by Lianyu Tan
“No,” she said as Hades thrust her fingers inside, taking her maidenhead. Persephone screamed and then froze, tears in her eyes, too terrified to move for fear of doing herself more damage. The stretch of Hades inside her was a new and entirely unwelcome sensation, one that she could not simply wish away.
Hades moved her fingers, drawing out and then back in. Persephone had never known such distress, not even when she had tripped and tumbled to the bottom of a ravine around the cliffs of Mykenos. She whimpered, biting her lip so hard she tasted ichor.
“Shh, dear one.” Hades’ thumb rubbed distracting little circles at the apex of Persephone’s sex, though they were not quite distracting enough to cancel out the pain.
Persephone lay with her cheek resting on the pillow, which was quite damp with her tears. But goddesses healed quickly, and she was no exception. With the next thrust, the pain was already easing as her tortured flesh healed itself, though it did not restore her maidenhead.
Hades seemed aware of this, as she increased her pace, settling into a comfortable rhythm. In the dark, Persephone could just make out the vague outline of her face and the reflective gleam of her eyes.
Persephone did not think she could peak again so soon, not like this, but Hades showed no signs of stopping. The constant friction turned the vague ache into an unpleasant burn. Persephone whimpered, trying to angle her hips in a way that would ease the ache.
With her free hand, Hades brushed her fingertips over Persephone’s cheek. She leaned in and briefly grazed Persephone’s lower lip with her teeth, drawing it into her mouth before releasing it. “Do not cry, dear one,” she said, her voice a throaty whisper. “Your body was made by the gods to receive pleasure.”
That was true of even the lowest slave, but it didn’t make pleasurable the touch of the whip. Still, Persephone could not deny that she felt... something.
Hades withdrew suddenly, leaving an empty void that yearned to be filled. She rolled Persephone onto her side and slipped behind her, one arm snaking around Persephone’s waist and holding her tightly as the fingers of her other hand resumed their duty, three fingers thrusting inside and her thumb stroking her on the outside.
The press of Hades’ naked body against her own made her skin crawl. It was disturbing how closely they fit together, as though she’d been destined for this marriage bed. To peak again would be a betrayal by her own body, as though it were tacitly accepting Hades’ sovereignty. She couldn’t give her the satisfaction.
“No. I’m sore,” she said, kicking her heels against Hades’ shins. “You have to stop.”
Hades pressed her lips against Persephone’s ear. “Just for that, I shall continue after you finish.”
Persephone turned her head and blindly lunged. She caught Hades’ earlobe with her teeth and bit down, then recoiled in shock when ichor spilled into her mouth.
Hades only laughed and rolled Persephone onto her back once more. “Is that enough, or should I muzzle you?”
“Go to—” Persephone paused. All the usual curses didn’t quite work in the underworld.
”Oh, my dear one. I have something for you.”
Hades withdrew from the bed, leaving her aching and hollow. She returned, not with a muzzle, as Persephone had feared, but with something far more sinister.
In the dark, she did not know the shape of it until its head bumped into the inside of her thigh as Hades settled back down on the bed. She shrieked in horror, trying to press her knees together, but Hades roughly spread them, drawing them up and apart.
“Shh. The servants might think I have turned murderous and burst in with the hopes of rescuing you.”
“That’s not funny!” Persephone said. Her voice broke into a strangled whimper as Hades entered her again, not with her fingers this time, but with a leather phallus that she’d belted on like a loincloth. The stretch was worse than before, as her recently virginal body struggled to accommodate such girth.
“Good girl,” Hades murmured. She ran her hands over Persephone’s breasts and stomach, feeling through her palms every time Persephone flinched at a particularly violent thrust.
This wasn’t right, not even for a degenerate. Women were only meant to use these when their husbands were at war, or during the Dionysia. Any other usage was... decadent.
She had no idea how Hades could derive pleasure from such an act, but it was clear that she was pleased, nonetheless. She spoke softly, with filthy words of encouragement that Persephone had never heard, not even at the bustling ports of Attica.
Against the onslaught of all this sensation, her body was helpless to resist. She tried to stifle her cries as she peaked, pressing her face into the pillow, but it seemed a hopeless endeavor.
Hades’ hands wandered possessively over her hips as Persephone shuddered beneath her. She thrust a few more times, lazily, as Persephone shivered in the aftermath, but then mercifully pulled out. She loosened a buckle and discarded the toy, then crawled behind Persephone and unwrapped the bindings pinning her arms. She pressed her naked body against Persephone’s back and wrapped an arm around her, beneath Persephone’s breasts.
Persephone hiccupped and bile filled her throat. She swallowed it down before it could overwhelm her. Her heartbeat was still too rapid, her breath coming in wet sobs. She lay on her side with her knees clamped shut and her thighs slick but cooling unpleasantly, longing for the cocooning embrace of Gaia’s earth.
“Hush, my little jewel,” Hades said. “All is well.”
All was certainly not well, but she didn’t feel like arguing. She pushed back at Hades, trying to disentangle herself.
“Are you cold?” Hades found the sheet and swept it over them both.
