1
Triton
With a satisfied sigh, I fasten the final binding on my reluctant guest.
She expected me to be easier to evade. She imagined that she would get away with doing as she pleased. That is not how things work in my realm. Especially not when I am entrusted with keeping this beautiful young woman, who bears pure divinity inside her, safe.
“You brought this on yourself,” I remind her in response to her muffled complaints. The tie covering her mouth is for both our sakes. It stops her from wasting energy in needless complaints and it saves me from having to hear them.
Is she comfortable? Possibly not. But this has become an absolute necessity. For her own good. For her safety. For all the reasons in the world besides the one I can barely admit to myself: for my pleasure.
Lucy, Princess of the Light, is mine.
All mine.
I thought this day would never come. I fought against it with all my being. Not because I didn’t want her, but because I wanted her far too much. My desires are not innocent, they are not sweet. They swell and they roar inside me and they demand to be unleashed on this helpless, bound, young woman.
Long have I tried to put her out of my mind. To respect her innocence and her royal status. I have tried a thousand times or more to distract myself from what feels like an all-consuming desire for this woman whose sweet scent becomes a taste on the water when she spreads her thighs.
Her rebellion excites me. Her eyes flash and her fiery temper unleashes and it is my purpose to contain her. Protect her. I can do that but one way, with the slithering binds of wound weed, soft and yet strong. They are stronger certainly, than her ire.
I think she loathes being forced to be silent. Lucy always wants the first word, the middle word, and the last word. Sure enough, in a matter of what seems like seconds, she bites through the weeds binding her mouth.
That was not supposed to happen. Either the enchainments are weakening, or she is growing stronger. This princess has power, we have all known that from the beginning.
I watch with no small amount of amusement as she spits the weeds aside and flashes her teeth at me in a surprising snarl. She might have bitten out of the gag, but the rest of my bindings are still in place around her delicious body and they will keep her in place even if I have to endure the sass which emerges from her mouth.
“You can’t keep me here, Triton,” she hisses.
“Ah, but I can,” I reply. “And indeed, I will.”
“No. You can’t. I’m going to break every single one of your enchantments and enchainments. I’m going to eat through an entire ocean’s worth of seaweed rope if I have to.”
But she can’t reach all of it with her mouth, and unless she grows blades on her skin — an unlikely event, the bindings will still do their work.
She struggles and the sweet taste of her desire is borne to me on the rippling currents produced by her motions. That is another little secret she has tried to hide and failed. She likes to be bound. She is not a willing captive, but she enjoys it in spite of herself.
Every time her legs flail, I find myself awash in her need. It is a scent and a taste which makes it difficult to manage my composure. I promised to guard this beautiful young demigoddess. I vowed to keep her safe. I never strictly promised not to bury my cock inside her, but tearing the innocence from my captive innocent is something I am trying to stop myself from doing.
“Let me go, Triton!”
“I am not going to let you go. This is for your own safety. I will protect you from everything, even yourself.”
She is beautiful when she is angry. She is utterly radiant. Creatures of light such as her have particular appeal to me, a beast of the dark. I am king of the ocean. I am guardian of my waters, and all who dwell within them - which now includes her.
I follow the scent down between her thighs, bending my knee to bring my mouth to that chalice at the apex of her legs.
“What are you…. oh… oh my… oh gods…”
Her voice softens into a moan. I prefer it when she sounds this way. Not so strident. Not so angry.
My tongue bathes her sex, finding the soft folds and charting each of them with little flicks which make her buck and quiver.
She would spread her legs if she could. She would arch her back and give herself to me, I know she would. I would do more than taste her sex. I would claim it completely. I would drive myself inside her and I would stretch her around me — and she would let me. I can taste her willingness. There is an inevitability in her taste, a promise of love eternal, and happily ever after. But nothing is guaranteed. In this world, as in every world, such happiness is hard won — and I have only just begun to earn it.
Lucy
It all started with a broken toy.
It was my niece Sapphire’s little zapper, the gadget she brought with her when she fled Earth. She liked to slip it into a handshake, or your wine, if you weren’t careful, zap you and then laugh uproariously.
One day it started vibrating all on its own, zapping things at random. She got in trouble for it more than once, when one or other of us accused her of setting it off on purpose. In the end, Helios confiscated it and we thought xthat was the end of it.
It was not the end of it.
Because it was never a toy at all.
It was a harbinger of a war like none ever fought before.
A war between the machine intellect of man, and the forgotten gods.
A war for the ages.
But not, apparently, for me.
Now I am an underwater captive, kept by the very god I’ve been crushing on for years. He can’t control me. Nobody can. But he is going to try. I feel his bindings tight around me, his living ties moving with a magic of their own accord, finding the tender, tight spots by which my resistance might be undone, and my capitulation guaranteed.
His tongue finds the sweetness between my thighs, tastes the bud from which it springs. My head falls back and I call for him in a cry as old as humanity itself.
“Oh my godddd…”
2
Lucy
Days earlier…
I don’t need to sleep, but I like to sleep. My mother sleeps. My sister sleeps. So I sleep too. It makes me feel more normal, even though I’m really just lying there thinking amusing thoughts to myself.
There’s something about the night which brings back a particular kind of thought. All the shameful things I ever did, the mistakes I made, the little moments of gracelessness or embarrassment, they all flood in during the quiet hours of the night. Tonight, I’m remembering the time I went to my eighteenth birthday party buck naked and displayed myself to the assembled gods as if it would impress them. I take after my father. I am tall, blonde, and well endowed, so I suppose it did impress them. It made me an object of godly lust and made certain that Helios and Ragnar, my two god fathers, still keep me close in the golden palace to this day, lest I be snatched away by some horny god looking for a golden bride.
Just as I get to the most embarrassing part of the memory, there’s a flash of light outside the window of my bedroom. I get up to look, and see a shower of sparks against the distant sky. They are ever so pretty. I stand there for what feels like a long time watching them, until a blood curdling scream completely ruins the view.
It is my mother’s voice. At first I do not recognize it because I have never, in my life, heard that woman scream. It is a sound which finds the marrow in my bones and makes it vibrate. It is a tone of pure terror, and it draws me from the window and makes me run to my parents’ bedroom.