Often the things I write are predicated on a single idea. In this case, the idea was "What would it be like if there was a Supervillain... in a world without Superheroes?" Further, what if the villain were not the "intellectual" kind, but rather the brawny kind - the uber strong, uber powerful, invincible, violent, completely unstoppable sort of villain? The kind that would normally wind up being defeated in an epic final act battle with Superman! What if that kind of villain was around and there was no Superman?
It would be a nightmare, yes? The following is my take on what the nightmare would be like.
Needless to say, this is a story which contains graphic sex and graphic violence. Don't read it if you are under age for that kind of thing, and don't read it if you don't like it!
I also write stories on commission. If my writing style appeals to you and you want a story written to your exact requirements, drop me a line; we can work it out.
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"I'm the bullet."
Cole stared at the woman as the words seemed to reverberate through his head. For a moment, the image of the Earth being hit by a bullet the size of a continent flashed through his head.
She saw his wince and laughed. "Besides," she murmured, her eyes holding his, "you like this... don't you? On some level?"
Cole felt something... like a hand, closing around his head... only on the inside. Touching his brain. No, not his brain, touching his mind. It began to close... squeezing. He felt himself shuddering, desperate to resist, but with no way to even try. "No..." he said weakly.
She laughed delightedly. "Oh my, you do like it! You enjoy seeing how strong I am, don't you? And you struggle to admit it, even to yourself!" She glanced down at herself again, as if examining her body critically. "Hmmm, this body was Eric's perfect fantasy girl. I didn't realise other humans would enjoy different things. But since your tastes run a little different... let's look the part, shall we?"
She stepped back and closed her eyes. As it had happened before, ripples began to flow through her body, starting in her abdomen and spreading out to her arms and legs. Cole stared, fascinated, as her body seemed to thicken; her upper torso widened, shoulders broadening. As he watched, open-mouthed, those shoulders began to swell, growing alarmingly. It looked for all the world as if a pump had been attached to her body and was now inflating her shoulders like a pair of rather large water balloons.
As he watched in stunned astonishment, ripples began to spread down her arms. The shoulders pulsated, throbbing in a series of long, slow undulations as the muscles of her arms begin to swell. If one could imagine water being pumped into those shoulders, Cole thought, then it was now flowing from there into her arms.
The same leisurely ripples flowed down her torso, he saw. Her laterals expanded, straining the material of her shirt. Her breasts grew in volume, further stressing the already straining shirt buttons. Moments later, the ripples spread across her abdomen and then down to her thighs and calves.
Slowly, the effect died away. He stared, lost in awe. She was taller, he thought; before she had been tall for a woman, at least several inches taller than he was, maybe five feet ten. Now she was easily four or five inches taller than that. He had to look up considerably to meet those piercing eyes. She still had the same slender waist and large, firm breasts as before, the same angelic face, the same hair, same piercing eyes.
But now, instead of an athletic physique with slender, toned limbs, she carried kilo after kilo of rippling muscle. Her arms were incredible; even without flexing, her biceps must have been well over twenty inches around, with equally massive deltoids. Her trapezoids stood huge and firm; hell, every muscle on her stood out like it was chiselled from marble. Where before Eric's clothing had hung on her rather loosely, now it was practically bursting at the seams, the fabric stretched tightly over the woman's stupendous musculature.
Cole found his cock straining against his pants. He blushed furiously, humiliated. The woman looked at it with open interest. "Oh, you do enjoy this, don't you? And not a common desire amongst your people, either. Naughty boy!" She scolded, smiling merrily. She took his arm and dragged him into the gas station; Cole thought to resist, but what he'd just seen convinced him that it would be pointless at least, and possibly suicidal.
He became aware that there was a man inside. He was elderly, Cole saw, at least in his seventies. His face was a collection of sagging skin and wrinkles beneath a hairless head. He was crouched behind the counter, talking urgently into a telephone.
