Legends of Lust

by Autumn Bardot

  “Come here.” Odysseus beckons to me.

  I rise from my tree-stump seat. “Do you need another tool?”

  “The mast.” Odysseus points to a thick pole lying across the hull. “Straddle it.”

  I throw my leg over it and Odysseus does the same behind me. With his taut stomach against me and his rigid cock pressed against the small of my back, he sets each hand on either side of my waist and rocks me back and forth.

  “The mast must be secured through the coupling collar.” His hands skim upward, his fingers fanned out over my supple breasts. “You’ll provide the lubrication. Hold on.”

  I grip the mast as Odysseus continues rocking me forward while his fingers circle my nipples.

  Blood rushes to my nether regions and my sex grows slippery with excitement.

  “That’s a good goddess.” Odysseus nibbles the side of my neck.

  I’m riding the mast faster and faster while Odysseus rolls and tugs at my nipples. The pole is slick, my clit engorged, and I need to—have to—come.

  And then Odysseus’s teeth sink into my shoulder and he shudders.

  “What?” I reach behind and feel his sticky release on my ass.

  Odysseus lifts my leg over the mast and pulls me off.

  “No. No! I’m so close.” If I can’t have Odysseus, the mast will do!

  His arms encircle me. “Not yet, sweet nymph.”

  “You are a wicked man.”

  “Not wicked enough.” Odysseus orders me to sit near him the rest of the day, and when he catches my hand straying to my cunt to finish myself off, he binds my wrists behind my back until I promise to be obedient.

  I toss and turn that night, dreams of Odysseus fucking me in wild ways leaving me more aroused than when I went to bed.

  On the third day, Odysseus ties me to the mast.

  “Sing to me.” He loosens my robe and plants a kiss on each nipple.

  Hoping my voice will entice him like a Siren song, I sing and sing until Odysseus drops to his knees and pushes my legs apart.

  “Don’t stop singing.” He spreads my sex wide and flicks across it with his tongue.

  Sweet Zeus, how can I sing when I want to moan? I arch my back, thrust my hips into his face, and lift my voice to the sky. Odysseus takes my clit in his mouth and sucks. My legs shake, my cunt throbbing for release, my song a long, melodious moan.

  And then Odysseus pulls away.

  “Damn you to Hades!” I shout as he walks away. “Mark my words, Odysseus, if you don’t come back here right now I’ll blow your boat to bits before it makes it to deep water!”

  Odysseus pivots on his heel and strides back toward me.

  “I give the orders now. Not you.” He rams two fingers into my wetness.

  I buck—so close to release—and he withdraws. “Keep singing,” he says over his shoulder as he turns away.

  All afternoon my songs are interrupted—any melody reduced to moans—whenever Odysseus buries his face in my sex. He teases me until my legs tremble and I plead for release. Each time he kneels before me, I struggle for control. But he knows my body too well. My pants and tremblings give me away, and he ends his torments before I climax.

  Odysseus is merciless, sometimes coaxing one nipple to a hard point, other times gliding his fingers in and out of my sex. Back and forth he moves from goddess teasing—sucks and slurps and flicks—to boat building—fashioning a steering oar, driving willow strands between the planks, ballasting the boat with logs.

  That night as I lie on the bed he stands over me and masturbates.

  “How much do you want me?” His hand pumps up and down.

  I reach out to touch. He smacks my hand away.

  “Tomorrow, lover,” he says and grunts his release onto my face.

  On the fourth day, dawn spreads her rose-tipped fingers across the sky with a hue so glorious I shed a tear. The boat is almost finished. Today Odysseus must make good on his promise.

  I complete the tasks he assigned last night. I collect all the skins for holding wine and water. I gather food as well, dried meat and fish, and fresh fruits and vegetables, enough to sustain him for his long voyage home.

  The last task is bittersweet. I stack the folded fabric weaved by my own slender hands and carry it to the boat.

  Odysseus unfolds one of the fabric lengths and stretches his arms wide. “Mmmm, this ought to make a good enough sail.” He takes a knife and slices its length down the center.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Even though this fabric was woven by an immortal nymph I must test its strength.” He dips it in a bucket of seawater, wrings it out, and then sits on the wide ledge at the bow. “Come here.”