Persephone wasn’t cold, but she wrapped the sheet around herself to form a barrier against Hades’ skin. She reached above and pressed her palm flat against the carved scrolls of the bed head, imagining the dark whorls of olive wood shifting beneath her fingers. Surely now...
Hades clucked her tongue and gently took Persephone’s hand, replacing it by her side on top of the sheet. “Now, now. You are still in my company, after all.”
Persephone didn’t know how she was to sleep without sinking down into the dark spaces where bulbs went to winter, but she tried nonetheless, knowing that any kind of sedation would be better than having to sleep with Hades and be aware of it at the same time. She buried her cheek into the pillow, trying to block out all outside noise, and concentrated on the sound of her heartbeat.
“Have you forgotten something, little one?”
Persephone froze, rigid with terror. What was it now? What could Hades possibly do to her, after all that she’d taken?
Hades kissed the back of her neck. “Good night, sweet Persephone.”
“Good night,” Persephone croaked, her voice hoarse.
Hades seemed satisfied enough with that, although she continued to lie too close, one arm draped across Persephone’s hips. Persephone tried to ignore it. Even though she wanted to, she never let her hands wander back to the headboard to find the dreaming earth, and eventually, she drifted to sleep of her own accord, though it was not as restful as she’d imagined.
10
Not Dreaming
In the middle of the night, Persephone woke to find herself feverish and shivering, with the covers fallen off and one of Hades’ legs lying akimbo over her own. Her head pounded and her throat was dry. She carefully slipped out from under Hades and crept out of bed. At some point Hades must have opened the shutters once more, for cool air streamed into the room along with the gray evening light. Persephone looked back and saw Hades sleeping with one arm over her face. She had re-dressed in a man’s tunic, so short it only came to the tops of her thighs. Her legs were lean and powerful, her toes delicately pointed like a dancer’s in sleep.
Persephone shuddered and went to the side table. She poured herself a watered chalice of wine and drank it quickly, washing away the fibrous taste in her mouth.
Her thighs were
unpleasantly sticky. She glanced down at herself, seeing dark flecks on her skin. Her head pounded as she stumbled to the washstand at the other end of the room. She longed for a bath, but there was no way of getting to the bathhouse without running into a servant, and she had no desire to speak to anyone this night.
Persephone filled the wash basin from its matching jug, took a cloth and began to wash herself. She wet the cloth and squeezed it over her forehead, relishing the cool trickles running down her face, though she was careful not to open her mouth, as the wash water hadn’t been brought from the surface. She ran the cloth over her arms and then across her body, scrubbing away the sticky residue and the ichor on her thighs until her skin was raw and irritated.
She was wringing out the washcloth and laying it to dry when she became aware she was no longer alone. She froze as Hades came up behind her and wrapped her arms around her waist.
“I thought Hypnos had blessed me, but then I saw I was not dreaming,” Hades said, burying her face in Persephone’s hair.
Persephone remained as still and straight as a column. “I thought you were asleep.”
Hades kissed a line from her elbow to her neck. “How could I sleep when my bride has need of me?” She took the washcloth from Persephone’s nerveless fingers and began to trace over each line of her body, from her wrists to her neck, across her back, then turning Persephone to face her so that she could wash her torso, kissing each nipple as she bathed her breasts.
Persephone grabbed the washcloth from her and tossed it aside. “Thank you. I have already washed,” she said, willing her voice not to tremble.
“Really? I think you may have missed a spot,” Hades said, reaching between Persephone’s legs.
She slapped at Hades’ wrist, pressing her thighs together, her face flushed with heat.
Hades laughed and brought her fingers to her lips. Her eyes glittered with delight as she licked Persephone’s arousal from her hand.
Could there be anything more humiliating? Persephone longed to disappear into the earth, to scour the events of this night from her memory. “Let me go,” she said, flinching as Hades leaned against her, one hand placed on the small of Persephone’s back, holding her as she kissed the pulse point in her neck.
“Never,” Hades whispered.
Persephone placed both palms on Hades’ chest and pushed as hard as she could manage. She had wielded scythes and cut grain with those hands, shoveled earth and built levees. She had always thought of them as strong, hard-working hands.
But Hades only laughed, immovable, plucking them from her chest and kissing each palm in turn.
Persephone tore one hand free and grabbed the pitcher of water, swinging at Hades’ head. Hades ducked, and the pitcher went sailing, landing somewhere in the room with a crash.
“Are you trying to seduce me?” Hades asked.
“You’re disgusting.”
Hades kicked Persephone’s knees apart, then her fingers were inside her, sliding in without any resistance. “You might say so, but your body tells me otherwise.”
“Don’t. Don’t! I’m still sore,” Persephone said, shuddering when Hades flicked her thumb across her clit.
“Are you sure?” Hades asked, a third finger joining the first two already inside.
“Yes. Yes!” Persephone whimpered, tears stinging her eyes. “I’ll do anything else.”
“Anything,” Hades echoed, going still. Her pupils were enormous in the low light. “That is no way to make a bargain.”
Persephone almost cried with relief when Hades withdrew, leaving her aching but strangely empty.