"They're dead, I tell ya!" He was saying in a low, urgent voice. "She killed them! She just killed them! It was the most Goddamnedest thing I ever saw!"
Without breaking stride, the woman casually reached over to where a large stack of car tires stood in the middle of the room and plucked the top one off. Her arm blurred, and the tire rocketed through the air like a bullet from a gun. It hit the edge of the counter-top and went straight through it, smashing the ancient wood into two large pieces and a blizzard of splinters. Not slowed in the slightest, the tire stuck the man full in the chest, and ploughed through his body in an explosion of blood and gore that left shreds of him spread all over the wall behind him. The tire, still barely slowed, continued on through that wall and vanished from sight.
Without further sound, the ruined corpse of the man collapsed behind the counter. The phone, still clutched in his hand, emitted tinny little sounds as whoever was on the other end demanded answers that would never come.
The police, Cole thought. Oh God, let the police come and end this.
And yet... even as he thought so, his erection throbbed. Cole was a man who had seem many displays of feminine strength in his life. Now here was one beyond anything humanly possible, and his secret desires responded.
She walked through the tiny store and into the rear living area. It wasn't much; a couch, TV, tiny kitchen... and a double bed.
She threw him across the room, landing him perfectly on the bed with just enough force to knock the wind out of him. Cole stared as she undid the straining knot of Eric's shirt and tossed it aside. Her breasts, which had been a rather fetching DD cup ??? exactly the size that Eric had always considered just perfect ??? were now several cup sizes larger. Yet for all their size, there was no trace of sag to them. Their shape was, like everything else about her incredible physique, perfect.
She struck a classic front double bicep pose, flexing her arms. Her muscles swelled enormously, almost unbelievably big as she walked over to the bed and straddled Cole.
"Feel them," she commanded. He wanted to refuse, wanted to run screaming from the building, but he couldn't even try. He was entranced by her beauty. He reached up and caressed the smooth muscle of one arm; she was surprisingly warm, he thought, startlingly so, and her skin was astonishingly soft. Veins bulged from the surface, thick rubbery worms snaking over iron hard muscle. Cole whimpered as his cock strained at his pants.
Cole was a man with a fetish. He knew it, and although it embarrassed him somewhat he was honest enough to admit and accept it. He spent a smallish fraction of his disposable income on erotica to feed the beast on his back, as much as he thought he could without his wife noticing. He bought erotica of various kinds, mostly movie clips and books. Once, he had even booked a wrestling session with a female bodybuilder while Kate had been out of town. It had been a bitter disappointment, the woman turning out to be far less muscular and rather fatter than any of her pictures showed. He'd overpowered her easily in their wrestling, which hadn't helped at all.
And now, this woman towered above him, flexing muscles that were almost inhuman in their size and perfection. In a lifetime of checking out muscle fetish images and videos, she had every one of them beat. Maybe, just maybe Nataliya Trukhina came close. But not that close.
Nor did she have that indefinable air of masculinity that the heavy steroid users usually had. Titanic as she might be, the woman was undeniably feminine, and gorgeously so.
The beast on his back didn't care about his wife back home, didn't care about the woman's otherworldly origin, her terrifyingly offhand claim that she was out to destroy the world, or even the casual way he had watched her murder multiple people today, including his closest friend. And what are you going to say to Paula, fella? How are you going to explain to her that her husband is dead and you're here about to... the thought trailed off. What was he about to do? What would she let him do? What would she make him do?
All the beast knew that she was quite literally his wildest fantasy made real. The beast would submit and obey. It was the only thing the beast knew how to do.
"That's it..." she said. She reached down to her own trousers and ripped them away in a single flick of her fingers. Another couple of flicks and his own clothing was shredded and gone. His cock stood, rampant between her tremendous thighs. "Hmmm, feel me," she said softly. "Feel me all over."
