The FIFTH installment of God of Lust is here! The harem is fully becoming divine at this point as more and more goddesses are cottoning on to what Aphrodite is doing (which of course, they think Wes is doing) and as the world becomes more of a surreal madhouse of chaos and destruction with his mobile harem fortress being the sole calm space in the storm of the apocalypse. Find it here!
BLURB:
“Would You Like Me On My Knees, Sir? Forever?”
I’m Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, and I’ve made a teensy miscalculation.
Okay, so maybe I drained all the love from the world and funneled it into one mortal’s harem. Maybe I’ve devoted all my magical power to transforming brilliant women into devoted, statuesque, busty tradwives for Wes—a guy whose greatest ambition is unlocking achievements in retro games. Maybe I tell myself it’s all strategy, that keeping him drowning in adoration will prevent the Fates’ prophecy of my submission.
But here’s the thing: every time I engineer another beauty to worship him, every time I make them more perfect and pliant and obsessed, I feel it too. The lust I’m channeling? It’s rewiring me from the inside out.
Now Artemis, the virgin goddess herself, has stormed our mobile fortress to “rescue” her friend Hecate. She’s all righteous fury and untouched purity, ready to put this mortal in his place. Poor naive goddess thinks she can resist what I’ve made irresistible. One look at Wes in his pajamas and she’ll be begging to bear his children like the rest of us.
I keep telling myself I’m just being strategic when I imagine new ways to worship him. That I’m only getting breathless and desperate because it’s all part of my clever plan to avoid submission. That when I fantasize about calling him Sir while his harem-wives nurse his member, I’m not wishing I was right there besides him. I know he can make goddesses brainless, hot, obedient, and worshipful—look at what happened to Hecate. He’s going to do the same to Artemis. But I’m different, because like…
…um…sorry, what was I thinking about? Probably Wes. He’s so dreamy…
WARNING: This story contains scenes of INTENSE kink and bimbofication, mind control, lactation erotica, and the delicious humiliation of a self-righteous feminist.
The First 1000-ish Words:
I’m touching myself—I mean of course I’m touching myself, I’m in his presence—as Hecate and Deidra attend him. They’re wearing sexy, skimpy, matching, silk red lingerie, their baby bumps pushing out past the lace, heavy and full and leaking that soft warm milk that smells like ambrosia.
Maybe it is? Maybe I did that? I forget. I’ve done so much for him. I can’t help it. I know if I don’t give him everything he’ll just make me give it to him…and give…and give…and give…
Hecate’s bump is bigger. Obviously. She’s been carrying for—I don’t actually know how long, time moves strangely when you’re this perpetually orgasmic—but she looks about eight months gone, her belly round and tight and luminous, her skin that same flawless pale silk it’s always been. Deidra’s a little further behind her. She looks six months in, maybe. Both of them kneeling at the foot of the couch in coordinated ivory Eres sets that Vanessa picked out, their bumps pressing together as they work.
It’s only been like, seven days. Nine, max, since Hecate surrendered her mind in totality to Wes’s indomitable will. But he’s so fucking virile, and made her so fucking fertile, that she and Deidra look like this now.
They look like a lingerie catalogue spread.
A very specific, very niche lingerie catalogue.
My fingers work a little faster.
The penthouse floor of the new Bastion stretches out around them—around all of us—in every direction for what feels like forever. It used to be a skyscraper. A normal one, with normal floors for normal people doing normal things. Vanessa dissolved all of that. She reached into the building’s bones with her new goddess-magic and pulled every floor out like a surgeon extracting a spine, leaving one single vast space at the top that runs the full footprint of the structure, and combined it with the Bastion—the mobile mega-fortress that Wes has been using to effortlessly ride through the wastes of what was the world before I ruined it to please him.
Marble everywhere. White Calacatta, mostly, with veins of gold running through it like the building has its own circulatory system. Ceilings that go up four hundred feet. Windows on every side that show the sky in every direction—and what a sky it is right now, bruised purple and orange and shot through with things that aren’t clouds. Spell-smoke. The residue of containment hexes. The distant shimmer of whatever the sorceresses are burning on the eastern perimeter tonight.
The Bastion moves so slowly you can’t feel it. But if you watch the horizon long enough, it shifts. Incrementally. The way a glacier moves, or the way a woman falls in love—gradual and then total.
Vanessa sits on Wes’s lap.
She’s wearing a Tom Ford silk slip dress in ivory, and her legs are crossed at the ankle, and her dark hair falls over one shoulder in a wave so perfect it looks retouched. Her beauty, even now, even after everything—even after she’s been transformed into an immortal goddess of magic who could unmake cities with a thought—her beauty still makes my chest tighten in a way I refuse to examine.
She whispers something in his ear that makes him tilt his head slightly, his thumb pausing on the controller for half a second. His eyes don’t move from the screen. But his cock—I monitor this, professionally—pulses once, thick and heavy against Hecate’s cheek.
Vanessa smiles.
She got her immortal power about four days ago.
I may have put the thought in her head—may have clued her in that gods and goddesses are real, that we are capital G divine creatures, and that she could be one too if Hecate gave up her power to her. All she had to do was seduce Wes into ordering Hecate to hand it over, for Hecate to relinquish her power like the previous Goddess of Lust had given away her power once upon a time to someone way, way, way fucking better for serving every single one of Wes’s very important needs.
It went like this: Vanessa, sitting exactly where she is now, legs crossed, hair perfect, said something low and warm against his jaw about how she’d feel so much safer if she had more. More what, he said.
More of what Hecate has, she said. Her power.
Wes considered this for approximately two seconds and then said, to Hecate, hey, can Vanessa have your power? She’s really hot.
Hecate, who by that point had the cognitive architecture of a very beautiful golden retriever, said yes immediately and started wagging her metaphorical tail.
What Wes thought he was facilitating, I genuinely cannot tell you. He asked Violet later if there was an adapter or surge protector somewhere and Violet said she’d look into it. Three hours later, and Violet had procured for him a veritable mountain of power supply devices inside of several hundred storage containers inside of a newly land-locked shipping barge that she had airlifted specifically for Wes.
He forgot about it within seconds of asking Violet, of course. She didn’t mind at all.
What actually happened for Vanessa was that the entire accumulated sorcerous dominion of the Goddess of Witchcraft—every spell, every bound creature, every thread of dark celestial power that Hecate had woven across ten thousand years—poured itself into Vanessa Elizabeth like water finding its level.
Vanessa didn’t scream. She didn’t convulse. She sat very still on Wes’s lap and closed her eyes for three seconds, and when she opened them again they were a different color. Still green, technically. But deeper. Like looking down into something that has no bottom.
She said, “Oh.”
Then she said, “Oh, that’s interesting.”
Then she went back to whispering in Wes’s ear.
I watched the whole thing from the ceiling and I came so hard I accidentally altered the gravitational constant of the room by about four percent for roughly six seconds. Nobody noticed except Violet, who glanced up from her tablet with a slight frown and then recalibrated whatever she was tracking and went back to work.
So that’s Vanessa now.
Goddess of Magic.
The most powerful sorceress in existence, sitting on her man’s lap in a silk dress, watching her mother-in-law-adjacent figure milk his cock with both hands while her pregnant bimbo daughter assists with her tongue…
