Tiros woke suddenly, without knowing why.

He'd sent the slave away hours before, aware that she wasn't comfortable in his bed, despite enjoying her encounter with him. They were mostly like that, he thought. Not that he minded. He liked to sleep alone. It was just the bit beforehand that he liked company for. His tastes were a little different from the norm, though. He didn't like to force himself on his women, though he had the right. He liked to ensure that they got their pleasure as he got his. Women, unused to his attitude, flocked to his side. He took advantage of that whenever he could, and Greek society gave him lots of opportunity.

Thinking now of the young slave girl, and how her eyes screwed up as he thrust in her, his phallus stirred beneath the covers, ready again for its accustomed duties. It stiffened, gaining size as he thought of her further. Memories of her mouth around him, her tongue sliding over his skin and the sweet moans from her throat as he thrust - the memories gently stiffened him until he felt a need to do something about it. Not wanting to bother to find another partner so late, Tiros lay back and started to stroke himself. He didn't do this often, but he liked the freedom to think only of himself, of his own pleasure, from time to time.

The slave girl, whose name he never knew, most enjoyed when he took her from behind though, crouched on hands and knees on the bed, his hardness buried deep within her, his hands on her breasts, hers just above his rod.

She had fumbled, with an appalling lack of rhythm but startling desperation, at herself, panting and moaning, sweating beneath him. He'd taken her hands away, and placed them on her breasts, and taken over the stimulation further down with his own fingers, spreading and kneading her sopping groin gently for a time, before quickly sliding his fingertips lightly over her most sensitive parts, feeling her shiver with approaching climax. All the time he was thrusting slowly with his hips, burying himself deep inside her tightness, withdrawing almost completely, and sliding in with a slippery, hot, almost frictionless motion in time to the mindless swaying of her haunches.

He repeated the cycle of slow and swift stimulation again and again, never quite letting her reach her climax, until he sensed that she could take no more. He then removed his hands to caress the small of her back, changing his angle of entry slightly, and sped up his thrusts. He felt and heard her release beneath him, her muscles tightening around him, a deep groan escaping from her mouth. As her small opening clamped harder, and her body shook with the force of her climax, he gave in to the pressure, and released his seed deep within her, thrusting hard against her, grunting with satisfaction as they collapsed, hot, wet, and released, on the bed.

The recent memories stirred him strongly, and he removed the covers, spat on his hand to lubricate things, and started to stroke his strong hands up and down, eyes closed, pretending the slave's mouth, or her other opening, was around his cock. He took his time, increasing and decreasing the pressure, speeding up and slowing down, reliving his favourite encounters. A montage of images passed through his mind: slaves, rich girls, even royalty. All behaved in a similar way once naked, he thought, smiling to himself.

Tiros was almost in a world of his own now, his naked browned body lying back on the bedding, his hand stroking almost frantically, his mind bringing up his most erotic memories, and he was almost ready. The smell of the earlier encounter, still on his unwashed cock, drifted to his nose, and that was enough. He stroked now as fast as he could, and was just about to orgasm when a shadow passed over him.

He stopped suddenly, cock in hand, and opened his eyes. There, standing in the room was another woman. Not the slave he'd had earlier. Not anyone he'd seen before. There was something about this woman. As he lay there, unashamed of his activity, he watched what she was doing.

Her tall, strong body was walking slowly around his raised bed, her firm breasts swaying just a little as she walked, and she was chanting quietly. Curly red hair surrounded her head and flowed down over her lightly freckled shoulders. What she was saying sounded vaguely familiar, even though Tiros could only hear the pattern of her speech, rather than the words themselves. He did nothing, and lay and watched the woman about her chanting, until she lifted a small vial in front of her chest, and proceeded to remove the top.

"Hold woman. What are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm just... you can see me?"

"Of course I can see you. You are in my room. What do you want?"

"Oh, no, you shouldn't be able to..."

"Who are you, woman?" Tiros enquired. "You have interrupted my sleep. What do you want here? How did you get in?"

"Now hold on. You cannot talk to me like that."

"Know your place, woman. Have you been sent, as a concubine?"

