The Goddess Zeus (Patreon)

Zeus. Goddess. The Metanoia.

by T.G. Cooper Chapter 1

Zeus lay on his back, legs spread, his beard stained with red wine. Each of his ripsaw snores sent an angry jolt of pain stabbing at Hera's temples. Next to him lay an equally drunk farm girl, one of his random mortal conquests, curled up on her side, her face a mask of divine, post-coital bliss. The two slept on a mattress of straw in a dirty little cottage where presumably the girl lived with 20 siblings in the manner of the low-bred mortals.

Hera stared down at Zeus, consumed with hate--and love. Disgust-- and envy. He was her husband, her partner, her brother, and as much as she wanted to kill him sometimes, as goddess of marriage she couldn't very well murder him. She had, however, been biding her time for some years now, waiting for the signs, for the coming of the Metanoia. And now, the time had come, and Zeus would soon be looking at the world from a very different perspective.

"Let us begin," Hera said, hands on her hips. "The time has come for the wheel to turn, for the fates to take their hand, for the great Metanoia to pass over these worlds."

"Are you certain about this?" Harmonia asked, putting a hand on Hera's elbow.

"Yes," Hera said. "All the portents, all the signs have manifested themselves. The fates themselves have decreed the time of Metanoia. It is not for us to decide, but only to do now what must be done."

Hecate nodded, reaching into her bag and removing a stone wheel, which she placed on the ground at the foot of Zeus' bed.

"Once we begin, there is no turning back," Harmonia said.

"Cut the crap," Enyo, goddess of war hissed. "Let's cast the spell and get on with it. He's got it coming. They all do."

Hecate looked up expectantly at Hera, her own eyes glassy with anticipation. "Yes, they need this, and they must have it, the world must have it; but are we ready for the change? Are we ready to give up our women's lives, our shapes?"

"We have to do this for us, for them, for the world. All the seven signs have shown themselves. Be brave," Hera said. "The time has come for us to become gods."

"And for them to become goddesses," Enyo said, her fist clenched.

The women gathered around the stone, the goddesses gathered to combine their powers: Enyo, goddess of war, Hecate, goddess of magic, Harmonia, goddess of harmony and discord, Nemesis, goddess of retribution, Nike, goddess of victory, and Luna, goddess of the feminine moon, under whose power all men would soon fall sway, while she and womankind would claim the sun. Hera, of course, as goddess of goddesses and women - the embodiment of femininity - led them all.

The goddesses held hands and then raised them above their heads. Hecate began the incantation, which the others repeated:

The seven signs from chaos come

The Fates decree the song be sung

The will of The Fates must now be done

Zeus, king of gods and lightning's liege, must now take the form of a she

The goddess Zeus over marriage will foresee

Zeus with her woman's shape

Shall serve Hera as her mate

Hera now shall rule take

As King of gods will sit in state

This same change throughout Olympus pass

As each god becomes a lass

Soft breasts, soft skin, voices of flutes, will make most comely substitutes

And each goddess will become a man

Strong of shoulder, arm and hand

She will assume a new role, a manly state

And live as a God as decreed by the Fates

All shall shift, too, in the mortal world, too

as man and woman exchange their shapes

A new all different the time has come

The Age of Metanoia has begun

At first, nothing. The goddesses looked at Hera expectantly, but she stared at Zeus there, on the bed, her face a mask of concentration; eyes distant, as if lost in memory, though whether those memories were of joy or misery none could tell.

They kept their hands linked above their heads, though their arms ached, and Enyo finally said, "Did something go wrong, I thought...."

But before she could finish her thought, Hecate hushed her, and then the stone wheel began to turn with an ancient grinding of stone on stone, and at the same moment Zeus brow wrinkled, and he murmured, "No. No."

The wheel turned again, and Zeus shifted, waving one arm as if he were batting at an invisible fly, now calling out, "No! Please! No!" In a louder voice.

Hera smiled, squeezed the hands of Enyo and Harmonia, who stood on either side of her, and then the room began to shake, as an earthquake rocked Mount Olympus, and the sky outside grew dark; while the moon moved across the sun, a chill wind blowing in the window, tossing the curtains and the women's hair.

