by Roxie Noir
Insatiable Copyright © 2015 Roxie Noir
All rights reserved.
This book is intended for audiences 18 and over only.
The cover model is just a model, not someone who endorses or even knows about this book.
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Insatiable
Roxie Noir
Previously on The Erotic Adventures:
Heraklea stood, still wrapped in her bedsheets, in the largest hall she had ever seen. She wasn’t even positive that she was indoors; she thought she saw a vaulting silver ceiling high above, but it could have been the sky. The floor was white marble, polished to a high shine and cold on her bare feet. Fifty feet away was a golden dais, columns on either side of the dais that went so high she couldn’t see their tops. The dais had six steps leading up to it, and on it were perched two enormous thrones, gold, the armrests carved in intricate patterns and figurines. Hunters chased deer, boars, lions across the thrones; women swooned; men drank from vases.
What really concerned Heraklea was the two people in the thrones. For one thing, they seemed slightly larger than people should be. Not giants, but slightly wrong, too large by a quarter. For another, they were more beautifully dressed that anyone she had seen before: the man’s robes and the woman’s dress were shot through with threads of silver and gold, and each wore a heavily jeweled diadem on their head. The man had a gray mane and beard that gave him a slightly wild look, mismatched to his immaculate clothing, the immaculate room; the woman had dark hair and bright violet eyes. Heraklea had never seen eyes that color before.
She didn’t need a map to tell her where she was: this was Mount Olympus, home of the gods, and these two were Zeus and Hera, the king and queen. Heraklea pulled her sheet more firmly around her and wished she were properly dressed. Technically, Zeus was her father or, at least, he had sown his seed in her mother’s womb under false pretenses. Amphitryon was her father, as far as she was concerned. But her feelings on the matter probably weren’t going to be much use with Hera, who was notoriously jealous of Zeus’ conquests and notoriously nasty to the subsequent offspring.
“First she fucks half of Greece, then you try and marry her off and she fucks her husband half to death,” Hera continued, looking down at Heraklea like she was a particularly revolting insect.
Zeus leaned on one fist, ignoring Hera. “What are we going to do with you?” he said.
Silence. Heraklea looked from one to the other and back again. “Is Lykos dead?” she finally asked, her voice sounding tiny in the great hall.
“Not yet,” said Hera. “Just fucked into a coma. Never seen anything like it. Have you, darling? You’ve got more experience in that sort of thing.”
Zeus frowned and continued to ignore his wife. “It’s unfortunate you turned out female. Everyone expects this behavior of a rich young man.”
“Helen never acted like this,” Hera said.
“I’m sorry,” Heraklea said, tearing up. “I didn’t mean to hurt him.”
“No,” rumbled Zeus. “But still, you must atone.”
“King Eurystheus has been having a lot of problems lately, down in Argos,” Hera said. “He could use some help killing monsters.”
“Hmm, yes,” Zeus said. “Maybe that will exhaust you.”
Hera smirked, her beautiful face an ill-concealed mask of rage. “He’s a very demanding man,” she said. “You’re to do anything and everything that he asks of you, or you’ll be his servant forever.”
“Go then,” Zeus said, and with a wave of his hand, golden light filled Heraklea’s vision again, and when she could see again, she found herself in a smaller room, though still grand, in front of another throne, a surprised-looking king on it.
Heraklea had long ago given up on getting laid anywhere at the palace, but that didn’t mean she didn’t watch the guards coming in and out of the baths after sparring practice. Still half-wet, linens around their waists, white sheets damp and barely hiding what was beneath. She pretended to practice archery, but really, she took a good long time lining up every shot, looking frequently off to the left to get an eyeful of the man-flesh on parade.
After the last one left, she sighed to herself and loosed another arrow. Her turn in the bathhouse. When she had gotten to the palace she’d gone on in with the rest of the guards, until they’d complained that she kept offering to fuck them in the towel room. She’d never known men—hell, or anyone—to complain about that before. She was very good at fucking, something she prided herself on, but these men had gone off and whined about it, and now she had to wait until they were finished until she could bathe.
The one advantage, she thought as she lowered herself, naked, into the warm water, was that she could take as long as she wanted and really relax. The water felt smooth and silky on her skin and she moved her feet around, toes splayed, underwater, feeling it rush through them as she let her mind go blank.
The door to the bathhouse opened, and soft footsteps crossed the tile floor toward her. Klea turned around to look, but the bathhouse was dim inside, the candles having gone out one by one as the men bathed, and all she could see was feet. Then, knees. Thighs. A loincloth, a sculpted stomach and chest, and on it, the king’s head. Automatically, Klea looked around for his guards who were always with him, but she didn’t see them.
“I hope you don’t mind,” the king said, softly walking around the bath she was steeping herself in.
The king showing up like this usually meant some sort of adventures for Klea, an adventure that was always sex-related. Fucking a shape-shifting lion. Fucking three centaurs in a row, fucking two river gods at once. No, she didn’t mind.