"I have not!"

"Well then, go."

"I warn you, Tiros you should not speak with me this way."

"You have me at an advantage, woman. Tell me the name of your father."

"I will not."

"You must, by law."

"I follow not your laws Tiros. I am above them."

"Above?"

"I... should not have said that."

"Tell me your name then."

"I am... I am Nemesis."

"Nemesis, you say, woman?"

"Yes Tiros. Nemesis."

"Nemesis the Goddess... ?"

"Yes."

"Of retribution?"

"The same, Tiros."

"You are not. You are a false Nemesis. How did you get into my house?"

"Why do you say I am false?"

"Goddesses don't just drop in, in the middle of the night, and if you were really Nemesis, rather than a woman with damage to her head, then I would not be able to see you, unless you willed it."

"Well then... I willed it."

"You did not, woman of lies. You showed surprise when I first spoke."

"I thought you were asleep, Tiros of little trust."

"You are not Nemesis. I fear you not."

"Oh, it isn't supposed to work like this. Suppose I admit, for the sake of completion, to not being Nemesis. Can we finish this?"

"Tell me who you are then."

The woman paused then, looking directly at Tiros for the first time. "My name is Acacia."

"Acacia, why do you pretend to be Nemesis?"

"I am her... stand in."

"A stand in? For a Goddess? Would you be a Goddess yourself then, Acacia?" He was smiling at her now, his fear gone.

"You doubt me?"

"You have already lied once."

"It's complicated. I am... in training."

"For Godhood?"

"Yes. In a way."

"Should I be amused, or fearful, powerful Acacia?"

"Tiros, I do not joke with you. I have been sent, in place of Nemesis, to see you."

"Why could not Nemesis come herself?"

"She is... busy."

"Busy?"

"With Zeus."

"No."

"Yes. I speak truthfully."

"Have you proof, little Acacia?"

"Of my identity?"

"Of your semi-Godhood."

"I have... Oh, I have this vial."

"And what is in it?"

"A potion, mortal Tiros." She was bolder now, remembering her task.

"A love potion, perhaps? You are indeed fair, Goddess Acacia!"

"No Tiros. This is not a matter for laughter or romance. This potion has been sent by Nemesis. I was to apply it to your bare skin, as you..."

"Stroked myself, Acacia?"

"Yes. As you stroked yourself."

"You like to watch?"

"It is a duty Tiros, nothing more."

"I doubt that. Tell me what the potion does, Goddess, and then perhaps we can discuss more entertaining matters."

"I think you would not wish to converse, after."

"I would not? What then does the potion provide?"

"Retribution, young mortal."

"Pray, retribution for what? And you don't look so old, yourself."

"I am, as I told you..."

"Yes, yes. A Goddess. Yes."

"... a trainee Goddess, of sorts. Age is not easy to determine."

"How then, should I address you?" The smirk took the seriousness away from the impertinent question.

"You shouldn't need to address me at all, Tiros. You should not even know I am here. But continue with 'Acacia'. I care not for formality."

"So do you often spend nighttimes ogling excited men?"

"No. Never before."

"Never?"

"No. I was sent because Nemesis was unavailable. I'm no longer sure I can do this."

"You cannot? Why? You did not tell what effect the potion has."

"I... now I have met you. Seen you. Spoken with you. Watched you..."

"Watched me?"

"Watched you... you know."

"Oh. You are embarrassed?"

"No. Yes. A little."

"I am sorry. I wasn't expecting a Goddess to show up, or I would have waited."

"You mock me now."

"No. Do Goddesses get cold, Acacia?"

"I do."

"You could..."

"I could not."

"... sit on the bed, and talk some more."

"Oh. I misread your intentions, Tiros."

"Not really Acacia. But sit and talk."

"You would wish to behave otherwise?"

"You are a beautiful woman, Acacia."

"I came here to ruin your life, Tiros."

"Then the least you can do is sit and talk to me. Perhaps you can explain?"

"I will sit down here. Cover yourself up."

"You find me unattractive, Acacia?"

"I find you... distracting. I must explain the potion."