Myths about ancient Greek and Roman gods and goddesses have captivated listeners for years, oftentimes because they are so profoundly sexual. Think of all the stories that involve male gods having sex with mortal women—and of course all the love and jealousy that goes along with it. In a few cases, of course, female goddesses become smitten with male mortals; and the children that result are always of heroic proportions (perhaps in more ways than one). Recall the myth of Zeus and Io, a beautiful maiden whom he fell in love with and had to turn into a heifer in order to protect her from his jealous wife, Hera. Or the myth of Zeus and Semele, who asked to see Zeus’s true divinity (though, of course, it’s unclear which part of him this refers to…) and is instantly killed from the sight. Or maybe you can only remember one of the other of the dozen accounts of Zeus’s sexcapades. Perhaps, instead, you recall the myth of beautiful Aphrodite cheating on her crippled husband, Hephaestus, and being caught in the act and displayed naked to the other gods and goddesses. Or maybe you prefer stories about Apollo and Daphne… or Poseidon and Caeneus… and on and on and on.
The point is, the ancient gods were incredibly sexual. For this short story anthology, writers were asked to either adapt an existing myth, with more details or in a different style, or to make up their own myths or stories. Ancient gods and goddesses had to play an essential part in their stories, but writers were given free range to explore subject matter, different eras and time periods, and whichever gods they chose, no matter how obscure.
Like a God’s Kiss combines the epic and the erotic, the mythological and the real, to culminate in seven engaging and steamy stories. With protagonists ranging from heroic Hercules to arrogant Arachne and plots ranging from the well-known to the never-before-seen, readers will discover all new aspects about their favorite mythological characters, and will be introduced to a few new ones as well.
Includes the stories:
The Pillars of Hercules by Lionel Bramble
Arachne by Catherine Lundoff
In the Lair of the Monster by Erin O’Riordan
Enchos Achilles (The Spear of Achilles) by Steven Schwartz
Conquering Calypso by Carrie Cannon
The Muse’s Mask by Michael M. Jones
The Everlasting by Renatto Garcia
Read an excerpt:
Excerpt from Conquering Calypso by Carrie Cannon
Some sailors will give in to me with no more than a whimper. They are weak and their flesh correspondingly pliant. I tire of them quickly. Others struggle and must be wooed. I settle them on my bed of richly woven blankets, I sit at my golden loom, and I sing. The hypnotizing click of my shuttle whittles at their resistance. The aching beauty of my song bends their wills. I sing of twining limbs and grinding bodies, piercing cocks and willing cunts.
I sing until their hot breath warms the back of my neck and their rough hands circle my waist. When I draw their anxious, twitching cocks into my body, I see the remaining spark of struggle in their eyes, but they are powerless, defeated by their need. The more they resist, the longer they last, thrusting into me, anguished and desperate, nursing my dark nipples for some hope of relief.
Weak or strong, I tire of them all eventually. Then they wander the island, lost and confused, desperate for my touch, until they throw themselves back into the sea. The rock has many uses.
I run my finger along the new arrival’s stubbled jaw. Ebb and flow. This one will be no different. My womb trembles. He looks like he’ll put up a fight. I trace the same wandering path up his arm and back down to his hips, this time pausing to cradle his soft cock in my hand. His eyelids flutter and he whispers, “Penelope.”
Quick rage fires through me. Who is this creature whose hateful name already spoils my fun? I’ll make him forget her, whoever she is. Nevertheless, I am annoyed, so I leave him alone on the beach and climb the path to my cave.
Much later, I can feel him watching me from the darkness outside. He should be rested, in full strength by now. I’m ready. I’ve removed all my clothes, oiled and scented my skin, brushed my silken hair to a shiny gloss. I sit on my heels with my knees facing the fire so he can appreciate the dark outline of my silhouette.
“Won’t you join me?” I ask, still facing the fire.
I hear his footsteps behind me, padding softly around the heavy driftwood table whose gray bulk fills half my cave. Trembling excitement tries to bubble out to my limbs, but I push it back, hide it. As he sinks to his knees on the hearth, I suck in my breath at his perfection. The light from the fire dances on every chiseled muscle.