“On your knees,” Hades said, gently pushing down on her shoulders.
Persephone obeyed, welcoming the chill of the floor over the heat of Hades’ touch. She pressed her knees together, lip curling in revulsion at the dampness between her thighs.
Hades touched her hair. “Persephone. Look at me.”
Persephone raised her eyes. Hades’ tunic barely covered what it needed to cover. Her face beyond that was a bit of a blur in the darkness, aside from the way the light caught her eyes.
“Have you ever kissed a woman?” Hades asked. “Intimately?”
It took Persephone a moment to understand. She shook her head.
“Then let me explain.” Hades raised her tunic, exposing the curve of her mons. It was hidden by a frosting of tight curls, as black as the hair on her crown.
With a hand on the back of Persephone’s head, Hades guided her forward. She smelled of musk and oiled leather, salt and freshly tilled soil. Hesitantly, Persephone pressed a kiss upon Hades’ sex and was rewarded with a shudder.
Hades told her what she wanted. Persephone listened in silence, then angled her head, using her tongue to part Hades’ labia. Within her folds was a valley of wetness; Persephone obediently lapped it up, then almost jumped when Hades’ fist tightened in her hair.
“Keep going.”
She quickly learned how to move her tongue in a way that made Hades moan. She glanced up, seeing Hades’ eyes half-lidded, her breathing uneven.
Hades continued to direct her in clipped, one-word statements: slower, faster, harder. She obeyed as best as she could, wincing as Hades pulled at her hair, pressing her face forward so much it was hard to breathe. She clung to Hades’ thighs to keep her balance, feeling their rigid muscles beneath her fingertips.
She didn’t know how long she stayed on her knees, toes grown numb and tongue aching, before Hades froze up for a moment, her fist dragging so tightly on Persephone’s hair that tears leaked from her eyes. Hades trembled against her mouth as she licked the last few spent shudders out of her.
It was a blessed relief when Hades let go of her hair. Hades leaned back against the wall, breathing hard, her eyes closed. Her tunic dropped down, covering her once more. Perhaps it was Persephone’s imagination, but there seemed to be a slight tremor in Hades’ hands.
It was oddly gratifying to know that, unschooled though she was, she could have this effect upon the Lady of the Damned. Persephone wanted to tell herself that she had done as she was told, nothing more, but then why did she feel conflicted about seeing Hades so vulnerable?
“Come here,” Hades said.
Persephone stood, and Hades kissed her, long and deep and hard.
After that, they tumbled back into bed, like before. Hades wrapped her arms around her waist, holding her tight, and Persephone tried to ignore the ache between her legs that begged to be soothed by another’s touch.
She didn’t want this. She couldn’t want this.
She pressed her knees together and tried to sleep.
11
Tartarus
Persephone woke to find the room bathed in gray morning light. Hades was already awake, donning the last pieces of her jewelry as she stood before a plate of polished bronze.
Persephone closed her eyes, feigning sleep. She tensed as she felt Hades’ presence hovering over her, but Hades merely placed a kiss on her forehead and tucked a stray curl of hair behind her ear.
The door opened and closed, but she waited a few more moments before opening her eyes.
She was alone for the first time since their consummation. She tossed back the covers and ran across the room, grabbing the dressing table and dragging it over to bar the door. It would not stop a determined person from entering, but it would buy her some time.
The smashed pottery from the night before had been removed, and a new jug stood in its place. Persephone washed herself again before dressing in a pale green chiton with crocuses embroidered around the hem. She looked at herself in the mirror and touched the dark bruise on her neck, her lip curling in distaste. All her other bruises had healed, but that one remained stubbornly defiant.
The legs of the dressing table squeaked and Persephone jumped. The door swung ajar, hitting the edge of the table.
“Good morning,” Xenia said, peeping through the crack. “May I come in? I brought breakfast.”
“Is it just you
?”
“Yes, mistress.”
Persephone hesitated for a moment, but then her stomach rumbled. She moved the table.
Xenia brought in a tray of food and set it down near the window. Persephone touched each item in turn, determining their safety before eating.
She saved the seeds from a cut tomato, then opened the window and scattered them outside. The ghost of a raven watched her from the branches of an elm.
Persephone closed her eyes and stretched her hand through the window, hovering over the seeds. She felt them moving, splitting, but no more.
“Stupid,” she muttered, her hand clenching into a fist. The raven squawked and flew away.
Xenia cleared her throat. She’d been so quiet Persephone had thought she’d left.
Persephone pulled herself back from the window and wiped the tomato juice from her fingers with a cloth. “What is it?”
“I have your directives for the day, mistress.”
Directives. As in... chores? “Has the underworld never heard of a honeymoon?” Persephone asked, her eyes narrowed. Not that she ought to be surprised. It was a farce of a marriage; how could she expect the day after to be anything more?
Xenia fumbled uncomfortably with her braid. “Queen Hades simply wants you to become more familiar with your new subjects and to receive their wedding gifts—”
“If Hades wants me to do something, she can tell me herself,” Persephone said. She stood up so quickly that her seat toppled over. “And no one here is my subject, for this is not my home.”