  “Tying me up again? Has the great Odysseus already run out of ways to torture me?”

  “Be a good nymph.” Odysseus pats his thigh, his grin impish and his eyes dancing with mischief.

  I obey. My body is his to command, to use, to tease.

  Odysseus positions me over his lap. “You’ve been a naughty goddess for seven years.” He tugs my silvery gown to my waist and smacks my ass with the wet cloth. “My lady needs disciplining.”

  “Ow!” I flinch as tingles of pleasure ripple through me. “I’ve changed my ways! I’ve done all you asked— showed you where the strongest trees grow, gave you an axe, and—”

  Odysseus spanks me again. “Trifles!” He gently massages my ass. “I demand you do better than that.” His hand smooths over my curves and into my wetness.

  “How?” Four days of foreplay, of being denied, of staring at his flexing muscles glistening in the sun has left me as horny as a sex-starved satyr.

  Odysseus snaps the cold wet cloth across my ass then follows it with warm caresses.

  “What do you want from me?”

  Odysseus doesn’t answer. Instead he parts my thighs and blows his cool breath across my sex until I squirm and moan.

  “Tell me, I beg of you.”

  “I’m sure you can think of something.” He snaps the wet cloth again.

  “I’ll conjure a warm breeze from the island,” I whimper with lust.

  “Not enough.” Odysseus slides his fingers over my slickness.

  “I’ll—”

  He delivers two quick slaps.

  “I’ll make the night skies so clear the Great Bear and the Pleiades will be your guide.”

  Odysseus slips two fingers into my sex and his thumb loops around my swollen clit. “What else?”

  “A following sea to speed you homeward.” My legs shake, my clit throbs, and the sweet walls of my sex pulse to be fucked.

  “That’s more like it.” Odysseus stands and I tumble to the deck.

  I get on all fours, present my bare stinging ass like a gift.

  Odysseus gets on his knees and wraps his hand around my waist. His cock glides over me. I wiggle my ass and push myself into him. I need him inside of me. Need to feel his hard thrusts.

  “Please. I beg of you.”

  Odysseus slides his cock back and forth while one hand skims up my stomach and pinches my nipple. “Who am I?”

  “What?” I shift to and fro, attempt to angle my body so his cock slips in.

  “Who am I?” Odysseus’s voice is calm, commanding, controlled.

  It’s my fault. For all these years I have taught him to control his own pleasure to service mine. Now he uses this control to make me his slave.

  “You’re Odysseus.” I jiggle my ass.

  “Try again.” Odysseus shifts away but his fingers continue pinching my nipple.

  “You’re my lover.”

  “Not good enough.” The tip of his cock presses against my entrance for a second before pulling away.

  “My king! You’re my king!” I cry out.

  “Yes.” Odysseus enters slowly, my cunt hugging tight each glorious inch.

  “Yes! My king, yes!” There’s a reason I kept the man on my island for seven years. His length and girth are godlike. I buck, need it faster and harder. />
  “Patience, my nymph.” Odysseus pulls out just as slowly, his cock rubbing against my aching clit.

  “I’ve waited for days.”

  “And I’ve waited for years to fuck you like this.” Odysseus thrusts back into me, pushing in agonizingly slowly, no matter how much I beg or grind into him.

  He keeps me on the verge, the very precipice of release, until I writhe and quiver with a feverish frenzy.

  “Fuck me!” I shout.

  Odysseus increases his tempo the tiniest bit, raising his speed every few seconds, slowly at first, and then faster and faster and harder and harder. At last he fucks me as I like, gives me the thing I’ve wanted for years, but never could admit: to give in to him completely. Finally it comes—my body erupts with waves of rapture. I scream in ecstasy, grind myself deeper into him. Odysseus does not stop. His thrusts almost knock me off my knees. I peak again, spasms of joy surging through my ass and down my legs. I rest my cheek on the deck floor, my ass in the air like an offering.

  Odysseus slaps my ass and I climax again.

  “No more!” I whimper, my legs so weak from pleasure they wobble.