“I could bathe with my men,” he said. “But sometimes I find their subservience tedious.” He stood in front of her and dropped his loincloth. Even though he was totally flaccid, he had a beautiful cock, perfectly shaped and the color of honey. Klea found herself wondering what it looked like erect.
“Just you and me,” she said, as he lowered himself into the water, then sat opposite her, both arms stretched along the rim of the pool.
“It’s quite nice in here,” he said. He stretched his arms a little more, the low light of the bathhouse playing over his long, sinewy muscles, the hard lumps that were his shoulders and biceps. Klea found herself staring. She’d known, of course, and she hated to be reminded that the king she was being forced to serve was so attractive.
“It’s a good place to get some thinking done,” she said, and stretched her own arms out along the pool’s rim, bringing her nipples to just below the water’s surface. The king didn’t look down, even once, and Klea was the tiniest bit disappointed.
“I have to admit I have an ulterior motive,” he said, a small smile playing across his lips.
Klea heart leapt and then slammed right into her cunt. He was naked. She was naked. He’d been sending her little signals for months, knowingly sending her off to get fucked.
“Yes?” she said.
“I’ve got another task for you.”
Klea tried not to act either disappointed, or surprised at her disappointment.
“What is it?”
“I need you to go get the mares of Diomedes.”
“Horses?”
“Well,” the king said, and smiled. “Technically, yes.”
Klea looked at him and narrowed her eyes. “What’s the catch?”
The king laughed. “Why?”
“There’s always a catch.”
He looked at her for a long moment, his eyes traveling up and down her underwater body for the first time. “All right,” he said. “They’re maneaters. They crave manflesh. And Diomedes himself is the son of Ares and a giantess, so he can be a right bastard who’s hard to convince of anything.”
Klea splashed one hand in the water. “I see,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I had a letter from the Queen of Crete and she said you were a pleasure to work with on your last task, so I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Klea stopped. She looked at him for long, long moment, hoping he’d say something else but he just watched her, in silence. The Queen of Crete was a dominatrix who’d had her three slaves fuck Heraklea, one after the other.
“Did she say anything else?” she asked, finally.
“Nothing else of interest.”
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Maybe a little of each.
“It was easy,” she said.
The king lifted himself out of the water, hard body dripping all over the tile floor, cock still flaccid, muscles glinting in the candlelight. He wrapped a linen around his waist.
“Well, I’ve got important business,” he said. “Drop by when you’ve got the horses.”
With that, he walked out of the bathhouse, leaving her alone again.
For some reason, this time the king had given Klea an escort to go to Thrace to get the mares. It had never happened before and she didn’t know why it was happening now. Maybe he was starting to warm to her, finally. Maybe they were supposed to fuck her and tell him about it. She didn’t know either way.
When they neared the palace, they could hear someone stomping and roaring around the inside, the earth practically shaking. The three of them stopped outside the door and stared up at it.
One of the guards reached for the doorknob.
“Don’t,” Klea said.
He stared at her blankly. “The king said we were to come here.”
“It sounds like someone is throwing someone else through a wall,” Klea said. “You really want to go in there?”
Something inside crashed.
“The king said we were—“
“Fuck the king!” Klea shouted. The two guards exchanged glances, and one of them frowned very, very slightly.
Then, before Klea could stop him, he reached for the door knocker and rapped, very loudly, three times.
Klea cursed under her breath but hadn’t finished before the door swung open to reveal a very tall, very skinny man.
“Can I help you?” he said. He spoke slowly, almost lazily, as though nothing could be of less concern to him than three well-armed people outside his door.
One of the guards puffed up his chest. “We’ve come from Rhodes to capture the Mares of Diomedes and return with them to King Eurystheus.”
Klea put her forehead in both hands, involuntarily. Why had she let these fucking imbeciles come with—
“Of course, sir,” said the thin man, some kind of servant. “Please, follow me.”
The guard who’d spoken up gave Klea a triumphant look and walked ahead of her, following the man into the castle.
The place was dark and chilly, made of stone carved into the earth, and the four of them walked for what felt like forever, down blank hallways lined with rows and rows of doors, none of which were open, until the man opened one that looked just like the others and opened it onto a modest but well-appointed bedroom with two beds.
“For the gentlemen,” he said, and gestured to the open door. “The king is indisposed right now, but I shall call on you when an audience is available.”
The guards both nodded curtly and went inside, not bothering to thank the man.
“Your room is upstairs, Miss,” he said. He led her up a long spiral staircase and down another long hallway, this one lit by windows cut into the rock wall. Finally the man opened a door onto a balcony, covered by a tent roof. It had two thrones and a table, nothing else. Klea walked outside, blinking, and when she turned to ask whether it was a bedroom, all she saw was the door shutting and the servant man nowhere to be seen.
Klea pulled on the door but it was locked from the other side, now, and the lock felt quite sturdy. Of course, she thought, of course things had gotten weird right away and devolved into her being locked on some sort of outdoor balcony, waiting for god knows what, separated from the two guards she’d brought with her.
