Need

It should've gotten easier with time.

Everyone said so.

But everyone didn't care what their husbands did. Persephone's husband was loyal to a fault, preferring to dissolve into a pit of depression darker than the deepest hellholes of Tartarus than find another partner during her absence. Amphitrite's husband went on various escapades, but now, she simply joined him. Numerous other goddesses simply tolerated disloyalty, saying that eternity was a long time, Hera, just close your eyes, take a breath, and get a new hobby.

Hera wasn't sure why breathing was so hard. It wasn't as though she truly loved the man; he raped her into marriage, tortured her when she rebelled against his rule, and constantly saw other people, men, women, and anyone else with a ready hole for him.

There was no love, no loyalty in this mockery of a political marriage.

Then why did the lies hurt?

It was the principle, she decided, the sheer disrespect. She was a powerful, refined woman undeserving of such lies, such treatment.

She put out her cigarette and stood.

There was someone who did know exactly how to make her feel as she deserved.

Hera had staff who respected her, of course. Argos loved her without question, always keeping an eye or ten on her and not hesitating to get involved if Zeus bothered to punish her for her disobedience. But he didn't give her what she wanted. What she wanted wasn't something any man could provide.

Rather, she needed a feminine touch.

Zeus had his masculine touch, his prized boy toy and cupbearer, Ganymede. Hera had a cupbearer, too, but it was her daughter. Hera had no interest in her own children, and even if she did, Hebe was eternally a young girl, never aging past eight. Repulsive in the context of Hera's carnal needs.

Instead, she turned to her colorful messenger.

Hera made her way to the balcony of her quarters. The sun was still up, as it would be until she willed it otherwise.

"Hebe," she called to her cupbearer.

The girl scrambled in. She never was the graceful one, but Hera didn't mind. Her children were often her opposite, after all; chaotic, messy, loud, and clumsy, but useful.

"What will you be drinking, Mother?" Hebe asked, bowing low. Her red curls--the only part of her that took after her mother--fell out of their updo.

"Just a water."

Hebe lifted her head. "Just a water?"

"Not to drink, but to spill."

Her eyes lit up. "I see." With a gesture, a glass of water was procured.

"That will be all, Hebe."

She ran off then, disappearing into a shower of gold.

Leaning over the balcony, she poured the water. The sun hit the stream in such a way that a rainbow formed, small at first until it enveloped the balcony.

Hera took a step back, and waited for her messenger to appear.

She appeared in a shower of colorful light, multihued water droplets gathering to form Iris, the Messenger of the Queen. When she first appeared, her rainbow wings were expanded, collecting the light of the heavens like a kaleidoscope.

When the light faded, her wings collapsed, and she bowed. "What do you need, My Queen?"

Hera didn't normally feel a fluttering within her when she looked upon people, men or women, especially not her husband. But Iris had a sort of boyish charm about her that really hit her the right way.

Her hair was short, just as Hera liked on the women that struck her fancy. It was wavy and sort of turned upward, windswept and wild with all the colors of the rainbow within it. Her eyes held the depths of the Mediterranean, and occasionally, Hera would find herself looking within them instead of listening to messages she received.

Gods could choose their appearances, but Hera preferred to be petite and curvy, like the old figures of fertility goddesses. Some gods used their height to be intimidating, but Hera felt no need to be more terrifying than she already knew she was. Power had nothing to do with height, and if anything, smaller women were far scarier than the taller ones.

In contrast, Iris was tall, with well-defined muscles over the years of carrying the deliveries of Hera as well as the souls of the dead. Hera knew she hid the dark side of all psychopomps--a thirst for souls--but it never bothered her. If anything, it only added to the allure.

Iris studied her. "Is something wrong, My Queen?"

Hera reached up to Iris round cheek, and it flushed in turn. She rubbed a scar there that Iris refused to speak of, then brought her face closer to hers.

