The mist came down suddenly. One minute clear blue sky, cold but brilliant at this time of the year; the next thick swirling fog carrying with it the wet chill of the coming season. Maximus stopped still and listened, his acute hearing always alert. He could hear his horses whinnying nervously; the dramatic change in the weather conditions had startled them too.

Maximus stood and pulled his cloak around him further. Through the grey gloom, he perceived a light that puzzled him. Edging forward, hand already resting on his dagger, he followed the source of the gleam. As he approached, the strange light grew brighter and he also felt a distinct change in temperature. Scanning the area about, he saw that the mist still obscured the mountains yet from the light warmth emanated, like the heat of summer.

Voices rang out, tinkling and merry- the voices of young women. He was unable to rationalise the strange occurrences. He had been alone on the mountain top only a short while before - how could women have found their way here so quickly? Surely he would have seen them making their way along the narrow path to the summit. And why would women even be here on these high Pyrenean pastures?

There was a clump of trees within the light and he stepped within their shadow. At once he found himself in a forest glade on a clear, warm afternoon, humid air still, the air heavy with the humming of insects; it was high summer. The fog was gone and so were the mountains. This place was a verdant lowland wood unlike in every way to the topography of the high lands.

A splash of running water broke the stillness and then the sweet chords of a lyre, followed by a woman's voice, high and clear, and then laughter, tinkling merry laughter. Girlish laughter, womanly laughter, innocent laughter and the deeper throatier laughter of females aroused. The hairs on the back of Maximus' neck prickled. This was an enchanted place; no earthly women could be dallying here. But his curiosity got the better of his apprehension - Maximus was not a man to fear women, even ethereal ones.

Already sweating in the humid heat, he slipped off his cloak and crept closer to the direction of the voices. Peering through the foliage, he saw a pool of crystal water fed by a shimmering cataract. Lying on the banks were ten women of unbelievable beauty clad in diaphanous gowns clasped and bound in golden braids to accentuate their voluptuous charms.

One was playing a flute, another dancing. One was reading, another was acting out a drama for the others and the rest were bathing in the cool, dark waters. Maximus was transfixed by the scene - he could not tear his eyes away from the visions of pulchritude which lay before him. He had seen no women for many weeks and it was even longer since he had touched one. His hungry eyes drank in the soft swelling flesh, the heaving breasts, the curve of round buttocks and the inviting slender legs - little was hidden by the opaque material of their flimsy robes. Unaware of himself he was rocking slightly back and forth and blinking rapidly.

His movement must have stirred the vapid air, for one woman rose from her seat by the water and gazed in his direction her eyes closed and her perfect nose uptilted as if to sniff the breeze.

"Sisters, be quiet! I smell Man."  

The women stopped dead and followed her raised hand.

"Homo! Procede!"  (Man! Come forth!)

Maximus had no choice but to comply. He should not have been watching them in their private retreat; it was ignoble of him to behave like that and he would not compound his unworthy behaviour by hiding like a frightened boy. So he stepped into the clearing.

The women looked at him and exchanged amused glances, eyes flaring and tongues flickering on their cherry lips. The dancer approached him, fiery red hair tumbling down her back and restrained by a circlet of gold. She wore a pale green robe that appeared to be struggling to contain her abundant curves. Standing at his height, eye to eye with him, this statuesque beauty spoke:

"Quis es, pulcher?"  (What's your name, gorgeous?)

Maximus swallowed hard and blushed slightly; he was not used to being addressed by women in these terms (I hesitate to add not many men would have tried it either and lived!) but he volunteered a reply.

"Maximus."

"Maximus?" she raised one perfect eyebrow and spoke his name with a certain tone; a ripple of giggling sounded from the rest of the beauties. Maximus sensed he was the butt of some joke; they were toying with him. He did not like it and he squared his jaw defiantly; it was a look that usually reduced those who received it to grovelling obsequiousness. It only made the women titter more, exchanging looks and making moues with their mouths and wrinkling their little noses as if to say "Oh, isn't he cute?" Maximus felt like a pet lamb.

"Why are you laughing at me?" he growled.

"Nomen tuum nos delectat."  (Your name pleases us!)

Again the tinkling of mocking laughter was heard, accompanied by a few snorts and nudges. Maximus frowned.

"Meritum?" (Do you deserve the name?)  shouted one girl from the water; she appeared to be a nymph, smaller and more fey than the others.

His face suddenly registered their meaning; he pursed his lips and planted his legs more firmly apart. He would not allow these wantons to mock his virility in this way. Thrusting his hands behind his back, he glared and offered no reply. The position he had struck seemed to please them more. He was unaware that his stance had pulled the fabric of his tunic against his body and revealed an answer to the nymph's bold question. It was unlikely that Roman men expected women to inspect their curves and bulges with as much prurience as he had earlier lusted over theirs.

"Veni , Maxime! Sorores coeamus! Ita vero, dulcis, coeamus!"  (Come on Maximus, let's meet the sisters!  Yes, indeed, sweetie, let's meet!)

Another chorus of laughter broke out and Maximus did not fail to recognise that particular innuendo. (meet- but it has a colloquial meaning too... nearest translation- let's have a...)  It was the sort of comment his lads would shout at the camp girls who hung about the walls looking for some fun; he had shouted the same himself in his younger days.

One by one the women came forth and introduced themselves.

"Terpsichore." It was the dancer, "saltasne?"  (do you dance?)

"I don't dance," he replied.

"Euterpe, the flute player said, "canesne?"  (Do youplay an instrument?)

"I don't play." 

"Erato," the singer announced herself, "cantasne?"  (Do you sing?)

"I don't sing."

"Calliope- the poetess," the girl with the book addressed him, "recitasne?"  (Do you recite poetry?)

"I don't recite poetry," replied Maximus.

"Ah, sed tu versus instinguis!" (Ah, but you inspire poems!)  the poetess replied and she proceeded to recite a spontaneous verse in praise of this delectable young Roman. It extolled his eyes, his swarthy growth of stubble, his sturdy neck, his mighty shoulders, his powerful arms, his shapely legs, his perfect curving buttocks and the mouthwatering bundle nestling between his legs. Maximus blushed and Calliope rushed off to write it down before the moment of inspiration passed. The other six were in the water, apparently naked, for their robes were lying in shimmering piles on the rocks by the edge of the pool. Terpsichore introduced them.

"Clio, Mel, Nia, Thalia ,Ura and Ana (sed nympha solum est)."  (but she's just a nympha) They all chorused:

"Natasne?"

For the first time Maximus smiled at the sheer absurdity of his situation. He nodded.

"Sure, I can swim."

