight… no, don’t even think it. “You need not looked so shocked, woman, I am no monster.” His back was still to her, and stayed that way until he had left the room through the heavy oak door, the lock audibly closing her in. Ariadne’s anger returned, and she rocketed from the bed, and pressed her ear to the door, listening to his retreating footsteps. She banged on the door, her hysteria mounting again. “Hey! You can’t just lock me in here! I’m a human being, I have a life.” This last, she mumbled to herself; he couldn’t hear her. She ambled back to the bed, and sat down in the middle, legs crossed, staring at the door. Almost immediately- though it could have been an hour- the door opened and a lithe young man entered. He was carrying a laden tray, and looking too perky for a servant in the man’s house. He set the tray on a low table by the window, and garbled to her in the same strange language. “Look, I’m sorry, but I can’t understand a word you’re saying,” Ariadne sighed. The fellow smiled even wider, looking mischievous. He bowed low and said: “Of course. Why should you know Greek? You don’t come from here.” It was the most anyone had said to her so far. She sat further towards him, straining to see all. He wore a short toga pinned at his shoulders, and a band of gold circled his head, doing little to wrangle his auburn curls. She glanced down and was forced to do a double take. On his leather sandals- oddly tattered in comparison to his circlet- was a pair of gray-white wings. “Hermes?” It was an aside to herself that the young god took as a question. She decided she had somehow fallen into a coma, and it was her subconscious mind doing this. “At your service, lady. I am the messenger god. And with that, I must go, before your captor returns and sends me to Hades.” He turned towards the door, his fleet feet carrying him quickly. Ariadne leapt off the bed and ran to the door, blocking his exit. “Wait. Who is it that keeps me?” “Ha! Lady,” he said, his youthful manner returning. “If you can’t guess, you don’t deserve to know.” With that he gently put her aside and stepped out into the hall. “Lady, please eat. You may not die while you’re here, but if you don’t eat something, it could be a pain when you waste away in the mortal world.” With that eerie request, he was gone, and the door was locked. *** Hermes stepped blithely into the Great Hall, and was knocked off his feet by a hurtling body that pinned him down and growled angrily: “What were you doing in my chambers? I expressly forbade it.” “I was feeding your pet, you lout. Now, get off me.” He used his short staff and hit his oppressor in the throat, causing him to roll off. “What pet is this, son?” A rumbling voice called from across the Hall. Hermes laughed and flew into the air. Zeus was in his most frequent form: a middle-aged man in a young man’s body. His rich brown hair was touched with gray at the temples, and his faced was lined with laughter. That is to say, he had wrinkles. But his body was in its prime, athletically muscled, and if any would admit it, oiled. He glistened. The king of gods claimed always that it was his aura. Hera, seated next to him, scowled darkly at Ares. The frown was so like his own that there was no mistaking mother and son. She wore the glamour of a woman in her fifties; her pale hair was piled on top of her head, and caught with emerald ribbons, to match her long toga. Her arms were covered in thin silver bangles, and the chiming was soothing on Ares’ nerves. She handed him a goblet filled with mead, and pulled him back into his seat. Hermes alighted on top of the table, taking a handful of almonds and throwing them in his mouth. The fact that most of them rebounded off his nose did not seem to bother him. “So, my son, what pet is this that your brother speaks of?” Hera’s voice rolled with motherly command. Hermes laughed, his sandaled feet rolling him in midair. He was about to tell his stepmother about the woman in his brother’s chambers, but thought better of it. Let Ares deal. “Mother, this is none of your concern. I am no child to be scolded,” he growled. He grabbed his plate of food and stormed out of the Great Hall. Hera leaned over to Zeus, who fed her a bit of bread. “I will find out what pet he hides from me.” She looked up at her husband. “You know how persistent I can be.” *** Ares stomped into the gods’ lists, his leather boot steps echoing in the emptiness. Only one other was there. Apollo sat in the shade of an olive, tickling a nymph. He took no notice of his looming brother, but the nymph did. She took one look at his face and laughed, dissolving into the ground and rejoining her tree. Apollo came up short, missing her mouth entirely. He hit the earth with his fist. “Sweet Gaia! What do I have to do to get...” He finally noticed Ares when he was lifted bodily by the strap of his quiver and placed upright. He