The Spring Child 1/?kinkmistressJune 11 2012, 03:10:15 UTC
The first time he had seen her she was but a child, pale faced and unknowing, blind to the cruelties of the world. Not yet as sinister. She was a happy light bright and shining amidst the otherwise colourless bland world.
He had heard of her before, heard Zeus boast about his conquest to all of Olympus. Were it any other Goddess he would have been sympathetic but Demeter was different, even Zeus knew not to anger her. She allowed him his pleasantries, he could boast if he wanted to but they all knew he wasn’t the driving force behind their copulation.
The child which came of their joining had been deemed the ‘spring child’ and ne’er had a more befitting title been given. He sometimes thought the only reason she was spared of Hera’s jealousy was because nobody could deny her. From her maiden years onward she was a sight to behold, lithe and fair as spring itself, gentle and coaxing warming all that deemed to revel in her presence.
Of course she wasn’t called Meg back then; no she carried the name her mother had given her Persephone, ancient and innocent, befitting of her demeanour.
He had always wanted her, from the first glimpse he caught of her. Perhaps it was because she was everything he would never hold dear, warm colourful brightness, life in every sense of the word; a beating heart, breathing life into the world simply by being present.
But even when she came of age he was an old God, he who had seen Olympus erected, he had seen the very wheels of time turn and seen it claim that very life she presented. He understood then that there was no way she would accept him but he also understood his want for her would not lessen.
Taking her proved a difficult task, with a mother as ever present as Demeter. It was like her eyes were always watching her and it was rare to find her more than a yard away from her child, as if on some level she was aware of his presence. But patience had always been his most present virtue and soon he found her alone picking wild flowers no less. He could not have felt like more of a predator if he had tried.
He appeared before her a young man, to calm her perhaps, or perhaps some vein part of him wanted her to come to him willingly at the mere sight of him.
She looked at him, her eyes large and uncertain, shaken by his unfamiliar and no doubt unnerving presence. And he had lured her away, tickling her hunger for adventure that was ever so present within the young. He took her down into his world where she pressed against him so willingly in her unknowing, doubtful and curious to the new world she was soon to discover.
Down in the underworld he found her light to shine even brighter amidst the blackness. Like a single burning candle shone brighter in the dark of night when there was no sun to compete with. Cerberus bowed to her presence, a whimpering pup in the light she shone and the very world of darkness bowed to her shine but she took it in stride, becoming bolder with each step. Sometimes she would hold onto him in doubt but would always press onward with youthful abandon.
He tried to remember if Demeter had been this vibrant when she had been in the bloom of her youth but could hardly imagine anyone coming close to her bright spirit.
Re: The Spring Child 2/?kinkmistressJune 11 2012, 03:13:29 UTC
What was time for eternal beings? For days they might have travelled the underworld, searching it’s ever blackness, discovering depths he himself had not dared explore. And with each day he himself had become bolder, grasping her hand, revelling in the warmth she offered. He dared kiss her once and her confusion and wonder made room only for her curious nature.
And as the days progressed he felt himself lost within that warm glow, the slow steady beat of a life not stained by the hands of time. And he pressed her back against the wall and kissed her. Held her fast until she tasted the passions he offered her, worked up her gown with skilful hands.
She shuddered neath his cool touch, youthful innocence in her bated breath. He touched her then, eager, hungry touches, pressed between her folds as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She didn’t fight him, body warm and curious. She didn’t question as he stroked her, heating her core to the steady beat of life, beating against him in waves of warmth and want. And he took her mouth as he would surely take her body, with a feverous want as if he was a young God, whose body yearned as it had not yet yearned for anything in life. As if he had been drowning all his time and she was the first breath he could take.
His chambers were easily found and there was only the hint of doubt in her child-like features as he kissed her again. He would always remember her as she was just then, as he slipped off that golden gown from the spring child, blooming into the woman she would soon before. Wide hips that promised she would bare him sons if he ever had need of them, small breasts, pale and soft in his hands, strong shoulders able to bear the worlds worries.
