The Cursed Song


Note: Adult material, lesbian situations, Greek mythology, and male sneezing



            I woke early that morning; the sun had yet to rise. My head lay upon another's chest, my long brown locks tickling her breasts as I stirred, making her smile in her sleep and dream the same dreams I had just awoken from. Another's arm draped round my middle, and I gently nudged it off with a delicate kiss on her cheek to distract her. I slid from the group, loosening the tie of my bathrobe made of the finest silk the gods could find, a present from Poseidon himself amidst a pleasantly cursed life beneath him. I peered round the edge of the cove to catch the waters the moment before the sky lit with dawn. They were the most beautiful then, dark and lonely for the night watches… I did not envy them their roles. My bare feet treaded softly against the rocks from a lifetime of walking them and only them.


            The sweet smell of salt, the roar of the waves on the canyon sides, the constantly moving stillness of a morning's waters… and the sound of a single, gentle harpist finishing her lovely song just in time for me to begin mine. My hands fell upon her shoulders, creamy skin at my fingertips as I rubbed. She leaned back against me from where she sat on the large rock, one foot dangling in the water. “The night waters?” I asked, breathing in the sun as Apollo drove it slowly over the sliver of horizon that I could see between the cliffs.


            “Calm and lonely,” she spoke with a yawn, raising her arms in the air for a stretch, her supple young breasts bouncing as she lowered them. Night jobs were always for the youngest. They were the less precise, the less careful, the more ruthless, the more aggressive. But we of the day… we were the true ones. It was an art to us, exposing our beauty, our song with such passion, such precision. She stood, slipping her hands beneath my robe to my shoulders, and working their way down my sides, then gently cupping my breasts, then fingering my nipples with each thumb. “The robe?”


            I nodded, letting her slide it off me with a kiss to my neck, one for my belly, and the lightest one for my sex. The robe was off completely now, leaving me naked but warmed enough until the sun could fill me more… until another could fill me more. “The harp?” I returned.


            She nodded back, squatting instead of bending, spreading her legs beneath the silken softness, picking up the golden harp which shown in the light. I took it from her fingers, feeling the wave of power sweep over me. I felt pulled to sit, but I resisted but a moment to lean to her, brushing her blond streaks back behind her shoulder, placing a warm, luscious kiss at the base of one ear. “Sweet dreams,” I murmured as she left.


            I sat on the large rock, cold to my bare rear at first, but it soon warmed to me. I was the first to wake, just as it was last morning, and every morning before that. I dropped my feet into the warm waters, letting the waves hover at my ankles and crash against the rocks to splash to my knees. The tides bathed me each morning, renewed my sprit as lovers renew each other with a gentle kiss. But I, with my harp, was to never know love. My fingers found the strings and began playing, first soft to match the dawn's break, then louder as the waves lapped my legs. One by one, they woke from their slumbers, joining me on the rocks as their nighttime counterparts went back to sleep hidden away beneath the magic. As each awoke, each joined me in their music, as we honored the day, the sea, the roles we were pleasantly cursed to play.


            Music turned from honorable to joyful, dancing like the waves beneath us, blending with their rushes, blending with our own rushes, our own hopes. The morning had been beautiful but empty, as many knew better than to travel our waters so early. We were so eager then that even if one or two should escape, their boat is smashed to splinters in the currents which bubble from our passion. No, morning was foolish, as foolish as night. Though none have lived to tell the tale, I presume the Gods do make that much common knowledge, since we rarely have visitors in the mornings.


            With the sun overhead, and the bright sky looking down upon us, we sat on our rocks, waiting and calling, hoping Poseidon will be kind enough to speed our messages back against the current to lure the ships inward. All at once, a voice lit with gorgeous, enchanting song from the end of our line, and others quickly followed. There were screams of men and cries and orders and splashes. Oh, how I longed and hungered to hear the splashes. My whole body twittering with excitement at each one. I joined in, singing, strumming, and throwing my hair back to expose my breasts, my body, my lure. I called out, burning with excitement, with anticipation for the one meant for me. But as the seas began to boil, I realized I had not received one for this ship. I continued to sing and play along with a few others. This time, the song was not honorable, or joyful, or enchanting; it was stimulating. Rocking, pumping, churning with sexual excitement. A few desperates swam to the boat itself, rocking it in the calamity as the waters fizzled. Another man fell from the decks and was grabbed by two women who took him from either side, sucking his essence from him as they pulled him beneath the waters to make love to him on the shallow, rocky seabed. But I was patient, calm, letting my voice be one of a few to set the tone, to stimulate their passions.