turned, his scowl dark- a cloud across the sun- and lashed out with a burning fist, catching his own flesh and blood squarely on the jaw. The brothers fought, Hephaestus watching from his forge, Diana laughing softly from her bower of jasmine high above them. By the time they called it quits, they both bled profusely. Apollo had taken a nasty hit at the start, and one side of his ribcage was already blackened; Ares seemed to have won for the time being, coming off with both eyes swollen shut and a hole in his cheek where his teeth had cut all the way through. Asklepios had sat and watched, cringing at the damage being done. He hurried forward, his old man’s form suiting his healing personality. He rubbed salves over the gods’ wounds, poking a magical finger into Ares’ cheek, healing it. “Hmph. That’ll leave a bruise, make no mistake about that.” Apollo laughed. “Can you not heal it, boy? Did your father not give you enough power that you must leave a bruise?” Asklepios chuckled behind his scowl. “I leave only a reminder of the pain. No good making you all beautiful again. And of my father...” He shrugged and laughed, as did Apollo. He spoke to his own father. Asklepios hobbled off, laughing to himself. Apollo slapped Ares on the back. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?” Ares stepped back from his brother. “I have no idea what you’re taking about.” “Yes you do, brother. Mother told me you had a pet. And I guessed myself. After all,” he laughed, “how long has it been? A decade? A century? Brother, you were so desperate you brought a mortal to Olympus!” Apollo god of the sun laughed hard, golden tears of mirth streamed down his face. *** It was the truth, by the blood. He was so desperate. But, why shouldn’t he be? Apollo was desperate every few hours. Minutes! Ares unlocked his room with a wave of his hand. It opened silently, and he stepped in, not wanting to disturb the mortal. She appeared to be asleep in the bed. She was on top of all the covers, and her toga was crumpled, and had worked its way up her legs, showing the beginning of her white thighs. He noticed a dark marking on the outside of her leg, just above the hem of her gown. He edged closer, treating the sleeping woman like a cyclops on methamphetamines. He was so close, and reached out to lift the hem and bare the mark when she lunged. The harpy had been lying in wait the whole time! He wrapped his arm around her as he was propelled back, slipping in something viscous, and landing on his butt on a pillow from his very bed. Somehow, he could not incite his rage. He laughed, good humor returning. She was a smart wench, smarter than he’d seen in a long while. She’d lain in wait for him, drawing his eye with her tattoo, and bowling him over, using some kind of sauce to slip him up. He lay on the floor, his back touching cool stone. At least she’d allowed him to fall on a pillow; he had enough bruises as it was already. “I’ve bested you,” she said triumphantly from his lap. “Do you yield, laughing god?” He did a half-sit up, and grinning at her said, “Never. I am a god, and you are naught but a mortal.” “So you think you’re better?” He laughed again, easily rolling her over, and into the gravy. He came to rest between he legs, effectively pinning her down with his weight. “Yes.” Ariadne stared up into his face, or at least what she could see of it. Most of it was in shadow or hidden with his hair. She could feel his breath, hot, on her chin. An unexplained longing welled up, and she reached to his face to brush away the hair, but his hand was already clamped around her arm, holding it down. What little of his face she could see- some partially defined features- was staring intensely down at her... mouth? She’d always felt that her mouth was too full for her small features. She tilted her head back, silently challenging him to claim her mouth. He waited the barest moment, which seemed like an eternity to Ariadne, then dipped his head down and brushed his mouth against hers. Ares felt so clumsy, and was sure she wasn’t fighting him because she knew he could easily kill her. The thought that she was afraid of him rankled, and he pulled back from her. Looking down, he drank in her face, eyes closed to hide the fear and loathing, breath coming in pants from trying not to scream in his face. Every breath of hers was an agony for him, waiting for condemnation. He told himself that he should just get up and walk out, sending her back to the mortal world where she belonged; but he couldn’t move until she looked at him. She didn’t. Instead she whispered, “Why’d you stop?” He groaned and pressed his mouth to hers again, trying to be tender, but managing only to stoke his desire, and diminish his self-control. He sank his hands into her luxuriant hair, holding her still. She released her breath into his mouth; an involuntary reaction caused by the fact that she