Medusa's Pleasure

Author's note: This is a direct sequel to my first story, "Medusa's Trophy," which I recommend you read. If you'd rather not, then you can read a short synopsis below.

All characters in this story are over 18 (especially Medusa).

Synopsis of Medusa's Trophy:

The Helot slave of a Spartan warrior unwillingly accompanies his master on a quest to kill Medusa. Shortly after they enter her lair, Medusa captures both men. Bound and gagged, the slave watches Medusa seduce the Spartan, petrifying the warrior at the climax of their mating. When Medusa talks with the slave after, the Helot reveals that he had broken his bonds as he watched and chose not to interfere. Medusa and the Helot kiss, and Medusa learns the slave's name: Asklepios. The first story ends on an ambiguous note as Medusa invites the freed slave to open his eyes and look at her.

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Asklepios' jaw fell agape, and his breath caught as his eyes drank in the wonder of Medusa's face. Her beauty nearly made him ignore the rippling tingles where their bodies pressed together. Years before, he'd seen a troupe of Thespian actresses with painted faces and thought them beautiful. Now that memory seemed cheap and garish as he beheld how the subtle patterns of Medusa's fine, snake-like skin highlighted her high cheekbones, tapered jaw, and full lips that widened into a demure smile.

"Breathe, Asklepios. You're not a statue. Not yet, anyway."

Suddenly realizing how his lungs ached for fresh air, the Helot gasped, panting for a few moments. Medusa's bosoms quivered against his chest as she chuckled. "You thought I would turn you to stone with your arms wrapped around me? That would put me in an awkward position."

"But your face - I - I thought one look would -"

"- Silly mortal. My human eyes turn my enemies to stone, not my face. There is no need for me to use those eyes, though." One of her snake-hairs brushed its head against her cheek as it stared at him. "I see just as well through my pets." She frowned as the snake's head tilted up and down. "And I see a man who needs some attention. But first, close your eyes and turn around."

He frowned. "Can't you just keep your human eyes closed?"

"Of course I can, but you have seen quite enough of me. Despite what you might think after seeing me with the Spartan, I have my modesty too. Besides, I want to talk. This is the first polite conversation I've had in centuries."

"I can talk without closing - "

" - Please. I had to remind you to breathe a moment ago, and I saw you watching me before. Now close your eyes and turn around."

With a sigh, the Helot shut his eyes, and Medusa slipped away as he turned around. Asklepios became aware again of the throbbing welt on his cheek, the ache in his bruised ribs, the sting of his raw shoulders, and a dozen other hurts from older abuses. Yet he felt no pain from his newest wound.

Asklepios held his punctured hand up and probed the broken skin as he heard Medusa's light footfalls receding away. "Why doesn't it hurt where your snake bit me?"

"That is the venom. My pet did not give you enough to kill you. You probably saw me massage some onto the Spartan's skin. It helps soothe my would-be murderers. You may look now."

Medusa stood next to her bed, a grey-blue sheet wrapped snugly around her shoulders, chest, and hips. She untied the bonds holding the Spartan's stony feet and used them to secure her wrap. "Now we can talk without distraction."

Asklepios swallowed. "Sure." His eyes wandered down. The unadorned cloth hugged her figure in a way that was just as alluring as her naked form. She could have worn rags and looked elegant. As his gaze returned to hers, he saw her frown, and some of her pets coiled back.

Rude lust had ruled his former master and driven him willingly into death. Was his courtesy keeping him alive? Thinking quickly, he said, "Where did you get the cloth and the rope on this barren island?"

Medusa's face softened, and her snake hair relaxed. "My pets provide what little I need. Now sit down." She returned and knelt in front of him with a small bowl, into which she dipped her fingers. "Hold still."

She raised her fingers to his face and gently massaged a thick, sticky paste into his welt. His whole body tingled at the sense of her touch, and as she stroked it on his swollen flesh, the throbbing pain there faded. Asklepios flinched away.

Medusa pulled back, bemused. "Did I hurt you?"

The Helot shook his head. "No. I just - My master preferred that I hurt. Medicines like this were for wounded warriors, not slaves."

Medusa snorted as she applied more salve to his hand. She cleaned away the blood and dressed the wound with a length of cloth. "You're not a slave anymore, Asklepios. You should enjoy what I give you while you can."

"I suppose so." He raised his fingers to the welt on his face. The pain in his cheek had vanished entirely, replaced with a pleasant warmth. "None of my salves ever helped my former master's hurts so well. How did you learn to do that?"

