Erato’s Misadventures – The First Siren

Content Warning: This post is for mature audiences and contains sexual situations.

After the launch of the magnificent vessel, Giant Pearl – named for the treasure I left at Olympus for safekeeping – I took some time to train young Nike in the care and feeding of my herd of hippocampi. These creatures are loyal to me and would aid anyone at my command, but they cannot keep pace with a fully-oared ship. Besides, two of them are due to foal any day now and I do not want my beasts hurt. 

She’s a good girl, that Nike and, aside from the sea creatures leaping into mortal sight after her soaring flights on occasion, she manages most animals far better than many of the other goddesses. At least she is not afraid of a little hard work! Perhaps old Lightning Rod is on to something, making his kids get jobs. He cannot compel my children to any such thing though; besides, as marine dwellers, I am not certain what mortal employment they could undertake. The merchildren are in more danger from mortals these days than ever. Their protectors, the turtles, are dying.

After organising all the arrangements for a long period away I stop, remembering Her. . .the sadness of lost lovers at my time of life is profuse. There have been too many and I cannot even now recall all of them clearly, but Amphitrite was exceptional. Images of her refuse to leave my mind and my focus turns to sharkshit. I need a distraction; anything will do. Opening the mail for The Mermaid’s Tale, I find an invitation from Nyx for her nightclub Nox. 

I send out a call to Ares and Artemis; do they want to meet up for a drink? I have Ares’ description for his Missing Person bulletin, and. . .well, let’s just say that a fresh young face and body can do a lot for an old sea dog right now. 

Within a very few moments, I find myself at the entrance to Nox. Music pounds, coloured lights pulse across my vision, and I relax for the first time in days. I feel far too old for a nightclub outing but Artemis’ boob-tube convinces me otherwise. I am certainly not too old for that!

Something about this place amuses me. Perhaps it’s the bevy of young people all showing off to attract each other; perhaps it’s the unique cocktail Mistress Nyx suggests I taste. . .I have no idea of the contents, but it tastes like sea cherries and mer-honey. I drink more than a few.

I even (to the delight of my nieces and the horror of their fathers) dance a little. When the eyes of the mortal I am pressed up against turn glassy and unfocused, I know it is time to leave. I kiss her slowly, feeling a change in the night sky as I do so. My lips press against the mortal’s again, while my eyes search the stars. Constellations shift a little, spelling out an Ancient Curse I thought lost with the Titans. Who sends me such language across the heavens? I might never know. 

Much as I long to lose myself in the curves of mortal flesh for five or six hours (I’m a god for a REASON, humans!), I have a quest to mount and an old flame to find.

A voice in my mind laughs, dark and deep. “Flames are my department, brother. Do you require assistance?”

I reply back in the negative. Hades’ sense of humour is sometimes as dead as his subjects. I make up my mind to sleep aboard this night. If I do not leave now, I will lose more time. I think back to my Pearl; I have no idea how much time I have left, but it cannot be much.

As I leave the club, I feel an energy; a rush of air – and a rush of blood. A reddish mist. Hot rage, not anger. Something else. Something – powerful; erotic. The mortal I left behind cannot have done this; they do not possess such skills. I look down and groan. This is no time for a hard-on – especially one of mine!

I hurry back to my dock as quickly as I can, hoping no one notices (it’s not easy to miss an Olympian erection – it truly isn’t. Those columns on the Parthenon? Modelled from me.) Once on board my ship, I am overcome with weariness. Staggering into the Captain’s cabin, I fall upon a low bunk, and remember nothing more. . .

. . . Her mouth moves beneath mine; the first mortal kiss I ever received without subterfuge. She walked across the chalk-white cliffs and met me atop the wave. Leaning forward, risking herself, she pressed her pale pink lips to mine. My arms altered from seawater to firmly-muscled flesh and I held her.

“You will fall,” I whispered, carefully checking to ensure her feet remained on the grasses of the cliffs.

“I will not,” she replied, using her tongue against mine to silence me. It is effective and powerful, and I feel myself rise higher, taking her with me as she straddles my cock. I lean back into the wave, watching her full breasts jounce above me, crying as she orgasms, her liquid blending with mine in a new kind of water over which I have only partial control – and then suddenly I have none at all as she clenches herself around me and I cry out, accidentally starting a storm over Spain. I pause, panting. I touch her face in wonder. What is this? 

This woman is mortal after all; she is not even a witch. Is she?

“Are – are you some kind of witch?” I do not realise I have spoken aloud.

Leaning down, she kisses me full on the mouth, biting a little hard and for a very long time. Her breasts brush against my bearded cheeks. I lick them, watching her eyes half-closed in ecstasy.

“No,” she replies. “I am nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” I murmur. “It is not every mortal woman who can seduce a god. Is – is that what this is?” I ask her now, and feel younger than I ever have. Out of my depth (which is impossible and deeply disconcerting).

“No,” she says again, kissing me more, riding me harder until I cannot speak, cannot breathe, can do nothing but hold her on top of me and cry out as I explode inside her again. “What IS this?” I pant, almost desperate now as I feel her clench around me again.

“Love,” she murmurs, then shouts. Then screams it to the skies.

I wake in the night to flooding on board. Has my ship sprung a leak? By Zeus, if this is some of Oceanus’ sabotage, he will feel my rage – but wait. I touch the liquid three feet deep, bring my fingers to my lips and smile as I taste it. It’s mine; all of it. Briny and with the depth of a shallow bathtub. I sit back in surprise and remember a strange dream. A dream of Her; by all the tribute I have ever received, she can still make me cum like thunder.

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Poseidon (Clyve Rose)
Clyve Rose is an historical romance fiction author, and eroticologist. With an interest in mythology and the old ways, Clyve writes to bring the gods back to us.
Poseidon (Clyve Rose)

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