"No!" Zeus shouted now, though he still seemed asleep. "NO!" He pounded his fists against the mattress now, struggling as if being wrestled down by an unseen enemy, and then they all watched in wonder as two small, firm breasts blossomed on his chest--firm little cones like those of a teen-age girl, smooth and hairless. Even as his small breasts swelled, the rest of his body shrank, just a little. As he pounded his fist into the mattress shouting, "No! No!" they all saw he'd grown slightly smaller, even as they felt their own bodies growing taller, the same changes being seen in the girl he lay with, who grew slightly taller even as her own breasts shrunk.

The moon moved past the sun, the shaking stopped, the room grew calm. Zeus' struggles calmed. He now seemed to claw weakly at the mattress, his small breasts rising and falling with each breath.

Hecate grabbed the wheel and put it back in her bag, and the assembled goddesses hurried from the room, down the stairs and out into a small courtyard. "We did it," Luna said, her voice trembling. "We actually did it."

"I'm scared," Harmonia said. "They will be furious."

"We must never speak of this," Hera said, putting a hand on the other woman's shoulder. "The male gods-- none outside this circle-- know anything of the prophecy, the coming of the Metanoia. They will not know how this happened or why. Stick to the plan to distract and confuse them. Say nothing else but what we have agreed to, and they will gradually become females, and they will learn to accept their new sex."

"But what if they figure it out? What if they find out it was us?"

"It won't matter because by the time they find out, they will be goddesses and we will be the gods."

"I will miss the moon," Luna said, looking at the window at the blazing sun, to which she already felt a growing affinity. "I will miss her soft light."

"But you will have the sun," Enyo said. "All the heat and intensity."

"Is that better?"

"Gather," Hera said, cutting Luna off. "Join hands." The goddesses gathered round. "As planned, all of you must now scatter to your homes. You must feign surprise and confusion as to what has happened. We must never speak of this outside the circle. Never. Agreed?"

"Agreed," they all chimed in answer.

"I will be in touch with you all as time permits. Be brave. These will be trying times."

"To Lord Hera, King of the Gods," Enyo said.

"Lord Hera, King of the Gods."

Hecate smiled. Pleased. It was all going just as she had planned it.

With that, the goddesses scattered, and Hera herself returned to the royal palace, where she found her loom and sat down, letting her hands gracefully weave the soft, silken threads together. It had always comforted her, to sit and weave, and it calmed her now as she waited for Zeus to awaken from his slumber and discover his new shape. Would she lose this, she wondered, once she'd fully become a man and the King of the Gods? Perhaps these simple womanly pleasures would no longer speak to her.

It would be a pity, she decided, weaving away, humming a song she'd learned as a child. She couldn't remember the words, but the melody had always pleased her. Maybe I will teach it to my children once Zeus gives me some babies, which she was sure her soon-to-be lovely wife would. The prophecy was very clear on that. Zeus would be quite a busy little thing, but one thing Hera had vowed was that she would be a better husband--not that her brother and husband had set a very high bar, but then what could be expected of a man who raped and then married his own sister?

***

Zeus' sleeping mind was filled with strange and terrifying dreams. He'd been swimming, frolicking in a pond, splashing and laughing, when he'd seen a tiger moving among the ferns and vines that surrounded the pool. The tiger had been bright orange with aggressive black stripes, and it had emerald green eyes, with which it stared hungrily at him.

Zeus, Lord of the Heavens and Mightiest of all Gods, would normally have laughed at such a creature, but now he nervously put his arms over his chest and looked away, blushing, as he felt as if the tiger were looking right through him, or not through him but into him, and he felt a shiver of a strange new emotion--fear--run through his body as he froze there in the pond while the tiger padded gracefully around. Zeus could feel its eyes on him. Finally, he looked up and met the tiger's eyes, and it bared its fangs and growled. At that, he trembled and finally found the strength to move, stepping daintily deeper into the pool until the water came up to his shoulders.

The tiger stared.

Zeus finally stared back defiantly. "Stop looking at me!" Zeus said, though his voice sounded wrong - high and thin.

The tiger opened its maw and roared, a mighty roar that shook the trees and caused the hair to stand on Zeus' head. Despite himself he gasped, and started to hurry toward the other side of the pond. But the tiger raced around the perimeter and Zeus could see he would never get out of the water before the tiger could cut him off, so he drifted back to the center of the pond, feeling trapped and scared.

The tiger rested its head on its paws and purred, staring at Zeus once more. Once again, he was unnerved by the feeling that the tiger was looking right into him. "Why do you keep looking at me?"

