The GirdleThe Girdle

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Aphrodite was intimidating.

Not because she was particularly physically dangerous, of course. She always prided herself in being a “lover, not a fighter,” naturally. But there was something about her allure that made her near impossible for Hera to speak to.

She was older than Hera, first off, a primordial being during the Titan era. After all, as Aphrodite said, “Love is the oldest force in the world.” Hera wasn’t too sure about that, but it seemed to make Aphrodite proud to say, and a confident Aphrodite was an attractive one.

Of course Aphrodite was attractive. Of course she was chosen as the fairest, too. It was only natural. But something about the Apple had changed Hera, bringing out an ugly, vindictive side she wished would die already. One thing led to another, and they were on the opposite ends of the war.

Aphrodite didn’t like to see combat, this much Hera knew. But she still saw her, dressed like a warrior, and her heart stopped. She wished she could be leading forces beside her, but the Fates had already made their decisions for them.

They still fucked, of course, but Hera justified it as a means to an end-a means to get that dreaded girdle out of Aphrodite’s possession and onto her own hips to distract her husband. Of course, that wasn’t how she personally felt about it, but Hera could be quite deceptive, not just to others, but mostly herself.

The war was over now. All the gods had paid their debts to one another, their wagers on the lives lost. Things were beginning to calm down outside of Hera, but the war waged on within her.

She relaxed on her bed, trying to ignore her feelings, eyeing the girdle still in her possession.

It didn’t suit her at all. Zeus loved it when she wore it, but she never enjoyed sex with her husband-and neither did most women she knew, though they did enjoy having sex with her husband-and didn’t want it sitting there, tantalizing her of her ruin of a marriage.

Furthermore, it whispered to her in Aphrodite’s voice. Near constantly, she might add, and one could only hear Aphrodite’s husky voice for so long without going mad, and that was if Aphrodite was only saying benign things. The girdle did not speak vanilla words, but rather, scorching spices that made Hera’s skin prickle with arousal, simultaneously recoiling and begging for more.

She had to give it back to its rightful owner.

But how?

Would Aphrodite, after all the carnage, be okay with Hera waltzing up her steps and handing her a borrowed belonging? Aphrodite would likely be angry, and although Hera was intrigued by an angry Aphrodite, she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of it. Aphrodite’s wrath made Hera’s rage look like a spat between children.

She sighed loudly and swung herself off the bed, tucking the whispering girdle into her bag and heading to Aphrodite’s place.

Aphrodite lived with Eros, who people assumed was her son, though they were both primordial. Hera was sure they slept together, but they both denied it, which Hera found strange. Surely, two love gods would go off on each other constantly, but they seemed to see each other as more of friendly rivals than anything alluring to one another.

Hera, being barely more than a wanton virgin in Aphrodite’s grasp, was perfectly fine with that arrangement.

Aphrodite was outside, watching the sunset off the cliffs. She was undressed, as she often was, lounging on her porch and nursing a glass of pale pink wine. Her dark skin glowed in the low sunlight, reminding Hera of some sort of freshly-baked delicacy. She wanted to taste it-especially the lower, sweeter parts-but shook the thought out of her mind.

She quirked an eyebrow as Hera approached and lifted her glass in mock-toast. “Hail the Queen of the Heavens and Victor of the War,” she snarked with a low, sultry chuckle.

Hera shivered but did not reply to her toast. “I have something of yours.”

Her eyes flickered to the bag. “Yes, my girdle. I’m glad you’re returning it. You don’t need it.” She set down her glass and approached Hera, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“Why aren’t you angry with me?” Hera managed in a small, tight voice. She was a small woman, especially in comparison to Aphrodite’s legginess, but she felt impossibly tiny at times beside her.

“I have nothing to be angry with.” Aphrodite’s hands wandered up and down her petite body. “The war is over. Come home to me, sweet queen.”

Their lips found each other. Rather, Aphrodite’s found Hera’s, as Hera was far too nervous to move. She tasted like the wine she sipped, but with some sort of sultry, primal flavor beneath it. Her tongue traced Aphrodite’s, thirsty for more, drunk not on the wine, but her pure, unadulterated sensuality.

She tumbled to the ground, auburn hair falling out of her updo, diadem cast aside. Aphrodite was everywhere, lips down her neck, collarbone, underneath her chiton, but nowhere enough. As Aphrodite’s hands pushed aside the meddlesome fabric, Hera wrapped her legs around her waist, hoping for something, anything against the needy core of her being.

“Did you miss me, my queen?” Aphrodite asks with a laugh, a sultry, rumbling sound that makes her center clench, desperate for anything of Aphrodite’s inside her.

“Yes,” Hera managed.

That was enough for Aphrodite. She hummed, tracing her hands lower and lower until landing upon Hera’s slit.

“I bet your husband doesn’t get you like this,” she noted with a dazzling smile.

“No,” Hera agreed, because Aphrodite was right. She was always right about such things.

A slender, gentle finger found its way inside Hera, and she gripped onto Aphrodite, a low moan being pulled out from her against her will. She desperately wanted to be a calm and collected queen around Aphrodite, but the vixen made it so damn hard, especially when she was knuckles deep inside her.

Aphrodite’s lips kissed their way down her stomach, her mound, and finally landed atop her clit as her finger did its magic, and Hera was writhing. She could already feel a storm within her, but releasing it would anger her husband, so she bit down on her lip.

Another finger slid its way inside, and anything resembling composure crumbled as she screamed. Even after all this time, Aphrodite had remembered Hera’s most sensitive spots. Perhaps it was because of her nature as a love goddess, or maybe she really did have feelings for her.

Hera didn’t waste much time thinking about it, for that infuriatingly perfect tongue of Aphrodite’s honed in on her clit to the point she was shaking. The thunder she conjured was ripped from her chest, bringing a warm storm around them as she convulsed and climaxed.

Aphrodite didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she chuckled. She slid her fingers out of Hera and licked up and down her slit, drinking her in as though the honey that escaped her would go to waste.

Afterward, she climbed up her body. “Wanna go inside?”

Hera was still struggling to control the storm she created. She closed her eyes and took a breath, and it faded. Hoping her husband hadn’t noticed the ruckus, she said, “What would we do?”

Aphrodite smirked. “I think we have much to talk about.”

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