by Desconhecido
That guy gets all his work ‘cause yours truly steps in and works his magic. If I didn’t shoot my arrows, trust me, he wouldn’t get to shoot his. All those young starlets would see his fat ass and run the other way. He’d be sellin’ Hoovers door to door. I made that man. I gave him his career, I don’t even see a agent’s cut.
I know what you’re thinkin’. I get the joy of makin’ people happy, right? Gimme a fuckin’ break, okay? Pass the Kleenex while I write a fuckin’ Hallmark card. I couldn’t care less about makin’ people happy.
What have you done for me lately?
You mortals don’t even believe in me. Oh, sure, my name gets brought up now and then, but only metaphorically, just to bolster your belief in fate, destiny, and all that other goofy shit.
Take a look at that chick over there. Pretty face, but she is F-A-T, know what I mean? And dig the GQ-lookin’ stud with her. He’s gettin’ into it, ain’t he? Got his head between those jiggling thighs, his face pressed into that big hairy bush, lickin’ away at the wide pink flaps of her pussy… You think fate has anything to do with that? You think the guy just likes his women big?
I take credit for that one. Again, folks, that’s my work. I engineered that little fuck scene. One well-aimed arrow and he was climbin’ the mountain of love. Hell, I’d settle for a piece of her pie. More cushion for the pushin’. It’s cliché, but it’s gotta be true.
And what about that skinny little dweeb with the glasses and the oily hair? Look at the blonde babe he’s doin’ doggy-style. You think she picked him out of a lineup? Not before she tasted the tip of my arrow, that’s for sure.
Here’s another winner, thanks to yours truly. See that guy with the receding hairline and the beer gut. He can’t even see his dick past his belly, but look at the two gorgeous babes swappin’ his cock back and forth, damn near fightin’ over it. You think they do that ’cause he’s got class? Not a fuckin’ chance. I took ’em both with one shot. Got ’em while they were standin’ together. The slob just happened to be walkin’ by. He thought he’d won the fuckin’ lottery when they approached him with a proposition he couldn’t refuse.
Way back in the day-we’re talkin’ 13th century BC-I was still able to partake in some of the pleasures of the flesh. It wasn’t until much later the Gods made my job official and wrote the contract I now work under.
Back then I was still doin’ this shit as a hobby, so it really didn’t take up much of my time. I could enjoy life a little bit. I banged a lot of nymphs and muses- especially one cute Dryad nymph named Daphne.
I met Daphne one day while I frolicked in the woods. That’s what I did, I frolicked. I mean, if you read the literature, I’m a frolickin’ kinda guy, and that’s exactly what I was doin’ on that day-the day I met the nymph chick.
Daphne was a hot young nymph who liked to do some frolickin’ of her own. She wore a skimpy piece of cloth around her waist, which was as far as her modesty went. She had big, soft tits, wide hips, and legs that went on forever.
“Hey, Eros,” she called out as I cavorted (hell, I like that better than frolicked) in the woods.
All right, I know what you’re thinkin’. Who the fuck is Eros, right? Well, check it out, Eros, Cupid, it makes no difference. I’m both dudes. It depends on whether you go with the Greeks or the Romans. Cupid works better on you mortal types, but to me, I don’t know, Eros is just more manly.
Anyway, I had to look hard to find where that sweet voice had come from. I found Daphne wedged between two thick trunks of an oak tree, hidden from direct view of anybody who might happen by. She slid out of her hidin’ place and gave me a coy little smile. I was a sucker for that kinda shit back then.
“You wanna play with me?” she asked.
She slid her hands over her tits, pushed them together, and lifted one at a time so she could lick and suck her nipples. She dropped her cloth and sat on the ground, pullin’ her knees back and opening them wide. She leaned against the huge oak she called home, sliding one hand down between her legs. She opened the lips of her pussy with two fingers, showin’ me the slick pink folds hidden under her thick brown pubes, and then she slid one finger inside her pussy and started movin’ it in and out.
The tree came to life. Its big limbs embraced Daphne, slithering around her and pinning her arms against its trunk. Another branch wrapped around Daphne’s waist and two more threaded around her legs, draggin’ her knees even wider.