"Euge! Tum in aquas intra!"  (Way to go! Then get in the water!)

Before Maximus could respond to their request, the four women on the bank laid hands upon him and despite his attempts to evade their grips, their slender bodies hid an inhuman strength; he was weak against them. Or perhaps he did not struggle as hard as he had intended? Nevertheless the band encircled him and their eight hands felt like eight hundred as his body was invaded. At alarming speed his cingula was whisked from around his waist, his lorica was peeled away, his tunic was hoisted over his head, the scarf slipped from his neck and tied as booty round one of the woman's upper arms, until he was left standing there, clad only in his leather bracae and his sandals.

For some reason unbeknown to Maximus the women stopped and stepped back to view him. An audible sigh emerged from them all at once and Maximus instinctively looked down to see what was attracting their attention. Everything seemed as it always did. The leather thong on which he carried his Mithras medal still hung about his neck, his chest was still scarred and lightly brushed with hair, his bracae were laced tightly, if somewhat straining against the weight of his manhood; it was always a problem finding army issue to fit him - these Italian boys were often so much smaller... his legs were as they always were, thighs hardened and muscle-bound from years of gripping the flanks of a warhorse. Perhaps they thought he looked absurd in sandals when he was wearing so little? He remembered how women always laughed if you kept your socks on- but Germania was cold for a Spanish boy!

But the crowd of baying females soon recovered their equilibrium, picked themselves up from the floor and closed their drooling mouths.

"Nosne pugionem in bracas aut modo videre delectas?"  (Is that a dagger in your breeches or are you just pleased to see us?)  shouted Ana.

"Bracas exue, Maxime! Natamus!"  (Take your breeches off and let's have a swim!)  the other women in the pool added.

The land-bound ladies advanced upon him once more and he stepped back gingerly. There were ten of them; he was a single male. Aroused- well, yes. But even the mighty Maximus thought ten in one session rather exceeded his previous record by a good half dozen and these harpies looked like they would require rather more action than his usual playmates. Especially that little nympha with the fey look. Now she looked like the sort of girl who was up for anything; and leather appeared to be a powerful stimulant if the expression on her face was anything to go by... and he had always liked small, fragile women...

Maximus sought to give himself some thinking time. Never make a move too quickly. Keep your enemy in eye contact and watch his every move. Engage him in some distracting activity to lower his guard and all the while think clearly about where you want to attack first and when the time is right - do not fail. Hit your mark dead centre. Make every thrust count. Hilt your sword to its limit before the enemy has time to parry your strike. It worked in battle and he had found it quite a useful ploy in other sorts of conquest too. Being locked in mortal combat was not always a painful process

'Try a delaying tactic', Maximus thought to himself. He held up his hand and addressed them in the stentorian tones reserved for battlefield addresses and frightening bar owners who charged too much. "Who are you? Surely not mortals? Give me back my tunic! I do not wish to swim!"

With scarce concealed pleasure, Maximus viewed the look of abject horror on the faces of the ten women. They shrank back. Those in the water quickly jumped out and struggled dripping wet into their diaphanous scraps of dresses; a rather pleasant spectacle, Maximus observed. Ah, the benefits of command! He should have known mere women could not assail him once he had unleashed a bit of hell on them. Now perhaps the advantage had swung to his corner and he might just have them where he wanted them... and that little nympha certainly needed help with the binding of her gown...

A short while before...

Minerva was reading in her study. Min was always reading in her study. Juno despaired of the girl. She might be the goddess of wisdom but she didn't have much sense - her daughter needed to get a life. More importantly she needed to get a man. How were they ever going to get some proper grandchildren if she was to spend all eternity as a virgin deity? It hardly seemed appropriate with her genes; she was almost an embarrassment to the family. But the girl showed absolutely no interest in men or women - just bloody books and war. And if she would only take that helmet off! It was so off-putting for any young man who did try to court her.

Idly cogitating thus on the prospect of Minerva ever making her a granny ('I'm the goddess of the family, for Jupiter's sake!' she was thinking) , Juno found herself peering into her fountain of worldly delights. It was at that moment that she saw THE MAN.

He was standing half naked in a glade wearing only a rather fetching pair of leather cavalryman's breeches (don't they make them in his size, she wondered?) The man was tall and broad, mighty of shoulder and arm with ... Juno adjusted the screen (it really was a hi-tech gadget) to zoom in upon his rear... taut round buttocks encased to perfection in the shiny supple hide.  His legs were straight and perfectly formed and topped by thighs of such sculptured magnificence that Mars himself would not have been disgraced. Juno imagined wrapping her legs around those hips and feeling those thighs between her own. But there was more. Best of all was his neck, thickly muscled and framed by his strong dark hairline. Perfection. Mortal perfection- and he had yet to reveal his frontage.

Adjusting the screen once more- the wonders of heavenly science!- and Juno was rewarded with a full frontal image that almost took her breath away. From the tip of his short dark wavy hair to his large and well-shaped feet, this mortal was a dish fit for a goddess - and his frontage certainly justified the promise of his rear.

Strong handsome face, (Thank the gods, not a pretty boy; we have too many of those up here already!", she mused), sun-bronzed and light -haired, proud and shapely nose, pert lips and cleft chin, resting on that sturdy neck. His beard was trimmed and promisingly thick. His chest was manly, broad and muscular, his belly wide and flat. There was no sign of that Greek tendency to narcissism- this body came not from the gymnasium but from the sweat and strain of the battlefield. He was lightly haired, not like some of those bear-like humans. But the jewel in his crown lay nestled between his mighty thighs, lovingly framed in leather- the heavy bulge that weighted down the front flap of his snugly fitted cavalry man's shorts.

Now Juno liked mortal men as much as the next goddess (and almost as much as some of the gods) and normally she would have secured this little treasure for herself. But she was first and foremost a mother and Min's needs were paramount. If this magnificent specimen made no impression then Juno would concede defeat- nothing would move her daughter - and she would have to console herself by moving on him in her place. No point in wasting, is there?

Just then the goddess observed that THE MAN was not alone. The Muses! Those little man-eaters had the poor chap in their sights. There was no time to lose. He would be reduced to an empty sac in no time at all if they were allowed much more time to play.

"Min!"

"Yes, Ma?" Min looked up resignedly from her roll. She was struggling with Ovid. Struggling? The goddess of wisdom? I'm afraid so. Somehow the delights of The Ars Amatoria were going right above her head. She just didn't see what he was on about. All this talk of orgasm...women being more fortunate than men...able to climax repeatedly... what was he talking about? Never before had she come across any piece of learning that she did not master immediately; usually Minerva was several steps ahead of the author. But this stuff was incomprehensible...

