Bred by the Spartans (5 page)

Thaleia seemed to have been taken up upon a cloud of lust, and to be floating even above Olympus, the highest place in the cosmos. She had craved the lash, and she had felt it in the sanctuary, but she had never imagined that it could feel the way it felt now, wielded by Aphrodite not so much as to punish Thaleia with pain, it seemed, but to punish her with her own shameless need for Zeus’ authority in the darkest cavern of Thaleia’s body. She was panting, gasping, crying out… screaming, finally, as the great goddess of lust, whose sovereignty Thaleia now knew better than she had thought she ever could, plied her bottom, her thighs, her back, and her bottom—always her bottom—again.

Then the whipping stopped, and it was Aphrodite’s hand that Thaleia felt caressing her punished flanks, its fingers working inward wantonly, to make poor Thaleia moan shamelessly in her need for Zeus’ hardness there, right there where Aphrodite now anointed her with something cool and slippery, the burning center of Thaleia’s craven, degrading lust.

Aphrodite was untying Thaleia now. She lowered the skirt of Thaleia’s chiton to cover her again, whispering, “Zeus likes to uncover a bottom himself.” She raised Thaleia up and walked her to the sleeping couch. “Kneel, and then bend your face to the mattress,” the goddess said. “Then reach your hands behind you and take your thighs in them.”

As she complied, any notion of resistance gone from her mind, Thaleia felt how the posture opened her bottom, under the wool of the chiton. When Zeus lifted that thin fabric, he would see exactly the pleasure he had set himself, laid out for him.

Thaleia felt Aphrodite bind her wrists behind her, around her thighs. It was the most humiliating thing Thaleia thought she had yet felt, for she knew that trussed thus she would be presented by Aphrodite to Zeus as a plaything, or not even a plaything—a receptacle. At the thought, to her shock, Thaleia felt her private wetness dripping again, and the tender parts inside her secret furrow tightening in a way that felt delicious, but nearly made her cry out for someone’s—anyone’s—attention to the heat that burned there.

Chapter Five

“Good evening, Thaleia,” Zeus said, from his position at the bottom of the steps, where he had been watching Aphrodite prepare his little joy for the night. The sky father had a great many pleasures in his Olympian existence, but often he thought that enjoying a rebellious young goddess this way, before she took her enforced way down to the lands of men, counted as his very favorite.

He watched little Thaleia tremble at his words. Her cheek was on a pillow upon the sleeping couch, and she could not see him yet, of course. He felt his mighty cock growing hard already as he thought of when he would put his hand upon her head and force it down as he rode that lovely bottom ever harder.

Zeus climbed the steps, shedding his saffron himation theatrically as he went, so that all the divinities present would see his progress toward this delectable treat of a broken goddess, there for the final part of her breaking, under the hardness of the father of gods and men. Truly the only delight in the immortal life of Zeus that could compare with filling the backside of a defiant young goddess, broken to mortal state, was putting a hero in a mortal girl who discovered only at the last moment that the enormous cock of lord Zeus that was just about to enter her tender maiden cunt was exactly what she wanted.

He reached the top of the dais. He put his hand on her shapely bottom, still covered, as Aphrodite knew he liked such lovely bottoms to be, with her chiton. He reached down and lifted the cloth, to reveal the pert bottom cheeks of Thaleia, apple-red and covered with a tracery of fiery marks from the lash of the goddess of lust. Thaleia gave a sob, and Zeus knew it was not so much from the pain of her backside, but in the knowledge that he and the audience in the great hall could see her exposed and ready for bottom-fucking.

Zeus bent down to her ear, turned up to him, and said quietly, “You look lovely, my girl.” He put his hand again upon her bottom, now naked, claiming it arrogantly with his fingers, working them cruelly into her avenues of pleasure, until she moaned as loudly as he had ever heard a girl, goddess or mortal, groan.

Zeus chuckled and stood. He took his mighty cock in his right hand and pumped it gently, to ready himself. “Do you hear that, my fellow Olympians?” he called as he looked out into the darkness where the Olympian audience stood, and lay, and fucked, as they watched Zeus on the dais. “Do you see this bottom laid out before me? What shall I do?”

“Take that bottom!” shouted those who were in a position to shout.