Medusa glanced over her shoulder at the supine statue that had been the Spartan, petrified at his apex of lust. "Would you care to help your former master one last time?"

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Asklepios struggled to keep his footing in the waist-deep water as he squirmed to the side, trying to keep the Spartan's marble phallus from poking his ribs as he held the heavy, petrified body up to the wall. The stone armpits were slippery. The Spartan's petrified manhood was a more convenient handle, but just thinking about grabbing it made the Helot shudder. Asklepios glanced over at the other would-be killers hung up in the hallway, frozen in stone as they contorted with passion. "How did you mount all these by yourself?" Realizing the double meaning, he quickly added, "On the wall, I mean."

Medusa laughed as she tied one of the Spartan's marble wrists to the wall. "Usually, I wait for the rainy season. This passage fills most of the way up, and the current slows down. It's still heavy, but I can move it along bit at a time."

The Helot shifted over, letting the binding take half the statue's weight as he held up the other wrist. "That must take a long time."

The Gorgon shrugged as she walked around behind him. His body tingled faintly as the bare skin of her arms brushed against his. Then she started tying another binding to the Spartan's other wrist. "It gives me something to do for a season. Immortality can be dull when you - What is that?" She stared down at the Helot's scarred chest.

Asklepios followed her eyes down, baffled. Carrying the statue through the water had pulled his tunic open. 'Well, that's a brand identifying that I belong to my master's family, the lines there are scars from my whippings, and the bruises are -"

"-No, no, that noise you made? There it is again!"

"Well, I'm hungry. Don't you get hungry?"

Medusa shook her head. "I'd forgotten. I've not eaten in - well, a long time"

"Would you like some? I carried provisions for a couple of weeks in my sack out there." The Helot jerked his head upstream, towards the cave entrance. "Once we finish putting my old master in his place, of course."

The Gorgon smiled as she pulled the knot tight. "I would like that."

A few minutes later, they emerged from the cave into the gully and daylight. A break in the clouds had brought the first sunlight Asklepios had seen in weeks. As they reached his pack at the bend in the ravine, Medusa lay down on a flat rock. The wet fabric of her wrap clung to her proud form, and her serpentine hair splayed out, soaking up warmth from the sun above and stone below.

The sight of her basking in the sun made it difficult for Asklepios to focus as he rummaged through his sack. "Would you rather eat out here, or back inside? I have no fuel to cook with, but I could use those torches in your, ah, lair?"

"Home."

"Home. Right. I could make a stew with what I have here, or we could eat it dry."

A tear slipped out between her closed eyelids and glided to her ear.

"Ah - my lady? Medusa? Are you well?"

Medusa brushed the tear away with a languid flick as she shifted on the stone. "It has been long years since I lay in the sun. This isle rarely sees sunlight - this is just another petty curse from the gods."

"The sunlight is a curse?"

"Yes. If this isle were always cloudy, I would forget this pleasure, as I have forgotten the taste of food. A brief time in the sun makes the rest of my life all the darker - one of many reasons why I do not leave my home anymore."

"Why enjoy it at all, then?"

One of her snake hairs looked at Asklepios as Medusa muttered, "Because the gods forget that the greatest pleasures are unexpected." The gap in the clouds closed with a rumble of thunder in the distance. She sighed. "And now they remember. We should eat inside." She sat up and brushed herself off.

Asklepios grunted as he hoisted his pack to his raw shoulders. Then he felt her hand on his arm. "Let me help you."

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Medusa sat on the cave floor watching the former slave stirring the stew, adding sprinkles of salt and spices. Steam rose and wafted over from the small bronze pot as it bubbled over a torch. Another torch nearby heated the inside of the Spartan's breastplate as a flatbread cooked on the outside. Asklepios removed both torches and set them back in their sconces.

The Gorgon glanced down at the hot breastplate and bread slowly cooling on the floor. "Is this how you cooked for the Spartan?"

Asklepios laughed. "Gods, no! A Spartan's armor is his own personal temple to Nike, and they don't care about flavor. My master ate his rations hard and dry."

"So what did you do for him?"

"I carried his burdens, made camp, cleaned his weapons, clothes, and armor, that sort of thing. I also treated his wounds and illnesses."

Medusa cocked her head to the side. "You're a healer?"