  But Odysseus slaps and thrusts again and again, pain and pleasure releasing wave after wave of bliss. And then he thunders his orgasm.

  My body collapses and Odysseus falls on top of me.

  “Well?” He brushes my hair from my face and drops a kiss on my cheek.

  My ass is stinging, my pussy bruised, and my nipples sore from his pinching.

  “Best fuck ever,” I say and close my weary eyes.

  I wake up on the beach. The boat is in the water, Odysseus at the helm.

  “Farewell, my goddess.” He blows me a kiss.

  I blow a different kind of kiss in return, one that creates a land breeze that pushes his vessel past the surf and into the sea.

  “Farewell, my king, my love, my master.” I stand on the rock shore watching Odysseus’s boat get smaller and smaller until it is a speck on the horizon.

  More of Odysseus’s adventures and his long journey home can be found in the classic epic poems The Iliad and The Odyssey by Homer. Want to read the Grated version of Odysseus and Calypso? Check out Book V of The Odyssey. And no, I’m not telling you if Odysseus ever makes it home to Ithaca and his long-suffering but faithful wife Penelope.

  BY SWORD TIP

  Melanippe entered the counsel chambers, her long thick braids swinging in rhythm with her purposeful stride.

  “What news, sister?” Queen Hippolyta, sitting with her mother, Otrera, looked up from the new doublesided axe they were admiring.

  “The ship is indeed King Theseus’s.” Melanippe, dressed in wide embroidered pants and wool boots for horseback riding, removed her conical leather kīdaris from her head and handed it to an attendant. “I saw no soldiers on deck.”

  Queen Hippolyta set down the axe and leaned against her lion-skinned chair. “So it’s a diplomatic mission.” She rolled her eyes. “How boring.”

  Amazons were descendants of Ares, the god of war, their feisty natures eager for battle and conquest. Deemed the Killers of Men by those they defeated, the Amazons kowtowed to no man, not even the great hero Theseus.

  “Theseus is clever,” said Otrera, a stunning woman with waist-length silver hair as shiny as a blade. “I suspect this visit has another purpose.”

  Hippolyta raised her eyebrows. “What have you heard, Mother?”

  Although Otrera had yielded her rule to her exceptional daughter years ago, her informants still stretched far and wide.

  “He’s looking for a wife.” Otrera never minced words.

  Hippolyta burst out laughing. “He looks in the wrong place.”

  Amazons did not marry. Ever. Neither did they take lovers, their fierce bloodline perpetuated by more efficient means.

  “Do you want him greeted by warriors or a welcoming party?” asked Melanippe.

  The shadow of indecision crossed Hippolyta’s face. “Is Theseus worth meeting?”

  Otrera shrugged. “Only if the stories about him are true. Otherwise, he’s just another man with no control over his sword.”

  “Like the man who sired me?” Hippolyta’s blue eyes glinted with amusement.

  Otrera wrinkled her nose. “Such a distasteful act— fortunately it was very brief. A blink of an eye.”

  Hippolyta rose from the table and crossed the white marble chambers to the open door of the balcony over-looking the azure waters of the Black Sea, where Theseus’s ship floated in the distance. “Tell me about Theseus.” Evidence and intuition always guided her decisions.

  “He killed the Minotaur and found his way out of the Labyrinth,” Melanippe said. “Although Ariadne did help by telling him to unravel a ball of twine to find his way back out of the maze.”

  “What weapon did Theseus use to slay the beast?”

  “He beat the Minotaur to death with his bare hands,” said Otrera.

  Hippolyta turned around. “Impressive. What else?”

  “He convinced Hercules not to kill himself,” said Melanippe.

  Hippolyta wrinkled her nose. “Hercules is an arrogant brute who can’t control his temper. Theseus’s choice of friends leaves much to be desired.” Hippolyta never let the world’s opinion guide her own. She glanced at the sea again. Theseus’s boat drifted in the midst of the sparkling water, as though the sun itself wished to illuminate his presence. “Tell me about Theseus’s character. What sort of man is he?”

  “He is loyal,” said Otrera. “He stood by Hercules during his darkest hours and protected Oedipus’s daughters after they fled Thebes. In fact, he took care of their unfortunate father until he died.”

