Medea knew she was taking a chance, but she needed the blood of a god for the potion to work. Passing through her garden, the scent of jasmines and sandlewood heavy on the night air, she told herself that she would be all right, that there was no risk in what she was doing. And anyone watching the witch pass would have agreed. Medea was beautiful, an enchantress with black hair and dark eyes, slim and sensuous. And no one was her equal in magic, except maybe her aunt, Circe.
Tonight she was on a mission.
In the pocket of her gown were several bulbs of opium poppy, the white sap in them thick and potent. They were her bargaining chip to assure no future retaliation. Although she needed his blood, here was a belief among the priestly caste that the chained god would soon be free. She needed to make sure he did not turn his anger against her once he was free.
Her dragons flew swift and sure into the dark mountains to the crag where Prometheus lay chained. She had seen him once before, the god who loved humanity too much, a creature condemned to suffer the most terrible of fates. How many days and nights has he lain in the cold and biting wind, his body food for demonic birds? How many mornings awoke to his screams?
And like all immortals, he was beautiful, so her thoughts sometimes wandered to other things as well. Did he miss tender touches and kisses? Did his body ever hunger for release? She considered that as a bargaining chip.
The dragons landed on the only flat ground they could find within walking distance of the Titan. She could see him in the faint light of the moon, chained to a flat rock, his bed for the Ages. He was watching her and no doubt already knew why she was there and what she carried in her pocket. He might even be aware of her stray thoughts. He was after all the farsighted.
But not so farsighted if he believed Athena would have stood up to her father for him. She heard the scrape of chains on rock as he tried to move to get a better look at her.
Prometheus, the eternal idealistic youth, forever young, forever damned. By the light of day his long hair was the color of sun bleached autumn fields, and his eyes were the sky before a winter storm. At night, he was just a shape on a rock.
In that faint light she could see just enough of him to tell that even after countless days of sun and wind and cold, he was still flawless. Gods were that way.
"Do you know why I am here?" she asked and moved closer. She wanted to touch him, to run her hands up his thigh. Did he sense that? Would he mind if she ran her nails over his trembling body?
"You want my blood," he answered softly, and there was knowledge in his tone. He knew her thoughts. And if he knew her thoughts and wasn t protesting, then ..she stepped up to the boulder that he was forced to lie upon and let her nails brush the inside of his thigh.
"I seek a trade, Titan," she said and let her nails continue up his body, letting them ever so lightly brush his groin.
"My blood is not cheap," he answered breathlessly as she closed her hand over his stirring cock.
"No, it s not," she answered and released him. She heard his faint cry "The prophets say that your time of freedom is near. I do not want you retaliating against me."
"If you torture me, I will retaliate," he responded menacingly, but her hand returning to his body stilled his protests. She could feel the deep breath he took and held. When was the last time a woman had touched him?
"I want to be generous to you," she said and allowed her hand to find more interesting parts to touch. "I bring opium so the bird won t be so terrible when it attacks. And I can be nice in other ways."
He was too proud to beg with words, but his body fairly quivered at her touch. He wanted more than a taste; he wanted to over whelmed by it. She grasped his cock in her hand and stroked it, using the foreskin to tease the head. Her hand was too dry but there was a remedy. She bent over and took him into her mouth, gently sucking on the swollen head until he moaned loudly and tried to move his hips in time with her.
She stopped before he climaxed and waited for some of the pressure to subside. He gasped and made a whimpering sound. This was torture for him, but it was also led to greater pleasure. She stroked him again and looked at the face she could barely see. Here was a god with his perfect body in her hands, literally. It wouldn t take much for her to enjoy him.
Releasing him, she moved to his head and stared down into the face of hunger and desire. He opened his mouth and tasted his first kiss in eons. But even still his mouth did not taste stale or bitter. He was sweet, and laying her hand on his breast, she could feel the pounding of his heart.
She moved down his beautiful body, back to the straining erection that demanded her attention. This time when she took him into her mouth, she used the edge of her teeth, the swirl of her tongue and the force of her mouth to draw him closer and closer to the edge. She could hear him pleading now for her to stay with him, to give him release.
His body tensed and there was no turning back. He came violently, thrusting his hips upwards. His cry was not that of a wounded animal or a terrified god but a man spending his passion in a woman s mouth.
Medea stayed with him until there was nothing left to take. Raising her head, she saw him laying there with his head back, his eyes shut. How long had they been doing this? Why? The sun was starting to bleed red in the East. The bird would be stirring.
"The opium, please," he asked, the pain in his voice almost unimaginable. What should have been a pleasant rest was now preparing for the attack.
"Are you sure now?" she asked and dug the bulbs out of her pocket.
"Yes, now!"
She cut them open with a small knife, and when the white sap ran, she pressed it to his lips. He sucked on the white juice as if his very life depended on it. He even sank teeth into it to get every drop of it.
"When it comes, it won t bother you," he gasped through the horrible misery growing in his mind. "Soon," he whimpered to himself. "Soon."
Medea stood back and watched the sun rise. A great bird, larger than anything she had ever seen approached them from the north. This was it! With a scream it extended its talons and attacked the Titan s vulnerable body. But deep in the opiate, he felt no pain, his eyes more closed than open.
Hot red blood spilled over the sides of the rocks, staining stone and grass. Remembering her errand Medea pulled out a suave container and scooped up the thick clotting blood. There was so much! So much blood. She paused and looked at Prometheus, and the sight stunned her. He was so beautiful in that early golden light, a look of peace on his face as the black eagle ripped strip after strip of purple liver from his body.
The bird looked at her and screamed a warning. This was his prey and he would not share. Medea would not challenge him for the Titan s body, and she had what she needed to make the magical potion. Running back to her dragons, she climbed into the chariot and told them to go home now. With deafening defiant screams, the obeyed her.