"Minerva! Will you please come when I call!"

"What now?" she thought, but rose to join her mother in the garden.

"Min, my little dove. I desperately need your help. A young warrior, destined for greatness, is lost on the mountains in a terrible storm. Would you help me find him before he comes to some harm? Your father has plans for him and I accidentally loosened a few winds when I went nosing around in his bedroom this morning- I could have sworn I heard a woman's voice... never mind... But you know how he is if he thinks I've been prying..."

Min shrugged. "OK, Ma - where is he?"

"Min, must you wear the helmet? It might scare him- we wouldn't want him to stumble back and fall off the edge of a cliff or anything at the sight of you, would we? Why not wear something simple. How about your hunting dress? It is short enough not to get in your way if you have to carry out a difficult rescue. And that little bow and sheath of arrows over your shoulder is so fetching to complete the ensemble. Oh and don't forget those suede thigh-length boots; the ground could be rather rough and you wouldn't want to scratch your legs now would you? Perfect."

The mother and daughter finished their toilette and in a twinkling of an eye they were alone on the desolate fog-shrouded mountain top. " OK, darling, now you go this way and I'll go the other..."

The Ars Amatoria ( The Art of Love) was a book written by the poet Ovid. It was considered essential reading for young men and women although they usually had to hide it from their parents. The book explains the techniques of lovemaking and even raised the issue of contraception ( about which, sadly, Ovid appears little versed) Ovid was exiled by Augustus ostensibly for writing this little work of erotica but probably it was more to do with the fact that he had been having a torrid affair with Julia, Augustus' daughter.

The book was banned but available if you knew where to get it!

Meanwhile back in the glade...

Maximus backed away from the nine women surrounding him. He was not normally reticent with women but ten at a time was a little more than even a man of his prowess was game for. Snatching up his tunic from the ground, he began to step backwards to the edge of the clearing while the group of women seemed momentarily subdued. They had stopped and stared and all at once with pouting sneers, cat-like mewlings, stamps of little dainty feet and shakes of tumbling curls, they simply evaporated and Max found himself alone. Slipping back into his clothes and strapping on his leather lorica, he failed to notice the young maiden standing behind him until she cleared her throat.

Max spun round and stared back. Before him stood a young woman, fair of face with golden hair tied up in a woven braid. Her slender girlish form was clad in a short white dress bound in shining braid and her long golden legs were encased in finely worked animal hide. Over her shoulder she carried a bow and a quiver full of arrows. Maximus dropped to one knee.

"Hail, maiden! Do not be afraid of me. I will not harm you."

"Non timeo. Sta!"  (I'm not afraid.  Stand up!)

Maximus rose and backed away.

"I am lost on this mountain top. My horses are somewhere near. As soon as I find them I shall leave," he offered by way of an explanation.

"Scio. Mater mea te adiuvare me misit," (I know.  My mother sent me to help you.)  she replied with calm confidence.

Maximus was surprised she was not scared of a soldier miles from anywhere- a lone maiden? Nor did she seem afraid to address him, meeting his gaze and never dropping her eyes to show respectful deference. Perhaps she was too innocent even to be afraid? Then he registered her words.

"To help me? You are just a girl!"

Minerva laughed. "Follow me!" and she turned on her dainty heels and led Maximus through the forest. He tried to keep his mind on something else but the sight of her little rounded buttocks swaying from side to side as she strode purposefully through the mists made it hard for him to concentrate.

He had been on the road for many weeks on his way home on a much awaited leave. The past few months had seen him on constant campaign. He was tired and full of unfulfilled desire. How long since he had been near a woman? Several months at least and then he had been with a camp drab; not something he was proud of. There were few women either to be had back home in Truillo unless he contented himself with local whores. But he wanted something more than a wrestle with a paid mount. At night he dreamed of faceless women with soft giving bodies and warm wet places where he could rest. And then he would wake up to find himself pleasuring himself again or rubbing himself against the hard ground. Proximity to this gentle maiden was bringing out the most inappropriate urges, which he was ashamed to admit.

Suddenly the mist parted and he was back with his horses. Daylight streamed into his vision and the familiar vista of mountain passes was restored. Minerva turned to him and smiled, preparing to dissolve from his sight, her task accomplished. But in an instant, a thought flashed through her mind. 'What a charming young man!' she thought and in an instant Min was lost - or perhaps she was saved?

"I'm Min. And you are?"

"Maximus."

"Maxime, tell me about yourself..." 

Maximus found himself sitting on the ground with Minerva kneeling at his side while he recounted the story of his life so far. The gentle, clear-eyed girl listened, enthralled.

"Forgive me, my lady. I have forgotten my manners. What of your life?" he realised that he had spoken for a long time, revealing many things he had never told anyone else: of his dead parents, his nightmarish memories of the things required of a soldier in battle and his loneliness- his wish that he could find a woman of his own with whom he might raise a family for the future. All this Minerva had elicited from him with careful promptings; he was a little embarrassed by his candour.

"Ego? Philosopha sum. scientiam quaero. Etiam venatrix bellatrixque." (I am a learned woman.  I seek knowledge.  I am also a huntress and a warrior.)

Maximus started at her words. "A warrior? You? Then you must be an Amazon. Hippolyta? Another Boudicca?"

"non. solum virgo."  (No, I am only a maiden.)

Maximus smiled. "And I am just a man."

Minerva observed him as he absentmindedly whittled at a piece of wood, his long lashes shading his clear green eyes as he applied himself to his work. She wondered. Would he know? Would a human like Maximus be able to show her the last missing piece of knowledge in the universe that she did not possess?

Her mind made up, she ventured to ask his help.

"Maxime! I know all things but one. Help me to discover the final missing piece of knowledge that eludes me!"

"I am at your command, mistress," he stood and bowed his head with his customary courtesy.

"de amorem me edoce!"  (Teach me about love!)

Maximus reeled with shock at her words and found it hard to keep his military bearing. "Teach you about love?" he repeated.

"Certe. Ars amatoria," (Of course! The art of love,) she replied without a hint of embarrassment.

"The art of love?" Maximus echoed. He seemed to have lost the power of independent speech.

"Ita vero," (yes indeed) she smiled.

"No... I cannot... you are an innocent maiden...It would be shameful for me to..."

"postulo! Me placet."  (I demand it. It pleases me.)

She demanded it. It would please her. Hard to argue with that, thought Maximus. He would certainly give this girl something to be pleased about if he acceded to her demand or die in the attempt. He was tempted. He would be gentle. He would make sure that he ...

"Are you sure?" a last attempt to save himself from temptation.

