Running Camp Half-Blood Isn't All Fun and Games

The view from the Big House’s upper office is a panoramic display of my new world, and I make sure Katie Gardner has the best seat in the house. I have her pinned against the floor-to-ceiling glass, her face and breasts crushed against the cold pane. Anyone looking up from the lawn can see the daughter of Demeter being thoroughly claimed, but more importantly, Katie can see exactly what happens to those who don't make the cut.

On the grass below, her sister, Miranda, is kneeling in the dirt, her head bobbing rhythmically as a line of campers wait their turn to use her as a communal urinal.

"Look at her, Katie," I grunt, my hands digging into her hips. "How grateful are you that you’re the pretty sister today? You made the cut for my harem, but one wrong word, one disappointing performance, and you’ll be down there in the grass, drinking piss next to Miranda."

Katie’s eyes—a vibrant, leafy green—are glazed with arousal. Her hair, a rich, earthy brown that smells of rain and fresh soil, is a mess where I’ve been gripping it.

"I’m very lucky, Master," she gasps, her breath fogging the glass as her body shudders under mine. "So, so lucky you chose me for your harem."

"You are lucky, Katie," I whisper, my voice a low vibration against her ear. "You didn't earn this spot. I gave it to you as a gift. Now, how are you going to repay me for my generosity?"

"Please, Master... fill me up," she begs, her leafy-green eyes searching the glass for my reflection. "Let me carry your baby. Let me repay you with a son."

I oblige her, driving home as I begin to flood her with my seed. My plan is simple: impregnate every girl in the harem at least once. If they all carry my children, the magical command ensuring they love every one of my offspring—regardless of the mother—will take root in their very souls. It’s the ultimate insurance policy against the petty bickering of a growing court.

With Katie still impaled on my cock, her earthy-brown hair draped over my arms, I turn my head to face Aphrodite. She is reclined on a nearby velvet couch, her legs draped over the sides while Drew is buried in her snatch. As the lowest-ranked member of the harem, Drew is essentially a living toy; she cannot refuse the senior members of the harem, and she certainly cannot refuse me. Her mother has taken to this arrangement with a predatory zeal, using Drew for her own release even more often than I do.

It has been exactly one week since the earrings changed everything. Both Aphrodite and Drew, the first to be claimed, already look like they are well past their first trimesters. Their bellies are taut, displaying small but rapidly expanding mounds that shimmer with divine health.

I look at Aphrodite for a confirmation on Katie, but the Goddess of Love and Fertility simply shakes her head with a lazy, post-coital smirk. Katie isn't pregnant yet. I growl, refusing to let her off the hook, and begin to slowly frog-march her toward the heavy oak table. I intend to bend her over it and keep going until the Goddess gives me a different answer when the door to my office swings open.

I look up, hoping for another beautiful girl to add to the morning's festivities, only to be disappointed. It is Chiron, trotting into the room on horse legs. He looks older than he did a week ago, his face a mask of neutral, professional distance as he clutches a thick, leather-bound ledger.

"What is it now?" I ask with a heavy sigh. Being Camp Director is turning out to be more of a chore than I anticipated. The fun parts—rewriting the training schedules to favor my whims or deciding which campers get to eat at my table—are starting to be outweighed by the tedious reality of administration. If I can't find a way to make a task entertaining, I usually just find someone to punish with it—normally Chiron—but he is proving annoyingly resilient.

"I wanted to inquire as to how many shrouds you would like the cabins to prepare, Director," Chiron says.

I stop thrusting into Katie. "Excuse me?"

"The end-of-summer shrouds," Chiron clarifies, opening the ledger.

Camp Half-Blood is, at its core, a sanctuary. Inside the barrier, we’re safe. But the world outside is a meat-grinder. Once the summer ends and the campers head back to the 'real world' for school or work, they become targets for monsters. Every year, we make shrouds in advance. We always expect that some of the seats at next summer's dinner table will be empty.

I pull out of Katie with a wet pop and a frustrated huff. She whimpers at the loss of contact, slumping against the table as I reluctantly take my seat in the Director’s chair. "However many we normally make, Chiron," I snap, waving a hand dismissively. "Why are you bothering me with this? Just check the records from last year."

"I’m afraid last year’s records are no longer a viable metric," Chiron replies. He leans forward, his ancient eyes locking onto mine with a terrifying, clinical detachment. "Because I expect a significantly higher mortality rate this winter—specifically among the women—now that they are forbidden from training or carrying weapons."

The silence in the room suddenly feels heavy. Even Aphrodite looks up from Drew, her eyes shimmering with a faint, curious light.

"Explain," I command.