couldn’t even move for new oxygen. The Making of a Goddess Ch. 01 He started at this, and breathed the air right back at her, taking no notice at how his breath had turned to actual oxygen for her. So, as their lips crushed together, on the floor, in the gravy, they shared their breath. How long they stayed like that, Ariadne didn’t want to speculate. By the time she’d broken through her fog of lust, her nightgown was ripped to the waist, baring her breasts and was twisted around her waist, with only his lather pants and her thin cotton underwear as a barrier between them. He pulled back, his hips flexing between her thighs. Just what I need, she thought sarcastically, as she let the waves of lust crash over her. A god bent on sex. Exactly right, answered a small voice. She ignored it and did the only other thing she felt capable of doing: giving back to the male above her what he had given her. His mouth was on her neck, tingling trails skittering all over her body, and his hips bucked gently but rhythmically against the core of her. She knew her underwear was soaked through, could feel the wetness trickling down the crack of her ass. His hands were holding his weight off her, bracing himself against the floor. She felt a new orgasm approaching, the whimpering low in the back of her throat, her legs strained with the effort of not wrapping around his waist. But she was lost when he drew her nipple into his mouth, nipping it lightly, and laving it with his tongue. Her crescendo was a mirror of the ones before: she arced against him, panting, her nails digging into his arms, her eyes open and yet unseeing. She convulsed, a sharp buck against him that sent his blood boiling. Ariadne wrapped her fingers around him, under his breeches, squeezing and pulling ever so gently. He groaned and dipped his forehead to hers, allowing her to stoke him to the brink of orgasm, at which point he would pull back, disentangling her fingers from him. “I-I can’t wait,” she gasped out. She felt exhausted and exhilarated, needing more than just grinding against each other. He understood and made to get up, but she gripped his buttocks through his leather pants and held him down, nipping his chin sharply. “No. On the floor.” He looked slightly bewildered, but grinned ferally and tore her panties off her body, throwing them across the room, where they smacked wetly against the wall. She scrambled to pull off her nightgown, and managed to rip it the rest of the way before it was discarded. She felt the cold sauce on her back, but ignored it. He was half-naked, his torn shirt equally discarded, but he hadn’t got his pants off all the way. Ariadne grabbed his erection and tugged, pulling him sharply off balance. He started to protest about the pants, but she growled deep in her chest. He laughed at the sound, and fell on top of her, his long fingers seeking out her core, stroking lightly. Ariadne gasped in pleasure, but stared at where she thought his eyes were with a pleading look. Ares moaned at the look. Her lips were swollen and deep red, her breasts were equally abused, her eyes burned with animal lust, and she was wet enough to apply to be a fountain. His neck muscles tensed as he pushed into her, her slick heat nearly causing him to spill into her. She was tight, tighter than he’d thought, and he pushed in slowly, her whimper-growls egging him on. Her inner muscles clenched on him, begging him to go deeper. Her hips bucked upwards, trying to establish rhythm. He caught her eye, and saw the animal every man had buried inside howling at the surface, barely contained. He sobered partially, only enough to register that this mortal’s beast would be vicious and violent: a hunter. It aroused him even more to sense she was nearly animal, her senses barely holding her together. He pushed all the way into her, letting her heat brand him, inhaling her scent, pulling the animal out of the waiting shadows of his subconscious. A near-howl tore from his throat and he bent over her, their mouths crushing together brutally. They strained together towards the brink, her keening filling his ears. She started to spiral, her insides clenching around him, squeezing almost painfully. Ares panted, using all his energy to thrust in and pull back. Each moment was bliss, every thrust a step towards climax. Suddenly, the mortal woman froze, her eyes open and glazed, her spine arched to the limit. Her breasts were crushing against his chest, and her nails dug into his forearms. Ariadne screamed. It was shrill and sounded like the worst agony. As she lost air, the noise abruptly changed tone into an ecstatic wail. Her muscled clenched and clenched, her body forcing his over the edge, and he turned his face away from hers, the intensity of it unbelievable, even for him. He’d felt nothing like the burning orgasm that seared down his spine. White flashes danced before his eyes, and