Straight to the Palace at Lycosura

Begrudging his lot in life, Thanos escorted Arimneste to Lycosura, located near Mount Lykaion. This was a large but quiet city, and upon their first visit, they were both keenly aware of a grim mood pervading the otherwise idyllic town. Arimneste frowned at the lack of good, solid stone paving, finding the rustic cobblestone and interspersed greenery distasteful. These people may as well have lived in the mud like common animals, but she reminded herself she was too embittered by the irritations of travel.

Partway up Mount Lykaion was the Lycaon’s Palace, cast in the shadows of the mountain so that it almost looked ruinous from this distance. She had contemplated milling about the village first, but impatience struck a chord with her after sitting on her behind for so many days straight. The road leading up to the palace was twisty and rambling, the horses could have used a serious tending, and for once she was tired of not exercising her legs, so she bid Thanos adieu. “Do be sure to look after the horses,” she urged him with a knowing smile. “After all, a Cretian would look too out of place on these streets, and this simple town is not so abandoned as you suggest. See? Plenty of guards.” She nodded towards an armor-clad man across the street. Thanos followed her gaze and did not look amused. He left to stable the horses, and she walked up the mountain road leading to the palace. Surely an Athenian woman visitor would merit an audience with the king, if he were at home. It would be a long walk, but the weather was pleasant.

Nyctimus needed time to prepare for his unexpected guest, anyhow. To date, he was a man of a medium-sized frame, with a tousled mane of speckled gray and golden-brown hair. And yet, his appearance exuded the vigors of youth, as though he had not earned the gray that flecked the long hair atop his head and that of his chest. His skin was on the verge between pale and bronzed (it was said he hadn’t been seen outdoors in years), and though he was in fit enough condition, his body was marred by vicious, large scars, particularly over his bare and perspiring torso. He was, at the moment, occupied in the indulgent pursuit of vigorously screwing the body of Psophis. He grunted curtly, she moaned a lurid cry, and gripped tight the hand of Dia who lay on her front beside her. All three were semi-entangled in the thick animal furs that served as blankets across his royal bed, so that they might as well have been snared in bondage together.

Dia pursed her lips at her sister. Both were relatively similar in appearance, with flowing, curly, dark brown hair, hazel, almost yellow eyes, and a hue of skin to match Nyctimus. Dia’s body glistened with sweat, having received the first portion of Nyctimus’ ecstatic thrusting and its subsequent bounty. Her full, wide ass jiggled whenever he returned to grant a few lingering pistons into her sodden love socket, before he stuck the dusky head of his turgid, veiny meat back into Psophis’ presented cunt. After all, this was her turn, and Psophis moaned as her chin bounced atop his pillow. He fucked her good and hard from behind, stabbing in momentous while his fingertips firmly pushed down the cheeks of her smaller ass. He reached one arm to press her upper back against the bed, enough so that Psophis’ pneumatic cleavage could be seen spreading out on either side of her torso. She locked her fingers with Dia’s and nearly screamed into the pillow when she could no longer stave off the tides of her own rupturing orgasm.

Nyctimus ceased thrusting, hilting himself inside of Psophis’ pussy as it juiced itself, savoring the spasms of her climaxing muscles around his throbbing rod. His balls were crucially tense against her snatch as he laid himself over her body and gripped the back of her neck between his teeth. His own apex was impending, and by this point there would be no putting it off. He bit at Psophis’ neck so she might match the hickey forming on Dia’s shoulder. Psophis squealed in delightful pain, and at the urging of his own oncoming release, Nyctimus began furiously rutting downwards, sharply punching Psophis’ twat with his pulsating shaft. After this animalistic , steaming white semen spewed from his spout as he let out a terrific groan. He pushed hard, even though there was no deeper to go, grinding his lap to Psophis’ buttocks. Her eyes rolled back in her head as she felt his balls twitching between her thighs.

The three smiled and exchanged a slew of tongue-heavy kisses. “It’s so much better at night,” Nyctimus said, and he was then visited by a sudden flash of light.

“You have a visitor.” A woman stood by the curtained windows. She had a curvaceous frame with broad shoulders and hips and muscular limbs. She had unbrushed hair, earthen brown in color, that fell upon her shoulders in waves. Her soulful brown eyes twinkled like starlight, and she bit at her lower lip in a perverse smile as she gazed at the three panting lovers. She approached the bed, grabbing a slip of clothing for herself that hung on the wall without donning it yet.

“Callisto.” Nyctimus grunted and pushed himself out of bed, kicking a fur blanket off of his leg so he wouldn’t trip. Wobbly-legged from his sexual escapades, he stumbled over towards the familiar woman and promptly kissed her arm, running his lips with sporadic nibbles from her shoulder to her wrist. He clasped her ample breast with a hand and smiled cordially to her. “So good to have you visit.”

“I don’t refer to myself,” she said, approving of his affections. “I mean you have a visitor approaching the steps as we speak.”

Nyctimus frowned. “How ill does this bode, sister?”

Callisto nodded sideways in thought. “I suppose it could go either way.”

Knowing his sister would not have granted her presence for something as trivial as a solicitor, Nyctimus quickly threw on his furred robes and departed his bedchamber to meet this guest at the front door. Arimneste was surprised to be greeted by this flushed man whom she could not decide whether he looked young or old. He gripped his fur robes around himself like a wizened elder, but he had the physique of a young man in his prime. He had managed to adopt his regal bearings for her, wearing a sullen façade on his face. He certainly did not appear like a servant appropriate for the task of answering visitors.

“Good day,” he greeted politely enough.