Myria reveals herself.

“Myria,” the once goddess gasped.

The nymph smiled lightly. “Ah. Named for the goddess of earthly delights. A name well earned.”

Myria laughed musically. “You have no idea. Though, I think your master does.”

The hand which caressed Myria’s breast paused, prompting an annoyed groan from the demi-goddess. “Why, what on earth can you mean?” the nymph asked, hastily resuming her ministrations, her second hand slipping down the gentle curve of Myria’s ass to better appreciate the perfection of the form.

“Well,” Myria gasped breathlessly, utterly intoxicated by the Nymph’s aroma and touch, yielding shamelessly to the plant woman’s gentle tweaks and strokes. “There is the way he loves to have his ear chewed on, and those tendrils of his plants? Wonderful for binding those fertile you-ah! Young shrine maidens. Not that I mind. He can-ooooh! Really get some…ooooh, mileage out of me with those roots. Did you know he had an ass fetish? Though…” Myria slipped a hand down and felt the nymphs plump stem. “Ohhhh…looks…looks like he took some design ideas from our sessions…

“Hey,” Myria protested, looking down at the Nymph with perplexity. “Why’d you stop?”

The Nymph had indeed. Staring at nothing, the sexual image of femininity grown perfect from the earth itself had her mind awhirl. Could it be true? Could the woman in her arms be, in fact, a goddess? Her knowledge was unimpeachable of subjects which some village tart certainly wouldn’t know of, which the nymph herself despite being a creature of pure sexuality had only the vaguest of notions of. With an almost distracted air, she resumed stroking Myria’s breasts and slipping a hand through her toga to tease the entrance of the perhaps goddess’s ass.

Of course, she thought over the renewed moans of pleasure, the perhaps goddess swooning in her grasp, if it really were Myria, the nymph herself could be in serious trouble. The goddess of pleasure was known as a fickle one, and if she were to cross her it might go very badly for her. Everyone heard the stories of what gods did to people who offended them. Living to drain the odd passerby of their seed and injecting her own was not a great life, but one infinitely preferable to say a statue.

The nymph came to herself at once. Some things remained unclear. She slowly leaned forward, nipping at Myria’s neck and gently stroking the pale flesh with her tongue, the potent aphrodisiac in her saliva raising goosebumps over the woman’s skin. “My dear goddess,” the nymph whispered as she traced Myria’s jaw line with her tongue. “I only wonder…what are you doing out here?”

With a sigh of dismissal, the goddess began to sway her hips, driving the nymph’s idling finger deeper into her ass, tickling the sensitive insides wonderfully. “Ahhh…nothing really. I was just sent to the mortal plane for a bit. The gods are just having a tiff. I’ll be back in no time.”

The nymph shuddered as Myria stroked a hand along her bulb. It was the touch of one who had felt the flesh of divine and mortal, and knew precisely how to coax pleasure from every insignificant touch. Not even she, a being bred for the specific purpose of eliciting pleasure, could create such sensations with a mere touch.

This, combined with the evidence yet given, were all that was needed to convince the nymph of the veracity to Myria’s claim. Yet, the only question was, what remained to be done?