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sap-filled
orbs that rested against his thigh, heavy and potent still. She
felt the movement of them as they tightened against her hand and
she sucked gently at the end of his shaft. The sense of urgency she
felt drove her on. He was more than ready to be mounted again, so
she climbed onto him and groaned as his sturdy erection stretched
and filled her.
    It felt so good that she rode up and down it
vigorously, thrusting her hips at an angle in order to have it
stroke her most responsive places. Each time the head of his mighty
shaft pressed against her deep inside, intense pleasure bloomed in
the pit of her belly.
    Meanwhile Aglaia stood by, lips parted and
eyes wide as she watched. Melete pulled on her own nipples to
increase her pleasure, reveling in the gaze of both the man-god and
the female audience. It made her wild. She moaned loudly and
squeezed his shaft with her inner flesh.
    Behind his mask the man-god's eyes begged
her for his second release. The swell and throb of his pulsating
rod was so intense that her tender flesh began to palpate and
clench. Her release was upon her. At her centre, her flesh rippled
around his shaft, her juices flooding as she hit her peak.
    "By the gods, yes!" she cried, when she felt
him tighten and reach beneath her, her tender places awash with the
magnitude of his release.
     
    * * *
     
    It took Icarus some moments to level after
his second spending. When he did he realized the nymphs were on
their feet and whispering to each other. They had grown curious and
their discussion revealed they were about to lift off his mask. His
father had warned him not to be discovered, and he realized he must
make haste back to the task from which he had been lured by the
sight of the two nymphs cavorting on the rocks below—his departure
from this land. As much as he hated to leave them he rose to his
feet awkwardly. Bowing to each of them in turn, he lifted his hand
in farewell.
    "Farewell, man–god," the darker haired nymph
called out.
    Icarus smiled and preened as he hastened
away from the place. They thought him a man-god. That gave power to
his stride.
    Charging through the trees, he headed for
the clearing. Once there he manipulated his wings, lifted from the
ground, then spiraled upwards into the sky, his wings flapping
vigorously. He soared and soared, his body vibrant with ecstasy,
his loins still palpating from the glorious lovemaking he'd
experienced.
    When he glanced back he saw the two nymphs
below, as beautiful as two young goddesses, and yet staring up at
him in awe, waving, and still he soared higher, carried on their
admiration. The rushing of his blood alone felt strong enough to
fuel his flight and it was as if the heat inside his body was
glowing all around him.
    And so Icarus soared on, magnificent and
potent against the expanse of crystalline-blue sky. He noticed that
his bronzed arms shone with luminescence, and his wings were barely
visible with the strength of the light flooding through them,
making them all but transparent. His head burned, as if a crown of
sunlight had been placed upon him, and he bellowed his pleasure
aloud, bathing his sated body in the heat.
    So filled with ecstasy was he that it took
him a while to notice the droplets of wax that sizzled and dripped
from his wings, and it was too late that he saw the stray feathers
that floated down, one or two of which now bore evidence of the
intense heat where they had been singed by the sun.
    Too late he realized his fate, but he could
not regret his dalliance, for the pleasure he'd been given still
reigned within him, and when Icarus plunged to his death in the
sea, he was still suffused with pleasure—his mind, body and soul
consumed with the passions that the nymphs had shared with him in
the woods.
    A sadness-tinged tale it is, but such an
amorous and ecstatic death is a special thing, and has been prayed
for by leagues of mankind, both before Icarus and ever since. That,
and the ability to fly.
     

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