The Goddessey

The Poet shook his head from side to side.

"There's to more to come, oh and..." The Priestess moved to the side of the dais and then back as her heels echoed around the chamber. "There's quite a pool beneath you. Someone is getting a little bit excited, a little aroused. I think from now on my Acolyte you should milk our guest a little harder."

"Yes, your worship," the blonde Acolyte replied.

"Eyes down, writer-boy. What Penelope and Telemachus have is pure and beautiful, but there's always someone who wants to take that away, to deprive someone of it. Keep watching."

The Poet cast his eyes down into to the bowl to see the face of Telemachus, serious, brooding.

* * *

Telemachus stared at the man he had never known, his father, Odysseus. Odysseus was slight, body worn, but still muscular, if wiry. His beard was long and straggly, his face battered from years of the desert and the sea. His tunic was ripped, a sword hung by his side.

He stood in the Great Hall surrounded by the group of courtiers, a few of whom he knew, fishermen he had swam with as a boy and also the Suitors. These wretched strangers in his home. Before him was the woman he loved and the son he barely remembered.

Penelope stepped down from the throne and strode toward him. She knew it was him. Of course, Antinous had been quick to challenge, to claim that this 'Odysseus' was nothing but an impostor, but she saw her long-gone husband stood in the Great Hall. Antinous watched carefully.

The Queen reached up to Odysseus' face.

"You are home."

Odysseus tilted his head toward her hand and breathed out at the touch of her palm on his face.

"Come with me," she said. Her turned to address the household staff "Reopen the King's rooms, have the baths prepared, your lord and master is home!"

The Queen held her husband's hand and guided him into the chambers beyond the Great Hall. As the exited she turned to her Guard Captain. "Double the watch down here. No one gets in to see him for now."

The Guard Captain nodded and gave orders. Telemachus, confused and angry, slunk away.

Odysseus had been away for so long that the layout of his rooms and the palace were not familiar to him and allowed himself to be lead by Penelope. He bathed, dozing in the sparkling bath waters and was shaved. He considered himself in a mirror and thought he saw a glimpse of the man he once was. And then it was replaced with Achilles screaming at him and the scream became the wail of the Siren. He threw the mirror away and tried to focus on Penelope.

Having collected his thoughts, he donned his robe and walked into Penelope's bedroom. She wore a red slip that pushed her breasts together and forward, it barely covered her bottom. On her feet were heeled satin red slippers.

"Come to me my love," she told him.

Odysseus walked forward slowly to the bed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry I was away for so long."

"Shhh," Penelope raised herself up to meet him and pulled him in for a kiss. He was not as she remembered.

His lips lacked something, his tongue remained firmly in his mouth. She hugged him close. His hands held her lightly, but seemed to be fixed in place. Penelope pressed her body against his, but if felt cold.

She reached down and parted his robe with her fingers. She found his cock. It was limp.

Telling herself that he must be exhausted from his voyage, Penelope began to pull and massage her husband's penis, but it felt utterly lifeless. She could feel Odysseus begin to shake, he was angry, frustrated. His fists clenched.

Penelope cooed to him once more. "It's alright, you're just tired." Still she massaged his prick, but it remained lifeless.

Odysseus couldn't take it anymore. What curse was this now? That he couldn't get hard, that he couldn't perform for the wife who had made him cum hundreds of times? His whole body raged and he pushed Penelope back on to the bed.

She protested by the King wasn't listening. "It's them! Those bastards downstairs. They wanted my land, my wife, but these things are mine!"

"Odysseus, please my love, please just come back to bed."

"I bet they tried to take you didn't they? Did you let them? Did you?"

Penelope looked shocked. "No I didn't. They never took me. I turned all of them down."

"Bastards! Every one of them... they weren't there. They weren't there in the desert, they don't know!"

Within him the Siren screamed.

Odysseus strode out of the room as Penelope tried to compose herself. She steadied herself from the bed and wrapped a longer robe over her slip. From down the corridors, she heard Odysseus calling the guard. She poked her head out into the corridor and Telemachus came running down from his bedroom. Penelope put her hand firmly on her son's chest to stop him going any further.

"Let's just stay here a while," she told him.

From inside the Great Hall came the sound of pure rage.

When Penelope and Telemachus emerged into the Great Hall they couldn't believe their eyes. Blood, limbs, entrails coated and smeared all over the hall. Both staff and subjects cowered in the alcoves, but every last suitor was dead. Antinous's head lay on its side, tongue hanging out, his body lay some feet away, blood still oozing from the neck.