"In previous years, a daughter of Ares or Athena had a seventy percent chance of surviving a solo encounter with a Dracaena on her way home," Chiron states, his finger tracing a line in the ledger. "With your new decrees, they are no longer permitted to carry celestial bronze. They have no combat muscle memory. Their only 'skill' is the dance and service they perform for you. Mathematically, Director, they are now nothing more than slow-moving prey."

He flips a page, the parchment crinkling like a **** rattle.

"If the girls leave this camp as they are now—defenseless, unarmed, and 'graceful'—I estimate that ninety-five percent of them will be slaughtered before next summer. I need to know if you want the Hephaestus cabin to start mass-producing silk shrouds now, or if we should just assume there won't be enough of them left to bury."

I stare at him. I look at Katie, still shivering on the table, and at the pregnant swell of Drew’s belly. I think of Annabeth's athletic figure, Silena's liquid grace, Piper's busty frame. The thought of all those prime assets—my "sexy bitches"—being torn apart by some low-level monster in a suburban alleyway makes my blood run cold.

A sharp, possessive realization settles in my gut. "No one is leaving," I snap, my voice dropping an octave, becoming something harder and more absolute.

Chiron blinks, his tail flicking nervously behind him. "The summer term ends in—"

"I said, no one is leaving," I repeat. "It is normal for no one to leave camp without my express permission, and I will not grant it."

Chiron doesn't argue. Instead, he flips to a new, much denser section of the ledger. "If that is the new decree, Director, then we have catastrophic logistical failures to address. We are currently equipped to house five hundred demigods for three months. We are not equipped to sustain a permanent population."

"Then fix it," I say, leaning back and pulling Katie toward me so she can resume her work.

"It is not that simple," Chiron says, his tone as dry as old parchment. "Firstly: Sustainability. Our strawberry fields and magical horn of plenty are supplemental. We do not produce enough grain, meat, or dairy to feed five hundred—plus your impending 'wave' of children—through a Long Island winter. Without imports, we will be at famine levels by January."

He doesn't wait for me to speak before hitting the next point.

"Secondly: these children have lives. They have schools, mortal parents, and jobs. If they simply vanish, the mortal authorities and the police will be crawling all over these woods within a fortnight. The mist will do a lot, Director, but we are supposed to be a secret sanctuary, not a fortress."

I scowl. The 'fun' part of being Director is evaporating fast. I don't want to hear about grain shipments or strawberries; I want to enjoy my harem. But I can't enjoy them if they’re starving or if the National Guard is knocking down the barrier.

"How do the Romans do it?" I ask, remembering they had a hidden city in California. "New Rome has been around for centuries. They have shops, schools, and families. They don't have to deal with this shit."

"New Rome is a fully realized city-state with its own economy, a senate, and hidden supply lines," Chiron explains. "They have spent decades building an independent society. We have not. You cannot simply make a decree and expect bread to appear, Director. You need a functioning city."

"Then build it," I command, gesturing vaguely at the window. "I want streets, I want stores, and I want those supply lines established. If the Romans can hide a city in California, we can hide one on Long Island. Turn this place into a functioning state by the time the first snow falls."

Chiron’s expression remains neutral, but there is a flicker of something—perhaps a ghost of his old wisdom—in his eyes. "Director, I am a teacher and a trainer of heroes. I can lead a phalanx and I can teach ancient Greek, but I am not an urban planner. I do not know how to design a city that can sustain a permanent population of hundreds, let alone navigate the divine and mortal geomancy required to hide it."

I grit my teeth. "Someone in this camp has to know. Who?"

"Annabeth Chase," Chiron says without a moment’s hesitation. "She is the Architect of Olympus. She spent two years redesigning the seat of the gods themselves. If anyone has the vision to turn a summer camp into a sovereign city-state, it is she."

I feel a smirk touch my lips. Of course. I’d almost forgotten that beneath that athletic body, there was a brain that functioned like a supercomputer.

"Perfect," I say, leaning back. "Go get her. Tell her she has a new project. She’s going to build me a capital."

"I’m afraid that might be a problem, Master," a melodic, honeyed voice interrupts.

I turn my head toward the couch. Aphrodite has finally untangled herself from Drew. She sits up, looking radiant, a contrast to the clinical gloom Chiron brought into the room.

"And why is that?" I ask.

Aphrodite lets out a soft, tinkling laugh, the kind that makes you forget your own name if you aren’t careful. "You sent her to me for 'remedial training,' remember? She is a quick study, and soon she will be perfect for you. But she is in no position to help with this, and besides, why settle for the student when the master is available? You don't need a half-blood girl to build your city when there is a far better pick for your architect."

I look at her, my interest piqued. "Who?"

"Athena," Aphrodite purrs, her smile widening into something predatory and divine. "Why waste your time with the daughter when you can have the Goddess of Wisdom herself? She designed the original layout of the ancient world. She knows the geomancy, the defense, and the strategy. Who better to build you a city that will last a thousand years?"

