A Walk in Paradise Garden Ch. 05

A note from the author: If you are just coming to this storyline, be informed that if you were to read first the episodes leading up to this one, it might make more sense and be more meaningful. They are all fairly short, this one being the longest. Here is the first link if you wish to do so, and the whole story is linked in the comments following each episode.

https://literotica.com/s/a-walk-in-paradise-garden-ch-00-prologue

The sun wakened Danae gently, a soft glow behind her closed eyelids, warming her exposed skin like a soft caress. Languidly, she moved in its rays on the silken grass, stretching her slim limbs and back pleasurably. The memory touched her mind, a finger of light, and the ache in her secret place, that urge that now she knew the purpose of, returned. She opened her eyes, looking for him. Had she truly been the consort of Apollo? She shaded her eyes from the sun and sighed at the memory, touching herself, tracing first her collarbone and down, lightly fingering her aureoles as she passed to the core of her still tickling desire. She moved her fingers on the bud but soon stopped, finding it small satisfaction beside what she had experienced in the night. Had it really happened? Or had it been a dream? It was like a dream, a luxurious dream. She sat up, suddenly restless. What if it was and it never returned? Something dribbled out of her slit, a pale viscous liquid tinged with red. Blood. It had been real.

What if he never came back? She was not even sure what he looked like--except for the light. And the glowing eyes in extremis. A god had mated with her. A god had awakened her need. Now the god was gone. She gathered her garment, slippery smooth against her skin and caressed herself with the silk. She did not cry. She ached. He would not return. And she hungered.

***

Days passed and weeks with no sign of him except the rising and setting sun and her growing desire for him. Also slowly growing was her belly. Nightly she heard the cries in the darkness of her sisters fleeing from the satyrs in terror and she wondered to herself why they did not surrender and let themselves be ravished by the beastly things to learn what she knew. And then she would correct her thinking. Satyrs were not gods. But nevertheless. Her swelling womb seemed to increase her longing, though, exponentially, for it reminded her of his warm seed flooding into her--how many times? Three, four, ten? She felt full as if it was multiplying within her, claiming her and yet leaving her unsatisfied. He would never return. She would never again feel the joy of his planting himself deep within her, invading, conquering.

What started as longing gradually mutated into annoyance, a small bitterness growing in her middle. Then jealousy. There were others surely. She knew from her sisters that the gods were highly sexed, scattering themselves around like pollen on the wind. Zeus, his father, was famous for it. Like father, like son. Perhaps he even took the shapes of animals. or lay with his sister Artemis, nightly, bringing her chastity to fruitfulness.

Then it grew into defiance. Why should she starve while he was satisfying himself? She had felt his pulsing, powerful pleasure and the knife-edge pause right before the shuddering as his seed pumped into her, filled her, claimed her womb where his get now thrived.

Then bruised anger. Where his parasite was living, slowly growing, consuming, sapping her life force. Why were the satyrs ignoring her?

She hesitated. Find them.

****

Evening and the moon again was a silver coin that cast her white pure and shimmering light upon the trees so that the shadows went black upon the grass. The nymph Danae, vessel of the god Apollon, hunted. The night creatures scattered before her, but she heeded them not. No silver bow bore she or arrow, but her steps were light and silent still, stalking her quarry, satis. The leaves on the trees whispered their desires to her, caressed by the midsummer night breezes, encouraging her, arousing her. A long, slim serpent raised its head watchfully at her approach and then slid back into the tall grass, slithering silently away. Distantly a wolf howled, the moon his mistress, but on she went, drawn by the most ancient of purposes.

At last she began to hear them in their forest revels, the drunken, gutteral laughter, gruff, basal singing and chanting, playing of pipes, crashing about in the underbrush, feminine squeals. She followed, seeking, longing, aching, soon reaching the edge of the clearing where they were gathered inside a ceremonial circle of small fires around a sort of makeshift "altar," a large stone decked with bunches of grapes broken off so that they retained some of the vine and the leaves. They had found several human women whom they were sharing, passing them around like toys and taking turns exploring their various apertures with their fingers and their weird ever erect cocks while the women squealed and tried vainly to push them off only to be wrestled under control by those waiting impatiently for their turns. Once in a while one would bend down to lick or nibble or even bite, actions that nearly always brought cries either of pleasure or pain or a mixture of both. While all this was going on, those who were not directly engaged were either humming an uncertain, random cadence or else murmuring a sort of chant. Others were laughing or shouting the participants onward encouragingly. Watching them, Danae's breathing quickened with arousal in the shadows provided by the leaves.

