Rating: NC17
Warning: This story contains scenes of graphic consensual sex between a man and a woman. If you are under 18 or if this is illegal where you live, please read something else.
Disclaimers: The characters of Hercules, Ares, Strife and Discord belong to Universal Studios and Pacific Renaissance and this story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by MCA, Universal Studios, Renaissance Pictures or any other entity involved in the making of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys or Xena: Warrior Princess
Jane made a martini and pondered her fate. She spent too much time fantasizing about Ares, God of War. Ares, so completely free, he could do anything he wanted, be anything he wanted, have anyone he wanted. She wished desperately to unleash that side of herself, to let the passion and the rage out. She was tired of being the good girl, the good daughter, and the good wife. Oh, she loved her husband, but sometimes...
With the third martini came her "brilliant" idea. She would hold a séance and "raise" the God of War. Her husband was out-of-town again; she had the house to herself. She turned off the lights, kicked off her shoes, lit a bunch of candles and sat in the middle of her living room floor in the lotus position.
"Ares, God of War, I command you come forth. I have need of you," she chanted. She chanted this while the sun set and the moon rose to blood full. She chanted it while she mixed and drank martini four and five.
In his temple on Mt. Olympus, the God of War was bored. He had spent the day as usual with Strife and Discord, looking over some plans for a border skirmish in Southern Africa. It was all too easy. Mankind had taken to war and destruction with a vengeance in the last hundred years. They didn’t need his help or encouragement. But what was a sitting God of War to do? It was all he knew.
He heard a woman insistently chanting his name. He was getting tired of this. Ever since that blasted set of TV shows had made his name known once again, it was a nightly occurrence. At first he was pleased, sure a new breed of superior mortal warriors would start temples in his honor. But, it was never warriors who attempted to summon him, only women. Women all over the world with requests more fitting for his parallel self, the God of Love, than for an active God of War.
Not that he hadn’t enjoyed his share of mortal women over the centuries; he smiled in pleasure as he remembered the Amazons. Now those were women; strong, lusty, able to meet his thrusts on the battlefield and in the bedroom. But these modern women--with their lacquered hair, their highly toned bodies, their layers of face paint, they were all skin and bones and brought him no pleasure. They were all too eager to accommodate him; no challenge at all. How he yearned for a woman, mortal or goddess who could tease him, inflame him, anger him.
He longed for the days when his name was honored and respected. When his favor was courted for success in battle, not as an object of female lust. Once he actually would have been interested in just how many mortal women he could bed in a night, but as the centuries passed and fashion changed, he grew less interested. This was all his fault; Hercules, his half-brother, had a lot to answer for.
Sighing, he picked up his goblet of wine and went to see who was calling. He touched his looking glass and an image appeared. A redheaded woman sitting on a floor surrounded by candles, sipping from a martini glass. Hard to tell what she looked like or what she wanted since all she kept doing was calling his name. But he had a pretty good idea. He sighed once again, his godhood required he respond in some manner to one who called to him so relentlessly. He had been hearing her voice for hours.
As Jane was about to start sipping martini six, all the candles went out and a strange deep voice thundered, "Who dares to summon the God of War?"
"I do," she gulped. "Jane."
Again, that voice from nowhere, rich and resounding, bouncing off her walls, "What do you want?"
Jane giggled surely the effect of multiple martinis. "I want to see you Lord Ares. Show yourself."
"As you wish," that sexy voice answered. A flash of red and a vision appeared, shimmering in it’s own light. Jane was still sitting on the floor so she saw boots first, big black leather boots, big feet. Her eyes traveled up his legs, encased in black leather, calf muscles clearly defined, knees, big strong looking thighs, large bulge, (better not let her eyes linger there too long) and a big silver belt around a small waist. Smaller than she would have thought given the size of his legs. A massive chest darkly covered with hair, a black vest with silver edging, huge powerful arms, a crescent moon shaped pendant hanging from his neck and then the face. Definitely the face of a god, long curly black hair swept off a high forehead, deep dark intense eyes, aquiline nose, full sensual lips, goatee and mustache. And was he ever tall! And more handsome than she thought possible.
Jane gasped and rose to face him. "How tall are you?"
"Did you summon me to ask my height?" Ares asked.
Jane swallowed hard and said, "No, I was just curious. May I touch you?"