Asklepios nodded. "That was my only skill the Spartan truly respected - when he needed it, anyway. I usually use this," he gestured at the steaming bronze pot, "for boiling water and mixing salves. My splinting, sewing, salves, and dressings have saved many wounded Spartans."

"If I were a slave, I would want to kill my masters, not heal them."

"Some Helots try. They don't live long, and their families die with them."

"Do you have a family?"

Asklepios averted his eyes. "The food is ready." He picked up the warm bread and tore it in half, giving the larger piece to Medusa. Then he ladled the stew into a couple of bowls with wooden spoons and handed one to her. "Simple food for simple mortals."

Medusa raised the wooden spoon to her lips, giving it a tentative lap with her tongue. She let out a little gasp and plunged its head into her mouth with a moan, wrapping her lips around it as she slowly pulled the spoon out, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked in every last drop of the succulent stew. She rolled it around in her mouth for a long moment before swallowing.

She looked up at him. "Oh, that is good."

"Try it with the bread."

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Asklepios glanced up from washing the bowls and pot in the cave's central stream and saw Medusa languidly roll on her bed with a sigh of satisfaction, her belly filled with Asklepios' hot stew. She propped her head up and watched as the Helot returned to his work.

Then she sat up and frowned. "Your wound has re-opened. I should re-dress it." One of her snakes looked him up and down. "I should tend to the rest of you, too."

Asklepios glanced at the red spot in his dressing and shrugged. "In a moment. I don't mind, really."

The Gorgon strode over and pulled him to his feet. "Now." She led him across the stream towards her bed.

Asklepios shook his head. "No. I'll not bleed on your bed. Here." He pulled his bedroll out of his sack and laid it out on the stone floor. "This will do."

She sighed. "Fine. Sit down."

Medusa pulled some strips of cloth and a jar from under her bed, and they sat down together on the bedroll. She unwound the binding from his hand. Asklepios sighed, closing his eyes as she worked the salve into his wound, enjoying her touch. Then he looked at her.

"You avoided my question about how you learned to do this."

She started wrapping up his hand. "You avoided my question about your family."

A minute passed in silence as she tied the fresh dressing off. Reaching into his tunic, she applied her salve to his shoulders, which were still raw from carrying his master's pack. The swelling on his cheek had already subsided.

When she finished, Asklepios took her hands in his. "Why are you doing this?"

Her brows furrowed. "My hands are dirty."

"Mine too." He released his grip and noted that her hands stayed in his. "Why am I still alive?"

She shrugged and leaned toward him, taking one hand away to prop herself up. "Would you rather be a statue?"

He shifted his weight and leaned towards her as well. "Of course not, but you said you couldn't let me go."

Her full lips parted into a small smile, her face just a hand's breadth from his. "I did say that. And then you kissed me. Why?"

"I told you what I thought of you, of what you did, but words are cheap. I wanted to show you. You didn't seem to mind."

She wetted her lips. "Mmm - no. You didn't seem to mind, either."

"I don't understand, though. You mated with a god and enough of their champions to fill a hallway. Not one of them ever kissed you? What about before, when you were a mortal?"

"I was too proud to let any man kiss me in my youth before I joined Athena's Temple. Men feared Athena, so none tried there. Poseidon shoved my face down on an altar and took me from behind. He never tried to kiss me. Once I became this, I never thought any man would try again. I take satisfaction seducing my would-be killers into mating, but never affection. Who would ever want to make love to something like me?"

He reached up with his hand and caressed her cheek. "I would, if you'll have me."

Medusa pushed forward, pressing her soft lips to his for a long moment before breaking away. "I will." She pulled his head to hers, and his questions faded away. They embraced as their bodies eased down on the bedroll together.

Their mouths opened, and their tongues moved together in a, sensuous, sliding dance. She raised a leg, wrapping it around his backside as his manhood stiffened against her. His caressing hands ran down her shoulders to her round backside, then brushed up her side to her chest.

She flinched away, then she relaxed with a chuckle. "I'm not used to men touching me."

He pulled away. "If - If you don't want -"

" - No. Touch me, Asklepios." She took his hands and placed them on her prominent bosoms. Then she drove her mouth into his. He caressed her breasts, feeling the softness around their sides first, then lightly brushing over her fast-hardening peaks through the fabric of her wrap, eliciting a lustful moan from the Gorgon.

