The holiday declared by Zeus was received by the gods and goddesses as if an Oracle from Delphi.
Oracle... from the Latin... oraculum... any utterance made or received as authoritative and infallible...
even when ambiguous and obscure... ...even when egotistical and cocksure...
whether right or wrong... always commanding... always strong...
the boy... the teen... the man... always male... always in command...
...or so he thinks...
...or so his Mummy told him...
Sweet habits, he thought as he watched Michaela's fingers fan across the side of her face, watched... when they paused to twist and twirl a length of her hair. Sunlight caught her in mid-grace... painting her tresses with golden fire... molten lava... the brilliant rays dancing in its depths... adding golden hues to the mass of her auburn curls. He was certain it would feel like silk... rough and raw silk... ...cascading over your shoulders as I lick your breasts... tumbling forward as I push you to your knees... pulling... tugging... caught in my hands while I hold your head... while I fuck your mouth... beautiful curls... rough... raw silk curls.
The sun was high, a pleasant addition to an otherwise cool and cloudless day. Tyler looked toward the water, the view from the top of Smeaton's Tower breathtaking today. Thanks to a knowing so-called friend... ...bloody voyeur... thinks he'll get into her knickers... he was able to obtain Michaela's itinerary.
Sketching points of interest for travel magazines added a bit of whimsy to candid photo shots. Her work was very much in demand and the gods were with Tyler Hamilton this week. Plymouth was his home. He cheerfully followed her to native soil from less civilized parts of the realm... mainly from the denizens of London town.
"If you don't cover your head, your face is going to burn," he said softly as he stepped up behind her while she stood at the narrow railing, her sketchpad in hand. Peering over her shoulder, he only needed a brief glimpse of her drawing to recognize her rendition of Plymouth Hoe - the spectacular stretch of greensward that overlooked the sea and Plymouth Sound.
"You!" Michaela squeaked in alarm as she recognized the handsome, albeit rude barbarian from... Barbarian? her conscience asked. His manner wasn't barbaric! It was... it was... hmmm... barbaric. "What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, watching him eye her like still-fresh road kill... ripe for the taking... succulent... delicious... tasty... raptors circling... lower... closer...
"I've come to take you for a bite to eat and a bit of bubbly if you're interested. You're hungry, right?" he asked as he took her elbow. "I know a great spot."
"You... you are presumptuous!" she sputtered. "How dare you!"
"Come along," he said firmly. "You know you're hungry."
"I'm not!" she protested, too startled to wonder what he was doing in Plymouth.
"You are!" he insisted. "And you're terribly attracted to me so if you don't want to eat, you can devour me with your eyes as I consume the tasty tidbits they serve with the brew."
Michaela's mouth dropped open and she stared at the arrogance of the man holding her arm. Without losing stride, his other hand lifted her chin, effectively closing her mouth.
"Where are we going?" she asked breathlessly, unsure why she allowed him to drag her along... and then, there was his hand on her arm. ... warm... firm... really firm... commanding... dominating... somewhat protective... overriding her feeble protests...
"Green Lanterns Pub," he replied, stifling his smile, and pleased as punch she allowed herself to be led.
Going to fuck you so sweetly, he tried to smother his grin as he placed a napkin on her lap when they were served. "So-o-o, my sweet Freya," he queried with arched brow in place. "Where are you bedding for the night?"
"Don't rightly know," she replied, her stomach softly growling as she eyed the tasty hors d'oeuvres that were placed on the table. "Haven't got round to that quite yet."
"You'll stay with me," Tyler announced as if it were a given.
"Most certainly will not," she huffed, sipping the wine he had selected. "And the name's Michaela, not Freya, and I don't belong to you, thank you very much."
You do belong to me, he smiled. You just don't know it yet. "You may be Michaela Greenstreet to the world at large," he told her, cupping her chin and re-assessing the fullness of her lips, "but to me, you're Freya. I'll thank you for remembering that."
"You... are insufferable... rude..." she sputtered, "and... and... piggish!"
"I see you know another word, but a poor choice, Freya. I am many things, but piggish isn't one of them. I always refrain from gluttony, you know. I might be persuaded to engage in it, however... with you."
Her face flamed at his words and while she wished to run from the insufferable man... Attila the Hun! Genghis Khan! Marco Polo! Well... not Marco Polo, but... Barbarian!... her body refused to cooperate. She stared... time stilled... her head jerking back when he slipped a finger between her lips. There was no doubt he expected her to suckle his generous and sensual, but dominant offering.
Tyler smiled, a smile filled with confidence... certain she'd be so easy to conquer... certain she was his from every moment on... complete in satisfaction... another sweet trophy... another conquest... just another female to be led... instructed... corrected... disciplined... and owned.
Briefly, he cocked his head to the side, listening... and wondered at the sounds he thought he heard... Was it laughter?
The mythical gods watched the antics of the dominant man... shook their godlike heads at Michaela and filled the heavens with their howling laughter.
"She does favor you, my love," one wholly masculine god gestured as he stroked the beautiful Freya's hand, the Norse goddess visiting Olympus with Odin's permission.
"In appearance only," Freya demurred.
"You could gift her with irresistibility."
"She is already irresistible," the goddess smiled. "I could make her *totally* irresistible... I will... He'll never know what hit him," she gestured toward the dominant man who appeared rather puffed up with his cock-sure masculinity.
"Do that," a voice behind her prompted. "And I shall add a bit of whimsy to their time together."
"You will do no such thing, Loki!" Freya remonstrated the Norse god of mischief. "I wish for you to stay out of this."
""Your wish is my command, my lovely goddess," Loki grinned, his mischief already set in place.
"Eat up, Freya," Tyler urged. "You're going to need your strength," he added cryptically.
"Not hungry," she stubbornly refused.
"Do not defy me," he said softly, offering her a bite from his plate.
"What?" she sputtered, unused to being told what to do.
"I said... do not defy me," he repeated. "Defy me and suffer the consequences."
She stared at the arrogant man and then pushed his hand away from her mouth.
Tyler arched a knowing brow and nodded to himself. Knew she was trouble.
"Tell me, Freya," he asked as he lifted the wineglass to his mouth. "Have you ever been spanked?"