Topping Aphrodite

© Salome Wilde, 2008

Topping Aphrodite

Chapter II

Aphrodite let herself drift down to Ares’ lair. He compelled her, but she was very aware and very willing. Time to see what he claimed she was missing. She had so long devoted herself to her mortal servants that she could not remember the last time she had been with a god. Ah, now she recollected: Narcissus. He had insisted they do it in front of a huge piece of polished silver. He watched himself perform the entire time. True, his cock was enormous and he lasted from sun-up until sun-down, but she was the Goddess of Love, for Zeus’ sake. She deserved adoration, worship—at least more attention than he gave his own image!

::Forget Narcissus, Aphrodite. I’ve had him myself. He insisted one of my slaves use some mortal tool called a “videocamera” that he picked up in his time travels. He kept it pointed at my cock up his ass the entire time. I’d much rather think about the time you shared oral pleasure with Atalanta. Now that was stamina.::

Aphrodite blushed beautifully as she glided down to land softly, on the tips of her toes, before Ares on his throne. He sat, unruly black waves of hair falling to his shoulders, white teeth flashing, eyes alight with pleasure in seeing her in physical form before him. On his lap, a curvaceous naked mortal lay, writhing as he ground his fingers into the core of her. He let his eyes take in Aphrodite’s elegant features. Licking his full lips, he admired her firm, ripe breasts in that translucent pink gown. He plunged a finger into the mortal’s ass as he raked his half-sister, head to toe, with his molten gaze.

“Put that creature away, Ares,” Aphrodite said with confidence. “The Goddess of Love demands your full attention.”

“Demands, does she?” he said, his eyes aglow with desire. He shifted to drop the mortal unceremoniously on the floor beside him. The censure in Aphrodite’s glittering gaze stopped him. He raised the woman and let her float beyond the room, then leaned back, draping a black leather-clad leg suggestively over an arm of his massive throne.

Aphrodite looked around. The floor of Ares’ chambers was littered with passive mortal men and women, awaiting his pleasure. Some were chained to the wall, others tied on the floor, one male lay in a swoon, marks of flogging on his back and ass. “So many toys, Ares? A girl might get the idea that you are…difficult to satisfy.”

Ares clapped his hands once and every mortal in the large room sank back into the shadows. The room was empty. Slowly, a marble altar rose from the floor before him. “Join me, sister,” he beckoned, his voice a satin caress.

Aphrodite approached slowly, breathing heavily. She felt the balance of power shift, knew she was offering more than a good hard tumble with an immortal. She was yielding control to the God of Domination. He sensed her tentativeness. ::Yes,:: he sent mentally. ::You are right to make this decision actively. You know I desire you with a hunger I have rarely felt. You know I will offer you as much pleasure as I give. But I am no mortal to serve you, no lesser god to acquiesce to your whims, not even your divine equal. I am Ares, God of War and your Master, and I will own you—and you will submit to my will—before you leave my presence.::

Aphrodite shuddered.

He softened his tone a touch. ::Ripe and luscious Goddess, come to me, freely, accept my power to take you where you have so long hungered to go.::

Aphrodite took one dainty step forward onto the dais and sealed her fate…at least for this night. Ares’ smile stretched, and Aphrodite was lost. Even if he was excessively dramatic and his sense of fashion was hopelessly retro, his beauty did rival her own. She could not look away as his thick muscles rippled and he reached a strong hand to guide her. As she placed her fingers in his, he pulled her swiftly to him, taking her breath away. Her back to his chest, he pressed his hips forward so she could feel the hard length of him between her barely covered cheeks. He held her, pinned to him with one strong arm. With his free hand, he moved her heavy waves of sun-kissed blonde hair from her neck and murmured words of appreciation for her heavenly desirability between soft kisses. He then paused, feeling her soften beneath the imprisonment of his arm, listening to her breath, fast and shallow. “Do you take me for your Master, then, Goddess?” he whispered.

“No one is Master of Aphrodite,” she replied, straightening her spine and pushing against him. Ares gave a single bark of laughter and continued to hold her captive. He turned her easily to face him and brought one hand up to tangle in her hair. Pulling back, he exposed her swan-like neck and kissed her soft flesh greedily, from collarbone to chin, moaning hungrily in his throat. Still holding her by the hair, he twisted her face so he could bring her lips to his. Her taste was light, alluring, that of the air over the sea. His tongue forced her lips apart, and her determination fled quickly as he kissed her with a passion that sang through her body. She met his aggressiveness, then, kissing him hard and deep and long.

Their tongues met and played, full lips crushed together, her whimpered sigh urging him to deepen the meld ever further. In her mind, his voice was honey-soft, an immortal’s sensuous, irresistible embrace. ::Let me Master you, incomparable goddess. Speak the words I have longed to hear for so many centuries.::

His need moved her, crushed her will and drove her on. She exhaled softly. For tonight, Ares, I am yours. When he did not reply, she spoke aloud, with a generous smile, “Tonight, Ares, you are my Master.”

His ravenous grin spread fast and wide. “So be it, sister,” he purred. “And the first thing your Master must teach you is obedience. On your knees.”