"Certe." 

Maximus looked at the beautiful girl still kneeling on the floor before him. Then he looked at his surroundings. "Not here. I will not take you on the hard ground like a whore on a battlefield. It would be too ignoble..."

As he spoke the scene changed and they were at once in a beautiful bower resplendent with a silken draped couch, scattered with cushions and hung with velvet curtains. Soft music was played by unseen hands and a gentle breeze stirred the warm air, heavy with exotic perfume and flower scents.

"Where are we?"  Maximus gasped.

"ubique et nusquam, deliciae.  (we're everywhere and nowhere, baby.) Here no one can see us. We are safe."

She held out her hand and he gently raised her from the floor. It was their first touch and the shudder of physical recognition that passed between each was obvious and made them both sigh.

They gazed upon each other, drinking in the each other's charms. She was so exquisitely feminine and he so relentlessly male that they answered every urge that the other felt. Maximus raised his rough and calloused hand to graze her cheek lightly and she shivered at the abrasive strength in his thick fingers. Into her virgin mind came images of battle, his hand wielding a sword, the slash, the parry, the death thrust and yet, this same right hand was smoothing her skin as gently as a cool breeze on a hot summer day.

His face came closer; she raised hers to meet his and their lips made contact, soft, so soft, like a feather floating down to earth - and then he pulled away. For an instant their mouths clung on, the flesh of their lips unwilling to part, and then Min opened her eyes and he was smiling down on her. His hands went up to the golden thread that bound her yellow locks; he freed the shining curls and ran his fingers through them until they tumbled around her shoulders and down her back.

Min gasped at his action; no human had ever laid hands before upon her divine form. She gazed at him and for an instant the awesome power of which she was capable flared in her eyes; she could crush him beneath her foot like a helpless ant should she so wish. But she did not wish. Her eyes restored their clear blue light; the ice steel gone and her golden eyelashes fluttered winsomely, a soft blush colouring her maiden cheeks.

"My lady.  Do not be afraid. I will be gentle with you."

He observed the girl as he stroked her face and played with her curls. She was so perfect, so fragile, so helpless and yet so curious to learn. Who was this maiden? From where did she spring to have such little knowledge of men and yet so much courage and intelligence? The memory of the predatory Muses still played in his mind. She had intervened in some way just as they were moving in for the kill. Why had they feared her? Was she some spirit of the mountains, some nymph, a dryad or a naiad?  And yet before him stood an innocent young woman, trembling and shy, in awe of his experienced manhood. Some things did not make sense; he was convinced that she was much more than she seemed.

But Maximus pushed his contemplations from his mind. First, he would pleasure her; she wished for that and he, for his own part, could not wait much longer to release the burning need within. Later, they could discuss particulars later, when she was lying in his arms and nothing was left unknown between them. Then secrets would be revealed.

And so, he picked her up and placed her on the couch kneeling on the mosaic floor beside her. Min lay back, unsure what she must do. Would she have to touch him? Must she be naked? Did human men require intimate tasks of women? Min had read of such things- using fingers and mouths in places that seemed dark and sordid. She knew she could not bring herself to soil her divine mouth where human waste might pass. What was the attraction that men and women found in that? But Min did not need to fear. Maximus inaugurated the seduction and his moves were skilful and erotic, gentle and arousing. There was nothing brutal or demanding in his love.

He touched her neck; he smoothed her robe, he allowed his fingers to trail the outline of her body. It was clear he wanted to feel a woman before he moved on to anything else. It was enough to have her beneath his body and under his command. As she relaxed and began to respond to his sweet caresses, his eyes creased and danced with pleasure; his mouth broke into a shy grin and his hands, trembling slightly, ventured bolder to cup her breasts as if to glory in her fragile feminine softness. A whimper from the pliant maiden encouraged him further. She closed her eyes and threw back her head, exposing her lily white neck which ached to feel his warm wet lips. Maximus bent forward and kissed her throat; she ran her fingers through his short dark hair.

Sliding his hand down, he held her hips, tenderly allowing his hands to slip beneath her peach-like buttocks as he buried his head against her belly. Her body undulated like waves on the ocean, pounding between the twin shores of his hands and his head. Maximus rubbed his face against the soft shimmering gown, half mad at the scent of her femininity. It was a fragrance beyond any he had ever experienced. It was heady, sweet and intoxicating like a temple drenched in incense and perfumed unguents -- but within it lay the scent of woman, strong and feral, almost animal-like in its overpowering lure. He felt like a lion, head up, sniffing his mate on the wind. It was the scent of every woman he had ever tasted and all those still to come.  This woman was the female sex incarnate and he was Everyman, some sort of wild force of human male whose manhood was to be offered on the altar of this woman's body. Maximus felt seized by an awesome surge; this was more than desire, more than lust, more than sex; it was life and death and immortality- he could almost feel the Heavens open and swallow him up.

"It has been so long. I must... go slow," he gasped as if to remind himself of where he was and what he was about to do.

Min pondered the sudden appearance of uncertainty on this man's face. He had begun by taking control so manfully and then his stalwart poise had seemed to disappear. She thought. And then she knew. He needed help; the proximity to her innate godhead was in danger of overwhelming him and might interfere with the fragile mechanisms of his male libido. In short, he might either fail to draw his sword in time or fire his ballistae far too soon. Despite her lack of knowledge, she knew she must aid him in his plight.

Min raised his head and held it in her hands. "Tempus fugit. Festina lente! Me observa!"  (Time is slipping away!  Hurry slowly!  Watch me!)

Gently pulling him to his feet, she urged him sit upon the couch and then she stood before him. He gazed wide eyed as she clapped her hands and music began to play, a different rhythm, insistent and low, drum beating a steady thud, as flutes sounded out an hypnotic melody. Min began to undulate softly before him, her hips swaying, her breasts falling freely in the loose unfettered gown. She placed one booted leg upon his knee and whispered "Exue!" (Take them off!)  and he, mesmerised, began to edge the soft tanned hide from the top of her thighs down her golden legs. As he rounded the bend of her knees, she raised her foot to rest it on his shoulder and he rubbed his cheek against the fur and eased it from her lower leg and over her dainty foot. Throwing aside the boot, he raised her foot still further, amazed at her flexibility, and kissed the soft flesh at the back of her knee before lowering the leg to the floor. Min repeated her graceful movement with her second leg; he again followed the same pattern. Now bare legged, Min continued in her dance- now leaning close to him so that he could feel the still air displaced by her gyrating motion, now away, so that he could see her whole body in the dance.