            When each was finished, men's lifeless bodies slipped beneath the waves, swallowed up by the sea that had sent them to their deaths. And one by one, voices joined mine in soft, thankful song. Song to calm, to soothe, and to reassure. Poseidon would not leave any of his women hungry for a day. My time was yet to come.


            It was late afternoon when a second ship was heralded to sail our channel. This one with a headstrong crew with blindfolds on and hands over their ears. But no man could avoid us with such pitiful little tricks. Some of us swam out to the boat to beckon the men swim with their beauty. Others of us played to shake the waves, churning the boat back and forth before it could go any further forward. And I sang from my heart, from my soul, from my drive. I sang to call the one I wanted to me. I sang to pull him to my body. I sang to bring him to his death.


            And there he was, make no mistake, my desires granted as a daughter would receive a present for her birthday. His head bobbed in and out of the water as he swam at full force to my song. His hair was dark brown, cut in short curls all around his head in typical style. He wore torn, light blue garments that he would not be wearing for long. His face was handsome, golden green eyes that reflected my music in them. I smiled and wiggled my toes underwater. As he was swimming, he reached out his hand, paddling with his other limbs ever closer to my special song, straining to touch me the first moment he could. And when he did, I felt the intense heat sear within me. He could not be released now, not until I had taken him. As he sucked one of my toes, I ran my other foot against his cheek, and then down his arm in as far as I could reach. Then, gathering my strength, taking my two hands, pulled him out of the water with such force, singing my song breathlessly in excitement.


            This one was perfect, nose red, panting with a finger beneath his nose, eyes transfixed upon me. He suffered only a second, straining to keep every attention upon me until the very second he was forced to look away, a momentary blink as he sneezed. “ufffchahh!” He sniffled, gazing back upon me with a grin of utter adoration. I was the most beautiful sight he had ever beheld, and my singing the most alluring sound that had ever filled his ears. And as I ran my finger from his crotch to his nose, in this moment, in this passion, he was the most adorable creature of this world, and his sneezes the most tempting sound imaginable. I was pleasantly cursed to this life, and enjoyably cursed to star each day, and oddly cursed to be given every sickly or sniffley lad that came our way. And strangest of all, was that I could not get enough of it.  “I… I uhh…I have to… ahfchuhh! uukchahh!” he sneezed as I tickled his nose with the delicate tip of my finger. My other hand ripped open his shirt, pulling the damp thing from his muscular, sailor's build. My hand navigated his bulges without a compass, plunging into his trousers to feel his manhood strong and standing with good girth and length. Splendid. “ehhAfchuhh! AhhhChufff!” he sneezed, bending forward with each, only half catching them in his hand, the other half spraying my chest. His wet hands caressed my nipples in a purely amateurish manor. Mere mortals were rarely to be trusted to be placed on the giving end of a sexual adventure.  No… much more of a benefit to seduce them, trick them, have them, use them. Even the great Zeus would agree.


            But thoughts of Zeus were hardly on my mind as I undid the bindings of his trousers. He had already shed his boots on the swim over, quite reasonably for their usual bulk. But his pants stuck to him, his hardness making it all the more difficult to remove his pants. As he struggled with them, I rolled my eyes and rolled onto my back. I waved one hand and at once they were off, a soggy mess of clothing rolled into a ball and rolling off the side of the rock into the water. But of course he noticed not, I was all he could look to. I was all he wanted to look to. He sucked at my nipples as I played with his parts, fingering, massaging, grabbing, pulling, squeezing. “uhhh…” he panted, and my hand pushed his face between my breasts, holding him there helplessly. “ehhIhhshhh! effchah! uhhfchashh!” he sneezed breathlessly, muttering, “this… dreadful cold…” and suckled upon my breasts like the child I could never have.


