Free God of Ecstasy by Lena loneson

were covered with pink fur. Maybe he hadn’t seen
them that way before? Were fur cuffs a new thing, not around in the sixties?
    “It’s nothing,” he said. But Jaime could swear she heard
fear in his voice. She placed a hand on his stomach. He was shaking, so
slightly that she almost couldn’t tell.
    “You don’t want the handcuffs,” she said. It wasn’t a
question. She was sure of it. But it wasn’t as if they were anything
particularly kinky. In fact, Carol the sex toy consultant had specifically sold
her the cuffs and blindfold as something safe and easy for beginners. And Jaime
was definitely a beginner. Surely the god of orgies was more experienced than
that?
    “Don’t be silly. It’s fine. It’s your fantasy,” he said, but
the tremor in his voice was still there.
    Decisively, Jaime tossed the cuffs on the ground, kicking
them under the bed. “Nope,” she said. “I’m only playing if you want to. It’s
both our fantasies, or neither.”
    For a moment neither of them spoke. He stared at her,
wide-eye with wonder. She held his look with her own, and felt as his shaking
stopped under her hand and his breathing slowed. “Will you tell me?” she said.
    “Yes. I’m sorry,” he said. He shook his head.
    “Dee, there’s nothing to apologize for.”
    He smiled at the nickname. Good. He was getting back to his
old self.
    He held out one of his arms. “You see my tattoos?” he said.
    “Of course, I think they’re amazing.”
    His smile was sad now. “They weren’t always ink. The grape
vines were one of my symbols as a god—you know, like Zeus and his lightning
bolt, Athene and her owl.”
    That sounded vaguely familiar, so Jaime nodded.
    “They were constantly alive, thriving, wrapped around my
arms, and sometimes my legs if I needed more power. They connected me to the
earth. But they were never a prison. I could remove them and grow new ones at
any time.” He took in a deep breath. Jaime chewed at her bottom lip, disturbed
by the sorrow in his voice. He remained lying on the bed but his whole body was
tense. His cock had grown flaccid.
    “When I was cursed, that all changed. The djinn cast the
spell, using some of my ichor—the blood of the gods—and mixing it with Agathe’s
blood. He made a wine of it and drank it himself.”
    Jaime wanted to wrinkle her nose. This was getting a little
too close to the horror of some of the myths she’d read online. She kept her
expression as steady as she could. She didn’t want to judge him until she’d
heard the whole story.
    “When he was finished, the vines took on a life of their
own. They burrowed under my skin, latching themselves into the marrow of my
bones, twisting themselves around me. The pain was excruciating. It’s rare that
a god feels pain. This was unbearable. But I had to bear it.”
    She leaned forward, wanting to stroke his hair in sympathy,
but he held up a hand to stop her.
    “Please, I have to get this out.”
    She saw now that the tattoos around his wrists seemed to
pulse. They really were like none she’d seen before, so fresh and crisp, as if
they were alive. Magic. The vines twisted around his wrists in exactly the spot
handcuffs would, if she had put them on him.
    “The inked vines are what hold me to the curse. Between
mistresses, they cuff me to the bottle, so I cannot escape. And when I’m
outside the bottle, in my moments here with you or with another, I can’t get
rid of them. I’ve tried. I’ve inked over them, but they grow back and the fresh
ink vanishes. I’ve tried cutting them out, with a razor, slicing through the
skin like paper.”
    “That’s horrible.”
    “Jaime, I need you to understand this.” He looked away from
her. “I deserved it. Every last bit of pain. Every year I’ve spent enslaved.
The djinn is evil, but he wasn’t wrong.”
    “I don’t believe that.”
    “I killed her. Agathe, his mistress. He loved her, in a way,
or at least valued her in the way demon kind value those they