He reached for her, she evaded his searching grasp, he dropped his hands, she tantalised him nearer and nearer. And then she released the brooches at the shoulder of her huntress robe and it fell away, leaving her gloriously naked but for a triangle of softest silk around her sex. Maximus groaned, a helpless, hopeless, vulnerable sound but deep enough to resound somewhere low in Min's body, awakening a strange and languid loosening, a warm and intoxicating glow, a moist and dew-sprinkled flood.

His hands rose and, this time, Min did not try to avoid his touch. They lingered on her breasts, knuckles stroking the outer curve, thumbs caressing the golden brown nipples, which, in their turn, sprang forth towards his open mouth.

"Deus immortalis!" (Immortal god! [ie Jesus!])  Min breathed.

"Venus beata!" (Blessed Venus!  [Mother of God!])  Maximus replied as he lapped the virgin peaks and feasted on her fragrant mounds.

Min felt her back arch towards him, thrusting her breasts deeper into his face as he twisted from one to the other, hands comforting the breast that was denied his tongue. She leant against him, hands raking through his thick short hair, groin reaching for his belly, shocking and surprising herself in her response. For an age they stayed in this posture; he devoured her, she offered him his prize until, at last, he could stand his discomfort no more. Below his belt, Maximus was feeling decidedly restrained and he lifted his head from her to rock slightly in his seat, trying to find ease in the increasing confinement of his leather sheath.

Min surveyed his movement and inquired what was the matter. Maximus grinned nervously and breathed heavily. "Bracae ... tam strictae," (my breeches ....are too tight!)  he gasped.

Min removed his lorica and placed her hands on the hem of his tunic, raising it in one smooth movement over his head. His chest was revealed, a Cyclopean wall of bronzed and solid flesh, ridged with muscle and pitted with scars. Her eyes took in the hair that peppered his breast and nipples and gathered below his waist to thicken and invite her to the hidden forest beneath. But then she saw the source of his distress. The flap which fronted the snug leather breeches was straining under a tremendous force; it was like a dam about to burst.  A swelling tumescence beat against the leather thongs that laced the garment.

"Let me!" Min screamed and she thrust him on to his back while she skilfully applied herself to her task. The knot was tight, tightened further by the growing pressure, and even her nimble fingers struggled to free the tangle. Maximus closed his eyes; he could feel the sweat break forth upon his brow as he fought to control his erection.

Min surveyed the problem. 'dentes!' (Teeth!)  she thought and she lowered her mouth to help her unravel the knotty tangle. Maximus groaned deeper and louder as her lips brushed his hot aching groin and he watched her mouth so close to his manhood. Images of her taking him between her divine lips tormented him until he wondered if he would simply reach completion still wrapped in his leather skin.

"Please. Gently, mistress! My control is sorely tested..." At that moment the knot was undone and she pulled at the leather thong, threading it through the metal eyelets with astonishing speed until the flap was liberated and fell open like a gaping mouth. Min sat back in triumph to regard her work and then her own mouth fell open as the prisoner was freed from its leather cell.

Out rose his cock, eager and proud, like a Chimaera from its lair. Maximus moaned with relief; Minerva moaned with anticipation. "Quid monstrum est?"  (What kind of monster is that?)

Maximus looked at her, a little confused as he eased the breeches down his buttocks and thighs to kick them from him with relief. "What monster?" And then he realised to what she referred. A deep laugh rumbled through his chest. "No monster, mistress. It is my cock. That's all." He stroked it playfully as she blushed and peered through her fingers, all maiden coyness at the sight of him.

"What? Your...but statues have such little ones!" Min exclaimed.

"I am not a statue. And my name is Maximus," he joked.

"Nonne Priapus?" (Are you sure it isn't Priapus?  [God of fertility always portrayed with an erect and enormous organ])  Minerva retorted, giggling shyly at her remark.

"Do not worry.  He will do no harm. The pleasure is increased with greater girth- or so I have been reliably informed," Maximus assured her, a hint of pride in his voice.

Min knew she was learning valuable information such as she had never imagined existed. "sed parva virgo sum. et magna virga  tibi est!"  (But I am a small girl and that's a big stick, you've got there!!)

"A rod that fits all maidens. I assure you," he smiled gently at her and it was enough to allay her fears. He raised himself to a seated position and pulled her to him. Min settled herself between his legs and allowed him to embrace her, his hands lightly resting on her waist, their faces turned to each other on the cusp of a kiss. They hung suspended in that pose, eyes locked, the moment before the battle commences when both sides contemplate the road that must be trodden. And then they kissed. No more was this a gentle pressure of innocent lips but now it was the torrent unbound; a man whose desire was carrying all before him and a woman who has made up her mind to take that step into the unknown within his arms.

Their lips seared with heat, their tongues probed; his hands were rough upon her neck and hair as he grasped her close and attacked her mouth from left to right and back again, his hungry possession devouring her virgin lips as his burning manhood wished to plunder her maidenhood.

They fell towards the silken couch - he to lie upon his back, she to rest sinuously upon him, writhing and climbing the rock-like formation of his massive frame. All the while, the solid rod of his engorged manhood lay pressed against his belly as Minerva rolled and kneaded against his body with her own. She was a speedy learner and what she didn't know her divine instinct inspired her to do.

Maximus was beyond words and almost beyond thought. It seemed to him that his body was nothing but the frame to bear his manhood; the only part of him with a conscious thought lay between his legs. He knew he should attend to her pleasure, to touch, caress and tongue her maiden sex before he claimed his prize but it was beyond his ability. That must come later. First he must quench the raging thirst that burnt within him, the terrible longing that could only be eased within her warm, moist centre.

With a gentle but masterful roll, he turned their bodies to reverse their position so that Min lay beneath him on the soft coverlet. He bent his head to take her mouth as his hands sought to claim her naked core, that gate to Elysium nestling beneath her legs He stroked and parted the tender flesh, opened the secret lips and slipped a finger in to ease the way. Min sighed and cried out, "Maximus! Maximus!"  She was almost ready. He flickered his experienced thumb around her pearl hard knot of fiery nerves and felt her lose the last vestige of her control, head thrown from side to side, hands desperate to anchor her to him, grasping at his flesh, his arms, his shoulders, his hair, while he held her firm and began his final assault.

A little roughly, for she was strong and it was hard to restrain her, he forced her thighs wider with his bent knee and then pinned her hips to the bed as he straddled her.  Releasing one hand from her, he took himself in hand and pumped once then twice, aware that he was more than hard enough, and guided his swollen cock to her portal, bathed himself in the river of honey that was streaming forth and ... entered.

