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The night air pulsed with life as Ariadne danced among the maenads, her heart throbbing in time with the drums the wild women pounded. Torches ringed the forest clearing, and their flickering light seemed to join in the dance as they sent plumes of fragrant smoke into the sky radiant with stars. The forest clearing was so secluded that Ariadne was half convinced the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving her and the maenads and her newfound lord.
She could hardly believe that mere hours earlier she had plunged into the depths of despair, abandoned on a deserted island by a man she’d thought had loved her. As she’d watched Theseus’s ship disappear over the horizon, she’d been sure only death awaited her here, certainly not a new chance at life, at love.
And then Dionysus had found her.
He had wiped away her tears, slaked her parched lips with the sweetest wine she had ever tasted, and stolen her away to this hidden grove to dance until she couldn’t remember the feeling of sadness. This place must be sacred, she thought, for an altar of stone stood tall at its center, and here she could feel the presence of the gods themselves—and not only the one who currently held her in his arms.
Ariadne laughed aloud up at the moon as she leaned back against Dionysus’s broad chest, her hips swaying in rhythm with his, so close that she could feel the heat of his body through both their chitons. He nibbled the tender flesh of her neck until she hissed in delightful pain, then he soothed his insult with a kiss; she hoped he left a mark that would never fade.
She turned in his arms to look upon the wondrous entity that had chosen to lavish his attentions upon her. When she had first seen Theseus, she had thought no man could be more handsome, but Dionysus had proven her wrong. He was sculpted of firm muscle and olive skin, hair black as night curling in ringlets past his shoulders and crowned in a wreath of ivy and grapevines. His wine-dark eyes glimmered in adoration as he looked upon her, and Ariadne wondered if she looked as glorious in his eyes as he did in hers.
His rich voice boomed over the din of the music.
“Sisters?” he called, and the maenads froze in their dance and turned to where Dionysus and Ariadne stood. Some of them purred sensuously at the sight of him; others wept in ecstasy, but his gaze never broke from Ariadne’s.
“Make this beautiful mortal ready for the sacred rite,” he commanded. A shiver rippled through Ariadne’s body and settled, thrumming, in her belly. Before she could ask him what rite he spoke of, though, he kissed her hand, gave her a roguish wink, and disappeared into the crowd.
The maenads shrieked in elation and fell upon her, their dance beginning again twice as frenzied as before. Ariadne was quickly caught up in a swirling sea of bodies, the horde of wild women pressing in so close that she could hardly tell which limbs and hands and undulating hips were her own. They pressed grapes into her mouth and plied her with wine, then licked away the rivulets that escaped her lips with consuming kisses. She couldn't be certain which made her dizzier: the wine, or the way each maenad spun her from one to the other in a whirlwind of glorious confusion.
As they flung her about, they stripped her clothing away until she was bare, then placed a crown of ivy upon her head. Under any other circumstances, she would have been embarrassed to be naked among so many strangers, but either by the strength of the wine or the magic of the night, she found herself unashamed. The way the maenads’ straying hands brushed against her skin thrilled her and made her crave more of their touch. They indulged her, roving over every inch of her, dwelling on the sensitive flesh of her breasts and her buttocks; they laughed with delight when she let out a moan of pleasure.
Their touches became more and more insistent until Ariadne felt her arms and thighs caught by strong grasps that lifted her from the ground and raised her above the crowd. They carried her toward the center of the clearing where the altar stood—and atop it, Dionysus awaited her.
He stood tall and regal and as naked as she was. Sweat glistened over his bronze skin and caught in droplets in the tight curls of dark hair that trailed down his abdomen to where his cock rose, ready for her. Ariadne stared at him in awe as the maenads brought her closer; she could feel her desire for him growing with every step they carried her, so that when they deposited her on the stone before him, she was ravenous.
She fell to her knees and dug her nails into the muscle of his thighs to brace herself while she ran her tongue over his length from root to tip. The moisture that beaded there tasted of the same sweet wine the maenads had given her. She would have gladly knelt there and worshipped him until more of that glorious drink poured down her throat, but Dionysus took her hands and raised her to her feet.
“You need not kneel before me,” he told her. He spoke loudly enough to be heard over the raucous drumbeats, yet his words were as intimate as a lover’s whisper.
“But you are a god!” she protested.
“And you are a goddess!” he replied.
Ariadne felt her cheeks grow hot and wondered at how his praise made her feel more bashful than standing naked on a dais did.