"Why wouldn't I keep looking at such a beautiful girl?" The tiger answered.

"Girl? I am no girl, I am..." but even as the words were leaving his mouth Zeus felt the full, soft breasts on his chest, squeezed inside his slender arms, and the long hair sticking to his smooth shoulders and back, and became aware of the empty space between his legs, an empty space that made him a girl. "I am... Zeus?"

"You are," the tiger said, "and your beauty makes me ravenous. I must have you."

"No!" Zeus said, a strange new terror filling him.

The tiger now leapt into the water and began swimming toward Zeus, mighty king of gods, and Zeus screamed and turned, running through the water toward the opposite shore. The tiger roared. "Yes! Let's make this fun!"

And as Zeus emerged from the water, now a beautiful young woman, he felt the tiger swipe at his rear, one claw scrapping across his soft, bouncy behind and causing him to shriek and leap away, running into the forest with breasts swaying and bouncing at each step.

The tiger bounded, tackling Zeus, and then laughed as he pushed the terrified God-girl onto her back and then climbed on top of her. Tears streamed down Zeus' face and he struggled, shouting "No! No!" in his soft, pretty voice, but the tiger only laughed and licked Zeus on his soft cheek, then shoved himself between Zeus' legs and inside his young new body.

"No," Zeus whimpered. "No."

But the tiger just laughed as he took the girl god and welcomed her to her new life.

***

The image faded, and Zeus found himself on his back, staring up into the bearded face of the man he knew was Hera, his husband, and she was caressing his cheek with the back of his hand and whispering, "are you ready to consummate our marriage, dear sister?"

"No," Zeus whispered. "No. I'm not a girl. I'm not....."

***

"No!" Zeus jerked awake, sitting up in the bed, realizing it had all been a terrible dream, But even as the relief of that realization swept over him, he felt a strange weight on his chest, bouncing and jiggling with the sudden movement, and looked down to see he now had firm little breasts on a smooth, hairless chest like a girl's.

He touched them with his hands, felt their soft round shapes, felt the meaty flesh of his nipples cradled in his palms, and he felt an unmanly tingle of pleasure and delight at the feeling of hands cupping his breasts, yanking his hands down in terror and disgust. Zeus looked around the filthy little room, saw the sleeping girl and felt lightning crackle at his fingertips as his rage grew and he thought to murder her there in her sleep.

"But no," he said. "This simple child can't possibly have had anything to do with.... This. With these breasts."

He crawled from the bed, dismayed by the strange feeling of his breasts hanging down like a cow's udders, found his robe and pulled it on, making sure it covered his breasts. No one could see him like ...this. He was King of the Gods, and the shame and ridicule would be unbearable. No doubt whoever did this meant to shame and embarrass him, and he would need to keep his soft new shape a secret from the world.

His mind raced through the names of those who might have the motivation as well as the means to place such a curse on him. There were only a few he could imagine. He would return to Olympus and act as if all was normal. Glancing down, he tugged and adjusted the top of his robe. Of course, the peasant girl had no mirror, but he was certain his robe sufficiently hid his small breasts. He would return and pretend everything was normal, and then seek out and sound out those who may have thought to disgrace him. And he would start with the most likely culprit of all, his loving wife and sister, Hera.

It never occurred to Zeus as he launched himself into the air and hurtled toward Olympus, once more adjusting his breasts, pressing them down and tugging at his robe to make sure to hide his young, girlish breasts so they didn't pop out as he flew through the air, that they were only the first of many changes to come.

Chapter 2 - Hephaestus and Aphrodite

Hephaestus, God of blacksmiths, hammered away at a wide, long blade of bronze, sweat pouring down his brow, and as he hammered he felt a warmth in his chest, and maybe a little dizzy. He paused, breathing hard, then lifted his hammer and slammed it down again, but something was wrong. When he'd raised his hammer he'd felt something under his shirt- a lump, and then when he'd brought the hammer down his whole chest had seemed to jiggle in a strange and impossible way. Setting down his hammer, he pulled the sword from the fire and thrust it into the reservoir, sending great jets of steam into his workroom. Shrugging, he again felt the strange, wobbling weight, so he took off his leather apron and unbuttoned his shirt, staring down in confusion at his chest. It was his chest? Because instead of the flat plane of steel-hard muscle, he now saw two firm little breasts swaying from his chest--hairless, round: the chest of a girl. They glistened with sweat, glowing in the warm red flames from the forge, and Hephaestus grasped them, squeezed and lifted, feeling their odd feminine softness in his hands, and feeling his hands on his new grown breasts, squeezing them together, he admired the cleavage of a pretty young woman even as his mind reeled and refused to grasp the fact that these sweet soft orbs belong not to a young woman but to him, God of Blacksmiths.