In the middle, on his knees, was Odysseus. His sword hung from his hand as limply as his cock did beneath. He sobbed, wiping his hand over his face and smearing it with blood. The tears splattered on the floor mixing with the red and Penelope buried her face into Telemachus' shoulder.

* * *

"That's not how it happened!"

The Priestess ticked the chin of the Poet. "Oh, it isn't? Let me see... in your version the hero pretends to be a beggar and then enters an archery contest which then turns into a bloodbath. Like an x-rated version of 'Robin Hood'."

"Like a what rated version of who?"

"Real violence isn't like that though is it? It's brutal and uncompromising and very rarely entails being clever. Just thuggery. Impotent, blind thuggery."

"But you'll find man-"

The Priestess slapped the Poet around the face.

"OW!"

"See? Nothing clever about that. Effective in shutting you up, but not clever. Random punishment, without meaning nor compassion can only take one so far." The Priestess turned. "How are his balls?"

"Filling up nicely, your worship," replied the Acolyte who was continuing to slowly, but firmly pull on the Poet's cock.

"We continue," said the Priestess. "Watch."

* * *

The following night the wind howled around the hall. It was quieter than it had been for some time. The suitors were gone and the Ithacan women who had served and laid with them were forced to clean the blood from the flagstones.

Odysseus was in a deep sleep, the massacre had expended the last of his energy. His mind span between the desert encampment, the wooden horse burning, Achilles screaming, the siren wailing.

Telemachus though was restless, he had convinced himself that his father would never return home and yet here he was. He had been deprived. His mother had taken herself straight to him. It shouldn't hurt, but it did. He rolled over in his bed and looked up.

His mother stood in front of him wrapped in her robe. She smiled at him and put her finger to her lips. Telemachus nodded. Penelope undid the robe and showed off the red slip that had failed to excite Odysseus. This time though Telemachus gasped and bit his lip. He pulled back the blanket on his bed revealing his hardening prick.

"Oh baby boy," whispered Penelope.

She crawled into the bed and her hand immediately went to his penis. Telemachus pawed at the thin red material she wore, massaging her breasts through it, while the heels of her slippers rubbed gently against his legs.

His mouth found her neck and he began to kiss and lick above her shoulder and up to her ear. She pulled back her dark hair and let his lips roam all over her neck, face and mouth. In return her thumb pressed back and forth on the underside of his cock.

Telemachus moved on top of her, his lust burning deeply. His hands moved to either side of the red slip and tore it in two, her breasts were now exposed and he pushed down to them with his mouth and hands, mauling her tits.

The Queen meanwhile became wetter by the second, parting her legs and rubbing her pussy against the tip of his rampant cock. She moaned as his stiffness met her pussy-lips. She reached down to his cock to help guide him inside. "Yes, darling boy, inside Mommy, that's it"

He pushed inside his mother and stifled a moan as best he could as his cock was engulfed by the warm tightness of her vagina. Penelope bit down on to his neck as his cock filled her up. He was rigid, eager and in need of her body.

Penelope gave it willingly. She wrapped her legs around her son's as he began pumping up and down inside of her. She would never give this up, not for her husband, not for anyone. She pushed her breasts against his chest and raked her nails down his back.

"Oh mom, mommy..."

"Fuck me, darling, fuck me my beautiful boy, tit-boy, fuck Mommy."

Telemachus moaned at the words and thrust deeper into her velvet pussy, his cock straining and pulsing as his balls began to boil with need. She had not abandoned him, his heart soared and his cock throbbed passionately. He stared into her eyes for a moment, telling her how much he loved her and then began to furiously pound inside her.

The mother felt the passion rage about inside her, her clit was rubbing against his body and she was silently screaming and cursing into her son's shoulder. She could feel the cum building, the wanton, animal lust erupting from within her. She came hard, her pussy tightening around her son's cock as she gasped and cried against him.

Her son could not contain himself either and Telemachus began to spurt to long and deep strands of cum against the walls of her body. He moaned and mewled against her body as it shuddered, his balls emptying themselves into the willing and eager body of his mother.

They panted together, sweat glistening in the moonlight. Collapsed against the bed and each other. Penelope reached her hands out to Telemachus' face.

"My darling boy, nothing will come between us..." They kissed each other greedily as lovers should.

* * *

Weeks passed. Odysseus found that he could control the thoughts that haunted him easier. As he recuperated Penelope and Telemachus did their bit for the kingdom and spent two nights away on a neighbouring island as part of a trade discussion. This was an amazing opportunity for the taboo lovers and in the middle of the night, they made love aboard the royal ship while everyone else slept.

They had planned to stay for a third night when the Captain announced that a storm was heading in and they should set sail back to Ithaca a little earlier. Reluctantly, mother and son agreed with the Captain and the journey began.