"Are you enjoying the festivities?"

The voice was smooth and deep and she jumped and turned to see a tall stranger with dark tousled hair and liquid dark eyes fixing her with his gaze. He did not move, an exclamation point of energy pent up in a calm demeanor.

"Oh!" She exclaimed softly, strangely embarrassed considering what she had been thinking, "I um oh yes. I mean, i suppose." To herself she sounded small before his extreme beauty. Slightly elevated cheekbones so that he smiled with his eyes, smoothly muscled arms and a broad, hard chest that narrowed into his waist and hips, strong legs behind a well hung organ barely concealed by a collection of grapes and leaves.

He cocked his head to one side like a curious bird for a moment, watching her examine him and then laughed softly. "I see you are pleased with me. I am indeed also pleased with you, Danae. I see your softness, the little rise in your belly that portends fruitfulness, the blush of arousal on your skin, the gentle eyes of a doe, dark hair as glorious as the night sky filled with stars, a collarbone that wants tracing to the snowy peaks of your breasts." He took a pantherine step toward her, a dancer's movement, and stood above her close enough for her to feel his warmth but not touching. She did not shrink from him so he remained a moment, letting the outer warmth of their bodies mingle before he lifted one hand slowly to poise one finger just above her pale collarbone, "May I?" It was a question but not a question.

She was enchanted by his eyes and swayed but he caught her arms and steadied her. His touch was electric and she let out a little sound, half cry, half sigh. It made him smile and she basked in its starlight. She nodded assent as his finger began to lightly explore the ridge of her collarbone and the valley at the base of her neck. She stretched her neck for him and lifted her chest expectantly but instead his light finger slipped across her shoulder toward her bare arm and deftly released the pin that held her tunic so that it slipped off her shoulder and fluttered diaphanously to the ground around her feet. He took a step back and let his eyes, his beautiful eyes, find her bare porcelain form inch by inch and he exhaled a long, soft "Ahhhh." Anon, his hand moved downward and cupped her belly, caressing it gently. "Fecund," was what he whispered bending close to her ear. "Good girl. Very good girl. I will drink you like wine." His breath was soft and warm on her neck and its scent was sweet wine.

Could it be he?

"No," he whispered in her other ear. "It is I. The answer."

She felt faint but managed to ask, "To what?"

"To everything." His fingers were under her chin, raising her face to his and then his lips were upon hers, moving languidly as he opened her mouth with his tongue and explored the inside, curling his tongue with hers, caressing. She emitted a little sound from the back of her throat, her mouth full of his sweet tasting insistent muscle. Her head began to fall back in relaxation to his advance, and he caught her around the waist to keep her from slipping down onto the thick summer grass. She raised her arms languidly and curled them about his neck as he slid an arm under her thighs and lifted her off the ground as if he were a cloud, still massaging her tongue and lips with his. She clung to him, nestling close to his chest that felt somehow both hard and powerful and soft and inviting, skin on skin. Neither of them made a sound as he carried her into the clearing between the firelight and the shadows as the satyrs ceased their revels and drew back in awe. The human females also stopped, out of breath, to watch what would transpire. Danae was oblivious in his arms until he laid her on her back upon the makeshift altar.

In the silence of awe, he stood next to her, one hand on her slightly swollen belly and spoke in a ritual cadence. "Behold the sacrifice to ecstasy. Behold the sacred vessel ready for her enrichment with the semen of the god. Behold the wineskin of the circle of life."

He began running his palms up and down her front across her pert breasts that were becoming tender with the anticipation of their incipient purpose, around the swelling in her abdomen, between and up and down her legs. She arched her back wordlessly in answer to the long, slow stroke, trying to come nearer to his hands, and he responded by massaging her deeply as he climbed on top of her and lowered his head to latch onto one of her breasts and suckled, pulling and tonguing the tip of her tit as she squirmed under him on the stone. The other breast leaked a little bit in sympathy until he began to clean it as well with his tongue. Pleasure flooded her senses and she came, shuddering powerfully, her body captured in jerks and spasms so that she cried out. The crowd sounded its approval and then became quiet again, watching.