Chiron’s tail lashed once, a sharp thwack against the floorboards. The centaur’s neutral mask didn't slip, but his voice took on a cautious edge. “My lady, summoning the Goddess of Wisdom may be... unwise. I do not believe she will approve of what has been done to her daughter.”

"Oh hush, horse man." Aphrodite huffs, dismissing Chiron's warnings with a flick of her perfectly manicured hand. "Master doesn't need to fret over the approval or disapproval of his lessers. Once Athena arrives, she will follow his orders, just like the rest of us." A small, malicious smile crosses her face. One I don't miss.

"You're awfully eager to hand over your fellow Olympian. You’re practically salivating. Why?"

"I’ve never had much patience for those who think they are above the heart's influence. The 'Maiden Goddesses'—Athena, Artemis, Hestia—they treat my entire existence like a frivolous distraction. They avoid love, they avoid passion, and they treat their 'purity' like a shield."

She leans forward, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp malice. "I find it offensive. Especially that bitch, Athena. She is so cold, so clinical, so proud of her 'immaculate' mind. We'll see how immaculate it is after you've claimed her. I want to see the moment she realizes what she has been missing out on for all these millennia. I want to watch her grey eyes go hazy, and then I want to see her break."

Aphrodite licks her lips, a predatory smile stretching across her face. "Imagine it, Trevor. The Virgin Goddess finally losing that precious maidenhood to you. She probably won't be any good at first, of course, so once you've broken her in, I can take over and handle her 'remedial training,' alongside her daughter. I’ll make sure she learns exactly how a real woman serves her Master. I’ll make it a lesson she—and everyone watching—will never forget."

"I don't like being used as a weapon in someone else’s petty drama," I say. "It makes me feel like you think you’re the one holding the leash."

The smirk on her face doesn't just fade; it evaporates. "Master, I—"

"Be quiet." I turn my attention to the space in the center of the room. "It is normal for me to be able to summon any Goddess I want, whenever I want, simply by calling her name. They will appear before me instantly, no matter where they are or what they are doing. Athena, get down here."

The space in the center of the office doesn't just shimmer; it fractures. There is a sudden, violent smell of ozone and old parchment, and then, standing amidst the Greek rugs and scattered silk, is the Goddess of Wisdom herself.

She doesn't arrive kneeling. She arrives in full battle regalia—her aegis gleaming, a spear held with a white-knuckled grip, and her gray eyes flashing like a brewing storm. She looks ready to level the entire Big House, but unfortunately for her, girls aren't allowed to carry weapons, wear armor, or fight in Camp Half-Blood. Athena might be a goddess, but she is a woman first, and my earrings don't care about her pedigree.

With a violent, blinding flash of silver light, her divine protection vanishes. The spear evaporates into mist, and the Aegis—the legendary shield that had terrified monsters for eons—simply ceases to exist. The heavy bronze plates of her cuirass and her plumed helmet disintegrate in a heartbeat.

Athena stands frozen, the sudden silence of the room punctuated only by the soft thud of her sandals on the rug. She is left in nothing but a simple set of functional, white silk underwear.

I let out a slow, appreciative whistle, wondering if part of Aphrodite's distaste for Athena isn't born partly of jealousy. While she lacks the "fuck-doll" softness of the Goddess of Love, Athena is a masterpiece of a different sort. Her skin is like cream-colored marble, stretched over a frame that is all lean, functional muscle. She is a warrior, her belly flat and hard with visible abs, her thighs powerful enough to snap a man’s ribs. Her tits are firm and pert, sitting high on her chest with a stubborn, athletic perkiness.

"My armor..." Athena whispers. Her voice, usually a cold, commanding bell, cracks. She looks down at her bare, muscular legs, then at her empty hands where a world-ending spear had been a second ago. Her head snaps up, gray eyes darting around the room with a frantic, analytical speed.

She sees Chiron first. The centaur looks away immediately, his tail swishing with a sharp, agitated thwack against the floorboards, his face a mask of shame. Then her eyes land on Katie, who is still draped over the table, and finally on Aphrodite and the bound, pregnant Drew.

"Aphrodite? Chiron?" Athena’s voice is climbing an octave, the cool Olympian mask shattering. She instinctively tries to cross her arms over her chest, her face flushing a deep, furious crimson that clashes with the white of her underwear. "What is the meaning of this? Why am I... why am I appearing like this in front of subordinates and... and her?"

"Oh, don't mind me, darling," Aphrodite purrs, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. She doesn't even try to hide the way she is scanning Athena’s athletic frame. "I must say, Athena, I always suspected you were hiding a rather lovely little figure under all that clunky bronze. It’s a bit ‘gym teacher’ for my taste, but Master certainly seems to like the view."