Night had fallen when the ship landed back in Ithaca and the trade delegation made its way up from the harbour to the Great Hall.

On arrival Penelope was surprised to find Odysseus was not there. Upon enquiring, it transpired that Odysseus had retired to the summer house at the back of the Great Hall's gardens. Penelope sent Telemachus to his room, telling him to await her arrival later. Wrapping up in her robes, she went down into the gardens, as the wind increased and the rain began to fall. In the distance the sky lit up as Zeus rumbled in the heavens.

As she approached the summer house, she heard a wailing, like a crying scream mixed with a child singing. She winced at the noise, seemingly coming from the house ahead. What was going on?

The large door of the summer house was framed by a column either side. Penelope strode up the steps and opened the door.

Penelope gasped.

On either side of the room, were two young women, naked, each of them making the dreadful noise that she had heard from the garden. A third woman, also nude, stood alongside a wooden post in the centre of the room. Lashed to that post by ropes was Odysseus. He was naked and his cock was fully erect.

"What on earth-" began Penelope.

The singing/wailing suddenly stopped as the naked women all stared at the Queen. Odysseus opened his eyes.

"Why are you back?!" he shouted.

"Get out!" screamed Penelope at the women. They grabbed their dresses from the floor and ran out of the house and into the garden. Odysseus remained naked and bound to the post, his cock bobbing in front of him.

He hung his head. "Look, I... when I was away, we voyaged into waters... an awful place, all we could hear was this noise..." Penelope walked over to her husband, shaking her head at his tied body. "It was a terrible song, but a beautiful one too. All of us were overcome with lust. Lust like we'd never felt before. We had to go to them. The Sirens. But I couldn't allow it to happen to me, so I lashed myself to the mast."

Penelope frowned. She had heard many of husband's wild tales about his voyages since the war, but never this one. The Queen looked into his eyes and grasped his erect cock.

"And this... this is the only way you can, you know, get hard?" she asked.

Odysseus nodded, the tears welling up in his eyes.

"You poor thing," she said. Penelope slowly began to wank Odysseus's cock up and down. He began to moan. "All this time, why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

"I... I couldn't... My pride, I suppose..."

The Queen began to jerk his cock quicker. Odysseus moaned as he felt his balls tighten. The release he craved was here, she was shaking him harder and harder and as he cried out and then-

Penelope let go. The pre-cum oozed out his cock, but it remained firm.

"WHAT? YOU CAN'T STOP!" he screamed at his wife.

"I can and I will," replied Penelope. "I don't need you anymore. Not your cock nor your sword. I have all I need."

"But, but-" Odysseus spluttered.

Penelope kissed him on the cheek. "Goodnight darling. I'll tell the staff to come and release you in the morning."

"You can't leave me like this, please! I'm begging you, please, make me cum! MAKE ME CUM!"

Penelope shrugged and walked out of the summer house slamming the door behind her as her husband ranted with frustration. She smiled to herself, Telemachus was going to be a lucky boy tonight, she would start with taking him in her mouth and might even let him take her up her arse later.

A feeling of contentment swept over Penelope. She had the island, her young lover and no idiot men to bother her anymore. His journey was over. Hers was only beginning.

* * *

"ARGHHHH," the Poet screamed as the Acolyte delivered a sharp whack to his full ball-sack.

"Isn't it exciting to see the truth of what happened?" asked the Priestess. "No erasing Penelope's story from time. A celebration of a pure and wild love between mother and son."

"P-p-p-p.." The Poet couldn't get his words out. His balls ached, his cock raged, he was near to sobbing.

"Does poor little writer-boy need to cum too?"

"P-please!" cried The Poet.

There was silence. And then Poet suddenly felt the faint brush of breath against his face. He looked up.

The Priestess was squatting down to where he could see her. Her face was beautiful, stern and yet loving. He blinked, no it couldn't be, not that face. It was younger than he remembered, but it was that face.

"What do you say, darling?"

The Poet stared at the face he thought he had lost forever. "Please... Mommy."

The Priestess smiled. "Good boy." She nodded towards the Acolyte.

He felt his cock suddenly under assault from a brutal and rapid movement of the hand as it jerked and his cum began to splattered all over the stone floor.

"Oh fuck, oh god, oh fuck, mom, mother, fuck-" he gasped.

The Priestess giggled. "My, my such a load from that writer-boy. We only just beginning, boy, soon you will learn more about the error of your ways. We are going to drain you and train you. It is time for other stories to be told. Not of the mistakes of men, but of the ingenuity of women, of the bravery of sons and the cunning of mothers. Now your balls and mind are empty, we can begin."