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Power Lust Revenge

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Let it seep through your sockets and ears
Into your precious ruptured skull
Let it seep, let it keep you from us
Patiently heal you
Patiently unreel you
Purity Ring, “Lofticries” 

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Princess Glauke of Corinth was on her balcony, looking out. She liked the sunlight glinting on the sea beyond and the colors of the flowers in the gardens below. Now it was the warm season, the perfect time to have a wedding. It would be brilliant: all of Corinth would come to celebrate the princess’s marriage, especially since it was to Jason of Iolcos.

She lifted a dainty hand and clasped gently on the ends of her long, gold-blonde hair to stroke it. Though she was thrilled to have Jason, she was nervous about marriage. There hadn’t enough time, it seemed, to prepare for such an importance. 

You’re being silly, she told herself, twirling her hair and gazing beyond the gardens. There was no better time, now that she was of child-bearing age. And no better man to marry than strong, handsome Jason of Iolcos, who’d headed many tumultuous voyages, a hero according to the citizens of Corinth. Whether he was a hero mattered not, as long as Corinth believed it so. But he’d arrived with her, the dark stain on his austere ship.

Medea. In their time in Corinth, she’d borne him two sons, two brats that were no better than bastards at this point. Glauke wanted them out, but her father had negotiated with the witch, let her stay. No matter—they’d be working down below, the heat from the sun soaking into their dark skins.

On the topic of the sun, Glauke had to step out of its rays, for her skin was beautifully pale and unmarred. It was this, she knew, along with her golden hair and boulder-grey eyes, which drove the men in herds to King Creon asking for his daughter’s hand.

Beauty and royalty—Aphrodite had been particularly generous to Glauke, princess of Corinth.

Now safely tucked within the cool walls of her lounge, she sat perched on her chair and lazily snapped her fingers in the direction of the slave waiting to dote upon her.

“Comb my hair.”

A moment later, she felt gentle hands gathering her hair at the nape of her neck. Closing her eyes, she imagined the night after the wedding when Jason would take her virginity, her ultimate gift to him. One Medea couldn’t ever give.

Eyes still closed, as the teeth of the comb pulled at her hair, Glauke lifted her full lips into a smirk. Younger, prettier, of better stock—she superseded that witch in every way. And Jason knew it, falling to her feet in worship. The king said he’d take good care of her, like he had all these years. Oh yes, this arrangement would work in her favor. 

✦ ✧ ✦

Medea was not above petty revenge. Why should she be, considering Jason’s behavior was worse than petty? It was scummy, pure and plain. Corinth was supposed to be their fresh start after she’d helped him so dearly on his quest to become the Greek Hero. What a waste of her extraordinary powers. 

And her love—she’d given him two sons, two fair-haired boys with his features mirrored in their flesh. He’d left them in the dust, too, pursuing this silly, stupid little girl. Glauke. She really thought she’d won something special. The princess of Corinth was as dumb as she was beautiful.

Ah, but if Medea was honest, Jason was something special. He’d retrieved the Golden Fleece and led the Argo through the treacherous journey back to Iolcos with her by his side. It was shewho exacted revenge on Pelias and birthed Jason’s strong children, who he’d once taken such pride in.

In fact, her first idea, when she’d fallen into a fit of rage and despair at the news, had been to rid him of them. Mermeros and Pheros would ascend to Elysium, without him, away from Corinth and this wretched Earth. Otherwise they’d be turned into slaves of the royal family.

No, Medea could not let that happen. The original plan for her revenge, delivering a dress that would engulf the princess in flames and slaying Jason’s kin—how satisfying it was to imagine!—was borne of pure rage. Medea herself would bear the worst consequence with this plan. Jason fancied himself the logical one: “This is for us, to secure our status in Corinth.” His status, he meant, for it had been clear that her status as foreign outsider would never change.

How to avenge his betrayal? Murder was too final, too easy. After a couple of murders, it became impersonal. Mermeros and Pheros were innocent children, fat-cheeked and ignorant of their hearts beating traitorous blood. Jason and Glauke had to pay—how? Then an idea, the most wicked of all. Wicked, clever, and untraceable if she used the magic bestowed upon her.

Yes, of course Medea, granddaughter of Helios, had many ways of causing destruction and at times like these, her magical prowess became very useful.

That same night, when Medea finished nursing Pheros and placed him in his basket, she slipped into the cool evening shadows. Earlier in the day, Jason had tossed her some coins and told her he was traveling to Iolcos to bring back his parents.