the pain of it was intense, like molten lead was being… but then pleasure took over, forcing convulsions from his body, as it jetted the last strands of pearly semen into the mortal female. He realized as the throes of orgasm were beginning to recede that she’d bit him. Not a love nip, not even just drawing blood. The woman had bit deep into his shoulder and he imagined he could see bone. It was nothing, though. His arms were covered in blood, now, and her hands and face were, too. He leaned down to her face and licked her cheek, tasting the metallic bite of blood. “Welcome to Olympus.” The Making of a Goddess Ch. 02 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?” “Considering that Aphrodite’s potion in such quantities would have overloaded even a god’s senses,” Bacchus said gravely. “I take pride in it. It is after all a lust potion,” Aphrodite huffed. She disappeared in a waft of baby blue smoke, smelling vaguely of honeysuckle. “A what?” For some reason, the mortal seemed upset. It was as if she’d never expected Aphrodite to create such things. Ares shrugged and picked up the golden apple, taking a bite. It was good, like usual, but seemed a bit unripe and all the tarter for it. It should be noted that a golden apple is sized like a Red Delicious, has the texture of a Fuji, the approximate flavor of a Cortland apple with hints of wood smoke, jasmine and nutmeg, and a thousand times better. It was, in fact, so good that a normal person would die of the pleasure of eating it. The mortal woman was looking disgruntled, her cheeks twin patches of red. “Come now, don’t worry. I’m sure Hermes meant it nicely,” Bacchus said, patting her shoulder. “No.” Ares rubbed a hand over his chest pensively, wanting the reassuring feel of armor. It should be noted that although a god is a God in the presence of a mortal in the mortal world, his IQ on Olympus moves much lower, and so a god on Olympus is as a man in the mortal world. To put it plainly, they get stoopid. Ariadne was feeling confused to say the least. She didn’t know what was going on, where she was, when she was, and there were two beautiful men standing and talking around her- in Greek. What she needed right now was a soft bed and a drink. “I need a drink.” “She- Hm?” Bacchus smiled down at her. It was a hungry smile. “A drink, you say? As in, wine?” It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes, but she thought better of it. A goblet appeared in his hand, filled with dark liquid. The god seemed to be scowling at Bacchus. He sniffed the liquid. “Coffee,” he growled. “You can drink it.” Ariadne smiled up at them both, gulping the coffee. She made a face into the cup: the coffee was lukewarm and the dregs were full of grounds. “Uck.” Bacchus looked taken aback, it wasn’t often a mortal criticized him. Let alone a woman. The dark god laughed brusquely. Through his tangled hair, she could see his well-formed mouth curved in a grin. Bacchus changed the course of conversation quickly, jabbing the wound in the god’s shoulder. Ares growled at the sharp pain. The blood began oozing from it again, but he ignored it, rounding instead on Bacchus. “Where’d you get that?” Bacchus asked, a smile barely held in check. “The mortal.” “She bit you?” Bacchus laughed. “No wonder she withstood so much potion; she’s hardly human!” Ares leaned forward menacingly, “She’s closer than you, you dog.” “Of course she’s closer than I am,” Bacchus said angrily. “I am, unless you’ve forgotten, a god.” Abruptly, Ares turned away from Bacchus, stalking over to the door, intending a good workout in the lists. “Forgetting something, brother?” Bacchus said in the mortal’s language. She laughed low, an escape of breath. Glancing down, he became aware that he was still naked. With a growl, a pair of loose-fitting leather pants appeared on him, and an immaculate white bandage affixed itself to his shoulder. “Get out of my room, Dionysus.” With a laugh, Bacchus disappeared. Ares rounded on the mortal. “I will bring you food. Eat nothing else. Do you understand?” “Yes,” she said sullenly. He was halfway out the door when she called to him, “Wait.” He turned to her, scowling. Her expression quickly changed to stubbornness. “Do... Does the... lust potion have any... adverse effects?” “What, you mean like headache and internal bleeding? Hardly. Aphrodite would die if one of her brews had unwanted consequences.” She seemed to consider this, and nodded. “Look,” she said, when he turned away. “I have a life I’ll need to return to.” Ares laughed darkly. “Not anymore.” With that, he was gone, the door bolted again. Ariadne curled up on the bed, muscles she hardly knew existed were sore. She touched her face and came away with flecks of dried blood. The entire experience came flooding back to her: animalistic sex on the floor wasn’t something she usually forgot. A part of Ariadne hoped the dark god was