And in her shine he felt truly humble for what was perhaps the first time in his life, as he bared the young body he had adopted. He guided her hands to him, so she could feel the cool beat of his core. If she had denied him then he would perhaps have forced her but as it was she didn’t, instead curious fingers travelled down his body, feeling him as surely as he had felt her. And with all the patience in the worlds they laid and searched, discovering each other beat by beat. She was particularly interested in his belly button and his chest, gracing her fingers over the wide expanse of skin. And he found that she made the best sounds when he kissed her right behind her earlobe and her breath would hitch just so when he kissed and licked her wrists. All was a wonderful journey to the prize she offered him.
If questioned now she would claim he had taken it from her but he remembered well how she had lifted herself above him and spread herself to him, not asking but ‘taking’ that which she had come to want, the flames of passion he had awoken within her.
The tale now goes among the humans that he had fed her a pomegranate seed when really it was his seed that had been shared, between their eternal bodies stretched out in the blackness of his underworld as she rode him until they were both sated and spent.
Above the world had shaken with Demeter her rage, cruel and fast with torrents of blazing cold until Zeus demanded her return. And she was unknowing still as he guided her back into the world where all warmed as soon her presence was felt. But before Demeter had enclosed her back into her arms she had felt it, she had felt it as surely as she had felt her daughter missing from the earth, as surely now she missed the virtue she had left her with.
Her rage was fierce but the rules of Gods were set and even Zeus himself could not undo what had been done that day.
Re: The Spring Child 3/3kinkmistressJune 11 2012, 03:17:16 UTC
The old God sighs to himself as he watches the remnants of his memories disperse before him. Beside him his bed is cold and empty. Nowadays she cannot bear his presence for much more than his necessary, what light remained within her was saved for the humans she toyed with. The crown of the underworld dimming her shine with time as soon she became as cruel and fierce as her mother without the warmth of life to accompany it…
Sometimes she would allow him to wrestle her down between his sheets; she would allow him the blessing of exploring her body and if she saw it fit she would reward him in earnest, so different now from the eager child he had once lured down into his world.
And a part of him was sure she toyed with the young Hercules as much to spite him as she did out of curiosity, teasing him with her swaying hips as she could any man be he mortal of God. And perhaps that was why he loathed him as he did.
He had heard of her before, heard Zeus boast about his conquest to all of Olympus. Were it any other Goddess he would have been sympathetic but Demeter was different, even Zeus knew not to anger her. She allowed him his pleasantries, he could boast if he wanted to but they all knew he wasn’t the driving force behind their copulation.
The child which came of their joining had been deemed the ‘spring child’ and ne’er had a more befitting title been given. He sometimes thought the only reason she was spared of Hera’s jealousy was because nobody could deny her. From her maiden years onward she was a sight to behold, lithe and fair as spring itself, gentle and coaxing warming all that deemed to revel in her presence.
Of course she wasn’t called Meg back then; no she carried the name her mother had given her Persephone, ancient and innocent, befitting of her demeanour.
He had always wanted her, from the first glimpse he caught of her. Perhaps it was because she was everything he would never hold dear, warm colourful brightness, life in every sense of the word; a beating heart, breathing life into the world simply by being present.
But even when she came of age he was an old God, he who had seen Olympus erected, he had seen the very wheels of time turn and seen it claim that very life she presented. He understood then that there was no way she would accept him but he also understood his want for her would not lessen.
Taking her proved a difficult task, with a mother as ever present as Demeter. It was like her eyes were always watching her and it was rare to find her more than a yard away from her child, as if on some level she was aware of his presence. But patience had always been his most present virtue and soon he found her alone picking wild flowers no less. He could not have felt like more of a predator if he had tried.
He appeared before her a young man, to calm her perhaps, or perhaps some vein part of him wanted her to come to him willingly at the mere sight of him.