For what? Her stomach knotted in anticipation of the answer.

Enough, Medea. Don’t start this. For the wedding, she realized then. No matter—Medea had her own gift for that, which she was about to deliver.

All was quiet except for the soft waves of the sea lapping the rocky shore and Medea’s footsteps on the dried lawn of the king’s house. The air was thick with soon-to-be sacrifice. It hadn’t rained in many days; the leaves of the surrounding vineyard were wilted, the grapes small and pathetic. Good—she hated Corinth. Once a safe haven, it, too, had turned on her.

It was the perfect time of night to sneak into the king’s large, silent house. His many slaves were asleep or at least forbidden to prowl around the house. King Creon was likely in his bedroom with his selected concubine. How easy it would be to hold up the dagger and swiftly plunge it through his throat. He wanted to banish Medea, and now she could banish him. 

But Medea was not here for King Creon. His disgrace would shortly follow his daughter’s.

Up the stairs, quiet as a mouse, and down the hall between two large pillars and around a statue of Poseidon. King Creon never missed an opportunity to flaunt his wealth. The princess often stood upon the balcony facing north, so her bedroom was likely in that direction.

No slaves here, either. Regardless, Medea was unconcerned about running into one, not with her first weapon, the sack of sleeping powder. One inhale and her opponent would cease to be a problem.

She took a gamble on the last archway on the left. Luck was on her side. This was it, but it came with a caveat: the princess was seated on the edge of the bed, long blonde hair draped over her back and bare shoulders. 

Before stepping into the room, Medea reached into the pocket of her skirts and clutched the handle of weapon number two, the dagger. Though the princess had undoubtedly heard her approaching, she didn’t turn around, likely assuming she was a slave.

Still holding the concealed dagger, Medea stopped a few feet away, staring at the girl’s profile. She was just a stupid, rosy-cheeked child, kept away from the sun and adorned in fancy skirts. Princess Glauke needed to be stripped naked and reminded of her weakness.

Sensing her still presence, she turned to Medea, her puffy mouth opening in surprise before she caught herself. Once her haughty mask was back in place, she demanded coolly, “What are you doing here at all, let alone this time of night?”

“Don’t think I’m ignorant of your plan, princess.” Medea’s voice came out strangely calm in contrast to the blood rushing through her body, heating up her limbs until she thought she might go mad with rage. Calm yourself, it is not yet time. “You may have snatched Jason from his rightful place, but you will not take my children to your house.”

Glauke turned up her nose and narrowed her eyes, further infuriating Medea. “Then you and your children will leave Corinth. We—the actual Greeks—will not be sad to see you go.”

Medea opened her mouth to snarl a reply, but the little bitch kept talking. “Accept that you’ve lost him and leave me be or I’ll have you banished before morning.” She looked and sounded like a baby, a cherubic face spitting ugly words. She had no business being a queen. 

It was clear no one had taught her anything other than to be a self-absorbed whore. What a pity, Medea thought snidely, that she will learn her first real lesson so brutally. Fingering the dull side of the blade, she took a step closer, forcing the girl to look up at her with eyes the color of storm clouds.

“Stupid girl, he cares nothing for you,” Medea informed her, raising her eyebrows and pursing her lips. “He’s marrying you only to earn the position of power he was denied in Iolcos. He told me so himself.”

As the words left her mouth, she had a gut-twisting revelation: he had indeed told her his marriage to Glauke would be one of convenience. His current one was also an exchange: she helped him retrieve the Fleece and he married her and took her out of Cholcis. As she’d deduced earlier, Jason was a scumbag.

However, the crude revelation was not the real issue, for that was simply his nature. The best revenge, logically, would be to simply let this happen and wait for when he eventually betrayed Glauke as well, but what if he didn’t? What if he’d grow to actually love this vapid little thing glaring at her in all her childish fury, if he didn’t already? No, Medea was not going to let that happen.

She strode over to the girl and gazed down at her. Under pale brows slanted in confusion, wide grey eyes looked back. “Away with you, witch!” she hissed, but Medea detected a touch of uncertainty. Uncertainty was the direct pathway to fear.

“Now! I’ll call my slaves—”

“You’ll call no one,” Medea said kindly, as if giving a suggestion. Her hand closed around precious weapon number two, withdrew it, and brought it to the girl’s neck, under her chin, just as she opened her mouth to scream. “I advise you not to make any loud noises, princess.” 

