The Throne of Eros

“How do I get myself into these things?” Iolaus groaned, tugging against the tight bindings securing him in place. “Why me?” Straps and cuffs of the softest suedes and velvets held him immobile, nude, left openly displayed on the Throne of Eros.

Cupid grinned, trailing a single feather down the well-defined chest, “I told you, Uncle Herc asked me to keep an eye on you while he was away.”

“They were rhetorical questions.” Iolaus glared. “You call this keeping an eye on me?” He arched a brow in the God’s direction. His arms were cuffed high over his head, his hips pulled forward, thighs straining as his knees spread open, strapped over the arms of the wide throne.

“Among other things,” Cupid winked, strong hands kneading the rounded globes of the hunter’s ass. He brushed one thumb across the small pucker there, no longer hidden, easily accessible in Iolaus’ vulnerable position.

“Gods!” Iolaus jumped, a jolt of heat shooting straight to the tip of his cock.

A quick flap of the God’s wings blew the hunter’s head back. Blond hair fell in tousled curls over his forehead when he straightened, a wide leather strap appearing from nowhere to seal his lips tightly closed.

“Mwua-...” Iolaus let the muffled exclamation fade to nothing, realising there was little point, choosing instead to let his indignation blaze from his bright blue eyes.

Cupid ran his tongue slowly up Iolaus’ chin and across the leather gag, flicking it over the hunter’s nose. “Fewer interruptions this way,” he grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Now we can have some real fun.”

He leaned in to whisper against Iolaus’ ear, “You’ll yell if it gets too intense, right?” Curling his tongue into the golden loops hanging from Iolaus’ ear, he gave them a light tug with his teeth.

The hunter arched, a muffled gasp his only protest.

Cupid grinned, the wicked gleam in his eyes almost a match for his father’s. “I knew you’d get into the spirit of things.”

Iolaus shook his head, scowling, blond curls falling across his forehead.

“No worries,” Cupid smiled, leaning close again, “I’m not stopping yet.” He flicked his tongue across Iolaus’ left nipple, once, twice.

The hunter twisted away with a groan, but Cupid was quicker, latching on with his teeth to tug lightly, at the same time wrapping his fist around Iolaus’ growing erection, pumping it with slow, steady strokes, root to tip.

Iolaus gasped behind his gag, arching into the tight grip. Somehow, being bound to this Throne with the very Hand of Eros himself curled around his cock was sending a burning fire coursing through Iolaus’ veins the likes of which he had never felt before. Irresistible. Unstoppable. Every inch of his flesh hyper-aware of his proximity to Lust incarnate. A shuddering groan rippled through him.

Cupid grinned, recognising the mortal’s capitulation.

“What is it you want, Iolaus?” he whispered, holding the hunter’s desperate gaze as he slowly extended his tongue, licking the full length of Iolaus’ throbbing shaft.

Iolaus whimpered through the gag, shifting in his bonds to lift his hips as much as he was able.

Cupid rubbed his thumb around the blonde’s puckered opening, a light, teasing caress. “Is your ass feeling a bit lonely? Left out of the party?”

Iolaus could only moan, rocking his hips, hoping to feel that maddening touch again.

The God chuckled, nibbling his way down Iolaus’ erection, sucking and nipping at his tight sac, all while his thumb continued to knead and tease around the blonde’s ass, never quite providing the stimulation the hunter ached for.

Iolaus writhed in his bonds, straining to rub against Cupid, to feel the God’s touch, the soft brush of his wings, the kiss of his lips, anything against his own aching flesh, but the God stayed just out of Iolaus’ limited reach. He whimpered in frustration, his wide blue eyes pleading for more.

“Greedy little ass you’ve got here, Iolaus. Still wants more.”

Words muffled behind the gag, Iolaus nodded frantically, his erection bobbing against his belly, leaving a sticky trail of pre-cum in its wake.

Tightening his grip on Iolaus’ ass, holding the cleft open and exposed, Cupid blew a soft puff of air across the grasping opening.

Iolaus bucked in his bonds, gasping.

“See? Definitely wants more.” Maintaining a slow, steady stroke up and down the underside of Iolaus’ throbbing shaft with his wingtips, Cupid turned his more immediate attention toward the hunter’s ass. He swirled his tongue around the small pucker, licking and nipping at the tender flesh, revelling in the whimpering and writhing that resulted from each caress.

Iolaus cried out behind the muffling gag, straining helplessly against the bonds holding him in place.

“More, Iolaus?” Cupid grinned wickedly at the mortal bound to his throne, writhing desperately, seeking sexual release more than his own freedom. “What more could you possibly want?” he asked, all innocence.

Iolaus groaned, his head falling back against the padded throne.

“Let me guess,” Cupid whispered, “the pretty little ass is feeling so empty, all it wants is to be filled, right? To be split open on the cock of a God.” Cupid stepped back from the mortal, breaking all physical contact. “Isn’t that what you want, Iolaus?” He snapped his fingers once, and the gag disappeared.

“Gods above, FUCK ME!” Iolaus growled.

With a quick, predatory grin, Cupid complied, grabbing the hunter’s hips in a bruising tight grip and pushing his cock against Iolaus’ spit-slicked hole.

Iolaus gritted his teeth, grunting at the pain mixed with pleasure as his ass stretched around the invading shaft, each flex of the God’s hips pushing it deeper. Lost in the growing flood of sexual pleasure, Iolaus could not remember the moment his bonds vanished, only that he was free to wrap his legs around Cupid’s waist, using the leverage to buck his ass against the God’s hips, fucking himself on the divine cock, each thrust pushing him closer, each gasp a signal of his ever more imminent orgasm.

“Cum for me, mortal,” Cupid intoned, his voice echoing through the chamber.

Iolaus gasped, arching against the God, shudders rippling the entire length of his body as his climax ripped through him. Consciousness slipped away.

When it returned, Iolaus was alone, in his own bed, the ache in his ass his only evidence that the encounter with Cupid had been no dream.

He groaned softly, easing into a more comfortable position.

Suddenly, in a flash of light, a long white feather appeared, floating down to lie next to Iolaus’ cheek. Cupid’s disembodied voice whispered in his ear. “I see now why Mom calls you Sweetcheeks. Any time you’re up for another go, you know where to find me.”

Iolaus grinned. After all, who knew what the future might bring?

not quite the end...

Unbeknownst to our golden hunter, all across Olympus, petition pleas landed on the altars of the Gods ... “Gods above, FUCK ME!” from Iolaus of Thebes. You never know when the Gods might be paying attention.