When I was young, I believed that the gods were our perfect caretakers.
They blessed us with bountiful food, the greatness of Sparta, and
powerful mystics to give us direction in life. But those powerful
mystics were the very same who robbed me of true life, true freedom, and
those gods were the same gods who let me rot in my husband's cold
prison of a palace.
We went to see the mystics when we had tried and failed to make an heir
for the throne. We had travelled many days to see them, for them to set
us straight on the path that was willed by our wise caretakers, and yet
they had given my husband all that he needed to justify my suffering.
They told us that though I was barren, my womb would ripen in three
years time and I would be instilled with four lives in that summer. I
still remember how his face lit up when they said that mine was a divine
fate, that my children would change the world. Then, as if to mock his
hope and pride, they had told him that his children would not spring
forth from my loins. That one of the mighty gods would descend from
Olympus and fill me with seed on that summer night, so that I might bear
the fruit of the gods.
Ever since that day, my husband saw me as nothing more than a precious
possession of which he was in constant fear of being robbed. He locked
me here in this very palace, banned me from seeing any men when not in
his company, and swore that the gods would not rob him of his rightful
progeny...
Though the gods had no need to interfere with that, for the many wars
which our country faced kept my husband away for what felt like years at
a time. When he was present, his thoughts were too focused on his anger
toward the gods to allow true sight of me. I willingly spread my thighs
for him as a loyal wife and queen, but felt no passion, even as his
seed wasted itself in my barren soil.
By the time the third year's summer finally came, I had accepted that
Tyndareus was no longer my king or my husband; he was my jailer.
At the beginning of summer, my husband returned, as usual, for the
festival of Hyacinthia. It was an important time for us, and it would be
inexcusable for the king to be absent.
When he arrived at the palace, I was standing in the entrance hall
wearing my finest robes. Even as he walked up to me, I could feel him
looking through me.
"Ah, you look well my queen" said my husband, "have you been safe these past months?"
I nodded.
"Yes, my King. Safe is the one thing I have been."
"Good, good" he said, ignoring my cutting words.
After a few more moments, my husband led me to our bedchambers. He was
always in need upon returning from a campaign, and it was my duty to
give him release. But even as I willingly stripped for him, I felt a
twinge of resentment at how callous our marriage had become.
I felt his eyes wander down from my long dark-brown hair, over my tender
breasts and along the soft curves of my hips, down to my firm, muscular
legs.
"A true Spartan queen" he said, admiring me as he did his army. "It is
no wonder I have to go to such lengths to overcome the gods' desire for
you."
I lifted an eyebrow.
"You truly believe that you can outsmart the gods?" I asked him.
He smiled, with a glint in his eye.
"The gods are petty, I grant you. They may take a bitter tone at my
slight, and set upon my army with anger as they would have set upon you
with lust. Yet, as we all know well, the gods' will is not the single
orator of fate."
Thinking of the great stories of those who overcame the gods, I found
myself doubting my faith in them. Perhaps my husband really could
shatter my divine fate.
"Do not worry, my queen. It is only a matter of days now, and we will be
able to free ourselves from this cursed fear of them. Then, when the
seed of my true heir is within you, we can live our lives as we wish."
I wanted to laugh at his words, as if he was suffering along with me.
Instead, I walked to our bed and kneeled in front of it, leaning forward
onto the soft bedding.
"Show me what you will do on that day" I said, looking back at him.
I was lucky that he could not sense my true thoughts, or he might have
cast me aside as an ungrateful and disloyal woman. As he discarded his
robes and walked toward me, I closed my eyes and imagined a visage of
Zeus himself was moving toward me.
I imagined that the rough palm which firmly grasped my hip was the soft
hand of a man untouched by worldly concerns. I arched my back, allowing
his eyes to cast down on me so that he might know what a simple mortal
could offer his senses.
My body tensed as I felt him rub his cock through my moistening folds,
but I relaxed myself. It was not my king's cock, but a god's, created
just for me. Its purpose, its only aspiration, was to give me pleasure
and to impregnate my ripe womb with its master's essence.
The thought of such a thing made my body tingle with desire, and I felt
my wetness begin to saturate my opening as it was spread open by the
shaft at its mouth. I gripped the sheets as it began to enter me,
shuddering with pleasure, my thoughts clouded by the fantasy that my
husband had failed to keep me from them.
While bereft of love, my husband's deep and powerful motions were quite
pleasing, and I could feel the powerful muscles of a god behind each
wanton thrust. I absorbed myself in the moment, thinking only of how
wonderful it felt to be taken by a man, listening to only the sounds of
our naked bodies desperately coupling. I could almost see the beautiful
form that was upon me, the godly creature that was freeing me from my
desperate need.
Yet, even as the fantasy threatened to bring me to the heights of
ecstasy, I felt myself remembering that it was a man inside of me. I
pushed the thought aside, searching for something to envision besides
the husband who had me locked in tortuous solitude. Suddenly, I
remembered the great statue of Zeus, and my heart began to pound in my
chest.
I imagined that the king of the gods himself, captivated by my form, had
come down to my palace and seduced me. I could imagine his sculpted
body, his broad shoulders, and his handsome face, as the stone was made
flesh in my mind. I grasped frantically at the bed, pushing back against
him with each time he drove his thick shaft deep inside of me. I
panted, gasped, and begged him to sow his seed inside my now-fertile
womb.
And so he tried.
I could feel his rich cream begin pouring into me as my womanhood
grasped at him and milked him of his offering. I let out a deep moan,
the surges of pleasure pounding in my core and sending pricks of elation
to the ends of my fingers and toes. Engrossed in those moments of
throbbing orgasmic bliss, I forgot about all the injustices of my life
and simply lived in that state of delight. I could remember the days
when it was the thought of being instilled with my husband's progeny,
rather than a god's, that had given me the same pleasure.
When it was over, I felt him withdraw from me, and a thin stream of
milky fluid ran forth from my wet opening. A twinge of sadness ran
through my mind.
I found myself thinking of it hours later, as I lay in bed, wondering if
that had been the night I was destined to be with a god. Perhaps if we
had never seen the mystics those years ago, I would be filled with hope
at the thought, rather than regret...