He glowered at her when he asked, "Where?"
She smiled nervously and replied, "Anywhere."
He laughed. With a click of his fingers, the candles burst back into flame and he said, "Let me have a look at you." She was a beauty, long curly red hair worn loose without any hair spray, large dark green eyes blessedly free of make-up, high cheekbones, a lovely red mouth, full breasts outlined by a tight T-shirt, curved in waist and long legs. A voluptuous body with an hourglass curve and some meat on her bones. By the gods, this one’s figure recalled to mind; no, best not to think of her. At least, this was not another scrawny woman, "Turn around so I may see all of you."
Jane did as she was asked, wishing not for the first time she wasn’t carrying those extra pounds. "Well," she said, "do I pass?"
At the sight of her full buttocks, Ares eyes lit with interest. Maybe this one would be worth spending some time with. He had nothing else to do at the moment. "Pass," he repeated in some confusion. American women spoke with a very strange idiom. At times it was like trying to decipher Aphrodite’s speech.
"Yes, pass," she said. "You know, will I do?"
"Do what?" He shook his head and asked, "What is it you want of me?"
"Well," she mumbled, "I kind of wish to have sex with you. But being the God of War, that’s not what you do, is it?"
Again he laughed and she could swear there was a twinkle in eyes when he said, "I’ve been summoned often recently with that request. As a rule, I do not grant it. However, come closer and let me look in your eyes."
"My eyes?"
"Yes, your eyes. And please stop repeating everything I say."
Jane took a deep breath and walked to him. She tilted her face up to his. Oh, he was beautiful. Her eyes widened with excitement and lust.
"You have lovely skin," Ares said as his eyes traced the curve of her check.
"I thought you were interested in my eyes," she retorted saucily.
His fingers reached for her hair, as if to play with the curls. "You have interesting hair," he mused thoughtfully. "It reminds me of Medusa’s."
"Medusa had a head full of snakes!" she exclaimed.
He laughed again, "You seem to know something of the Greek myths."
"I know a lot about the myths," she said. "Enough to know that Ares wasn’t considered a very important god, despite the fact that he was one of the twelve original Olympians. All the other Gods on Olympus despised him and considered him nothing more than an annoying pest."
For a moment, his face turned dark and she thought she’d gone too far. But then she saw a small twitch at the corner of his mouth as if he was holding back a smile. Emboldened by this she added, "I know that Homer thought Ares wasn’t very good at his job. He paints a particularly poor picture of Ares showing during the Trojan War."
"That fool, how would he know? It happened years before he was even born," now Ares did seem to be angry.
Jane stared at him, holding her ground. Her green eyes danced in the candlelight and seemed to be laughing at him. "Well, if that’s not how it happened, how about telling me the true story?"
"I do not have to justify my actions to anyone!" he roared. Still she did not flinch. Magnificent! "Well little one, you don’t seem impressed. Quite impudent and feisty too. I like that."
"What else do you like?" she asked flirtatiously.
"Obedience," he thundered.
"Not likely you’ll get that from me," she mumbled. "Anything else I might be able to supply?"
"Why are you not afraid of me?" His dark eyes were puzzled; this Jane was surely a strange mortal to take his anger so lightly.
"Why should I be afraid of you," she replied. "You can’t possibly be real. I’ve simply hallucinated you here out of vodka."
Again his face grew dark, then as if a new idea came to him, he stroked one long finger along his jaw and said, "You do not believe I am here." He drew himself up and puffed out his chest. "You doubt the existence of the God of War?"
"Yes, I doubt you exist, I doubt you are physically here. And try to say that 10 times fast," she giggled.
"I am here!" He grasped her hands roughly and held them to his chest. She could swear she could feel rough/soft hair, feel his heart beat. "Can you not feel my power?" he asked.
"This is one amazing hallucination," she said with a hiccup. "I could almost swear I am touching you."
"You are," he shouted in frustration. What was it with this woman?
Jane stared at him, wondered what it would be like to have those big powerful arms around her and said, "Okay, if you’re really Ares, the big bad God of War, prove it to me."
"I do not need to prove myself! What would you have me do, start a war in your living room?" This mortal woman was certainly different, yes, in some ways very like his beloved Amazons.
She giggled and said, "Make something appear. No better yet, make something disappear."