On the upside, she thought, these sorts of weird situations usually led to a good hard fucking, and she was already okay with that.
She took a quick circuit of the terrace—or was it a balcony?—the size of a regular room, she thought. It had a stone railing that looked out onto some sort of courtyard, a nice space with lots of grass and three horses, munching contentedly, each chained with a bronze chain to an eye hook on the wall. It was lovely. Almost pastoral, even, thought Klea as she relaxed with her forearms resting on the railing.
As she watched, a door on the far end of the courtyard opened, and two men were shoved out, the door shut again. It was the two guards she’d come with, and Klea straightened up right away.
They’re maneaters, the king had told her in the bathhouse.
“Hey!” she shouted to them, two stories above, no way of getting down. “Watch out!”
The guards looked up at her in unison, then back down at the three horses.
“The king said they were maneaters!” she shouted. As she watched, one of the horses approached one of the guards, a brunet with deep olive skin, and sniffed, timidly, then nuzzled his hand.
He said something to the other guard. “...Crazy broad...” was all Klea could hear. The horse began to nuzzle at the man’s torso as another horse approached the other guard, a blond, sniffing at him gently before putting its lips around his hand. He patted its nose, affectionately.
Klea began to relax. These obviously weren’t the horses the king had told her about, they were just some sweet horses chained up in the courtyard for what Klea was sure was a good reason.
Down below, the brunet’s horse was nuzzling him more and more insistently, and the third horse, the middle one, had also gravitated to him, gently pushing at his back with its muzzle. The man stepped backward, away from it, but the first horse had begun to push at his hips with its nose. Then, the horse took his loincloth in its teeth and tore it off of the guard.
“Hey!” he said, and backed away, but at the sight of his flaccid cock something very strange seemed to happen to the horse. Its mane got longer and its neck began to grow, its ears to shrink. Two lumps grew out of its chest, and then, before Klea quite had time to blink, the horse had become a human woman, wearing tattered linens that barely concealed her body, still chained by the neck to the wall with a long bronze chain.
The guard smiled. The woman smiled back. Behind him, the other woman was doing the same, transforming from horse to woman, and a few seconds later, the horse nuzzling the blond man was a woman as well, now running her hands over his chest. All three women looked almost exactly the same: long auburn hair and pretty faces, exaggerated hourglass shapes with slim waists and wider hips, and some of the largest, most buoyant breasts Klea had ever seen. They certainly put her own medium-sized ones to shame, and to boot, they were beautifully round, full, and perky. Klea wanted to grab with with both hands and knead them. She wondered if something was holding them up, but the women’s clothing looked like it was hanging on by threads, draping over their shoulders and barely concealing their nipples, the white linen encircling their waists and just barely coming down past their nether regions.
Instantly, she could see that the two guards had erections under their thin loincloths. The women below giggled, touched their hair. One put a single finger in her mouth in a way that even Klea had to admit was alluring.
Klea had a very bad feeling about this. Maneaters, the king had said, and at the time she’d taken that literally but maybe she shouldn’t have. There was more than one kind o
f maneater, after all.
“Watch out!” she shouted down. “They’re maneaters!”
This time, the guards ignored her completely. Maybe they couldn’t hear her over the sounds of their own boners, Klea thought as she watched the women advance.
One women approached the brunet guard, tossed her hair behind her, and ran her hands down her body, from shoulders to knees. She said something that Klea couldn’t hear and the guard responded, then she leaned slightly forward and ran her hands over both humongous breasts, rubbing herself through the thin, tattered fabric, tilting her head back with her mouth open, eyes closed, and Klea could hear her moan. The guard reached toward him and she playfully batted his hand away, then ran a finger below the strip of fabric around her waist, smiling a teasing smile. He said something again and she turned around, looked over her shoulder and bent over to touch the ground, back straight, ass stuck straight up in the air.
She wiggled it and the guard reached for her again, touched her on her firm, round ass, before she backed away again, this time wagging a single finger at him. This time she scooped up both breasts in her hands, squeezing and lifting, the tatters still covering her, somehow, kneading, jiggling them for the guard who watched, goggle-eyed. Her hands went down, under the fabric at her waist, lifted it outward as she wiggled more.
She really wiggled a lot, Klea thought to herself, stationed on the balcony above, watching, where no one took any notice of her whatsoever, wondering whether she should be taking lessons from this enormously-titted seductress.
The woman finally took a step toward the guard, stretching the chain that still held her neck, and then stood still. She said something and the guard instantly reached both hands for her bosom, squeezing and groping and then burying his face in her magnificent breasts and she tilted her head back and moaned.
The other two women, closer to the blond guard, had started making out with each other. They were almost identical to the first woman, down to the tiny waists, round, firm asses, huge, perky breasts and tatters of white linen fabric. One woman traced her finger down the other’s body from collarbone to hip and then back up, delicately circling the nipple with her fingertip, making the other woman moan. She progressed to kissing the other woman’s neck, now taking both breasts in her hands, running her fingers over the nipples, over the fabric, pinching and pulling, lifting and kneading.