Zeus moved to position himself behind the trussed girl. Perhaps he was not truly a wise god, he thought to himself, like Athena and her mother Metis, like Hestia, or even like his own son Apollo. He rarely considered why it was that the sight of a girl tied upon a bed, unable to oppose the way he put the head of his enormous, divine cock upon her anus, unable to do anything but to give the little moans that told him that she wanted his cock there though she could never confess to that desire, made him feel more like his lordly, immortal self than anything else. He knew only that saying to Thaleia, “Open up this little bottom ring of yours, girl, or I will open it for you, and I assure you, you will not enjoy that,” and then driving into Thaleia’s backside, his hands gripping her hips with an irresistible strength, and pumping his cock into her until she cried out in alarm at how full her little bottom was of the sky god’s monstrous majesty, seemed to rejuvenate his power and make him feel the Olympian the cosmos had intended him to be.

Zeus felt Thaleia trying to squirm, to get away from the cock that impaled her. He reached his right hand out, placed it on her head, and pressed. He said, “Bad girls get it the way I like it, Thaleia. You were warned.” Then he began to fuck in majestic earnest, filling her completely as she cried out in discomfort, in shame, and in arousal mixed with apprehension for her riven backside.

Such was the pleasure of the fucking that Zeus decided to make it last all night, as only an immortal could do. Just enough of Thaleia’s immortality remained in her body that she would not be harmed, though a truly mortal woman would have suffered the fate of Semele under the fucking Zeus gave Thaleia’s bottom. But Zeus knew that the discomfort in Thaleia’s little bottom ring would remain there for days and days as a reminder of how she had been punished for her defiance of the lord of Olympus.

He rode her for an hour in that first position; then, keeping her trussed, he turned her over. “Open your eyes, Thaleia,” he said. Far off in some distant realm of the soul, she did not obey, and Zeus spanked her hard, three times. Thaleia opened her eyes, startled, and Zeus said, “Look at your bottom as I enter it again,” and he pushed in, in that position, as she sobbed in discomfort, made to see how her tender furrow, still maiden, but clenching and swollen with arousal, and crying out for a good fuck, was ignored, when the titanic cock once again took her little ring.

Zeus worked his hand under the strap that bound Thaleia’s wrists, as he fucked her bottom, and began to rub her wet cunt, faster and faster. He put two fingers inside her grotto, and worked them gently, then returned to the bud at the top.

Thaleia found the bliss of Eros, screaming, as the divine staff filled her backside over and over. As her body tensed under him with that climax, Zeus commanded, “Look into my eyes, Thaleia,” and when she did, he saw in them the wonder he had hoped to find. No, he was not a wise god, but he knew what was best.

Zeus fucked that way for another hour, then turned Thaleia back over and rode her as at first for a time. Then, at last, he loosed the truss.

“Put two pillows under your hips, sweet Thaleia,” he commanded. “I am going to ride to my bliss, now.”

It was, paradoxically, Zeus’ favorite position, this position fit above all for the simple beasts. But the simple beasts did not know the joy of a god who adopts the posture to enjoy the bottom of a maiden. They did not know what joy lay in putting off the godhead and rutting until you felt that you were only an enormous, avenging cock in a girl who might pretend that she didn’t want you there, but cried out for it and then cried out under you.

He was on all fours over Thaleia, and his cock was in her bottom again, and now he abandoned everything but the fuck in the tight ring of a girl who had resisted. Now Thaleia was screaming out the pleasure of the strange backwards bliss that Zeus seemed able to give a girl whose bottom he spent all night in. She cried, “Lord… lord… oh, Zeus…”

The sound of his name drove him at last (with his consent, to be sure, as always) to his own bliss, and he shot his Olympian essence into Thaleia’s backside as she sobbed with the aftermath of her own climax beneath him.

In front of the platform, standing clear in the circle of light from the torches on the dais, stood Aphrodite, with Eros hovering next to her, a few feet off the ground. The divinities of lust, the most powerful divinities of all, smiled at him. Well, they would smile, he thought, having just proven once again their sovereignty.

Zeus rose, giving Thaleia a little kiss on the cheek as he did so, and saying, “Thank you, sweet girl. I hope you find more of that in the lands of men.” Thaleia lay there, still breathing hard. Zeus saw with satisfaction a trickle of his seed, glowing with his divinity, trailing down the little valley of Thaleia’s still widespread bottom.