He ran his fingertips over her abdomen, marvelling at the soft perfection of her skin. No real person could look like this, could feel like this. The finest sculptor who ever lived would struggle to produce such muscle definition. He pressed his fingertips against the thick ridges of her abdomen, at first gingerly, then harder, then as hard as he could. There was no give in her body. None whatsoever. She was like living skin draped over warm steel.
She twisted her upper body and did a side chest pose. His hands went to her bicep, touching... and feeling... and squeezing. He wondered how big her bicep was.
"Twenty five inches," she replied with a knowing smirk.
Cole shivered, squeezing the thick steel muscle. So enraptured was he that the fact that she had just read his mind went right by him.
"It's not all hard, Cole," she murmured, bending to bring her breasts to his face. He instinctively sought a nipple with his mouth, lips closing over it as his tongue began to swirl around the hardening nub. Oh God, she's perfect, he thought. Absolutely perfect. The thought that this woman, this psychotic inhuman murderer, could provoke such a response in him shamed and humiliated him. Yet, perversely, the shame and humiliation only seemed to feed his lust.
"That's it," she cooed, voice thick with delight. "Worship me for the Goddess I am."
She lifted, centred herself over him... lowered herself. Coal moaned into her nipple as he slid inside her, feeling her insides gripping him with an almost painful force. She threw her head back, laughing with delight. "I could compel you to serve me, to worship me," she said throatily. "Turn you into a zombified meat puppet. I've done it before, many times. I was going to. I thought I would have to. But now I see that I can make you mine this way, can't I? You will worship me of your own free will, even though it means you may watch your planet burn. You'll betray your entire species for me... because you will love me. What a beautiful, agonising love that will be."
As she spoke, she rode his cock with agonisingly slow strokes. The muscles of her pussy rippled caressing him as she moved. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. He was on the edge in a matter of seconds, ready to pop like an inexperienced teen on his first fumbling time with a girl.
She sensed it, slowed, slowed... moving just enough to leave him hanging there, on the edge, as she taunted and teased him with a body he literally could not resist. She played him like she was a master musician and he was her instrument, and although some distant part of him knew that this was not a true act of mutual love, or even lust, that she literally was playing him, using him, manipulating him... lost there in the comforting muscular prison of her body, that only made it hotter.
Eventually she sat up, took his hands in her own and placed them on her biceps. She flexed her arms, muscles swelling tremendously as she increased the rhythm, and Cole whimpered with lust as he exploded inside her. It was the most amazing orgasm he had ever had; her muscles pulsated along his cock, an excitingly obscene form of peristalsis, as she actually milked him. His balls positively ached as he ejaculated inside her with a force he'd never known. It felt like his entire body was trying to force its way into her.
Eventually, it was over. Cole collapsed, exhausted, his entire body sweating.
"Hmmm, that was so lovely," she said. "I really do think I am going to enjoy this planet!"
"I am still half convinced that this is just a nonsense," Burke said as he buckled his belt on. "Old Wade is just joshing with you. Dead people, indeed!"
Sally shook her head. "You didn't hear him, Sheriff. He was practically babbling. I ain't never heard a man so scared as he sounded. 'Sides, he damn sure knows how pissed off you'd be if he called down here talking of multiple murders on a lark."
"Maybe that's so," Burke said. He selected a shotgun from the rack and started slipping shells into it one at a time. "And maybe it's not so. What is certain is that if that old bastard is yanking my chain, I'm going to bust his damn fool head in."
"You sure you want to go up there by yourself?" She asked dubiously. Herself and Burke comprised the entirety of the Garret's Corner police force, and typically they were plenty for the job. If he felt the need, Burke called over to the Pine Fields Sheriff's office, which was a bustling metropolis compared to his own, having no less than six deputies. Sheriff Coburn would let him borrow a couple of men. It was a measure of Garret's Corner that Burke had last felt the need some four years ago.