Down he slipped, down the silken pathway, gripped by muscles of velvet and steel until he hit the barrier. With a silent prayer 'Hymen hymenaeus!'  (Calling on the god Hymen of marriages to assist.)  he pulled back and thrust again with the full weight of his body. Minerva cried out, the soft barrier melted away and Maximus sank deep within her, almost hilted. He held her and she pressed her face against his chest.

"Meus amor!" (My love!)  she gasped and he smiled. Shifting his hips, he lifted up her legs. wrapping first one leg  around and then  the other, sinking deeper within her with a deep groan of satisfaction. Min cried out at the feel of him battering her womb and driving her against the bed. Rising and falling, he ground and thrust, he pumped and stoked until his head shot back and the tendons of his neck burst forth against his bronzed throat. Minerva watched him, eyes closed and as far into the world of sensory pleasure as his mighty cock was buried in her willing flesh.

"Veni! Maxime! in me veni!"  (Come! Come in me!  [think Birkin and Gainsbourg])  She surged to the chasm's edge and then plummeted into its depths of sensation and release. "venio!" (I'm coming!)  he grunted as he too found his climax at the selfsame moment, roaring while he spouted forth into her divine chamber.

The moment was a cataclysm. Earth spun round, time stopped, spirits howled at the despoliation of the virgin goddess, thunder clapped and lightening flashed, the heavens opened and the skies rang, volcanoes burst their liquid fire, giant waves broke on distant shores- all human kind threw itself to the ground and begged the gods to spare them.

Maximus saw none of this. He had just had the most violent orgasm he had ever known, and he fell, milked and drained, shuddering and shivering, groaning and cursing -reduced to an empty shell. Plunging down, he lay upon the goddess, barely breathing, gasping for air to fill his shattered lungs. Had she been an ordinary mortal, his collapsing weight might have killed her but instead the goddess gloried in his human weakness and the soft shrivel of his member slipping from her to lie sleeping against her leg.

Minerva was in ecstasy. Never had she felt pleasure like this. Even now, as Maximus lay spent, she was still writhing in her passion, nerve endings electrified, lightening speeding through her heavenly body, wave after wave of scintillating joy, head spinning and lights dancing, her whole self suspended between the world and the skies.  What had she allowed herself to miss through all these aeons of Time? What miracle had Maximus worked upon her sacred person? All these questions swept through her brain as she returned to consciousness in his arms. 'Can he do it again? Now?'

But Maximus was human; Minerva was divine. Or perhaps it was more simple than that? He was a man and she was a woman. This, of course, meant that he now fell fast asleep, worn out from his long months of campaign and the arduous journey across the mountains, not to mention this recent rather intense burst of sexual activity. Minerva, naturally, felt quite differently once she had recovered from her climax. She felt energised. She was wide-awake and full of desire but wise enough to understand that patience receives its own reward. And so she watched and waited for this magnificent human male to restore his own particular ambrosia and return to the fray.

Minerva tried to fill in the intervening hours with study. Rising from the couch, she applied herself to her books and determined to finish her latest volume. But, for some reason, and for the first time since the beginning of Time, the writings of the ancients failed to move her as this young man's body had done. Her eyes kept drifting back to where he lay.

Maximus was sleeping naked on the couch, arms thrown above his head in relaxed slumber. Minerva smiled as her handmaidens too appeared and sat keeping watch by his bed, giggling shyly at the sight of his proud nakedness, their hands part-covering their blushing faces. One, bolder than the rest, reached out a hand and stroked the SPQR tattoo that graced the bulbous bicep of his upper left arm. Minerva caught her eye and the girl drew back but her eyes still lingered on him and her lips grew moist, licked by her little pink tongue. 'That one needs watching.' Min thought.  The girl already had some kind of fixation with warriors, especially Picti; the more bestial and warlike the better, it would seem.

With a toss of her head, Minerva chased her girls away and took her own chance to observe him. His face was softer in repose, long brown lashes brushing his upper cheeks; slight movement behind his eyelids betraying his dreams. The shadow of his unshorn face was darker now and beginning to appear more beard-like; it was a strong and thick growth for such a young man. He would be bearded in maturity, Minerva knew. Her future vision had already told her that. His stubble was already beginning to hide that deep cleft in his chin and obscure the delicate beauty of his kiss- reddened lips. A shame.

She moved closer and touched the leather thong that rested on his thick neck, tinkling the little medal hanging above his breast; it had hung before her eyes when they had made love. She ran her eyes over his large calloused hands, their fingers meaty but somehow shapely, the hint of creativity hidden beneath the warrior's grip. Down his out flung arms, muscles bulging as if the skin could not contain the power therein, she went until she gazed upon the thick brown hair that nestled in the pits of his arms; somehow the sight of that alone brought an unsteady beat to her heart.

On to his chest- Ah! His chest! It was Mars!-It was Jupiter!-but smoother and more vulnerable, despite its mighty pectoral muscles and the firm bands of sinew and tendon that encompassed his belly. The scars and tender flesh betrayed his mortality and Minerva began to understand the limitations of eternity. That which can be destroyed is so much more precious than that which is invulnerable. She closed her all-seeing gaze to this man's future. She did not wish to know his fate; somehow she knew it would break her divine heart.

Her eyes flickered down to the sensuous V-shaped muscle that narrowed his bulk to the surprisingly slender hips. Between lay the source of her joy. Buried in its glorious brown curls was the manhood that had so startled her when it was rampant and aroused. Now it lay curled like a harmless snake basking in the warm glow of sunlight, lying on the rocks of his virility. But as she looked it stirred; he was close to waking and his desire was waking first- perhaps already sensing the proximity of female flesh, rising to sniff the breeze.

His legs shifted slightly and she watched the movement of the powerful muscles of his thighs as they tensed and relaxed and he slept on. Finally she noted his shapely calves, thick with light brown hair and his long feet. Her examination complete, Minerva rose from the bed and looked towards the wall. A door appeared, it swung open and she passed through.

The instant she moved away, Maximus' eyes flickered open. He stretched and sighed; more rested and refreshed than he had been for many months. Confusion crossed his wakening mind and then he remembered the night before; it brought a broad smile of satisfaction to his strong handsome face. There was even a touch of arrogance there; well, he was still young and occasionally given to boasting of his prowess in that other battlefield of the sheets when loosened by too many cups of wine. He knew his most recent campaign had exceeded even his own reputation.

As all young men will, his hands instinctively found his member and stroked, then scratched and then he yawned and raked his other hand through his rucked up hair. He was hungry. Very hungry. Dragging himself onto his elbows, he looked around the room, kicking away the sheet that tangled under his foot. Swinging his legs to the floor, he padded to a bowl of fruit and helped himself to an apple and then poured himself a glass of wine and wandered around the heavenly chamber. Noticing a door, he pushed it with his foot and stepped beyond. There, lay an enormous marble-lined therma; the most opulent bathhouse that he had ever seen. Taking another bite of the apple, he investigated further.