Again, she marveled at how easily she could slit her throat, another life claimed, more unworthy blood spilling. But Medea didn’t have to kill her; she could take her time and give Princess Glauke the treatment she deserved.

Instead, she slid the dagger back into her pocket and replaced it under the girl’s chin with her hand. Through the skin of her throat, her heart thumped against Medea’s palm. When she spoke, the uncertainty had taken over, raising her voice slightly in pitch. “So you shall kill me?”

“Heavens, no,” Medea mocked, letting go of her throat and placing her hand on her chest with a flourish. “Why would I do that, if you’re as innocent as you claim?” 

“Jason tells me you have a penchant for murder,” Glauke goaded. “You’ve got rivers of blood on your hands, all because you can’t control your passion.”

Medea’s hands ached to curl into fists, but she held them steady and kept her face relaxed. “Lift your skirts.” 

The girl’s eyes widened even more, her cupid’s-bow lips parting. She did not move.

“Let me remind you, princess,” Medea said as she jutted out her hip and patted the dagger through her skirts, “that I currently hold the power here. Defy me once, and that fair face will be streaked with blood.”

This was the delightful moment she’d been after, when the arrogance and the I’m-a-big-girl façade dropped away completely. She could almost hear the girl’s tiny brain rattling in her skull trying to process this new information. If Medea’s plan didn’t include murder, then what did it entail? Naïve little thing was imagining spells and rituals. The only magic needed was the sleeping powder, and Medea was working outside the divine will. 

“Lift your skirts.”

Visibly shaken, Glauke obeyed, revealing the smoothest, whitest legs Medea had ever seen. She was slightly chubby from her undoubtedly endless supply of milk. “That’s it, all the way off.”

“What for?” she demanded, the irksome brat coming back.

“Shut up,” Medea told her. “No questions.” 

She bent low and pulled off her dress, laying it on the bed at her side, appearing more fussed about it not being instantly hung up by a slave than sitting fully naked.

“Good. Lie back and open your legs.” 

The girl simply stared, dumbfounded. Medea reached for her, causing her to flinch, but her hand merely cupped her chin again, fingertips digging into her jaw. “My, you are fair. I can certainly see your appeal.”

Glauke opened her mouth but evidently just remembered the rules. Finally, she was breaking. Medea gripped her knees and yanked. “Hold them like this.”

She stepped back to admire her prize. Princess Glauke was only on the slightest cusp of womanhood, but she was, indeed, quite appealing. A milk-bred layer of padding covered her body, hips and thighs especially pronounced. Her plump skin was even paler than the moon, like a child who was kept within walls all its life. Essentially what she was.

Medea pushed a long lock of hair over the girl’s shoulder, trailing her fingertips up her neck, around her jaw, and over slightly-parted lips. The pad of her thumb sank into the soft pink. Wide eyes were stuck to her face, pupils like large caverns, but the fear had faded, much to Medea’s disappointment.

Her hand left her face and traveled down her chest, cupping a pert breast, rather small compared to her lower body. Only their breaths, heavy from the both of them, and the ocean against the shore filled the air. Though Glauke’s ribs shook from her beating heart, she was neither afraid nor disgusted.

“Look how filthy and wrong Corinth’s darling princess is,” Medea taunted quietly as she dropped her hand lower, running her palm over the soft curve of her belly. She was saving the best for last, the soft brown curls hiding hot, swollen flesh.

When she reached it, she was surprised to find it slick against her fingers. The girl’s cheeks were flushed, rapid breaths escaping her reddened lips: she was aroused. 

This was working even better than Medea had anticipated. She’d planned to simply withdraw weapon number three, force it upon the princess, and leave. Now she could have a bit more fun with the task.

Her own desire rushed between her legs. It had been many years since she’d enjoyed a woman. When she was younger, even more so than Glauke, an older girl in Cholcis had taken her through her first forbidden journey. 

“That’s a good girl,” she whispered, sinking to her knees as she rubbed the tender flesh. Clutching the girl’s thighs, she leaned in, breathing in the sweet female musk before the first taste. The princess inhaled sharply and her legs quivered under Medea’s palms.

For a short, blissful period, time and Medea’s revenge plot was forgotten as she devoured eternally-wet, raw pink. Glauke, too, had slipped out of reality, tilting her head back and rocking her hips. Her high, girlish moans prompted Medea to slip a finger into the tight clutch of virgin flesh. With her lips around the girl’s clit, she slid her finger in and out, waiting for the smear of blood. 