"You keep your ear to the radio, now," he said as he headed for the door. "If you need to pee, get it done now because I don't want you one inch out of that seat for the next hour. I'll check in as I pull up, then again when I've had a look around. If you don't hear me within five minutes of arriving, you call Pine Fields and holler for help. Oh, and I'll have the Cyclops on."
She nodded. "Yes dear," she said, then added a mischievous "assuming you can remember how to work the thing this time."
He sighed in exasperation. "Have I ever informed you that your flippant and overly familiar attitude is not conducive to a good professional working?? relationship?" He asked earnestly.
"Yes dear," she said, smiling sweetly.
"That's yes Sheriff," he corrected mildly. "I'm dear at home. In here, you're talking to the badge." He tapped the badge on his chest. "Now if this blatant and persistent over familiarity continues, I will consult legal advice. The damn lawyers in this country breed like Jackrabbits, I'm sure one of them would be desperate enough to take the case."
"Well yes dear, Mister badge," she said without an ounce of repentance. Then her expression turned serious. "Burke... you be careful, you hear?"
He nodded. "I reckon I will, if only for the practice. Love you."
"Love you too," she said with a warm smile.
As last words go, they really couldn't have asked for better.
"So, give me the one page summary," Captain Eskavich said as he glanced at the printout in front of him.
Second Lieutenant Shives nodded. "We got a 218," he said. "From all the checking we've done, it looks like a bona fide one. Something came down in Western Wyoming. We had a nice clear track on it, it was bright as hell on the radar screen. In fact the size of the return is somewhat weird in itself, because it was awful damn big for a meteor. A damn cruise liner doesn't have an RCS that huge, so if it was a meteor then it's a damn big one. Three other radars saw it coming down, exact same track, and all confirm the RCS as above normal."
"Any seismograph data? "
"Well, that was the first real oddity. We've checked five different seismograph stations within a hundred miles. None of them have recorded any impact event. So we thought perhaps it was a meteor, but it burned up before it hit the surface."
He sounded dubious, Eskavich thought. "But..." he prompted.
"But, we went back over the radar data more closely. Our own systems didn't show it - they're not real good close to the surface, we're more about looking out into orbital distances. But Pine Wood was running that new AESA array the Navy is getting for the destroyers. That thing is amazing, the resolution on it is fantastic and it tracks like you wouldn't believe right down to the horizon. And the thing is, their data shows the thing decelerating sharply in the last few seconds."
"Decelerating?"
"That's what they say, sir," Shives said. "It hit the atmosphere at a good twenty kilometres a second, slowed some as it hit the denser air, came all the way down... and then in the last second and a half, it pulled about fourteen hundred gees. Best we can figure, it came to either a dead stop or damn close to it, right around the time it reached the ground."
"More air resistance?" Eskavich asked, knowing the answer. But Shives did so like to explain things, and if you let him run on it just made his day. Eskavich took the morale of his men seriously.
"No way, sir. Nowhere near enough friction to cause that kind of deceleration. It had to be a controlled manoeuvre of some sort."
"Hmph. So what do you want to do about it?"
"We're checking to see if we had any orbital eyes on the area at the time. If there was any kind of event on the ground, we may get lucky and get a picture of it."
"If it was a controlled manoeuvre then it was... what? A satellite of some kind?"
"That's the obvious answer, sir. Normally even a re-entering vehicle doesn't have the ability to decelerate like this one did. There are a few exceptions though. The old manned capsules had braking chutes, some of the Russian ones even have braking rockets. None of those were capable of anything like this acceleration, though. But I guess maybe some new secret hardware might have an equivalent system with more power. But if it was ours, we would have known about it in advance. And if it wasn't ours... why the hell is it coming down in Wyoming?"
"Chinese or Russians lost something, maybe," Eskavich said. "If so then that's going to be big, national news. Breaking news on CNN, all that shit."
"Could be good publicity for us, that we saw it come down, sir."