Amused in spite of himself, he said, "I am not a magician. The God of War does not do parlor tricks."
"Fine," she said, "then I know you’re a fake. Just an alcohol-induced vision. Go away, I’d rather fantasize in peace."
"You are a strange one, but I will prove to you I am here." He took one of her hands and brought it to his lips. He leered and said, "You wished to have sex with me."
Before he could kiss her fingers, she pulled her hand back. "If I’m going to have sex with a hallucination, I’ll probably need that. I’m right-handed."
"You are infuriating!" For a moment he considered leaving, no mortal was worth this nonsense . . . Still; something in her eyes stirred something in him. He could sense the deep reservoir of passion lying untapped beneath her surface. Besides, he was no longer bored. It had been a long time since he had a challenge. It might be amusing to see how long it would take to make this mortal his.
He sighed; she would never believe him as long as they stayed here. He grabbed her roughly about the waist and snapped his fingers.
Jane felt a mist surround her, the world started to shift and shimmer and then there was darkness. When she opened her eyes, she was most definitely somewhere else. It took her a moment to realize she was now lying in a soft feather bed. She was no longer wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but instead a gown befitting a princess or possibly a priestess. It was low-cut and made of a soft silky fabric that seemed to float around her. The room itself seemed huge, full of soft drapes, paintings, vases, many different objects d'art. Though the lighting was indirect and subdued, it made her head hurt. Oh, how her head hurt. She groaned and tried to sit up. The room spun around and she groaned again.
There was a flash of red light and then he was there. Her hallucination. Only in light and in this room, he seemed more substantial. Also incredibly sexy! She put her hands on her head and moaned.
"Not feeling too well, are you?" he asked with a grin.
"No," she replied. "how long was I out?"
He looked amused, "Not too long. How much alcohol did you consume?"
"Clearly way too much," she mumbled. "I don’t suppose you have about 100 aspirin and a gallon of water?"
He laughed. "You have what you mortals call a hangover, don’t you?"
She nodded, which was a huge mistake since it set the room and her stomach spinning. "I think I’m going to be sick."
"No you are not!" he thundered.
"Ouch," she shouted back," that’s not going to help."
"But this will," he said as blue flame shot out of his fingers directly toward her. She didn’t even try and move, convinced she would either be dead or wake up passed out on her living room floor. Neither happened. The bolt of fire hit her and the hangover was gone.
"Thank you, much better," she said as she gingerly sat up in bed.
"You’re welcome." He seemed lost in thought for a moment and then added, "I remember having one of those once, a long time ago. It was not a pleasant experience."
"So you were mortal once," she asked with interest.
"At least once," he said with a laugh. "I have been many things and many personas at one time or another."
He walked over to the bed, towering over her, looking so good; she couldn’t help but lick her lips. Boy, this was a great hallucination. "Where am I?"
"My temple."
"Where?"
"My temple," he repeated, puzzled.
"I got that part," she replied. "But where
exactly is this temple I’m in? You know, like the real estate agents say,
location?"
"Location?" he repeated. "Oh, you mean where are we in terms of a physical plane?"
"Exactly. Are we in Greece, USA, Never-Never land?"
"We’re on Olympus."
"Right," she said with a shake of her head. "If we’re on Olympus, then I’m even crazier than I thought."
"You still do not believe I am real, that this is real?" He shook his head in amazement. Roughly he pulled her out of bed and molded her body to his. He held her tightly, pressing his manhood against her. Now she would feel how real he was.
She lifted her face and smiled slowly. "Okay big boy," she said with a laugh, "I longer care where we are, show me your stuff."
This annoyed Ares. He was not used to women treating him the way he often casually and cruelly treated them. He released her and she fell back on the bed, laughing all the way.
His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed threateningly, "I do not understand you in the least. You summoned me, asked me to have sex with you and yet every time I touch you, you insult me."
She laughed even harder, "I am the world’s biggest idiot. I can’t even enjoy my own hallucination! God, I am hopeless!" And with that realization her laughter turned to tears.
Ares sat down next to her on the bed unsure what to do. Crying women were something he definitely wasn’t used to dealing with. "What do you want of me," he asked gently.
"I haven’t a clue. One day I want to be free, to run wild, do crazy things. The next day I want to be the perfect friend, perfect wife. Some days I see my husband and feel so much love I can’t bear to be parted from him. The next day I’m so filled with rage, I can’t bear to look at him. Maybe it’s a mid-life crisis."