I watched as a limb bearing an uncanny resemblance to a certain part of the male anatomy slithered up between Daphne’s legs and started fuckin’ her. I was a little steamed, let me tell ya. A fuckin’ tree horning in on my action.
Sloppy seconds to a tree. Can you believe that shit?
But I did get to nail Daphne, so what the hell, right? And there were plenty more after her. There were sea nymphs and mountain nymphs, river nymphs and forest nymphs. I sampled ’em all, you better believe that. There was a time when bein’ Cupid meant somethin’.
But those days are long gone. Now I get about as much respect as a garbage man. When was the last time you thanked your garbage man?
Like I said before, I’m pissed. I ain’t exactly blessed with the kind of equipment a guy in my business oughta have. I carry a big bow, though (hey, a guy’s gotta compensate), and I do my best to make this gig work.
Bars are the best. What I mean is, I get some of my best raw material when I cruise the bars and nightclubs. Gimme a fuckin’ break. You ever checked out the bar scene? Man, what a circus. It ain’t the booze that sends unlikely couples home together for a one-night stand from Hell. That’s yours truly at work, sendin’ out those love potion-tipped arrows.
Check it out. See the plain-lookin’ chick sittin’ by herself at the bar? Look at that guy over there. Executive type, thinks he’s too good for anything but a cover girl model, except there’s the cover girl model with the rich foreign guy. She’s goin’ home with him tonight. I already sent the arrows out. It’s a done deal.
So, ’round about closin’ time I’ll send out another arrow (a low-potency version, designed for temporary lust), straight into Mister Executive’s ass, and guess who he’s goin’ home with? That’s right, my friend. The plain chick at the end of the bar. He’ll take her home, they’ll do the horizontal bop, and in the mornin’ they’ll both be confused. She’ll wonder if he’ll call again, he’ll be askin’ himself just what the fuck it was he drank at that bar last night.
I’ve seen this chick in action before, and believe me, she may be plain, but she’s got style. Mister Executive ain’t gonna be able to resist her after the night they have. Oh, he’ll want to, sure. He’ll think he’s too damn good for her, but then he’ll remember those bedroom acrobatics she performs-the way she puts her feet behind her head and locks her ankles together-and he’ll call her again.
Tell ya the truth, I’ve jerked off over her a couple times myself. Her blonde hair and blue eyes, slim build (not alotta tit), plain features, and the whole feet-behind-the-head shtick do somethin’ to me.
Hell, a girl like her would be a nice diversion for a hard-workin’ stud like me. You wouldn’t believe the hours I’ve been puttin’ in lately, and not on new projects either. It’s all been maintenance. Married couples that lose the initial spark, that sort of thing. Sometimes the effect of my arrows don’t hold. It depends on the brand I use. Some of it’s cheap stuff, which means I have to do an occasional reapplication, and if I slack on routine maintenance, the divorce rate goes through the roof, then I got the big guys upstairs comin’ down on me, and I don’t like ’em lookin’ over my shoulder, know what I mean?
Low key, that’s the way I do it. Let Apollo and Mars and Mercury take all the heat. Those guys are always in trouble.
Now, where was I?
Yeah, maintenance. Keep the hearts beatin’, the love juice flowin’, and everything runs smooth, then I get to kick back and take it easy.
That’s what I was doin’ just before Valentine’s Day, kickin’ back at one o
f my favorite strips clubs, a joint called TITS ’N’ CLITS. Now that’s entertainment. Those girls don’t waste my time. They come out onstage wearin’ nothin’ but thongs, and those don’t last long. Pretty soon it’s wide-spread legs and masturbation. Those babes make use of an arsenal of toys, let me tell ya.
Sometimes… and listen, I ain’t really supposed to do this… sometimes I like to shoot a few arrows indiscriminately, you know, just to see what I can drag outta the woodwork for fun.
The other night I was in a particularly effervescent mood. John Fogerty’s song Centerfield was playin’ and a hot blonde was onstage wearin’ nothin’ but a baseball cap, white cotton panties, white socks, and a worn baseball glove. She danced around a minute or two, then she started doin’ some of the most entertaining things I’ve ever seen done with a baseball bat.