His boss grimaced. "Publicity is rarely good, Lieutenant. Publicity means reporters and brass poking their noses in, and nine times out of ten that leads to criticism." He sighed. "Alright, I'll add a cover letter to the report and we'll pass it on up for urgent review. And I'm going to request that we either send a recon bird over there or get satellite cover, even if we have to move a bird to do it. Maybe we'll find some damn Chinese tin can sitting in the middle of our territory, and that justifies taking a look. Probably start World War III."
"Well, I wouldn't worry too much about that, sir," Shives said. "At the end of the day even if it's Chinese it's probably just going to be some weather satellite or something. Wyoming probably won't even mind too much; probably put the thing in a museum as a tourist attraction. It's not going to be the end of the world or anything."
Cole practically floated out of the gas station. His mind was whirling with conflicting emotions. The shock seemed to have worn off, somewhere around the time that his new companion had stuck her enormous breasts into his face. But still, the events of the day were crashing and colliding inside his mind like a series of huge icebergs.
The image of Eric, his face purple and swollen as those fingers severed his head from his body with casual ease... and the image of her biceps swelling, veins standing proud of the surface like little blue-tinged worms wriggling over the most perfectly defined muscle he had ever dreamed of.
The image of her bringing three bodies together in a concussion of stunning force, enough to shatter all three of them and leave then dead on the floor... and the image of her nipple as his lips reached for it hungrily.
The casual smirk on her face as she announced that she intended to destroy the world... and the image of a thirty five pound collection of rubber and metal flying across a room two or three times faster than any pitcher in the world had ever thrown a baseball, and smashing the life out of a man who had done nothing, nothing in the world to deserve it.
He glanced at her. She had retied the shirt, barely managing to contain her incredible breasts, and even managed to squeeze back into the ragged remains of the pants. Though both garments looked like they would give up the effort of remaining in one piece any moment.
He wanted nothing more than to run, to hide, to escape. No, he wanted nothing more than he wanted that... except, perhaps, to run his hands over those muscles once again... to kiss them... lick them...
He felt the stirrings of an erection, and blushed with shame. Could he be so shallow that he would dismiss a string of murders, would dismiss the casual murder of his best friend, for the chance to score with this woman? This woman who really wasn't even a woman at all, he reminded himself. Be clear on that, Cole my man, he thought grimly. She's NOT really some kind of bodybuilder, any more than she was really the ultimate porn starlet. She is an imitation of those things. If anything he had seen today was her true form, he mused, it was probably that unnerving black statue. Or maybe the blue glowing orb, a bright light he could have held in his fist. Assuming, of course, that she even had a 'true' form at all.
As they reached the car a big police SUV pulled up. Cole's heart sank like a lead balloon as a tall, burly cop stepped out. He had a large leather holster at his hip. Cole noticed that the strap was off. He also had a large shotgun clutched in his hands.
Time seemed to slow down. Cole felt like he had shifted into a state of hyper-awareness. He saw every detail of the scene, every last little thing. He watched a fly buzz past and would always believe that he saw the wings flapping as it went. He watched the cop's eyes flicker over him, dismissing him in an instant, then shift to his companion. The eyes widened, the impassive features composing themselves into a picture of surprise. It lasted for an interminable moment, then the eyes darted between them again, fixed on a point behind them - a point that Cole knew, with a sickening sense of impending doom, would be the place where three bodies lay crumpled.
The woman began to walk forward, no sign of tension in her. She was casual about it, walking at a slow, even pace. She was only a couple of feet closer to the cop when his gun began to come up.
For a man confronted with such a scene, Burke reacted with commendable rapidity. He had, after all, spent most of the drive up here mulling over the idea that the report of lethal trouble was real. Whilst the scene was still shocking, then, he was prepared for it, at least to some degree. Even so, he wouldn't have come close to being able to raise his gun fast enough, if the woman had moved as fast as she could. Instead, she chose to walk slowly enough to let him react.