“I’m only a princess…” she demurred. She lowered her gaze to the stone beneath their feet, but Dionysus lifted her chin and placed a silencing finger against her lips. She was taken by a sudden mad urge to draw it into her mouth and treat it the way she longed to treat that other part of him, but she resisted.
“There is divinity within you,” he insisted, “and this rite will make you immortal, should you wish it. Would you like to be my bride for all eternity?”
His eyes sparkled with promise, and Ariadne found it impossible to look away.
“Yes!” she breathed.
Dionysus grinned, and the maenads’ music flared to a fever pitch.
“Then let the wine of life flow!”
He spun her so that her back lay against his chest, just as they had been dancing before, now unencumbered by clothing. One of his hands splayed over her chest, steadying her, while the other plunged between her thighs. At the slightest graze of his fingers over her sex, Ariadne felt herself gush with slickness with a speed she’d have deemed impossible were it not a god’s hands upon her. Her knees weakened as he dipped a long finger inside her and fucked her languidly.
She whimpered in protest when he slid out of her, so he placated her with teasing caresses of her nipple as he brought his glistening finger to her lips.
“Have a taste,” he murmured, his breath warm and ticklish against her ear.
She darted her tongue out to lick at the moisture of her arousal on his fingertip. She tasted herself and the unmistakable flavor of wine. Delighted, she lay her head back on his shoulder and laughed, then guided his hand back to her cunt in a silent request. He obliged her with enthusiasm.
Every second that he stroked her brought Ariadne to a height she had never experienced, and each moment she was certain she was about to reach her peak Dionysus brought her higher. She trembled and wept, she burned from within, but still he gave her pleasure greater than she had known her mortal body could feel. She hadn’t any doubt that he would keep her this way for the rest of tonight if she wished.
Somehow she remembered how to speak, though all she was able to utter was a gasping, “Please!”
Dionysus chuckled but did not give her what she begged for. Instead, he took his hand from her breast and placed it at her throat, lifting her head so that she had to look out at the maenads dancing around them.
“Watch how your pleasure feeds them,” he commanded. Then he tightened his hand just enough to make stars burst before her eyes, and Ariadne soared. As she screamed her release to the night sky, a wave seemed to crest over the maenads as well; some fell to their knees, others fell upon each other with reinvigorated passion, all joining their chorus of moans to hers. The energy radiating from them sustained her, floating in that liminal climactic realm until at last she returned to herself and slumped against Dionysus, spent.
She felt his hardness throb against the small of her back, and when she rolled her hips lazily against it, his laughter vibrated through her body.
“Would you like to take that, my queen?” he asked. She could hear the smile in his voice. Too breathless for words, she nodded.
“And how would you like to take me?”
She lowered herself shakily to her knees, then bent forward to rest her forearms on the stone. She had scarcely raised her hips for him when she felt him drop to his knees behind her and enter her.
He slid into her easily and filled her completely, and Ariadne met each rapid thrust with renewed vigor as her channel throbbed around him. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled, making her look out at the crowd that had become more orgy than dance.
“Tell them what you are, Ariadne,” Dionysus commanded.
“I am your queen,” she breathed in reply.
He gave her hair an admonishing tug.
“You are so much more than that,” he corrected. “What are you?”
She felt herself tightening around him as another peak built swiftly within her. The sensation made it difficult to speak again, but she managed.
“I am a goddess!” she cried out.
He pounded into her harder.
“Say it louder, so that all of Olympus can hear you!”
“I am a goddess!” she roared.
Dionysus bellowed like a bull as he finished and dragged her into blissful oblivion with him. When the last spasm of pleasure faded, Ariadne collapsed onto her belly and let the coolness of the altar soothe the heat that had overtaken her.
Limply, she rolled onto her back to find Dionysus beaming down at her—quite literally, for an aura of light framed him like a halo. At first she thought it was merely the moonlight, but as he grew brighter, she realized the glow was emanating from his entire body. One of the features of godhood, she assumed.
She reached out a hand to touch his cheek but froze when she discovered that she, too, was shining with that otherworldly light. The look of amazement on her face must have been terribly amusing, for Dionysus laughed warmly. He took her hand from where it hovered between them and pressed a kiss to the back of it.
“My goddess,” he murmured. Then he lowered his head between her thighs and began to lap at the wine of life that lingered there.
Ariadne giggled and tangled her fingers through his curls while he enjoyed her. As her head fell back onto the altar, her ivy crown slipped from her head; she reached up with her free hand to catch it, and found that it felt strange against her palm. A glimmer of light flickered at the corner of her eye. Curious, she held the crown aloft and discovered that it was no longer woven from ivy.
It was made of stars.