Before him was a pool, fed by a silver fountain, large and tiled in blue and white with a motif of Ariel and the Dolphin on the centre of its floor. Around the sides were panels of lapis lazuli and gold; this was a bathhouse fit for the emperor himself. White flawless columns of marble flanked the pool and in each recess were contained statues of artistic splendour raised above couches hung in silk. Rooms led off this central core: tepidarium, calidarium, frigidarium and even a small gymnasium.

From behind a pillar, Minerva suddenly appeared, now dressed in a diaphanous robe. Attendants followed her and circled him wrapping a sheet of softest linen around his hips. "Veni, Maxime. Lava!" (Wash!) Minerva whispered.

The girls led him to the tepidarium and he sat upon the marble bench, letting them attend him, rubbing fragrant oil into his skin and massaging it deep into his muscles. They pushed him back and climbed above him, using their naked loveliness to rub and smooth in the unguent. Minerva watched and smiled as she allowed them to pleasure him. One of her girls, the forward one - Manu Dona  (something like Gifts for Hando?)  as she was affectionately called- gave him her special gift- the one for which she was named. Maximus tried to brush her away, a little embarrassed at first before an audience, but it was a weak attempt and he soon sank back, eyes closed and gave himself to her attentions, whimpering slightly until his final deep shudder revealed the delivery of his own gift to her. Not for nothing was little Dona the 'maximae fellationis domina'.  (Work it out- homework!)  She even kept the Pictus (painted man - do I have to spell it out, class?) calm. 

Minerva watched the act thoughtfully. "Bene." (Good.)  She had learnt a new skill and would try this on him soon enough but the treat from one so skilled would help to ease him. Strange how those two quite different men, the Painted Barbarian, with his hatred of the invader, and this Honourable Roman should respond so similarly to the same ministrations; an interesting fact about the human male revealed by this simple experiment! When Minerva came to him next, she hoped that Maximus would have enough control to last much longer than before now that his earlier burning lust was satisfied -because Minerva had decided that she wanted to fuck all day.

He was led from the warm room through to the calidarium where he sat on the edge of the bath and sweated while the girls chatted and teased him and he responded; he was revealing himself to be quite a ladies' man and flirted saucily with the handmaids. His eye had clearly been taken by little Dona - he was obviously a push over for fellatio. 'But' thought Maximus to himself, 'that was no ordinary blowjob.' She could do things with her tongue that he didn't even know existed. Very nimble. Very swift. He hoped she would be around next bath time.

When he was fully sweated, rivers of perspiration and oil running down his body, hair plastered to his head, the hand maidens pulled him to his feet and he allowed them to push him to the cold room. There they took strigils of bronze and began to scrape the oil and dirt away. Long lazy strokes grazed his back. Short delicate scrapes raked his legs and inner thighs.  One of the maidens seemed to have been assigned to his buttocks and appeared to have no interest in any other part of his anatomy. She scratched and scraped the bronze implement round his curvaceous buns and then forsook the tool to use her own elegant fingernails, pressing down hard enough to raise a red trace but not hard enough to permanently mark his skin. Maximus turned round to view her as she knelt absorbed in her task, eyes fixed and tongue lolling out of her mouth. "Who are you?" he asked with a wink. "Gina. Pornis Regina!" she replied and placed a kiss upon one cheek, biting gently and lapping with her tongue.

"Satis!" Minerva's voice warned and Gina pulled back, a little frown upon her white forehead. 'She was clearly a girl for the gluteus,' thought Max. 'Particularly the gluteus Maximus.'

It was clear that Minerva was reasserting her control for the rest of his bath was conducted in a more decorous manner. He plunged into the cold pool, the shock of ice cold water almost taking his breath away and then he re-emerged, a little embarrassed by the girlish giggles that greeted his cooler body. Minerva noted with interest the apparent ill-effect the temperature had had upon his manhood and quickly ordered that he should be wrapped in warmed towels to assist his recovery.                                                    

Seated in a comfortable straight-backed chair, Maximus was shaved by another of the maidens. She rubbed her hands together and he observed a white foam rising from her palms, pine resined and fresh. She smoothed it on his face and neck, following the line of his stubble, and proceeded to select a cutthroat razor, which she tested on a strip of leather. It sheared straight through.Maximus viewed the blade with some trepidation. " Is this your first time?" He asked anxiously.

The girl shook her head and said: "I am Tigris. It is my job to tend to hair. I am very skilful with my hands. My grip is sure and steady. It will feel as comfortable as if it were in your own hands. Or perhaps a little easier even that that?" She smiled to reassure him and then added, "No, it isn't my first time. I have had sexual congress many times. So if you are ever...."

"Tigris! Abrade!"  (Shave him!)  Minerva's voice cut her short and Tigris shrugged ruefully and returned to her work, gliding the sharp bronze razor down his face and wiping off the shavings on a soft white cloth. Then she covered his now exposed features with a hot square of dampened wool. Peeling this away, she opened a bottle and poured out a spicy fragrance onto her hands. This she rubbed between her palms and then anointed his face. The liquid was sharp and cold; it made Maximus gasp but then soothed the slight pink rash that the blade had left behind. He touched his cheek - it felt smoother than it had since he was a boy. As he lay back and relished the sensation of the shave, Tigris made a lightning move. She dropped her hand and flicked her knife with a twist of her wrist and claimed her memento. Maximus jumped at the sudden motion so near to the centre of his body; he felt the air slice around the flashing blade. But he need not have worried; Tigris meant no harm, her hand was sure. Between her fingers she was proudly holding up a tuft of golden brown hair carved neatly from the lush forest that smoothly sprouted below his lower belly. It would not be missed. There was plenty to spare.

Thus cleansed and purified, Maximus was dressed in a white tunic, wondrous soft and edged in geometric patterns of gold thread. He was offered a loincloth but shook his head. There was no need for such cumbersome accoutrements in what was to come. The women viewed him with appreciative comments and glances, murmuring their satisfaction. Dona gave his arm a secret kiss, Gina smoothed down his tunic and pinched his buttock and he was pushed forward from the bathhouse through yet another door, one that he could not remember having seen before.

The door gave out onto a sea balcony resplendent in marble and mosaic, edged with a balustrade studded with mother of pearl. The view beyond was spectacular; a calm aquamarine sea under a brilliant blue sky, coves and natural harbours rimming the estuary, cliffs wooded with forest and peopled with distant natives and animals the like of which Maximus had never seen before. The sun shone hot and strong and a breeze blew gently.