She looked at him, her eyes large and uncertain, shaken by his unfamiliar and no doubt unnerving presence. And he had lured her away, tickling her hunger for adventure that was ever so present within the young. He took her down into his world where she pressed against him so willingly in her unknowing, doubtful and curious to the new world she was soon to discover.
Down in the underworld he found her light to shine even brighter amidst the blackness. Like a single burning candle shone brighter in the dark of night when there was no sun to compete with.
Cerberus bowed to her presence, a whimpering pup in the light she shone and the very world of darkness bowed to her shine but she took it in stride, becoming bolder with each step. Sometimes she would hold onto him in doubt but would always press onward with youthful abandon.
He tried to remember if Demeter had been this vibrant when she had been in the bloom of her youth but could hardly imagine anyone coming close to her bright spirit.
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And as the days progressed he felt himself lost within that warm glow, the slow steady beat of a life not stained by the hands of time. And he pressed her back against the wall and kissed her. Held her fast until she tasted the passions he offered her, worked up her gown with skilful hands.
She shuddered neath his cool touch, youthful innocence in her bated breath. He touched her then, eager, hungry touches, pressed between her folds as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. She didn’t fight him, body warm and curious. She didn’t question as he stroked her, heating her core to the steady beat of life, beating against him in waves of warmth and want. And he took her mouth as he would surely take her body, with a feverous want as if he was a young God, whose body yearned as it had not yet yearned for anything in life.
As if he had been drowning all his time and she was the first breath he could take.
His chambers were easily found and there was only the hint of doubt in her child-like features as he kissed her again. He would always remember her as she was just then, as he slipped off that golden gown from the spring child, blooming into the woman she would soon before. Wide hips that promised she would bare him sons if he ever had need of them, small breasts, pale and soft in his hands, strong shoulders able to bear the worlds worries.
And in her shine he felt truly humble for what was perhaps the first time in his life, as he bared the young body he had adopted. He guided her hands to him, so she could feel the cool beat of his core. If she had denied him then he would perhaps have forced her but as it was she didn’t, instead curious fingers travelled down his body, feeling him as surely as he had felt her. And with all the patience in the worlds they laid and searched, discovering each other beat by beat.
She was particularly interested in his belly button and his chest, gracing her fingers over the wide expanse of skin.
And he found that she made the best sounds when he kissed her right behind her earlobe and her breath would hitch just so when he kissed and licked her wrists. All was a wonderful journey to the prize she offered him.
If questioned now she would claim he had taken it from her but he remembered well how she had lifted herself above him and spread herself to him, not asking but ‘taking’ that which she had come to want, the flames of passion he had awoken within her.
The tale now goes among the humans that he had fed her a pomegranate seed when really it was his seed that had been shared, between their eternal bodies stretched out in the blackness of his underworld as she rode him until they were both sated and spent.
Above the world had shaken with Demeter her rage, cruel and fast with torrents of blazing cold until Zeus demanded her return. And she was unknowing still as he guided her back into the world where all warmed as soon her presence was felt. But before Demeter had enclosed her back into her arms she had felt it, she had felt it as surely as she had felt her daughter missing from the earth, as surely now she missed the virtue she had left her with.
Her rage was fierce but the rules of Gods were set and even Zeus himself could not undo what had been done that day.
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Nowadays she cannot bear his presence for much more than his necessary, what light remained within her was saved for the humans she toyed with. The crown of the underworld dimming her shine with time as soon she became as cruel and fierce as her mother without the warmth of life to accompany it…
Sometimes she would allow him to wrestle her down between his sheets; she would allow him the blessing of exploring her body and if she saw it fit she would reward him in earnest, so different now from the eager child he had once lured down into his world.
And a part of him was sure she toyed with the young Hercules as much to spite him as she did out of curiosity, teasing him with her swaying hips as she could any man be he mortal of God. And perhaps that was why he loathed him as he did.
Fin
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