"My...My Queen, what are you--"

Hera didn't let her finish her sentence. She brought their lips together, earning a squeak from Iris.

It didn't appear to be from protest, though, so Hera continued. Iris never seemed inclined to deny her queen's affections, after all.

As predicted, Iris' hands grasped desperately at Hera's waist, nails digging in as she sighed into the kiss. Hera wandered down Iris' breast, finding her nipple peeking through the cloth. Hera wasn't a fan of contact on her own nipples, but she knew Iris liked it very much, and there was something arousing about making the messenger moan.

Iris quivered and moaned into her mouth, her tongue slipping inside as she did so. She was always so noisy, not that Hera was one to talk. Iris tasted like rainwater and pomegranates, a pleasant combination.

There was something so...different about kissing women that Hera didn't find in her own husband. Perhaps this was why she never sought affairs with men. Her husband was forceful, didn't bother with her own pleasure, and rough in all the wrong ways. But Iris was soft, pliable in her hands. Even her tongue was soft as it rolled over hers, and Hera subconsciously brought her legs closer together to provide a little friction.

Iris didn't allow it. She pinned her queen against a pillar, lifting her on top of her knee, and separated their lips.

"I see you have needs, My Queen," she remarked.

Hera looked down at her messenger from her elevated position and gave her a smile. "You do me a great service, Iris. So great that I must keep asking for more." She ground against the knee Iris provided, but with all the flowy fabric in the way, it was hard to satiate her needs.

Iris beamed, practically glowing as she rubbed against Hera, until she decided to be a bit more proactive. Lowering Hera to the ground, she separated them and found herself under Hera's chiton, hands searching between her legs.

Hera couldn't see her messenger under the skirt of the chiton, but that only added to the pleasure when she felt a careful thumb graze against her slit and kisses and nibbles up her thighs. Without full vision of Iris, what she did was a mystery.

Hera gasped when Iris' tongue met her fingers. That soft tongue she adored so much circled her clit, the fingers wandering further back, between her folds.

A moment of embarrassment washed over Hera as a throaty moan escaped her lips. Her legs shook as Iris focused more on her clit, alternating between suckling it between her lips and flicking it with her tongue. She wanted to retain even a little dignity--she never offered even Zeus a sound--but it was impossible with Iris. She knew her body too well.

Lightning crackled when she came, and she held onto the column to stabilize herself. But even as she convulsed, Iris did not stop. She slowed down her ministrations on her clit, pausing to lick up the fluids that escaped her, but once the flow was over and all that was left was the clenching of her walls, she slipped her fingers inside.

Hera slid down the column, bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle her cries. Iris was merciless, pounding into her, curling her fingers to the most delicate spots and chuckling against her clit as Hera's second orgasm ripped through her being.

A storm was beginning outside, the rain pattering on the lovers. Still, Iris was not finished. She pounded ever harder. Hera assumed she was using her other hand to provide more force, as she had seen her do before, but it didn't matter how it was happening, only that it was.

The coldness of the rainwater constrasting with the heat of her skin in her glow was almost too much to bear, and when her third orgasm came, she felt a few tears escape her. Iris took that as her cue to slow down, and she departed from beneath Hera's chiton.

"Is that all, My Queen?" Iris asked. She cupped Hera's face in her wet hands before peppering her with kisses.

Hera stood on shaky knees. "What about you, my sweet?"

Iris smiled and waved her off. "My job won't do itself. If you wait a bit longer, I'll be back with a surprise for you."

Hera quirked an eyebrow. "A surprise?"

"Yes. Now be patient. Take a bath and have some wine." She pecked a kiss on her nose. "I'll return tonight."

Hera was never one to be patient, but if Iris bore gifts, they were always worth waiting for. Her messenger disappeared as the storm of her orgasm dissipated.

Hera was also not a woman to take orders from anyone, but with how sticky her legs were, a bath was exactly what she needed. She made her way to her bathroom with the memory of Iris' taste lingering on her lips.