React he did, bringing up his shotgun up in time. "Stop!" He yelled, in a startlingly loud voice. "Police! Stop or I fire!"
"Well we wouldn't want that," she said, and stopped.
"Put your hands on your head!" The cop said. He must have learned that voice, Cole thought. It was as loud as any shout, yet somehow it wasn't a shout. It was just... talking at extreme volume, and a very strong sense of authority. Cole put his hands on his head, obeying without even thinking about it.
The woman did not. She put her hands on her hips, striking a pose that was undeniably sexy. "But why?" She asked in a voice loaded with mock innocence.
"Hands on your head, now!" The cop boomed. "I'm warning you, I am ready to shoot!"
She took a step forward, looking utterly unconcerned at the threat. "Awww, but why would you want to shoot little ol' me?" She asked, and the mockery in her voice was explicit this time.
"Put your hands on your head or I fire!" The cop ordered again.
She took another step forward, bringing her to within ten feet. "I'm warning you, don't come any closer! Another step and I pull this trigger!" He roared. The shotgun centred on her chest. It was perfectly steady, Cole saw. The man was holding it, firmly, but his hands weren't white with the force; he was relaxed, not even close to panic. Cole was quite impressed.
She sighed and stopped, crossing her arms under her considerable breasts. "Well if you say so," she said petulantly. "I don't know why you have to be so mean! Cole here isn't mean, are you baby?" She tossed over her shoulder. Cole decided not to opine on the subject of his capacity for meanness.
"Hands on your head!"
"Actually, Cole's a real sweetie," she said, and suddenly her voice was conspiratorial, as if she was sharing secrets at a sleepover. "And so good in bed. Oh really, you should see the size of his cock! Like, O-M-G, it's so big and beautiful!"
Cole had never regarded himself as being particularly endowed in that area, and although he suspected that she was just messing with the cop, he was oddly grateful for the public endorsement. If there is anything that really is eternal, he thought, the male ego must surely be a candidate.
"In fact, you should try him out," she said. "Would you like to suck him off? I just bet you would, wouldn't you? You look like the type..."
She stepped forward again. Cole saw the cop's finger tighten on the trigger. The weapon roared. Cole saw her shirt flutter, ragged holes and tears appearing in it.
She laughed. "Awww, it didn't work," she said, and there was no mistaking the mockery now. "Maybe the shells are defective?" She mused. "You should write a letter of complaint to somebody, mister police officer. You could get hurt, walking around with defective shells in your shotgun." She stepped forward again.
Burke pumped the action and adjusted his aim, squeezed the trigger again. The second blast hit her straight in the face.
Her expression didn't even alter in the slightest, Cole saw. That was the worst thing about it. Not that she was apparently bulletproof, though that was bad enough. But the fact that she was so bulletproof that a shotgun blast straight into the face from six feet away literally didn't so much as make her blink.
"Whups!" She said. "You thought it was body armour, didn't 'ya? Sorry to disappoint you mister police man, but there's nothing under my shirt but a pair of absolutely spectacular tits, which, by the way, drive little Cole there absolutely wild."
The end of the shotgun wavered as the cop stared at her, open mouthed, looking uncertain for the first time. She took another step and reached out. He had time to pump the shotgun once more and fire another shot straight into her face.
She reached out and wrapped long fingers around the weapon. She squeezed... and the metal of the gun warped in her fingers, crushed effortlessly. The wooden fore-end shattered with a sharp ripping sound, shards of wood clattering to the floor.
The expression of surprise and uncertainty on the cop's eyes deepened into outright shock.
"That's right," she said with a smile. Then she killed him.
She did it slowly. Later Cole would always remember that. She lashed out with startling suddenness, her hand a flat blade that slammed into the cop's throat with a muffled thud. He staggered backwards, hands going to his throat, and fell back onto his ass. His throat made a vague gurgling noise as he tried to draw a breath and found that he couldn't.