"Good girl," he told her softly, his voice like intoxication, chuckling as she bucked beneath his ministrations. He slipped his fingers between her legs to dip into her slippery wetness. "Ah," he repeated, "Very good girl. Behold. I drink." He shifted his position so that his face was between her legs and his tongue was performing the same enchantment upon the cavern at her axis as it had in her mouth. His saliva mingled with the viscous substance that generously lubricated her passage and nether parts. He licked and explored with his tongue all her mysteries, powerful and aggressive one moment, nibbling at her tender bud precariously, snaking his tongue across it and into her passage, caressing the walls gently until he brought her, mewling, to climax again. It was not long, and she was breathless with exertion. He raised his head and said softly, a note of cruelty in his voice, "You are ripe, Danae. Good girl." His praise made her feel warm. "Get up."

She sighed and squirmed like a cat in her first estrus and murmured languidly, "Oh no."

"Get up and worship me," he commanded ominously.

She opened her eyes; he was on his feet with a swift feline movement and he grabbed her arms, yanking her up so that she cried out in pain and fear. Their audience was transfixed and silent in anticipation. He stripped off the decoration at his groin and threw it aside revealing his erect cock. She was curious and fascinated. It was not at all like the organs of the pathetic satyrs but proportionally thick and long. She reached out curiously to touch it lightly with her finger. It was as hard as bone.

"On your knees and suck it." His voice was harsh. She looked at him, confused. His eyes were aflame with power and desire. "Do it!" She moved obediently to her knees and cradled his Organ in both her hands, guiding it and at last fastening her lips around it, tonguing its swollen tip. He made a guttural sound and then raised his voice, "Behold how the vessel worships her one true god." He leaned down and grabbed her on each side by her scalp and rammed his cock in so that it filled her mouth and pressed against her throat, then withdrew a little to rut again. She tried to keep up by moving her tongue and suckling. On the third pass, he let go, stretching out both his arms, throwing back his head and roaring as his semen filled her mouth and ran down her chin. It tasted like thick sweet mead, and she swallowed as much as she could, licking the residue from his still hard organ when he withdrew it. The crowd stirred with reverent approval.

As a reward, he got to his knees and pulled her waist to him, kissing her deeply and then licking her face and throat like an animal, cleaning it of the sticky runoff. She raised her arms and put them again around his neck, reveling in his touch, the feel of his skin on hers, and his still hard maleness. His powerful hands moved up and down her back, massaging the cheeks of her buttocks insistently, sometimes sliding his finger in tantalizing, so that she pressed closer to him. He answered her request by slipping his hands down the back of her thighs and lifting her so that her legs were on either side of his groin. She nestled closer and locked her ankles behind him as he held her with one arm and lowered them both to the altar with the other. The crowd began to murmur approval as he skillfully positioned himself to slide his weapon deftly into her waiting sheathe.

She felt it go in, smooth as satin, hard as platinum, and closed her legs tighter around him, pressing his buttocks closer to her until she could feel his testicles and dark groin hairs brushing the tender privates around her engorged passage. When he attempted to pull out, she resisted his exit, trying to grip him with legs, arms, cunt. He chuckled deeply above her, next to her, when he realized she was restricting him and whispered again softly his praise into one ear. "Good girl, sweet quim. But release me so as to know the honeyed wine of my return."

Beyond the sun, beyond the moon, beyond the stars was she, her mind and body so entranced that she had nothing left to decide and so she did as she was bid so that he began a powerful, rhythmic pumping into her passage and out and in again, across her bud of pleasure, reaching in, in seemed, harder and faster and more powerful, unwearied, like a stallion that finishes the race stronger than he began it. His only sound was a softly emitted grunt at the apex of each thrust, but she hardly heard herself crying out each time, so enveloping was her pleasure upon the altar of ecstasy. He was her master in as complete control as she was beyond it, and he brought her to her climax cruelly again and again until she begged him for she was not sure what, and he finally burst inside of her, his seed driving into her in a powerful spurting cadence, spilling out of her on her bare skin, and they came together in pleasure and pain beyond her scream in the fire, in the night, on the altar.