okay; another part said, Screw that, I’m ready for another go. Why don’t we go find him? “No, I need to get back home.” Ari swung her legs over the bed and set them in Aphrodite’s potion. No, her inner voice said harshly as a sharp wave of lust nearly buckled her knees. We are going to go find him. “Okay.” Ariadne barely made it to the oak door without panting. As she gripped the door handle, a moan escaped her. She needed to find that god, now. The door swung open, and Ariadne leapt on him. Her mouth found his immediately, tongues entwining. Her momentum carried them back into the wall on the other side of the hall. He held her easily around the waist, strong hands caressing her naked skin. She burrowed her fingers into his hair, scoring his scalp with her nails. He groaned into her mouth, the vibrations coursing through her already sensitive body. His hand found her breast and massaged gently, sending tremors down the small of her back. Ariadne fisted a hand at the base of his head, angling his head forcefully to hers. She could feel his hard length pressing her stomach through his clothing. The god turned, pinning her against the cool marble wall. He lifted her leg, settling himself against her, pressing. The Making of a Goddess Ch. 03 "Who the hell are you?" "What do you mean, mortal? I am Apollo." Ariadne was overcome with a wave of nausea. When the door had opened, she'd thought the man was her god returning. So, he's our god now, is he? her inner voice scoffed. You don't even like him, let alone know who he is. "I'm thinking about it, okay?" she grumped. "I assure you, woman, I am the sun god." Ariadne glared up at him. Why did everyone assume she was talking to them when she spoke aloud? Because there's no one else around, Ari. "Hmpf." "Do you doubt me, woman?" Ariadne glared up at the beautiful god. "Stop calling me 'woman.' I am not impressed by your macho attitude; I have a name." Apollo stared at her in shock for a moment before he laughed. His abdominal muscles bunched enticingly. He seemed genuinely pleased by her acerbic reaction and brushed a lank tendril out of her eyes. "What is your name?" "Ariadne." "Ah; I've heard of you." "You have? How?" "Well, you were transformed into a goddess after being abandoned by Theseus." Apollo seemed genuinely confused that she didn't recognize her own myth. "Don't you remember it?" "Well, no... No... Of course not. I wasn't alive then. My great-great-great-great-grandmother wasn't even alive then. I mean, now. Whenever it is." She paced in a tight circle, thinking hard. "I mean, I'd know if I were a goddess, right? I'd have all those powers and stuff. I'd live forever." She glanced sharply at Phoebus. "I know I'd remember living forever." "Hmm. Your logic is impeccable. You cannot be that woman." Apollo gave her a half-grin, his eyes twinkling. Suddenly, he stiffened, glaring over her shoulder. "What in the blood are you doing here, Apollo?" Ari spun to face the dark god. Have you figured out who he is yet? "No. You?" The two gods- fortunately- didn't even glance at her; they were too busy shouting at each other. Yep. "You have?" But she'd spoken too loudly; they'd noticed her. "Woman, you must decide," the dark god growled. "Apollo or me." His hands were clenched, and Ari got the distinct impression that he really wanted to be gripping a sword so he could cut Apollo to bits. Or maybe, her conscience laughed, blast him to smithereens with a bolt of lightning? Ariadne ignored her inner dialogue and focused on the two well-sculpted men standing on either side of her. She could tell they were about to tear each other apart. "You tricked her into sex," Ares snarled in Greek. "Possibly. But at least I know her name," Apollo sneered back. "You lie." Apollo's face grew stormy, and the light from the windows at the end of the hall vanished. "Ariadne?" Phoebus Apollo said softly. "Hmm?" The mortal woman focused with him; with difficulty, she shifted focus to his face, entirely missing the satisfied smirk Apollo threw at Ares. "Which one of us do you prefer?" She looked alarmed for a moment, color creeping into her cheeks. She glanced from one god to the other; then her expression relaxed. Both Ares and Apollo drew themselves up, preening, unaccustomed to having to argue over a mortal. A nymph, yes. Aphrodite, yes. But a human woman? Not in a million years. And they should know. "I choose... Neither of you." "What?" Both gods exclaimed simultaneously. "Neither of you," Ariadne repeated, feeling smug. She'd given what she deemed the perfect answer. "You see," she said in her most pedantic voice, "you both are incredibly sexy, but you-" she indicated the dark god "-trapped me in your room and however accidentally, allowed Hermes to try and poison me." The dark god looked taken aback, and took a breath to yell something, but Ariadne cut him off. "And you-" she jabbed her finger at Apollo "-tricked me into thinking you were him, when you knew I'd just walked in Aphrodite's potion. Don't shake your head at me, I know you did." Both gods were speechless- but not enraged; thank heavens. "In conclusion, I choose neither the jailer nor the trickster. And I would like pen and paper." Before Ares could register that it was a mortal who commanded him, a "pen" and a sheet of parchment had appeared in his hand. "I have things to do," he snapped at Apollo, turned on his heel, and disappeared in a cloud of black smoke. The mortal Ariadne barely gave Phoebus a backwards glance as she traipsed back into Ares' chambers, her generous backside quivering with her brisk step. Apollo rolled his eyes at mortal folly and also disappeared, in a puff of gold dust. *** Ari sat down on the bed, wisely avoiding the lust potion on the floor. She wrapped a fur around her shoulders and snuggled against the headboard, using a pillow to protect her back from the ebony bas-relief battle scene on it. She gingerly licked the tip of the pen, and began writing, her script brisk and her letters joined. It was a librarian's handwriting. She was compiling a list: one of her favorite things to do. A list of every male, Greek god she could think of. Apollo   Zeus   Hermes   Dionysus   Ares   Hephaestos   Hades   Poseidon That was it. Those eight were all the major gods she could remember. She was sure there were more. Ari stared at the short list, and struck out the ones she had already met, that weren't the dark god. Apollo   Hermes   Dionysus That left five. She struck out Hephaestos because the dark god had perfectly formed legs. So, four. One lived at the bottom of the sea but- she reasoned to herself- that didn't mean he didn't hang out at Olympus. *** "What is the matter?" Hera said, her tone exasperated. "Is it not enough that you had your way with the mortal, but you must deny your brother as well?" Ares bit off a scathing remark about how his brother needed someone to deny him, continuing instead to glare into the jug of wine he'd pulled over. He considered himself to be in the same situation as the flask: it was half drunk, and he was half drunk. "More wine, brother?" Dionysus snickered in his ear. "You know, that's my most potent stuff." Ares grunted. Dionysus' grin bordered on malevolent, and he broke into a laugh. "Ahahahaha." "Oh, do shut up, Dion," Hera snapped. *** Ariadne was curled on her side, the velvet blanket drawn up to her chin. She was tired, but couldn't manage to sleep. It was night, and Artemis was high in the sky. She'd been left alone since the afternoon. The dark god had left food outside the door, which had remained unlocked. But Ari didn't feel like leaving. Ariadne sighed heavily. She'd been captured at night by the dark god, had sex with him the next afternoon; woken up in the morning on the floor with Aphrodite glaring daggers at her, then had sex with the god of the sun that very afternoon. And now it was nighttime, and she was feeling totally bewildered. And kinda sore. She'd wracked her brain as to who the dark god could be. She had decided he wasn't Zeus, king of the gods because, (1) nobody seemed to obey this guy, (2) she was sure Zeus wouldn't be so broodingly handsome and, (3) her inner voice had suggested Zeus specifically at several occasions. The door opened slightly, a swath of gold torchlight outlining the dark god's silhouette. Ariadne quickly closed her eyes and deepened her breathing. He peeled off his leather pants and linen tunic, sliding into the bed totally naked. He seemed to pause before wrapping his arms around her and nudging one muscular thigh between hers. Ariadne was just settling down to sleep when she felt his erection nudging against her; her back stiffened and she sucked in a lungful of air. Before she knew it, she was rolled onto her back, and the god came to rest snugly between her thighs. "I knew you weren't really asleep," he said smugly. Her cheeks flushed and Ari wished she'd asked for a pair of underwear along with the paper. Why? the inner voice laughed. He'd just tear them off again. "Yeah," she snapped, "like we'll ever have sex again." Too late, she realized she'd spoken aloud. The god reared up above her, like he was doing push-ups. She could tell by the way he held himself above her that he didn't like what she'd said. "Did I not please you, Ariadne?" The way he said her name- Ah-ree-ad-nay- sent excited chills down her spine. "Oh yeah," was the husky reply. Ares could tell she liked hearing her name on his tongue. He, on the other hand, preferred something more substantial than her name. Ares ran his fingers through her thick hair. She was so different from every other mortal. Granted, most mortals he came in contact with were at least partially covered in blood and mud. He covered her mouth with his, letting his body relax against hers. Her tongue tickled the seam of his lips, and he allowed her access, his hands framing her face. Ariadne sighed into him, sending tingles down to her toes when he sent her back refreshed air. They shared breath as their tongues melded. After a few minutes of this, in which the proximity of their various- ahem- parts had increased and Ari had her legs securely wrapped around his waist, he pulled away, his breathing ragged and his tangled hair even more mussed. "So, Ariadne," he rasped, "what was it that you were saying about no sex?" Ariadne grinned up at him, "Forget I said anything." She tugged his head back down, her fingers twisted in his dark hair. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth, rubbing her breasts against his chest at the same time. He groaned appreciatively and slowly sunk into her. Ares was once again bowled over by her passionate reaction. She was slick and ready for him. Thrusting slowly, he pushed up onto his arms again, watching her face. Ariadne reflected that neither of her boyfriends had been this good. But they were mortal, weren't they? Feeling that sex was no time for voices, she blocked out her inner who-ever. Knowing that it would shatter his control, she began meeting his thrusts, begging with her body for him to pick up the pace. He moaned into her mouth, automatically quickening his plunging. Ariadne felt suddenly nauseous. She stilled, her body instantly covered with chill sweat. Equally as suddenly, she let out a burst of giggles. She then fell back into herself and let out a moan of impatience. Ares had witnessed this (how could he not? They're practically joined at the hip... well, a little lower.) in horror. What in the blood was wrong with the mortal? But then she was pushing her breasts against him and whimpering, and Ares decided it was a figment of his imagination. Unfortunately, what he didn't realize, was that gods have little, if any, imagination. Ari relaxed a little as he picked up his rhythm again. Passion rose up in her, her breasts tingled, and she felt precariously close to the edge. The dark god took one nipple into his mouth, the stubble around his lips sending shocks of pleasure all over. She could feel a thick tingle sliding up her spine. Her arms shot out, gripping the god's wrists as they supported his weight. She pressed one tendon and felt the wrist collapse, and before the god knew what she was doing, she'd rolled him onto his back, straddling his trim waist. "Mmm," she whispered as she stared down at him. "That's better." Ares was confused: the woman- Ariadne- had not seemed so assertive, even under the lust potion. "Ariadne." She shivered, a good sign. "Don't call me that," she growled. He saw anger flare in her eyes along with the passion. He instinctively wrapped his fingers around her waist, guiding her. The mortal braced her hands on his chest, the pale skin stark on his tanned chest, flexing her hips. "Call me-" she gasped her pleasure "-Grace." "Grace?" "Mmm, yes." She bucked against him, raking her nails down his arms, letting her fingers rest on his hands. Ares mentally shrugged. Maybe it was her Roman name. He pushed up, losing himself in her. All thought had passed from both of their minds. Their bodies ground together, Ares' power crackling over both of them in green-gray sparks. If sex were music, this would be something distinctly middle-eastern with huge drums pounding the tempo, with something like a sitar rolling in the harmony. If sex were music in Hollywood, this would have a steamy guitar or saxophone, and the theme to JAWS rumbling in the background. Ares suddenly felt that he was being drawn to a place he didn't really want to go. This was extremely odd because he'd been thinking about the mortal all day, barely being able to not go to her and fuck her senseless. But now, he felt the need to get as far away as possible. Maybe a bit of the JAWS theme was seeping into his mind. "Don't fight it," Grace growled. Her voice was definitely not the same, and if he'd had any human instinct, he'd be fighting for his life. "Why should I?" Ares whispered back. She arced her back, releasing a moan. She screamed suddenly, her pleasure peaking abruptly. Ares was pulled into orgasm, the intensity nearly painful, but his heart- so to speak- wasn't in it. There was only release, no pleasure. Ares let out a grunt as his cum was spilled into the mortal. Grace licked her lips in a most satisfied way. She knew the god had not enjoyed it as much as she. Stupid bitch, she thought to herself. Ari? I know you're there. What do you want? I've had him. Nothing special. Liar. You liked it a lot. So? I hate you. Grace laughed to herself. I think I'll stay here a while longer. NO! "Grace? You are not asleep?" The god's voice rumbled behind her. Then his voice took on a steelier edge, "Where is Ariadne?" Ha. "Didn't she tell you?" Grace smiled. "I am Ariadne. And she's me. We're schizophrenic."