"Where is this place? Italia? But it is still winter there! How can the sun still shine?" he cogitated, unaware that he had spoken the words aloud.

"Australis terra," Minerva answered.

"The land in the south?" Maximus repeated. South of where? Too green for Egypt. No animals like this had ever run (or jumped) through Africa...

Before he could inquire further, Min waved her hand and in a blink of an eye, a table appeared before him, loaded down with food of every possible description. There was roast meats, fish swimming in sauces, platters of sea delicacies: octopus, squid, crayfish, prawns, cockles, lobsters, mussels and centre table a tower of oysters, still smelling of the sea. Round about were cheeses, white and crumbling, soft breads, mountains of fruit: peaches, plum, grapes, pomegranates, oranges, apples, lemons, pears and even other exotic types that Maximus could not name. Bowls of firm black and green olives swam in thick oil, little dormice baked and rolled in pastry lay on tasting dishes, and cruets filled with salty garum were scattered about to add relish to any dish. There were honey cakes and nuts sprinkled with spices wrapped in sweet bread. And in crystal jugs were wines of the most expensive vintage: heady red Falernians and deep purple resinated Samians. To a soldier back from campaign, it was like a garden of delight; almost as pleasurable as the glorious body of the goddess herself, clad in a sheer gown as she disported herself before him on a silk-draped couch.

"Veni, Maxime! Consume!"  (Eat!) 

Maximus picked up a piece of meat, dipped it in garum and wrapped it in the white bread. It tasted better than anything he had ever eaten. He nibbled on a dormouse, always a particular favourite since childhood, and snatched up a few olives and nuts. Minerva watched him amused by his obvious desire to eat slowly when she knew that he was ravenous and wished to load his plate and eat until he was satiated. But he was in the presence of a lady and she had not yet partaken.

"My lady. I forget my manners. Please. After you." He indicated the food. She shook her head.

"Non esurio."  (I do not eat.) 

"You must eat! I prefer women who... enjoy their food. I do not wish you to starve merely to keep a tiny waist. I need to fatten you up a little. Give you a little more fortification against my frontal assault." He smiled at his own words.

Minerva grinned. "I do not need to eat. But I will taste if you will feed me. Come - lie here upon this couch and give me titbits from your hand!"

Maximus filled a plate choosing foods that he thought would please and stimulate her: pink tasty prawns, slices of white chicken, olives, cakes and, of course, oysters. He also added fruit: firm plums, juicy peaches and succulent grapes. These he introduced to her mouth one by one; she tasted, licked his fingers, and allowed him to catch the drips that ran from her ruby lips to trickle down her chin into his own mouth. Then she repeated the action for him. Next he took a slice of peach and holding it in his mouth he kissed her and they nibbled from the sweetness until only its nectar oozed from their locked lips. Each piece of food, he placed into her mouth and tried to recover with his own until they were sticky with residue and already desirous of more than food. Maximus broke away and filled a goblet with wine; he took a drink and dripped it from his mouth onto her waiting tongue.

"I did not know that human food could taste like this!" Minerva sighed as Maximus sucked the last traces of the wine from her lips. Suddenly her word dawned on him.

"Human food? You are not human? Then what are you, Min? Are you a spirit of the mountain or a Circe of the land? Who are you that you can work these miracles?"

Minerva lay back on her couch, ready at last to answer the inevitable question.

"Minerva.  The Greeks call me Athena. Iovis filia. Dea immortalis."  (Daughter of Jupiter.)

Maximus rose to his feet, his mouth open with shock and his eyes blinking rapidly at her words. He could not speak. The memory of their lovemaking rose like a vision before his eyes and he threw himself on the ground at her feet, unable to bear the knowledge of his sacrilege. Once he had deflowered an emperor's daughter and had been lucky to escape then with his life. Now he had committed the greatest act of hubris that any mortal had ever dared attempt. What torments lay ahead for him in the rank depths of Hades? Something worse than Sisyphus on the rock? A more terrible fate than Ixion and the wheel? One thing was for sure- he would suffer endless torture for the rest of eternity when Jupiter learned of his audacity.

Meanwhile back on Olympus...

The goddess of love was bored. She was alone. Her latest lover had failed to keep her interest and she had ordered him to take himself off and leave her be. But alone was boring. She needed a real man. A man who would be man enough to satiate even her enormous appetite for adventure and discovery. Not a god. She was sick of their vain posturing. No, a man! But what kind of man would best please her?

The deity thought. I would like a strong man, mighty of arm and thigh, a warrior. I desire a man with eyes of green, eyes that could melt with tenderness or flash with smoky desire. I long for a man from Spain, yes, a Spaniard! I always like those Spanish men who move so well, strum upon stringed instruments and sing sweet love songs.... oh, and an enormous dick. The goddess did not intend to put up with mediocre sword play; she was the high priestess of sex, after all, and often had to spend her nights with two or more men just to get enough satisfaction for a good night's sleep!

Flicking through the files of human manhood, she came upon one such. His name was Maximus. His credentials were impeccable. He was a little noble for her tastes... but then corruption of the high minded is always more fun, isn't it? She willed this Roman officer to appear before her but nothing happened. Wrinkling up her nose, she wiggled it again but still no response. Why could she not summon him? Peering through the glassy surface of her pool, she suddenly had her answer.

"Minerva got him first? The little cow! She wouldn't even appreciate a good fuck if it jumped up and hilted itself up her self-satisfied little virgin pussy!"

The goddess was furious. Her rage knew no bounds. Never had she been thwarted in her pursuit of a man. Revenge gleamed in her eyes and then she stopped.  At that moment, her very large black book of 'men as yet unfucked' had fallen open on a later page. It was one of those eerie happenstances that often precede good fortune. The man before her was a jewel. Immediately all thoughts of the Roman hero slipped from her mercurial brain. This was the one she would have. A warrior. Hands of lightening speed and devastating dexterity. Hair thick and long, hanging in wild locks around his sun-bronzed face. Eyes of clear green, like pale emeralds. Animal-like grace encased in a large muscular frame of manly perfection. Big dick. Cuban heeled boots. Speaks Spanish...  and in need of help. Bound and chained in a whorehouse and tormented by evil men and worthless women; he was calling on the gods for aid. Definitely in need of heavenly assistance. The goddess donned the tight brown leather bracae of an Amazon and a loose shirt of white linen. The metamorphosis was complete. She was the very image of a woman called Ellen.   Minerva could go south. This goddess was going West...