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EROTIC TALES OF MYTHOLOGY

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It happened one day while Actaeon, son of king Cadmus, hunted with his friends and companions from the palace, that late afternoon found them equally distant not only from their home, but also from the end of the hunt.

So it was that Actaeon bade his friends stop, for the day was almost done. "Our weapons and nets are drenched with the blood of our kill," he said. "Let us clean and sharpen them so that, on the morrow, we can continue the

hunt anew, refreshed and ready. we have sported enough for one day."

A short time later, Actaeon, restless and excited from the thrill of the day's hunt, arose from his sleeping skins and took himself into the forest alone, mayhap to find tranquility amongst the songs of the nightbirds, the quiet rippling of the nearby stream, the soft caress of the evening breeze through the leaves and bushes.

It came to pass that, having gone some fair distance from the encampment, that sounds of laughter from tiny voices and the splashing of water caught his ear.

Curious, he pushed his way through the brush until, cautiously parting some branches near to a pool, he gazed upon a scene of wonder and beauty that not only caught his breath, but roused in him feelings he had not experienced for many a day.

For there, frolicking in the pool, diving beneath the surface of the pale blue water and standing beneath a cascading waterfall were five--nay!--six young maidens with skin as white as ivory, and long black hair that clung like tendrils to the smoothness of their wet bodies.

And, as he watched in the glowing sunset, there appeared a more wondrous sight---a woman beautiful and strong, standing a good head taller than those who sported in the pool. She it was who strode from a nearby cave, her form wrapped in a loose-fitting garment of white cloth, her feet shod with sandals of leather, while in her hands she carried a bow and quiver of arrows.

Actaeon grew short of breath, his eyes drank in the loveliness of the woman who stood not more than ten feet before him, and yet he kept himself well-hidden in the brush.

So taken by her beauty, the gracefulness of her form, the striking musculature of her arms that he felt his ardor rise and within moments his manhood pained to be released from the confinement of his loincloth.

For a moment he turned from the scene before him and loosened his cloth. Hard and swollen, its length throbbing with desire, his staff sprang free.

Once more he parted the bushes with his hand, once more gazed he upon the beauteous creature beyond.

Now she sat upon a rock and gave her bow and quiver of arrows to one of the nymphs who attended her.

Another bent down and loosened her sandals, drew them from the huntress' feet.

Actaeon's eyes widened, and he knew he was about to gaze upon the woman as she took her bath. It was all he could do to keep himself quiet, and he knew he should turn away, creep into the brush and let the woman bathe in secrecy.

But he could not.

Unable to turn away, he stared at the splendor of the woman's beauty as the fingers of his free hand entwined about his rod, and he knelt upon the grass to steady himself.

Looking up, he saw that the nymphs had begun to untie the knots of the two straps which were fastened on her

shoulders...

...and Actaeon's mouth opened expectantly while his hand began to move back and forth slowly upon his stiff member, feeling the pulsing of his life's blood coursing through the veins...

...as the two halves fell away, disclosing the woman's full, defined breasts like two succulent pears resting against her flesh, their tips taut and erect, swollen and pink...

...and Actaeon's rod swelled all the more as thereupon he did rub his hand a bit faster, squeezing the thickness of it as his eyes devoured the statue of flesh before him...

...as the woman rose and her garment fell away, revealing her full splendor---the sweep of her alabaster back, the tautness of her round buttocks, the sweep of her long, striated thighs and calves. And then she turned a half-turn and revealed the dark fringe of her sex, that spot of beauty, that vale of delicacy, that crevice of love---

Actaeon pulled harder upon his scepter, and a sudden ecstasy swept over him faster than he could imagine.

Before he could stop, or slow the process, he exploded his seed into the bushes before him and from his lips escaped such a moan of delight that the sound carried to the woman's ears.

With a cry of surprise and horror, she reached for her bow and arrows, but they were not to be found.

Accompanied by shrieks of terror, the nymphs clustered around the woman, attempting to hide her beauty, but such was not to be, for she towered above them, her two breasts glowing brilliantly with the red-orange of the sun.

Then Actaeon rose from his hiding-place, hurrying to replace his quailing pike, and he saw the last of the woman's naked form as she leapt into the pool.

Moments later, her head reappeared, her countenance red and furious as the setting sun. In an instant her hand splashed into the water, a shower of it erupting from before her and onto the shore, cascading over the kneeling form of Actaeon who began to ask forgiveness.

"Begone!" spat the woman. "And, if you can, tell all that in your folly you have dared to watch the goddess, Diana, unveiled." Actaeon took that moment to turn and dart into the thicket, his skin tingling with a strange sensation he'd never before experienced.

On and on through the brush he ran, branches lashing across his face and breast, stinging and paining him until, at length, he saw the glowing fires of his encampment.

As he drew near, he passed by the stream.

He stopped.

Stared at his moonlit reflection in the water.

It was not a man he saw.

It was a stag.

His eyes widened, his nostrils flared.

He started as he heard the barking of the hunting dogs as they caught his scent. Looking towards the encampment, he saw them bounding towards him, their eyes bright and glinting, touched by the moon.

He turned to flee. Felt a burning in his shoulder, the tearing of flesh, the smell of blood. Another hound upon his back, a third upon his leg.

Then a darkness---not the night---

ended the curse of Actaeon's flight.

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