With one hand, Medusa held his face, kissing him harder now. The other began a greedy exploration of his body. Lithe fingers found the knots fastening his tunic. A few tugs later, it fell away. Her questing hands skimmed the scarred, bumpy skin of his torso down to his ragged trousers, finding and loosening the knot in his coarse rope-belt.

Here Asklepios interrupted her as his own hands slid from her bosoms and went to work untying the cords holding her wrap in place. Breaking away from their kiss, the Helot unwrapped the Gorgon, revealing again the full glory of her naked form. "I can see why Aphrodite is jealous. You're incredible."

Medusa pulled down his trousers, revealing the rest of the slave's lean frame, along with his firm member. A hair snake looked down as she flashed him a wolfish grin. "I'm just getting started." She began kissing her way down his body toward his loins -

-He cupped her face in his hands and pulled her back up, kissing her hard. Her brows furrowed, but he held her there. "You did that for him. Not for me. Not this time." With a pouty frown, she nodded.

Skin to skin, they resumed their kissing, the dance of their tongues faster and more insistent now as their hands stroked each others' loins, drawing gasps of pleasure above and a growing dampness of arousal below. They clutched at each other, and she pressed herself against him, massaging the outer folds of her womanhood along the length of his rigid phallus.

Her body arched and tensed as she rubbed against his member with increasing urgency. Her hair serpents enveloped his head, chaining it to hers as she cried out against his mouth. "Wha - Oh? Oh! OOHhh...!" Her voice faded as her breath gave out. For a long moment, she stayed rigid, her body locked in a zenith of ecstasy.

As she relaxed, Asklepios chuckled. "Breathe, Medusa. You're not a statue either."

She gasped for air, and her hair-snakes receded behind her head as her body went limp. She gave him a panting, tender kiss and caressed his face. "I've never known such pleasure from a man's touch." She sighed, then frowned. "And you remain unsatisfied!"

He smiled. "Only if we're done."

"We are done." She put a finger over his mouth as he drew breath to protest. "Down here."

Medusa pushed off him and stood up, putting in an extra sway of her glorious hips as she walked to her bed. Then she turned back to him. "Come to me, Asklepios."

He crossed the space in a daze as the rest of the cavern seemed to fade away. All he saw was the radiant, green-skinned Medusa, her beckoning arms held out to him, and the soft expanse of her bed behind her.

A fresh heat arose between them as their bodies met, and he lost himself in the taste of her mouth, the fragrance of her arousal, the soft touch of her seeking hands on his flesh, and her supple, inviting curves under his own hands. Yielding to her insistent pull, he followed her onto the soft bed, where they lay side by side, kissing and fondling each other.

Then Medusa broke the kiss and said, "Make love to me."

Her mouth met his anew, wet and panting. Her bosoms pressed against him and her thighs parted. As he rolled above the Gorgon, her eager hands found his engorged member, grasping and guiding it between her smooth, soft legs.

The folds of her sodden womanhood parted in welcome, and he entered her with a slow, rocking push, followed by another, and another, deeper and deeper. He took his time, relishing the soft, sopping heat that enveloped him as her panting gave way to moans against his mouth. Her hips rolled up to meet each push, and her hands grasped his backside, pulling him in. Her lusty moans became a cry of passion as his hilt met the rim of her sheath.

"Yes! Oh yes! Make love to me!"

Her thighs rose to his waist as her legs enveloped him. Her urgency became his, and his slow pushes hastened into grinding strokes as their flesh united again and again. Their bodies swayed and arched together in an erotic, lovemaking dance. Her eager reception spurred him on. Like a galley slave rowing a ship into battle, his strokes came faster. She broke off their kisses, and he felt the heat of her gasping breath flowing over his face to his ear, along with the wetness of her thick tongue.

"Mmm. Mmm! Oh - OH! OHH!" Her wordless, yearning moans in his ear grew in a gradual crescendo.

"OHH! MMMhh!"Her womanhood pulsed in welcome to each thrust as his hilt ground into the rim of her sheath.

She threw her head back and cried, "ASKLEPIOS! I - I'M - AHHH!" Her body arched, her legs squeezed his waist, and her womanhood spasmed in delight around his member. As she came down, whimpering, from her second zenith, Asklepios resumed his lovemaking with long, deliberate strokes.

Medusa's hands held his hot cheeks. "Mmm - I had no idea - Oh! - No idea it could be this good. - Ooh! All the others finished with me - ah! - Or before. You've - mmmh! - pleasured me twice, and still - oh! - Still you go on!"