Let me tell ya, I was downright giddy. I always get a hard-on when I hear Centerfield.
What the hell?, I thought, and I fired an arrow at the blonde dancer just as she bent over to give the crowd a nice shot of tight white panties stretchin’ across her firm bottom. My arrow found its mark, bang, right between her cheeks.
The arrow was a potent one. The blonde turned around and grabbed the first man she laid eyes on-some old dude wearin’ the outfit John Travolta wore in Saturday Night Fever-and dragged him up onstage.
I turned away from the stage, took aim, and let another arrow fly. A slender little brunette waitress at the bar caught that one. She climbed onto the bar and started doin’ her own dance number, grabbin’ the bartender by his hair and pullin’ his head up under her skirt.
A group of little Japanese guys sat at a table to the right of the stage. I let a couple arrows fly in their direction. My aim is always good. I caught one of them in the ass, the other right through the heart. They looked at each other and smiled.
Another waitress came by, blonde and pleasantly chubby. I hit her with an arrow. She dropped the drink tray and fell to her knees in front of a man at the nearest table, unzippin’ his pants so she could get his dick out.
The woman sittin’ with the man wasn’t too happy to see the chubby blonde stuffin’ her mouth full of cock, but before she could create a scene, I hit her with one of my high-potency arrows. She immediately fell back in her chair, spread her legs wide, hiked her skirt above her waist, then slipped her panties off and started playin’ with her pussy while she watched the chubby blonde suck.
I went wild, sendin’ arrows out at random. The big bouncer at the door took one in the ass and nailed the next chick that came into the club; two businessmen at a table near the stage decided they didn’t need female strippers anymore; a computer geek sittin’ by himself at the bar suddenly had two stacked babes rubbin’ their titties in his face.
Ah, the power of love. I was havin’ a blast. An all-out fuckfest, thanks to my artistic renderings, and I was just about to revel in the glory of it when I heard a voice I recognized quite well.
“Where the hell have you been?” she asked, reprimanding me with her eyes.
She, in this instance, is my wife Psyche. Did I forget to mention her?
She wore the clothes of a modern mortal woman, although she’d ceased being one of them a long time ago. The top she had on left her flat tummy and pale shoulders bare, her jeans looked painted on to her wide hips. Her green eyes flashed with anger, but damn if I didn’t get hard anyway. She always did look sexier when she was pissed.
How’d I meet Psyche?
Long story, but here goes the edited version.
My mom (Venus), in a fit of jealousy, sent me to make Psyche fall in love with the ugliest son of a bitch I could find. See, Venus was pissed off ’cause Psyche was so beautiful she was gettin’ all the attention, and that shit didn’t fly with my mom. She figured she could use me to get back at Psyche.
Here’s the catch, though. I was so taken by Psyche’s beauty (especially her tits… man, she’s got great tits) that I stuck myself with my own fuckin’ arrow and fell in love with her. I stuck her too, but that goes without sayin’. I mean, how else would a dame like that fall for a wise-ass like me?
The whole deal really pissed mom off, but eventually the higher ups convinced her she had to go along with me and Psyche gettin’ hitched, so long as Psyche drank from the cup of immortality, of course. Can’t have the son of a goddess married to some mortal chick. It wouldn’t look good in the records.
The wedding was the talk of the tabloids for a long time. Cupid and Psyche, the couple everybody wanted to be. We were all the rage, baby, and the marriage was real good at first.
Ain’t it always like that? I mean, damn, she was hot to trot, a real nymphomaniac in the bedroom, then BAM, all the arrows in the world wouldn’t get me laid by my wife.
I did what I had to do. I started steppin’ out. I looked up a couple of old nymph girls, banged ’em on the side, that sort of thing.
The Psyche found out. She went crazy on my ass, let me tell ya. Threatened divorce, and how the hell would that look in the tabloids? I can see the fuckin’ headline now-CUPID’S MARRIAGE MISSES THE MARK.
