A Walk in Paradise Garden Ch. 04

He mounted her supine form, then, arching forward like a stallion, drawing his hand away from her to push aside his loincloth and replacing his finger in her with his cock. He drove it in like a spear with all the power of the arousal he had saved just as far as it would go, heedless on the first thrust, shattering her hymen in one blow as if it were a delicate glass vessel, pounding and thrusting, drawing almost out and then drilling into her darkness again and again, his breath coming in soft grunts of exertion. She cried out either in pain or surprise. His fervor was so unexpected that she was not sure which, but he did not stop.

She raised up her head and tried to face him again, but it was too late. He had her arms pinned to her sides, pulling her body onto his stiff member so that it pierced her to her core. His cock was thicker than his finger had been. it passed firmly over her treasure and stroked the tight walls of her most secret of places, secret no more, in and then out and then in again. There was some pain when he first stabbed into her, but it quickly ceded to the beginnings of deliciousness as the dance began anew to arouse her.

She arched her back in an instinctive stretch to lift her hips slightly to receive him more fully, her surprise taking the form of soft breathy helpless moans. The most exquisite pleasure she had ever known, better than anything she had experienced this extraordinary night, began to overtake and master her as his inexorable thrusting finally found that spot inside, the very center of the circle of creation upon which existence turns, and caressed it urgently, firmly, insistently, sinking into its softness, pressing, moving, pumping. She struggled weakly to free herself but it was no use so she closed her eyes and abandoned herself to it as it shook her with a powerful orgasmic seizure that held her in its grip for long enough for her to be warmed by his seed filling her, spreading within her and by the light that exploded behind her.

She longed to sleep, to let the seed germinate, but she could feel he was still hard when he slid out and turned her over like a rag doll. Some of his semen dribbled out of her into her crotch and onto her thighs before he drove into her again, this time face to face. Eyes still closed, she wrapped her legs around him, feeling his warm weight as it caressed the front of her body, the strange and sublime feeling of the movement inside her, surrendering to it, crying out softly every time he struck her womb internally and whimpering when it seemed he would pull out of her.

She wondered as her arousal again impossibly intensified why he had told her to beg him to stop. It was the last thing she wanted, but while she still had some of her faculties, she said softly next to his ear, "please, lord, stop." His laughter was abrupt as it coincided with a thrust.

In the background she could hear a satyr chanting gutturally. As some others joined in, she made out the words through the veil of her pleasure, "Plow the furrow; sow the seed; reap the fruit; plow the furrow; sow the seed; reap the fruit" in rhythm with his thrusts. As they quickened, so the chant kept pace and became louder until the satyrs were shouting a fervent chorus to accompany the joining. She was pulling him in with both arms and legs wrapped around him, assisting his delicious assault, and he closed his teeth on the side of her neck as a stallion does a mare, thrusting into her more urgently. She could feel the inside of her passage close and quiver and flutter around his member and then it happened again. When he released his seed brutally into her canal, arching his powerful back to drive himself deeper, her lower body was suffused with warmth, and her insides convulsed around him, and she came violently, completely. It lasted seemingly, gloriously, forever, her coming, shattering her reserve.

She lay on the ground after, exhausted, moist from his warm invasion, with his flaccid body between her legs and his head resting on her breasts. His cock was still implanted but softened. "Again," she sighed, barely audible. "Again."

He did not answer or stir, and when she opened her eyes to look at him, he was glowing as if with the internal light of a sunrise, and the satyrs had fled. He was, at last, no hunter. She lay there under him staring and finally asked timidly, "Who are you?"

He sighed a long sigh of satisfaction and raised up. His eyes were embers in the sky above her as his melodious voice answered, "I am Phoebus, god of light, truth, music, healing, and foresight. My sister is the moon whom you worship, and this night I have stolen you from her for she is the goddess also of maidenhood. I have given you the gift of pleasure, Danae, unknown to your kind before now, in exchange for the same which you have given me. You will be honored to bear my child, the child of the Sun. You will be ever the vessel for my viscous gold, and I will be your god. You are mine, Danae."

***

A few words from the author: In the beginning, the nymphs were cold and chaste and so terrified of the satrys that they petitioned Apollo to protect them. Instead, however, as oft happened with the gods in those tales, Apollo had a different take on the problem than they did. This is the story of how that happened.

It is not yet finished. I hope it has been enjoyable so far. However, real life must intervene for a short time. Look you to the dawn.