  All three Amazons exchanged sympathetic looks. The tragedy—Oedipus gouging his eyes out after discovering he had married his own mother—was a powerful reminder to all rulers of the power of destiny.

  “Loyal and compassionate. Rare traits for a man, let alone a king,” said Melanippe.

  “Both admirable traits,” Hippolyta agreed. “Anything else?”

  “He ended a hundred-year-old dictatorship, despite the elite’s initial objection, to form a commonwealth,” said Otrera. “Athens enjoys unprecedented prosperity now.”

  “A man of vision with charms enough to persuade poor and rich alike.” Hippolyta tapped her finger on her lips in thought.

  “I know I would like to meet him,” said Melanippe.

  “Tell me about his weaknesses.” Hippolyta’s mind was not yet made up. “They might be so great that they overshadow his strengths.”

  “He seeks danger and thrills,” said Otrera.

  “That’s more of a strength than a weakness.” Hippolyta clasped her hands behind her back and strolled the length of the balcony and back.

  Her sister and mother kept silent. They never interrupted Hippolyta while she weighed the pros and cons of a situation. After two trips across the balcony she stopped.

  “The man intrigues me, even if he does think he’ll find an Amazon willing to be his wife,” said Hippolyta. “Send a hundred foot-soldiers in full battle gear to meet him.”

  “It will be done.” Melanippe departed the chambers.

  Hippolyta strode back into the chamber and pulled her axe from the weapons wall.

  “What are you doing?” asked Otrera.

  “I’m not going to sit here and wait for him.” She took down her pelta, the light crescent-shaped shield. “I want to see Theseus’s reaction when he is greeted by a hundred Amazon warriors dressed for death and dismemberment.”

  “Why do you need to be dressed for battle?”

  “Because I’m joining my soldiers by hiding in plain sight.”

  Hippolyta stood among her warriors, each one dressed in pants, wide belt, tunic, and kidaris. Some women carried a spear, others carried a bow and wore a quiver of arrows on their backs. Standing in the midst without her queenly regalia, Hippolyta observed Theseus’s approach with a critical eye. She looked for signs of weakness, such as clumsiness and
unease, but saw only the ramrod stance of confidence.

  Wearing a laurel wreath and dressed in a straighthemmed linen tunic, wide belt with kibisis, and sandals, Theseus stood tall and steady despite the small skiff’s rocking in the waves as it approached shore. Though Hippolyta and her Amazons favored horses to ships, she was impressed by Theseus’s sea legs.

  Theseus leapt from the boat, landed solidly in foamy surf to his knees, then signaled the rowers to return to his ship. Hippolyta bit her lips, Theseus’s athletic arrival prompting the smallest smile to escape.

  Theseus splashed through the water and onto the beach. He was a tall man, burnished by the sun, with broad, well-developed shoulders, a narrow waist, and exceptionally muscular thighs and calves. His wavy brown hair was tied at the neck, several unruly strands blowing across his face.

  “Yassas, hello!” Theseus smiled at the armed assemblage with the easy manner of one meeting a friend for a stroll in the garden.

  Confidence was attractive, arrogance was not, and yet Hippolyta detected no excessive hubris in his demeanor. It was not until the wind subsided for a moment that Hippolyta got a good look at Theseus’s face. She bit back another smile, delighted by his broad forehead, straight nose, square jaw, and full lips. Yet it was his eyes, blue as the Aegean and sparkling with adventure, that Hippolyta found most entrancing.

  “Welcome, King Theseus.” Orithyia, Hippolyta’s general, stepped forward. “Your weapons.” She motioned to two warriors.

  “Of course.” Theseus relinquished both his sword and the dagger from his kibisis. “The sword was my father’s. I charge you with its safekeeping.”

  General Orithyia thrust out her chin. “The other as well.”

  “Ah, how careless of me.” Theseus grinned, flashing his marble-white teeth, and removed the small knife strapped to his thigh beneath his tunic.

  His genial demeanor amazed Hippolyta. Theseus appeared at ease, and even his voice, a deep, rich baritone, sounded smooth and sure.

  “I am honored by this welcome. It speaks of your people’s great strength.”