Taken by the God of Love
A Tale of Cupid and Psyche

A/N: I just bought a copy of the Penguin Epics "Cupid and Psyche" book at sale. So I just love this story (I've read it on Edith Hamilton's Mythology) and I just had to write a story about them.

The beautiful young woman, Psyche was her name, sat on the large, soft bed. In the span of a day (or so she suspected), she had been sent to the mountains to be offered as a wife to a beastly serpent. By a miracle (a handiwork of the gods was the only rational explanation), she was taken to a palace, breathtaking and not to be seen by unworthy mortals. There, she was taken care of by disembodied voices: sang to her, gave her such a filling banquet, a bath, and played tunes so sweet. She had been able to trust these voices in such a short time.

But now, Psyche felt alone in the large bedchamber. She knew thick drapes surrounded her. Curtains blocked off the moonlight streaming from the window. And she felt cold. Desperately, she tried to warm herself by wrapping a large white blanket around her. The sound of a lyre being played from one corner echoed around the vast room.

Up until now, thoughts riddled her mind. Who brought her here? What shall happen to her? She feared most for her virginity. Whoever the master of the house was, he planned to take it away from her. She feared this creature. How will he look like? How will he talk? How will he treat her?

Presently, the door to the chamber opened with a slow, suspenseful creak. All lights were dimmed, and despite her best efforts to see, Psyche could not make out even a figure of the house's gracious host. She felt him mount the bed and have his hands caress her soft, delicate features, trailing from her cheek to her arms.

"My dear Psyche. My dear, beautiful Psyche," the voice murmured, whispering into Psyche's ear. She did not see him, but his voice, the song of a thousand angels it was like, and it was enough for her to build up enough trust to him.

This mysterious person pushed her gently down to the warmth of the sheets and continued to caress her arms, her body. A surging feeling shot through the mortal Psyche, being romanced and fantasies playing along her mind. Soft lips touched her own, the sweetness of honey she tasted from his tongue. All fear vanquished from her, as this host, the one who would be her husband, did everything to make her feel safe and comfortable. He sang sweet melodies of love and planted kisses on her cheek, on her neck, and held her tight. There was no attempt of breaking free.

Then he held her hand. "Psyche, my love, tell me what you want of me, and I shall give it to you with no complaints."

The mortal woman was, of course, weakened by the way the man had handled her, and she knew he moved with grace, and miraculously. Following her instinct, she reached up, pulled him down gently and kissed him on the lips. "I do not know how you look like and who you are, but I have put enough trust in you to let you take my virginity away and make love to me," she murmured to his excited ear.

He was Cupid, of course. The god of love, son of Venus. And being the god of love, he knew how to make love. He knew how to pleasure, how to excite, how to make one feel romanced. Promptly, he gave way to Psyche's wish. He leant down and started to plant seductive kisses along her jaw, her neck, and finally, to her mouth. She received it gladly, and kissed back. Psyche felt his physique - muscles solid and strong, body lean and no doubt attractive. His hand was down on her thigh, his other hand by her breasts, as they pleased and pleasured each other, Psyche feeling the best feeling she ever had. She had no idea that she was being romanced by Cupid himself.

It was all very elating for the both of them, as they continued to act against Cupid's mother, Venus' wishes. In between well-delivered acts of affection, Psyche giggled, Cupid glided his hands and arms around her.

For a moment, he took in the fact that Venus his mother wants him to dispose of this girl and throw her into such miserable situations. But he cannot, for the love of Psyche, do that, for he himself seemed to be hit by one of the arrows he so used carelessly to make trouble. It did not matter, though. He was here, in this dark, heavily curtained chamber to make Psyche his wife.

From Cupid's warm touch, Psyche shivered. She felt the silken cloth she wore being slipped down from her smooth skin. She felt it being taken off her. And he, Cupid, prepared. Psyche wrapped her arms around the god of love's neck, and allowed him to gain control and just to ravish her and delight her and satisfy her very whim. And she, being the mortal one and being a virgin just before that very night, moved in time with his rhythm and grace.

Psyche woke up to the half-light of dawn. She still couldn't believe she had participated in the act just the previous night, and with a man she whose hide or hair she cannot see. The lyre was still playing when she woke up, and she remembered the last words her husband spoke before she had taken to sleep:

"You may not see me, my dear wife, but you have trusted me enough to let me be yours. I hope so much that you would not think of me as selfish not letting you see my likeness, but it is enough that you know I love you."

And to this, she answered:

"And I love you, my husband. It's not a matter if I may not see you, so long as you will be here by my side whenever I need you."

Half-asleep, she was, when she heard him say, "I will leave before dawn, and I promise you I will be back in the evening, when you are here, in your bedchamber."

Psyche wasn't worried. She felt safe in his care, whoever he was.

A/N: That's it. Comments? Crits?