A/N: This is a story about what could have happened in the inner chambers
of the Delphic Oracle. It is told from the point of view of the Oracle
herself, if it's not obvious. I was reading Vergil's Aeneid and the oracle
didn't sound so much like a druggie so much as someone after a really long
round of sex. This story was a result. I do believe I am the only person
in all of human history who has portrayed the Greek gods in this light. If
I am wrong, please correct me. I dare you. Leave it in the reviews.
Disclaimer: This story does not contain "happy gods." The gods do not help humanity because they like them as people. Frankly, Apollo is a sex-crazed exhibitionist. Therefore, if this is not for your delicate sensibilities, go away. I cannot put it any plainer. Thank you.
If Only.
The god of light and music, hah. The only light I've seen is the light in his eyes when he's coming inside of me. The only music is the things he tells me to scream out the door while he bangs away at me. He likes knowing someone's listening. The other girls sit outside the door and write the intelligible words onto laurel leaves to be set outside the door. I'm never conscious enough afterwards to do it myself, especially on the days when all the messengers arrive at once.
At least nobody'll know. That's what he promised. "Until empires have risen and fallen," those were his words. That's at least one perk to being the whore of the god of prophecy; everything he tells me in bed is true. So far, he's been right about that. All of my suppliants have stayed at my door and not come inside. Oh, I've heard their theories about why I scream the things I do, why I stumble out of the temple bow-legged with my hair looking like I've been in a tornado. Some think I'm smoking something, others think I'm possessed. The second group is closer, but still not right. I am possessed, but not in the way they're thinking. He claims me, takes me as his own. I am willing, but a girl's insides can only take so much beating. After all, he *is* a god. hung like it, too.
We have an agreement, one shag per prophecy. I'm really frazzled during wartime, all those generals asking "Should I attack? Should I retreat? Will I win? What's going to happen?" That's four rounds right there. And he never prepares me for him, it's all for his pleasure. I've taken to. warming myself up a little before I enter the chamber. The other girls understand. They've had to do it too. I've never been able to figure out his tastes. There are so many types of people working in his temple, old women, young girls, even a few boys whose fathers wanted them to learn archery from the best. Well, they're learning something, but it certainly isn't archery! He always likes the new inductees to watch their first day. Like I said, he's an exhibitionist. He usually uses me for these little "learning experiences." He claims it's because I'm the most vocal, but I have my doubts. At least I get paid well for it! The bribes alone are enough to feed an entire city for a year! Yes, I am a whore, but I'm not a cheap whore.
When the suppliant outside our doors finally gets his attention, he writes the name of the person he wants in fiery letters on the door to the inner chamber. It's usually me. The girls usually give me a little space in which to loosen myself up a bit, and then I walk in to face my fate. None of us actually considers refusing him, I mean, look what happened to Laurel. She got turned into a tree. No offense, but I like being able to walk around. I have to wonder, though, why did my father have to promise me to Apollo? Why couldn't it have been Artemis, or Athena? Oh well. Probably wouldn't have mattered much anyway, he likes me. I should feel honored. Hah, honored! As if I could feel honored while being treated like an object!
I know it's not always like this. I've heard stories about other girls, favorites of other gods. Zeus treats his girls well! Europa got and entire continent named after her! I guess it was all he could do to make up for his wife's torments. I just wish the gods would interfere in my life some way that wouldn't have me walking strangely the next day. I wish I could see some of the world I've been told so much about. Maybe I could travel to Athens or Corinth. If I planned it right, I might be able to see the Olympics! I could even stop by to see how that nice young gentleman with the horrible prophecy about his mother is doing.
That's the other part about this job I don't like. I never get to see what happens to these people after their prophecies come true. Some of them come pleading for advice about how to feed their starving families, or how to keep their youngest child from dying. Those are the cases that make all of this worthwhile. My humiliation is worth the price to answer those questions. But I never get to see these people's joy. I never see the whole family sitting down to a meal, or the young boy running through the fields, just happy to be alive. Unfortunately, those are the pleas Apollo usually turns down. Just when everyone here starts feeling like their lives have meaning, Apollo pulls one of his "I'm the god here, and I only speak on my whim" moods. That's usually when the girls and I gather together and see what we can do. Usually someone's family has some sort of background in the situation and we can help without divine intervention, but sometimes we just have to resort to common sense and hope it helps. We never see them again, either way. Just more visitors and the endless bouts of sex with a power-crazed maniac.