She crouched down, leaning in close. Her eyes fastened onto his, locking gazes with him from inches away. Her fingertips reached out and caressed his face, an obscene parody of the caresses that Cole had felt only fifteen or twenty minutes before.
"Help him," Cole said softly. His voice was weak, wheedling. "Please, help him..."
She ignored him completely, her attention focused entirely on the cop. He made another choking sound and his legs began to spasm.
"Shhhhh," she said softly, as one might speak to a lover. She slid back along his body, straddled his legs, pinning them down. Her face was so close to his, their lips were less than an inch apart. For a moment, Cole thought she was going to kiss the dying man. Had she done so, he probably would have started screaming.
She did not. But she remained almost nose to nose, drinking in the man's expression as he began to try and thrash in her grasp. It was like watching some psychic vampire feeding off the horror of his death struggle. For all I know, that's exactly what's happening, Cole thought in terror.
It seemed to go on forever, though in reality it could only have been three minutes or so. The cop's eyes began to defocus, his eyelids fluttering. Slowly the expression drained from his face. The shuddering slowed, lessened, then ceased. He slumped in her arms.
She lowered him to the floor, very gently, almost respectfully. For a long moment, she watched his body. Then she stood up and gave Cole an appreciative grin.
"It's remarkable," she said. "No matter how many times I see it, it's always amazing when I take the time to stop and really savour it, you know?"
For just a moment, Cole felt her words claw at his sanity. He closed his eyes, took a deep, deep breath, and managed to calm himself somewhat.
"Aww, poor baby," she said with every appearance of genuine sympathy. "Don't worry, honey. You'll get used to it."
He was frozen, dazed. She had to carry him into the car, lifting him as though he weighed less than the lightest feather, then she spent a good five minutes gently stroking his face and whispering kind words into his ear until he began to focus again. She acted for all the world as if she was genuinely concerned about him. When he was finally able to drive again, they pulled out of the little gas station and simply drove away, leaving five bodies slowly cooling behind them.
He drove for a long time without making a sound. She seemed content to leave the silence be, apparently watching the world go by.
"You haven't told me your name," he said suddenly.
"Hmmm?" She looked over. "Pardon?"
"I don't know your name," he said.
"I don't have a name," she replied. "At home they called me... I guess the closest translation would be 'Aleph', but that was as much a description of when and where and what I was at the time as it was a name. Since I left, it no longer really applies. I've been called many different things in different places."
"So what do I call you?"
She shrugged, then smiled that mischievous smile. "What do you want to call me?" She asked. "You choose a name for me."
"Eris," he said without a thought.
"Hmmm, I like it," she said appreciatively. "Does it have a meaning?"
"Also known as Strife... the Greek Goddess of discord," he said. "An unpleasant lady, at least according to Hesiod." He thought for a moment, and then the familiar words came to his lips. "So, after all, there was not one kind of Strife alone, but all over the earth there are two. As for the one, a man would praise her when he came to understand her; but the other is blameworthy: and they are wholly different in nature. For one fosters evil war and battle, being cruel: her no man loves; but perforce, through the will of the deathless gods, men pay harsh Strife her honour due."
She smiled slowly. "Not bad. But your Hesiod has it a little wrong."
"How so?" He asked.
She reached over and cupped his groin, massaging him gently through the fabric. As she did, she flexed the muscles of her arm. They grew to impressive proportions and he let out a breath through gritted teeth as his cock began to rise. "At least one man does love me," she said breathily. "Or will come to."
He shook his head, trying hard to focus on keeping the car on the road. It wasn't at all easy. "I have a wife," he whispered desperately. Think of Kate, he whispered inside his mind. Think of Kate. You love Kate. Kate loves you.
"Well, that won't do at all," she said softly.
Fear lanced through him. "What does that mean?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You belong to me now, Cole," she said in that same sexy lilt. "You are mine... and I do not share."
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