"You’d have been better off summoning Aphrodite than I," he said bitterly. "This sounds more like her kind of problem."
"It’s not," she shouted. "You represent absolute freedom. You are not bound by stupid rules. You have no concern for consequences. You take what you want and all in your path be damned. No responsibilities, beyond those which you so clearly enjoy. But me. . . I’ve been taking care of everyone else so long, I’ve forgotten how to take care of myself."
"You don’t want me," he said thoughtfully, "you want to be me."
"Maybe I do," she mumbled, "but it doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re hot!"
"Hot, you think the God of War is hot?" he roared. Then he began to laugh. A true laugh of amusement, that started deep in his belly and reached all the way up to his eyes. She looked at him convulsed in laughter, saw the absurdity of what she had said and laughed too.
"I am so sorry," Jane said after his laughter subsided. "I bet you didn’t expect an idiotic woman to summon you away from your godly duties to deal with her more than plentiful neuroses. Did I take you away from something important?"
He rose from the bed and studied her face. She seemed earnest in her apology. When he answered her, he chose his words carefully, but the bitterness was still palpable, "Mankind seems only too able to make wars without my help. On occasion the mortal form of brutality is a bit much even for me to enjoy. No matter what you may think, the God of War does not approve of genocide. If there is no one alive, there is no one to fight."
"It must be difficult, to have lived so long. What, no good warlords left? How about Idi Amin? Not your type?"
"You mock me again," he said angrily. All the more angry for having been seduced by her tears into honesty. She still was not convinced this was happening. Still not convinced that she had been given the honor of an audience with the God of War. "You still think this is in your head, don’t you?"
"Isn’t it?" Jane looked around the room again. "This looks like a movie set and you, well, you are even more sexy than any human could be. How can I possibly believe any of this is real? It’s just an alcohol-induced hallucination. I’m sure a shrink would have a field day with me."
He grasped one fact from her babble, "The reason you think I am not real is because I appear too handsome for a mortal? But this is because I AM NOT MORTAL. I AM A GOD! Would you find this more appealing?"
With a wave of his hand he turned himself into a large hulking brute, definitely Neanderthal. "Or perhaps you would prefer this?" Again he waved his hand and now he looked like Elvis. "Or this," he turned himself into a large wild boar. Suddenly he was himself again. "I appear to you like this, because this is who you wished to see. If you wish me to take another shape I can arrange it."
Jane’s eyes narrowed and she asked, "So if I had imagined you as a short blond with blue eyes, that’s what you would look like?"
He nodded, "Would that be more to your liking?"
"No," she said with a sigh. "You look just fine, well actually better than fine, this way."
"Good, since this happens to be the form I prefer." He sat back down on the bed. He touched her face lightly, his fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, sending shivers through her.
She reached her fingers out tentatively and yanked his beard. "How dare you!" he thundered. "You are beyond impudent and I am quickly losing my patience with you! No mortal has ever behaved in such an unseemly manner. Most I would have already vanquished. Why I continue to tolerate you is quite beyond me."
Emboldened when she wasn’t turned into a toad, she said softly, "Because you’re actually having fun. Come on, admit it Ares, no one ever stands up to you. You’re so used to getting your own way, so used to women fainting in your arms that you haven’t been surprised in years. Admit it, you’re enjoying this." Jane was surprised by her audacity, but she also knew she was right. She could see the naked desire in his eyes every time he now looked at her.
He threw back his head and laughed. He was pleased. She showed true potential this one. "Innocent child, how much more of this do you think I’m going to tolerate? I expect to be treated with respect."
"Respect isn’t something you take, like a woman or a glass of wine. Respect is something you earn." As his face grew darker and angrier, she continued quickly, "it’s not that I don’t respect you. It’s that I’m not treating you adoringly, hanging on your every word, oozing devotion. But really what can you expect? I’m not a priestess from your temple. I’m a housewife who had a fantasy."
"That does it," he shouted. "You WILL show me the proper respect." With a wave of his hand they were both naked.
Jane’s eyes nearly popped out of her head when she got a good look at his naked form. "Oh my," she mumbled. "Oh my."