If only..
Disclaimer: This story does not contain "happy gods." The gods do not help humanity because they like them as people. Frankly, Apollo is a sex-crazed exhibitionist. Therefore, if this is not for your delicate sensibilities, go away. I cannot put it any plainer. Thank you.
If Only.
The god of light and music, hah. The only light I've seen is the light in his eyes when he's coming inside of me. The only music is the things he tells me to scream out the door while he bangs away at me. He likes knowing someone's listening. The other girls sit outside the door and write the intelligible words onto laurel leaves to be set outside the door. I'm never conscious enough afterwards to do it myself, especially on the days when all the messengers arrive at once.
At least nobody'll know. That's what he promised. "Until empires have risen and fallen," those were his words. That's at least one perk to being the whore of the god of prophecy; everything he tells me in bed is true. So far, he's been right about that. All of my suppliants have stayed at my door and not come inside. Oh, I've heard their theories about why I scream the things I do, why I stumble out of the temple bow-legged with my hair looking like I've been in a tornado. Some think I'm smoking something, others think I'm possessed. The second group is closer, but still not right. I am possessed, but not in the way they're thinking. He claims me, takes me as his own. I am willing, but a girl's insides can only take so much beating. After all, he *is* a god. hung like it, too.
We have an agreement, one shag per prophecy. I'm really frazzled during wartime, all those generals asking "Should I attack? Should I retreat? Will I win? What's going to happen?" That's four rounds right there. And he never prepares me for him, it's all for his pleasure. I've taken to. warming myself up a little before I enter the chamber. The other girls understand. They've had to do it too. I've never been able to figure out his tastes. There are so many types of people working in his temple, old women, young girls, even a few boys whose fathers wanted them to learn archery from the best. Well, they're learning something, but it certainly isn't archery! He always likes the new inductees to watch their first day. Like I said, he's an exhibitionist. He usually uses me for these little "learning experiences." He claims it's because I'm the most vocal, but I have my doubts. At least I get paid well for it! The bribes alone are enough to feed an entire city for a year! Yes, I am a whore, but I'm not a cheap whore.
When the suppliant outside our doors finally gets his attention, he writes the name of the person he wants in fiery letters on the door to the inner chamber. It's usually me. The girls usually give me a little space in which to loosen myself up a bit, and then I walk in to face my fate. None of us actually considers refusing him, I mean, look what happened to Laurel. She got turned into a tree. No offense, but I like being able to walk around. I have to wonder, though, why did my father have to promise me to Apollo? Why couldn't it have been Artemis, or Athena? Oh well. Probably wouldn't have mattered much anyway, he likes me. I should feel honored. Hah, honored! As if I could feel honored while being treated like an object!
I know it's not always like this. I've heard stories about other girls, favorites of other gods. Zeus treats his girls well! Europa got and entire continent named after her! I guess it was all he could do to make up for his wife's torments. I just wish the gods would interfere in my life some way that wouldn't have me walking strangely the next day. I wish I could see some of the world I've been told so much about. Maybe I could travel to Athens or Corinth. If I planned it right, I might be able to see the Olympics! I could even stop by to see how that nice young gentleman with the horrible prophecy about his mother is doing.
That's the other part about this job I don't like. I never get to see what happens to these people after their prophecies come true. Some of them come pleading for advice about how to feed their starving families, or how to keep their youngest child from dying. Those are the cases that make all of this worthwhile. My humiliation is worth the price to answer those questions. But I never get to see these people's joy. I never see the whole family sitting down to a meal, or the young boy running through the fields, just happy to be alive. Unfortunately, those are the pleas Apollo usually turns down. Just when everyone here starts feeling like their lives have meaning, Apollo pulls one of his "I'm the god here, and I only speak on my whim" moods. That's usually when the girls and I gather together and see what we can do. Usually someone's family has some sort of background in the situation and we can help without divine intervention, but sometimes we just have to resort to common sense and hope it helps. We never see them again, either way. Just more visitors and the endless bouts of sex with a power-crazed maniac.
If only..