            I could have orgasmed right then and there at his words, but I restrained the desire. I pulled him back by the hair, staring at him closely. I rubbed the side of his face gently, to let him know I cared. I did care. I cared to make love to him as he had never known. I cared to use him for every whim and desire I felt. I cared to feel his force within me, filling me so completely with his music until the songs of my comrades were drowned out for a few glorious moments. My knee massaged his manhood as I watched him. His face screwed up into a funny little expression, one eye clearly more open that the other, one eyebrow raised where the other lay on a furrowed brow. His manly nostrils twitched, and his nose wrinkled. Then all at once his mouth shot open and his eyes shot closed and he tipped forward only slightly with, “uuufffShahhh! Ehhhctchahh!  I kissed him squarely on the mouth, then the nose, taking it all in my mouth at once, tickling the tip of his raw, sneezey nose with my tongue, then pulling back to watch. He struggled again, trying to keep his attention on me; I was the only thing that mattered, and the sneezes were preventing him from complete enjoyment. He was caught between adoration and annoyance, sniffling, struggling, rubbing at his nose when I let his hands free, trying to keep his attention on me, trying to keep his pettings of my body steady until the very moment of the sneeze. “ehhKtchah! uuffChuhh!” I kissed him in reward as his eyes went back on inspecting me. My singing was beginning to die down, but my beauty would hold him strong so he would not flee. The songs of the others were growing louder, and the waves were beginning to crash and bubble with warmth.


            I shoved his back on the rocks, the sharp edges digging into his skin, which should have caused him such pain as for even the strongest of men of a sane mind to cry out. But he made no noise save his sniffling. And he made no movement aside from slipping his finger into me, gently caressing the overwhelming wetness, the thick, dripping softness that he had caused of me. He rubbed fingers against my sex, stimulating me as if I'd needed more. But I was in control, and eased his hands back to my breasts a moment, then pinned them back onto the rocks. I straddled his body, sitting before his cock, letting my sex and some of my juices rub madly against him as I rocked, rubbing my nose against his. “ehhh…ahhEfcheh! ahhhTushhoo! akchuhh!” He sneezed again and again and again, into my face, against my breasts. Washing me like the sea, as the pressure of a thousand whirlpools built within me.


Unable to take it any longer, I sat upon him, wide enough for a fleet of ships to enter, let alone a single sailorman. A sexy, sniffling, stimulating, sneezing sailorman. “eehhkchoo! Uuffftchahh!” into my shoulder as I pumped him, his face growing red, the waters about us boiling. Waves crashed over us both, warming me further, drawing it out of me like a sneeze itself. When his warmth finally filled me at his final sneeze, “ehhhAHshehh!” I let it go. Pain. Pleasure. Great amounts of both. I felt his force drain from his body and into my own like a beautiful song, though the grin on his face told me that he was not going with suffering. I could hear nothing but his strained panting and an occasional sniffle. His breathing died down, and I pulled myself from him, fingering myself as I again kissed his nose and as he uttered one final, “uhhSheshhhhh!” against my neck. My hips gave a final jerk in spasm as everything within me contracted and released.


            His body, too, contracted and released, and then he was no more. With a wave of my hand, I slid his body to the edge, scraping it against the rocks, leaving a blood trail that the sea devoured naturally. I slid him over, splashing lifelessly into the deep. And I watched after him, remarking upon his sneezes and suffering as I rubbed myself gently. I could see his face for seconds, as my own god-like beauty cast no reflection in my father's waters. When he was very much gone, and I was very much done pleasuring myself, I lay back, exhausted for a moment or two. Then I pulled myself up again as a wave washed over me. I pulled my hair behind my shoulders, letting a dove passing by slip a small sprig into the curls for decoration. Then I took up the harp and joined in on the peaceful, soothing song that filled the air.


            There was not another ship that day and though I was the first to rise, I was also the last to leave. I had the longest day and she the shortest night. She greeted me with kisses up and down my back and a familiar, slender hand groping below at the brown tangle of hair there. I returned the kiss and we traded robe for harp. The blue silk washed over my skin like the salty waves and tickled my nipples to hardness as I walked back to the alcove in the last lights of the setting sun. I was greeted with sounds of orgasms, the sights of gyrating bodies. I took my place between two and let them do as they liked, smiling as they pleased me off to sleep and dreams of the next sneezey lad of my own that I would lead to my desire and his demise with my siren song.