It didn’t come—perhaps the princess had done some forbidden exploring of herself?—so Medea leaned back, withdrew her finger, and touched it to Glauke’s lips. 

“You taste so nice, princess,” she coaxed, dipping her finger between pillow-plump lips and sliding it against her soft tongue. After a second’s hesitation, Glauke closed her mouth around Medea’s finger, licking off the juices. 

Meanwhile, Medea’s other hand was back in her pocket, curling around weapon number three, a phallus she’d long ago made of clay, not that large but big enough to do the job. She took it out and fit it snugly against dripping lower lips.

Upon seeing and feeling it against her, the girl jerked away, gasping. “No!”

“Hush,” said Medea patiently, stroking her cheek.

“No, no, please! Get away!” 

These were not the right words. Seething, Medea clutched her jaw, pressing a palm against her lips. “I said hush. Remember the rules, princess, if you’d like me to spare your life.”

Tears poured out of reddened grey eyes and pooled atop her fingers, but Medea ignored them, inserting the phallus into the tight slit. Glauke cried harder, sniffling and shaking and preventing the phallus from going any further than just the tip. Medea ducked her head again and dragged the tip of her tongue back and forth over her clit. A second later, a cry escaped the girl’s lips, not of distress but of pleasure. Medea pushed the phallus deeper in, watching the virgin flesh swell and stretch around the hardened clay. 

“Oh, gods, no,” Glauke squeaked, squeezing her eyes shut and writhing in pain.

“Hush.” Medea pressed her tongue against the girl’s soft stomach, trailing open-mouthed kisses upward until she closed her lips around a pert, pink nipple. She was able to thrust the phallus all the way in and out now, slowly increasing the pace.

Eventually, Medea leaned up and gave it to her harder, holding her in place with a fist wrapped around the hair at the back of her head. It was unclear whether Glauke was enjoying it, but at that point, Medea couldn’t care less, for she was quite enjoying the princess’s high-pitched cries and pretty, contorted face.

“What a filthy little girl,” she growled, her own body threatening to explode with desire. “How easy it is to turn sweet Princess Glauke into such a whore. Won’t the king be so proud?”

She realized Glauke had placed her palms against the bed to thrust her hips, her reddened cunt nearly swallowing the phallus whole. As she further upped the pace, Medea felt hot juice soaking her hand. “You like that, sweet baby? You want more?”

“Yes,” the girl cried, scrunching her face more, baring her teeth. A few thrusts later, she went rigid before letting out a high, drawn-out cry and letting her legs drop over the side of the bed.

Medea withdrew the phallus, pleased to find the pearl-like liquid tinged with dark red. “Open your mouth,” she commanded, gentle guise abandoned.

Floating upon the cloud of orgasm, Glauke let her lips part. She pulled back, eyes wide, when the bloodied phallus filled her mouth, but Medea was still holding her by the hair. “That’s it, clean it up. We wouldn’t want all of Corinth to know our little princess is no longer pure, would we?” 

The horror sank in; the girl started to cry in earnest, thrashing and nearly choking herself. Medea pulled out the phallus and tossed it on the bed to plunge her hand into the small sack of sleeping powder in her pocket. 

Still holding a clump of golden hair, Medea waited until a quiet sob had finished, gently pressing her powder-coated fingers under Glauke’s nose just as she inhaled deeply. The effect was instantaneous: her eyes rolled up, fluttering closed as she fell back onto the bed. Her chest gave one long exhale before settling into shallow breaths.

Medea opened her legs, resting them against the bed so that the girl’s used, bright pink cunt was on display for all of Corinth, if anyone were to peer over the balcony. She wished to keep the phallus and use it on herself, but it was the final touch of the masterpiece. It belonged in the girl’s limp grasp, resting at her side.

Smirking, Medea stepped back to admire her work of art. The sweet-faced princess looked like a whore mad with lust now. Good—the plan had worked beautifully.

The pale light of dawn was glistening upon the sea. Very shortly, Apollo would be making his round over Corinth. It was time to go home and smile and nod at Jason, play the obedient wife. But it was she who had triumphed yet again. Jason would claim his prize, a girl with no virginity to give. Because of that, he would never love Glauke. No one would, no matter how beautiful and docile she appeared.

Medea let slip a genuine grin as she crept through the vineyard, hand in her pocket holding the dagger, feet crunching against the dead, brittle lawn. She had acted in the heat of passion, this time to exact her cold revenge. Perhaps she wasn’t as irrational as Jason and the rest of them claimed after all.

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