He grabbed her roughly and pressed his mouth over hers. His kiss was intense, lighting a thousand fires in her body. He pressed her down on the bed, his full weight upon her. His kiss was hungry, passionate, she lost herself in the sensation. His tongue pushed insistently into her mouth, his hands roamed over her body as if he owned it. His mouth grew more urgent, his hands bolder, reaching for all her secret places.
She couldn’t help herself and she really didn’t want to. She kissed him back with a fervor matching his. His lips were so soft on her own, were too inviting. She bit his lower lip, hard. His reaction was unexpected, he lifted his face from hers, gave her a slow lazy seductive smile and said, "So that’s the way you want it?"
Her answer was to grip his face in both hands and pull his mouth back. She could feel his soft laugh as it flowed from him into her mouth. His hands, which had been exploring her breasts stopped. It was as if he waited for her. Suddenly, she knew what she wanted. She kissed him hard, trying to smash that mouth into nothingness. Her hands circled his back, she arched her body to his, trying to mold herself to him. She pulled her legs free, snaked them around between his, trying to pull him closer, trying to pull him inside.
His response was to shift his weight slightly away from her. "What are you waiting for?" she asked him.
"You have yet to show me the proper respect," he said with a wicked smile. "Do you think the God of War just gives away his favors without getting anything in return?"
She pushed at him, pushing him over onto his back. She was surprised he went, but knew that if he hadn’t wanted to, she wouldn’t have been able to move him. He was too big, too powerful. She looked at his beautiful face, so perfect, so seductive. "I want to wipe that grin off your face," she said.
He laughed, his eyes lighting up with excitement, "You are most certainly welcome to try. What do you think might do it?" Yes, this one was definitely worth all that earlier effort. He could see the passion rising off her as if it were steam. See the barely restrained rage bubble out.
"Oh you, you MAN." she shouted. And with that she was on him, like a wailing banshee, kissing and biting, running her tongue all over him, rubbing herself all over him, like a wild animal. His laughter just seemed to inflame her. Not that he wasn’t aroused, he was, but he had more experience in controlling his baser instincts. Centuries of it. And it amused him as well as excited him to see her unloose hers.
She pressed herself flat on him, grinding her breasts into his chest, her mouth pressed as tight to his as possible. Her tongue was like an attacking weapon, flitting in and out of his mouth like a knife. She bit his lip again and then with a moan of pleasure began to rub her womanhood against his manhood.
"Oh no you don’t," he said. He gripped her arms and stopped her writhing. "I’m not letting you come so easily. Besides, you still haven’t shown me the proper respect."
She lifted her face to look at him. Her eyes were wild; he could see the naked lust in them, see that she was rapidly losing what little control she had left.
"Fine, "she spat, "you want respect, I’ll show you respect."
She rolled off him and took a deep breath. There it was, an erection the size of the Empire State building. And he was still wearing that grin. Well, she’d knock that off his face and the sooner the better! She reached out tentative fingers to touch him. She was gratified to see he throbbed at her touch. She moved down the bed and crawled between his legs. They were magnificent, so well muscled, so strong. She paused to touch his knees, leaning over, she kissed the back of them, licked them with her tongue. She looked up and still he was grinning.
She moved further up the bed, pausing near his pulsing manhood. She bent down as if to take it into her mouth, but instead blew gently on the tip. It jumped. She did it again. Again it jumped. She put her mouth closer and breathed on him. Again it moved, as if it wanted to jump in her mouth all by itself. She sneaked a peek up the bed and she could see he wasn’t grinning now. She breathed on him again and then quickly snaked her tongue out to just touch the tip lightly. This time she heard a soft moan. Quickly she moved further up his body.
"Who’s laughing now," she murmured quietly. She placed her body so her breasts hung over his belly. Her hardened nipples bouncing lightly off his flat stomach. She ran her fingers over his chest, tracing shapes in the hair that covered it. She bent her mouth towards his right nipple and gave it a little lick, then sucked it lightly. Another moan escaped him. Must be doing something right, she thought. She moved her mouth to his left nipple and licked and sucked it, with her free hand she continued to play with his right nipple. Suddenly some kind of animal instinct seemed to take over and she began to bite his nipples. Lick, suck, bite, kiss. She could feel his movements beneath her and knew he was getting even more aroused, although she wasn’t quite sure how that was possible.