"Master?" Athena recoils as if she’d been slapped, her gray eyes darting frantically around the room. Because of the earrings, I am the only thing in the room that doesn't look like a threat or an anomaly; I just look like a teenage boy sitting behind a desk. Her gaze blows right past me, searching the shadows of the office for some hidden titan or elder god. "Who is this 'Master'? Who has dared to subvert the laws of the council and strip an Olympian of her dignity?"

"You're looking right at him, Athena," I say, my voice cutting through her panic.

I stand up from the Director’s chair and walk around the heavy oak desk. Her eyes track me, but she doesn't try to strike me; she can't. I neutralized that possibility long ago.

I step into her personal space, the scent of her—like old books and ozone—filling my nose. I don't hesitate. I reach out and run my hands down her sides, my palms skimming over the lean, hard muscle of her waist before settling firmly on her ass. I squeeze, hard, feeling the athletic power in her glutes.

"Do you know why I summoned you, Goddess?" I ask, my voice a low vibration.

Athena’s breath hitches. Her hands, which had been trying to cover her chest, fall limp at her sides. Her gray eyes go hazy as I continue to grope her, the greatest analytical mind in the world reduced to processing the sensation of my fingers digging into her skin.

"I... I do not," she whispers, her head lolling back slightly. "I assume... for the same reason you have used the others. To satiate your... carnal appetites."

On the couch, Aphrodite lets out a high, melodic giggle, her eyes dancing with malicious glee. "Oh, she’s so smart, isn't she, Master? She’s already figured it out. Please take her right here on the rug, Master." Aphrodite grabs Drew by the hair and pulls her daughter's head in between her legs. "I want to hear her cry while you claim what she’s been hoarding for millennia."

Aphrodite is practically salivating, her tongue darting out to lick her lips. She is expecting a brutal, quick conquest—the ultimate humiliation for her rival. Athena expects it, too; her body is shivering under my touch, her pride preparing for the inevitable crash into the dirt.

Instead, I say, "Aphrodite, come here."

She doesn't think much of the order, pulling herself away from Drew with a sultry, predatory grace, her movements fluid and inviting. She probably thinks she is being summoned to join the feast; that I want a threesome with both my goddesses. She saunters over, her hips swaying, a confident smirk playing on her lips.

"Yes, Master?" she purrs, stopping right beside us.

"On your knees," I command.

Without a second’s hesitation, she sinks down. Her divine devotion is so absolute she does it with a smile, looking up at me with those starving, cerulean eyes.

"Prostrate yourself," I say. "Forehead to the rug."

It wasn't the most humiliating thing I had ordered her to do by a wide margin. Once more, her movements are fluid as she leans forward, pressing her chest against the floor and burying her face in the expensive weave of the Greek rug. She is a masterpiece of submission, waiting for my next word.

"Now," I say, my hand still firmly gripping Athena’s muscular thigh. "Kiss her feet."

The silence in the room is absolute. Chiron’s tail goes still. Athena’s gray eyes widen, her pupils shrinking to pinpricks as she looks down at the Goddess of Love currently lying at her sandals.

Aphrodite freezes for a heartbeat. The goddess who considered herself the center of the universe—the one who had just spent the last few minutes mocking Athena—is now being ordered to kiss the feet of the very woman she wanted to break.

It is the last thing she wants to do, but she would never disobey me. With a soft, shuddering breath, Aphrodite crawls the last few inches and presses her lips to the leather straps of Athena’s sandals. A single chaste touch before she looks up at me, trepidation in her eyes.

"You can do better than that," I am merciless. "Suck on her toes. Lick the curves of her heels. Worship her."

"Wh-what is this?" Athena stammers, her voice trembling. Her analytical mind is short-circuiting. She is standing in her underwear, disarmed and groped, while the most beautiful woman in existence is worshiping her on my command.

"This is me putting things in their proper order," I say, looking down at the back of Aphrodite’s head with total contempt. "I thought I made things clear the night we met, but I guess it didn't sink in. You must not be as smart as Athena here." I spank Athena's ass. "Aphrodite, I doubt I'll ever have as much fun fucking anyone as I do you. You’re a terrific slut; the way you feel, the way you suck, the way you moan—ten out of ten. But you're only ever going to be my slut. You're too well-used for anything else."

I look down at the Goddess of Love, who is still pressed against the floor, her shoulders shaking. "I told you in the cabin: you and your daughters are for recreational use only. You don't give me advice. You don't ask me for favors. You don't get to manipulate me into fighting your petty wars. Are we clear?"

"I-I'm sorry, Master," Aphrodite’s voice is a muffled, pathetic sob against Athena's feet. Her tongue is tracing the arches of the warrior goddess’s feet with a ****, frantic submissiveness. "Please don't be angry with me."

"It's too late for that," I scoff. "You need to be punished, and I have the perfect idea for how I'm going to do it..."