She allows Nyctimus to touch

Arimneste steeled her resolve, raised her chin, and said, "If allowing the king's hands to touch me shall get me answers, then let your fingers know what your eyes already tell you." She figured it could not be much worse than what she had endured from the bolder students at the Academy. Or, well, what she had enjoyed with Dia. "But in exchange, I wish to know what became of your father Lycaon."

Psophis pouted prettily; Nyctimus beamed and stood, striding over to her. "Well, my dear Arimneste! Not so bold as I might hope, but I accept fair exchange." She remained seated; he stood and strode to stand by her and then turned her so that she faced him in part profile, so that he could feast his eyes on her exposed side. When he reached out, she thought she knew where his hands would go, but to her surprise they settled on her shoulders as he looked down at her warmly. He kneaded there until her tension eased and she looked back up at the king.

Slowly, very slowly, he moved his hands downward, gently tracing the upper curves of her breasts where they hung beneath her garment. His fingers brushed over the front, barely felt through the cloth, and he cupped his palms over them, squeezing ever so slightly as he still held her gaze. “Well? What of Lycaon?”

Nyctimus threw back his head and chuckled even as he began to gently rub in circles over her hardening nipples. “So you would mix business with pleasure? Very well.” He then pinched the firm nubs gently but firmly, eliciting a soft gasp from her. Rolling her nipples carefully between his fingers, he continued, “No doubt you have heard the bare outline of the story. My father was a man who gave proper honors to the gods but was neither pious nor wise; a dangerous combination.”

Still teasing her aching nipples with one hand, he let the other trail down further still, enjoying the feel of her body through the thin cloth that separated them. He tugged her nipple again as he caressed the curve of her buttock to her thigh. “Zeus himself came to Lycosura. Lycaon and his many sons and daughters threw a feast for the god’s visit.” The king was gratified to see the girl’s lips parted, her breasts heaving under his hand as he let his hand glide to the bared side and then creep beneath the fabric.

Arimneste suddenly returned his grin fiercely and her own hand came up to capture his. “No. You may know with your hands what your eyes tell you. Your eyes cannot pierce the cloth, and therefore neither may your hands.” She released him, proud of herself.

“You should have known a philosopher would quibble so,” Callisto laughed. Arimneste had nearly forgotten the others were there, but Nyctimus merely inclined his head.

“Very well! A fair distinction, most lovely philosopher.” His hand returned tot he side of her breast where the open peplos left it uncovered and traced lines there. His other hand pressed at the junction of her thighs even through the clothing. “Then I will continue. Lycaon committed blasphemy, feeding the roasted flesh of one of his own sons to Zeus. The enraged lord of Olympus turned him and his sons into wolves. The sons he then struck down with his mighty thunderbolts, almost to a man, but my father he left alive to roam the hills of Arcadia, which he does to this day.”

Arimneste frowned, a flush of anger joining the arousal coloring her cheeks. “What! But that is no detail at all. You have hardly told me anything I have not heard.”

Nyctimus withdrew his exploring hands. “And you have kept me from fully enjoying you, Arimneste. I have confirmed the story of my father for you as you have allowed me to confirm the shapeliness of your form: superficially.”

“Would you know more? Strike another bargain,” Callisto all but purred to the aroused Athenian girl.