She sneaked another look at his face. He definitely wasn’t laughing, it looked as if he wanted to either kiss her or strangle her. She wasn’t sure which and decided she didn’t want to find out. It was time to show him respect. She moved down the bed and back between his legs. This time there was no hesitation. She looked at him directly, made sure their eyes locked and then licked her right hand. She placed it on his pulsing erection and began moving it up and down; knowing the wetness of her hand would make him want her mouth.
He was moving once again and she could tell if she didn’t give him what he wanted, he would take it by force. She took pity on the big bad God of War, who was now acting just like any mortal man and took him into her mouth. The guttural growl of pleasure that tore out of him made it more than worth it. She moved her mouth slowly, letting her tongue play along the sides of his shaft, tasting him. He not only looked good; he smelled good and tasted good. She continued to slowly, almost lazily work her way up and down his shaft, never staying in one place too long, never increasing the pressure of her mouth either. Finally when she felt his hands reaching for her, she began to suck him, lightly at first, then a little harder. His pelvis was moving, trying to thrust deeper into her mouth. His hands were in her hair, trying to control the movements of her head, her mouth, but she fought him. She raised her head and pulled all the way back, so that only the tip of him was in her mouth. She gave one good hard suck and then removed her mouth.
"Was that proper worship and respect, Lord Ares?" she asked. She knew the combination of almost orgasm and total flippancy would anger him. But she didn’t care. For once she felt free, wild, reckless.
He sat up, gripped her arms and threw her back down on the bed. With one of his powerful arms, he held hers pinned and said, "You think you know me? Know what I want? Woman, I have centuries of experience in tormenting and pleasing mortal women. The question you should be asking is, have I pleased him enough?"
Jane gulped, had she misjudged him? But no, there was still that devilish twinkle in his eyes, the fire she knew she had put there. Wherever was about to happen it wouldn’t be hurtful torment, more likely pleasurable.
He shifted his weight, still holding her arms above her head. With his free hand he traced the shape of her breasts, her belly, the mound between her legs. She moaned. She wanted him so badly; she was more than ready for him. He knew this, but now it was his turn to tease.
He kissed her once lightly on the lips, his tongue tracing the shape of her mouth over and over until she arched her back and cried out as if in pain. He knew her need, could feel it rising from her, could smell the musky scent she secreted as her body experienced pleasure so intense it almost hurt. He moved his head to her breasts, still keeping her arms locked. His mouth licked and played with first one nipple, then another, tickling, sucking, teasing her, until both nipples were hard and riding high on the bowls on her breasts. Her body twisted and writhed beneath him. He could tell she was on the edge of orgasm, but he wanted to continue to delay it.
He stopped for a moment and stared at her face. Her eyes were wide, looking at him with wonder, even a little awe. He knew he had a magnificent body, he was a god after all. But that had never been enough for him. It was always easy enough to bed mortal women, to possess them physically, but to own their soul . . . There was a prize worth winning. Not for him the easy, obliging woman, no, he preferred those who took their pleasure with the same fire, the same passion, the same violent release as himself. He liked them screaming his name in the throes of pleasure as so often men screamed his name in the throes of death.
The God of War had a secret and also something in common with his parallel self, the God of Love. He got a great deal of pleasure out of making mortal women and goddesses experience orgasms so intense they were a little like his sweetest mistress, Death. Over the centuries he had honed his oral skills to a fine art.
He released her arms and moved between her legs. As she had done before to him, for a moment, he simply blew on her lovely fur covered mound. A natural redhead, he thought. How rare that is among 90’s women. Her body jumped as his had before. He licked the inside of her thighs, his beard tickling her like an extra tongue. He blew again and she moaned. He waited for her, willing to tease her until she couldn’t wait another minute for his mouth on her. He blew again and felt her hands in his hair, pulling his face forward into her.
She could feel his laugh deep inside her, even as his sweet breath and tongue went to work. The second she felt his tongue inside her, she let loose with a shriek and an orgasm so fierce it shook her and covered Ares' face with liquid. He lifted his head, his mustache dripping, licked his lips and said, "Sweet, very sweet. I want some more."
"Oh god," she murmured.