I expect his face to be dark with confusion, lost and bemused like the faces before him, but instead it is open and curious. His eyes show no sign of surprise as they take in the curves of my body. He’s not even sweating. This relaxed ease in my presence is absurd, and an indignant heat creeps to my forehead.
“I don’t get many visitors,” I say, masking my irritation. “My island is remote; you must have traveled far and seen dreadful things to arrive here alone.”
“Not another soul on my ship was spared Zeus’s rage; I lost many friends.” His face darkens for a moment, but then his steady eyes meet mine. “But when a man travels as far as I have, and when he has been away from his home for as long as I have, he experiences many extraordinary things, beautiful and horrid. He has no choice but to take all things as they come, pain or pleasure.”
“And which do you find yourself in now?”
His eyes narrow coyly. “There is no greater pleasure than the company of the shining nymph, Calypso.”
“You flatter me. If you know who I am, then you must know my reputation. Aren’t you afraid?”
“I have outwitted a Cyclops, faced down Circe’s enchantments, and survived a brutal war. With Athena at my back, I have learned to master every fear. Moreover, I have the oracle’s promise that I’ll return home, though not for many years.”
His arrogance is infuriating. Cyclopes are stupid and easily confused. Circe, the conceited sow, is careless and distracted by her own vanity. What do this sailor’s empty boasts mean to me, on this island, where my power is absolute? All right, maybe not absolute—but I don’t see Athena rushing down to rescue him.
A new thought, slow to dawn, pushes its way forward. This must be Athena’s pet champion: the Ithacan king who would not let the Achaeans admit defeat; the clever trickster whose wooden horse ended the bloody conflict with Troy; the unflinching strategist who slaughtered Hector’s child son so revenge could never rekindle the war.
Well, so what? Odysseus may be a cunning counselor and a ferocious warrior, but he’s still a man. On my island, all men are equal in their submission to my will. My face flushes again, this time with excitement. He should put up a wicked fight.
“Help yourself.” I motion toward the pile of island fruits, bread, water, and wine I’ve assembled. Anger is not going to accomplish my goal, and the challenge of conquering this sailor is starting to look especially fun. It doesn’t hurt that he is so handsome, either.
He eats and drinks greedily, never taking his impudent eyes off of me. Juices from the fruit run down his chin. Such a perfect chin. I want to remind him who’s in charge, so I lean over to drag my tongue slowly across his rough stubble. Salty sweet fruit on my tongue, musky man-smell in my nostrils—the combination is intoxicating.
Sitting back, I tilt my head to inspect him. His eyes have gone a shade darker with rising desire and his cock is lifting the cloth of his tunic at an ever-increasing angle. I feel a stab of disappointment—it can’t be this easy. I was certain he would resist. But there is nothing conflicted or desperate in his steady gaze, only mildly greedy interest.
He gives me a small, sweet smile, as if he knows me, as if we’ve been lovers for years. His unrelenting stare strips me naked beyond my bare skin. I’m startled to feel my cheeks getting warm and my growing embarrassment rekindles my anger. Who does this mortal think he is?
But I’m not one to ignore an erection, so I reach to unfasten the rope of his belt and push the tunic off his shoulders. He is splendid in his nakedness. I run the back of my finger across the folds of skin stretched just below his rigid cock. He lifts his chin and breaths in deeply. No fear, no anguish, just that soft smile that makes my insides burn. Now I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or not.
His erection is as beautiful as the rest of him. I trace my finger along its thick base, the stout bulge in the center, and the delicate purpling tip. Leaning down, I take it ever so softly between my teeth, just below the ridge, holding it gently while my tongue flicks across the almost imperceptible grooves on his crown and darts in and out of his tiny slit. When I relax my teeth and slide him into my mouth, he growls, deep and slow: a happy purr. He tastes tangy and salty, like the ocean. My jaw rocks slightly back and forth to milk the underside of his cock while I pulse his tip against the soft tissue at the back of my throat.
He grips my hair and pulls me masterfully onto his cock, fucking my mouth, dictating our cadence. I want to defy his insolence, but the strength of his grip, the power of his hips, make my insides tremble and my legs go weak. Lost for a moment in the unfamiliar trance of surrender, I forget that I’m a god and he’s a mortal—that I’m supposed to be the one in control.
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