He was still hard inside her. In her ear, he whispered softly, urgently, brushing a long strand of her hair aside, two words. "Worship me."

"I worship you. You are my lord, my master, my everything." She said it aloud so that all the crowd of satyrs and humans heard it.

And the dawn broke.

***

"Dionysus, out!" The voice was both soft and menacing. She opened her eyes, and Apollon, father of the life she carried inside her, stood in the light of day, golden and fair. His visage was red with wrath, "She belongs to me."

The hard male inside her did not move except to prop himself on his elbows above her, without looking up. "Why, greetings, brother! It seems," he said lazily, "that she has decided that she is better served by me. You heard her." He gave her an almost imperceptable thrust as if to punctuate his claim to her. "Perhaps you would care to watch us prove it to you? It looks as if the rest of our 'congregation' has retreated before you, more is the pity."

"Get. Out." The blond god grasped his dark brother by his hair and yanked, then grabbing his shoulders to pull him out of her and push him aside.

"Yow!" Dionysus exclaimed as he rolled and she tried to curl into a ball, terrified, the semen of the wine god leaking out between her legs. "All i did was fill the void you left. I have been watching her for you, raising her value, teaching her things that she longed to know so that she might please you better. Ask her."

"Shut up. And get out."

"I AM out."

Apollon unshouldered his bow smoothly and quickly notched an arrow, drawing.

Dionysus held up both hands defensively. "Very well. Just calm yourself, brother. I am going." He got up without modesty and backed away, keeping his eyes on the arrow pointing at him. "She is just a nymph, one of many." Apollo stretched the bow a little more, and Dionysus slipped out of sight into the woods leaving her alone on his altar of ecstasy.

The sun was cold, but he dropped his weapon. "What," he demanded, "is that all over you, you faithless creature?"

"My lord.."

"Oh! Now it is 'my lord'... A moment ago, he was it." He mocked.

Her heart sank.

"Well?"

She took the opportunity, sliding off the rock, stretching her nakedness before him, prostrate. "Forgive me, my lord. I beg of you! You left me. I longed for you, and you came not."

"So, I see. The fault is mine that you squandered yourself, squandered my gift. I gave you pleasure, and you used it to betray me."

"My lord..."

"No. Let me say how I shall curse you. I gave you pleasure, and I now take from you the power to control it. It will infest you endlessly and without ceasing. No matter how often it is slaked, it will return a hundredfold immediately. It will drive you to madness beyond anything you have ever know, mania without respite. When you bear my child, i will take it from you if it lives. And then you are condemned to bear whatever you may whenever you may according to the cycles of the moon, my sister, but MY gift and my curse shall follow you all your days! And i will give pleasure to all of your kind so that they may know what you had but did not value."

She felt it stirring in her as if his words were the law (as of course they were), the urgency, the ache in her crotch still moist with the god of ecstasy, desire for anything that might fill her with its being, his being. She crawled to him in an agony of want, grasping his ankles then knees, weeping and pleading, "Take me now, my lord, let me feel your glory pulsing inside me else I die!" The very thought of it shook her, shattered her. But he shrugged himself free like a stallion freeing itself of an annoying fly and left her.

She saw him only once more, when he came for their child, but he hardly looked upon her, and still she wanders the sacred wood, searching for relief from her longing.

Another note from the author:

And that, dear readers, is one tale of the origin of nymphomania. Apollo went on to father many children, hardly ever with the same muse, nymph, or human twice. Like most of the gods in the ancient pantheons, his idea of love seems to have been either the act of coitus or fatherhood. And many of the gods were polyamorous, posing as animals and ordinary mortals to catfish their prey, both male and female. They were the lords of moving on, reward, and punishment. You can find a list of Apollo's amours according to myth by googling "ApollonFamily."

Somewhat ironically it seems to me, the only "desirable" Greco-Roman god who was the exception to the randy behavior of the deities of the time was Eros whose love story with Psyche (body and mind/soul) became the archetypal model for the "Beauty and the Beast" fairytale. That myth is told most famously by Apuleius in _The Golden Ass_.