My career can’t take the bad press, so I promised Psyche I’d lay off the extramarital pussy, and I did.
Do you have any idea what it’s like to be responsible for so many mortals gettin’ laid and not to be gettin’ any yourself? To be able to watch gorgeous naked babes spread their legs and masturbate without bein’ able to touch ’em? To be condemned to a life of watchin’ people fuck and suck when all you can do is jerk off?
Now you can see why I’m pissed.
I looked around at the sexual chaos I’d caused at the TITS ’N’ CLITS. I’d gone overboard, yeah, and I was pretty sure there’d be hell to pay when the higher ups got wind of my shenanigans.
Tell ya the truth, I was more worried about what would happen to me when Psyche got me home to our little love den. She didn’t look all that happy, and quite frankly, I couldn’t blame her. Here it was, the night before Valentine’s Day, and I’m out on the town throwin’ a temper tantrum in a strip joint.
“What’s gotten into you?” Psyche demanded.
“I don’t know,” I said sheepishly.
“Look at how you behaved tonight,” she said. “Is that any way for a god to act? How’s that going to look in the mythological literature, huh?”
That was the last straw. Fuck the literature, fuck the tabloids, fuck the higher ups, Cupid needed to get laid.
“You listen to me, little Miss Missy,” I said. “When you drank that sweet immortality nectar, you did it because you wanted to spend eternity with me. And in the beginning, right after we were hitched, baby, you were the best.”
I could see her softenin’ up a bit. Her eyes were damp.
“I couldn’t have loved anybody more than I loved you, and I know you felt the same about me,” I said.
I laid it on thick, but it was from the heart, and I think she could tell because she started bawlin’.
“I want us to get back to where we were,” I finished with a flourish. “Cupid and Psyche, the couple everybody wants to be.”
Hercules got the strength, Mercury got the speed. Apollo, he got a fuckin’ theatre, but me, I’m the little stud muffin who got the gift of love.
Psyche threw her arms around me. I felt her hard nipples against my chest. She poked herself with one of my arrows and then plunged it into my ass.
Thunder rumbled in the heavens. Jupiter, and Venus acknowledged our rekindled love. I was off the hook with the higher ups, forgiven of my temper tantrum and allowed to continue on. There would be no tawdry headlines, no scandal, no more nymphs on the side, and no more wild-arrow parties.
Life was good again.
I decided to take Valentine’s Day off and let nature take its course without me. If the mortals couldn’t handle their own affairs, well, tough shit. All work and no play makes Cupid a twitch dude.
I booked the Hunka-Hunka Burnin’ Love suite at the Heartbreak Hotel in Memphis, and me and Psy
che played ain’t nothin’ but a houndog all night long.
Eating Peaches
Mike couldn’t get the vision of his girlfriend fucking another man out of his mind. Sara, beautiful and blonde, freckles on her big boobs and a smile that melted his heart-that vision was gone.
Long gone.
All he remembered now were the sounds he’d heard coming from their bedroom-soft moans and grunts, squeaking bedsprings, and the steady rhythm of the headboard against the wall.
Something had told him to forget about it. He should have listened to his gut. He should have turned and walked out the door without looking back. Instead, he’d gone ahead and looked into the bedroom, and there it was, the vision he would never forget.
Sara had been on top of the guy, her head thrown back, sliding up and down on his thick cock. His hands had been on her hips, lifting her up, setting her down again, and it had been clear by the increasing intensity of her moans that she was very near orgasm.
Even then, Mike had found himself unable to vacate the premises. Not until he’d seen the ugly situation through to the end.
He’d watched her shudder with release, then fall over the guy, still grinding her hips as the last of her climax faded.
She’d seen him then, after catching her breath, and she’d done her best to explain the situation to him.
He hadn’t given her a chance. He split the scene immediately, gotten into his car, and hit the highway. It was only two hours later that he realized he was heading for Georgia.
Georgia was where he’d met Sara. He’d been there on business. She and a friend of hers had been in the club where he’d gone to cut loose for the night. He’d ended up with Sara instead of her friend Julie, and now he was going back to Georgia to find Julie.