"Now that’s more like it," he said. He bent his head once more, his tongue flicking deep inside, finding her bud and teasing it lightly. She tasted wonderful and was clearly going to have orgasm after orgasm, which only increased his pleasure. While his tongue danced around inside her, one of his hands was reaching up to her breasts to find a hard nipple. He squeezed it in time to the increasing pressure his tongue was bringing to bear on her sweet spot. She was writhing and moaning, now bucking like a horse, screaming his name, and coming and coming, squirting hot sweet liquid all over his face. Finally he took her bud in his mouth and sucked it. She screamed as if in agony and then shouted, "Ares, I’m sorry. You’re a god, oh, yes you’re a real god, now for Zeus’s sake, please may I feel you inside me."
He lifted his wet face from her still writhing mound and moved up the bed to face her. "Of course my sweet, all you had to do was ask me respectfully." She threw one arm around his back, her legs between his and with her free hand, felt for his erection to guide it in.
"Oh god," she screamed as she felt the length of him glide in and fill her up. She put her other arm around him and grasped his buttocks, moving her legs up around his waist to get as much of him inside her as she could.
He could not believe how hot and wet and tight she was. He had to make a conscious effort not to move faster, to try and slow down, to make it last. She was moving against him, wanting him to increase the speed, but he forced himself to move slowly in and out, a little at a time, knowing it would inflame her further. She was clawing at his back, her nails trying to dig deep trenches in his skin, her teeth trying carve up his shoulder, her pelvis pushing against him, her whole body as if in torment begging for release.
Finally, he could no longer control himself, the warmth of her, the eagerness; the very scent was driving him to increase the speed of his stroke. He began to move faster, he shifted up on to his powerful arms, and watched her face. Yes, that expression was close to dying, now was the time. With a few powerful thrusts he felt her once again buck beneath him, she let out a cry of pleasure, shouted his name and then came with a force so strong, gripping him so tight, that he too let release come. His seed burst inside her like a wall of flame, sending her once again into orgasm. The force of her contractions acted like a hand wringing a sponge. He felt as if he was being turned inside out. He let out a shout of pleasure so loud; it shook the walls of his temple.
A short time later Jane still lay there panting. Her legs were spread beneath Ares, his beautiful body still covering hers, his face playfully nuzzling a breast, her arms around his neck. She still held him inside her and she could tell he was getting hard again. Amazing, she thought, just amazing. She was still experiencing aftershocks of pleasure.
"Well my dear," Ares said lazily, "have you learned your lesson?"
"Oh yes," she replied. "Can we do it again?"
He laughed. "I have created a monster," he said in mock fear. "Whatever shall I do?"
She wrapped her legs around him again and whispered, "You can do anything you want, anytime you want. Just keep doing me!"
Jane woke up on her living room floor. She was in jeans and T-shirt, there was an upturned martini glass to the right of her and about ten spent candles surrounding her.
Slowly she sat up and stretched her body like a cat. It must have all been a dream, she thought. That wonderfully wicked and delicious night with Ares. Had it happened?
Shouldn’t I have a hangover? She wondered as she bent down to clean up the living room. She carried the debris from her séance to the kitchen where she saw the nearly empty bottle of vodka. I definitely should have a hangover. But amazingly she felt light and free, as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
The God of War, looking down from Olympus grinned and stroked his mustache. That little mortal will never be the same again. But she will never be sure it really happened. He hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in years. Still it wouldn’t do for anyone to find out. It didn’t bear thinking what Strife or Discord would do if they found out that the God of War often preferred to be the God of Love in these modern times.
"Hey Unc," Strife asked, "what are you looking at?"
Ares quickly touched the glass and the image changed to terrorists planning an attack. "Just more of the same. These mortals are too easy."
Strife slithered over to stand by his uncle’s side. He wondered what was going on, Ares seemed unusually satisfied today. The sounds that came from his uncle’s bedroom had kept all, gods and servants alike, awake all night. Discord had been in a frenzy, throwing vases, spitting fire and shouting at anything and anyone who moved including him. It was good he was a god, otherwise he was sure her fury would have killed him. That must have been some woman with his uncle. Ares definitely seemed pleased about something.
"Hey Unc, want to change ourselves into bikers? It’s Sturgis week. We can really kick some mortal butt. And you know how Discord loves to dress up in black leather."
Ares gazed fondly at his nephew. Yes, he supposed it was time to let Strife and Discord have a little fun. They’d been serving him for centuries now. He shouted for his sister, then the three of them, suitably attired, flashed out for South Dakota.