To Aphrodite he said, “Thank you, lady. Delivery to Olympia by daybreak?”

“Of course, lord,” Aphrodite said. The Graces, surprisingly strong and swift, would bear the sleeping Thaleia down the mountain and all the way to the sanctuary of Zeus in Olympia, hundreds of miles away, in the flickering of an eye.

Zeus could not resist giving the lovely bottom, which had given him so much pleasure, a pat and a rub, which made Thaleia whimper in the divine sleep that was now falling upon her. Then he turned and descended the platform, still naked, and entered the tunnel that led back to his own palace.

When he had gotten halfway there, however, he halted his progress at the sound of a conversation coming through the tubes that Hephaestus had installed in the tunnel so that Zeus could be ever aware of the matters of the gods. A girl was speaking, and the voice was coming from the sound-tube that led to the palace of Apollo.

“Lord,” she said, “I know you are occupied with many cares…”

“Indeed,” Zeus’ son’s voice came back. “I must drive the Sun’s chariot today, though it was supposed to be his turn.”

“Lord, my sister Thaleia…”

“What of her?” Apollo sounded interested. Zeus smiled. Argeia and Thaleia had been much in the conversation of the male Olympians.

“Zeus broke her last night.”

“Oh,” said Apollo, his interest seeming to ebb markedly. “I am sorry.”

“Lord!” came Argeia’s voice more frantically, and from farther away. Apollo must have begun to go to his stable for the chariot.

“What is it?” Apollo’s voice was exasperated.

“Lord Apollo, I give you myself, if you can help Thaleia!”

Zeus chuckled.

“Interesting,” said Apollo, sounding again like he meant it. “Why don’t you make sure you’re waiting, naked, on my sleeping couch, when I return from the ride.”

There was a pause.

“Argeia,” said Apollo, “did you mean what you said?”

“Yes, lord,” Argeia replied softly.

“Then I look forward to taking your maidenhead tonight.” Zeus listened for a few moments more, but it appeared that Apollo had gone.

Zeus smiled. He had to admit that after the events with Clea in his
andron
he’d had designs on little Argeia, but he was a generous god, especially after a delightful night like the one he had just had. Yes, Apollo could have Argeia, and Thaleia’s mortal life would become even more interesting than he had thought it might be.

Chapter Six

Thaleia had never felt so disoriented in her nineteen turnings of the seasons. Where she was, who she was, and even what she was—none of it seemed available to her searching mind. Indeed, it took long minutes before she could even say to herself, “I am disoriented.” Before then, her soul simply held strange pictures of things that might have happened to anyone, although they focused on a young woman with red hair made to undergo shameful things of which she had never dreamed.

Floating somewhere else, she felt the cock of the sky god enter her backside, heard herself scream. She felt the pleasure of his rough hand on her cunt (she called it that, for he called it that). At last, she felt him turning her over for his final, bestial ride there, and she felt a bliss that seemed made entirely of pain transformed into a transcendence, an unimaginable scaling of the heights of some cosmos beyond the cosmos.

Thaleia knew power, in that moment, for it had been her backside, punished and prepared, that the father of gods and men had been unable to keep himself from riding all night. The words of Aphrodite began to make sense: the power of Eros dwelt inside Thaleia, and she could, if she learned how, make use of it to lead the kind of life she chose.

As she remembered Aphrodite speaking to her, she remembered that she was Thaleia, broken goddess, former minor Nereid. She thought of the little lakes that her mother had been teaching her to take care of, and with a little tear she realized that those little lakes would be Argeia’s now.

But at the same time there rose inside her a joy she had not expected. It was all different now. She looked about her at last, and saw that she was lying in the pronaos—the entry-way—of an enormous temple. Slowly she sat up, and realized that her bottom was sore, but not, apparently, ripped asunder as her memories seemed to indicate it might be. Beyond the columns she could see what looked like a wooded sanctuary. It was daybreak, and there seemed no one about.

Thaleia turned her head and looked into the central chamber of the temple. She blushed, and cursed herself for blushing, when she saw a wonderful likeness of Zeus, seated in state, as the cult statue of this temple, brightly painted as were all the statues offered by mortals to the gods. Without thinking about it, she moved her hand to her bottom, remembering when she had received the father of gods and men there for the first time, trussed and ready for him upon the sleeping couch atop the dais of Aphrodite.