His head spun, and he stumbled out of his forge and into the cool air of the day, blinking against the stinging sunlight. His breasts shifted and jiggled with each step and he stared at their soft roundness so white in the bright sunlight.

He felt his cheeks burn with shame. The ugliest of all the gods, and now he had a girl's breasts? Aphrodite would mock him mercilessly. Already she despised him. He glanced across the field to his castle, rising on a small hill beyond a line of trees, a tall, crenelated spire, the arched window at the top where he slept. He longed to lie down. Sleep. Hope this - insult--just vanished. But she might be home. She might see.... This. He pulled his shirt closed over his breasts, buttoned it up and wrapped his arms around his soft chest. Circling around to the back of his workshop, he dipped the old iron ladle into the oaken water bucket that rested there next to a marble bench, and drank deeply, then took another. His head clouded with exhaustion, he sank down on the bench, lay on his back and closed his eyes, dropping off into sleep, hoping when he woke he would be himself once more.

Chapter 3 - Ares and Athena

The mountains rang with the clashing of steel as Ares hammered his sword against Athena's shield, forcing her to step back, and back. Ares laughed. "All your logic and planning are nothing against a man's strong arm."

Athena feinted with her spear, circled away from Ares so she had more room to retreat. She thought to let him attack, to deflect his blows and wait for him to tire himself out, but her shield had grown creased and crumbled, the metal failing against Ares' blows. He was bigger, stronger, had a greater reach, and all her plans and plots were not changing that, just as he boasted. It infuriated her. She knew, they both knew, she had the sharper mind for war, but this preening ass would win simply because he had more muscle?

No. She had to find a way to beat him. There was more at stake than just the pride of a goddess.

The battle on the fields below mirrored the battle of the gods. The massed men of Macedonia, howling with bloodlust, pushed back against the ordered lines of the Amazon defenses, pushing the fearless women warriors back and back toward a box canyon from which they would face death or certain surrender. The men, tasting the coming victory, sang out praises to Ares, while the Amazons prayed to Athena for victory.

Ares, drenched in sweat, waited for Athena to jab at him with her spear, then swatted it away and charged inside its reach, unleashing a rain of bone shaking blows on the goddess' shield that finally tore into shreds, forcing her back against the wall of the cliff.

Athena, gasping for breath and slick with her own sweat, stare into Ares' eyes, calmly running through strategies, running through all her readings on war and combat, searching for some action, some move to turn the tide against the broad shouldered god. His bronze helmet blazed triumphantly in the sun, the wicked edge of his blade held out in front as he stepped toward Athena, a smug little smile on his face.

Athena dropped her spear, unbuckled her helmet and pulled it off, letting her golden hair fall down around her shoulders. She would make him think she was about to surrender....

Ares stopped, a strange look on his face, and then he wiggled his shoulders in an s awkward way, and as he looked down at his chest, Athena saw him... shrink. Just a little, but as he shrank she, for her part, grew taller, felt stronger. Taking advantage of Ares' distraction, she charged, leaping into him, knocking him backward and slamming her helmet against his head with a mighty blow that sounded through the mountains like thunder.

At the earth shaking sound of Athena's mighty blow, stones rolled down from the walls of the valley to crash into the flanks of the Macedonian army. Confused and distracted, trying to avoid the falling boulders, the Macedonians dropped back, and a ferocious volley from the Amazonian archers, whose work had been suppressed by heavy bombardment from the advancing Macedonian archers, now too busy dodging rolling boulders to fire arrows, decimated the front ranks of the Macedonian army.

***

Ares saw stars, tasted blood. He found himself suddenly on his back, Athena straddling him, and before he could recover his wits the goddess had ripped his shield from his hands, then batted his sword away before once again raising her helmet like a club, her face a mask of cold, calculating destruction. She brought it down in a mighty swing that would surely have left Ares unconscious, but at the last second he yanked his head away, and the helmet slammed harmlessly against the earth. Ares used Athena's momentum to throw her off as he rolled to his feet, shaking his head, looking around for his shield, but it was on the ground some distance away, Athena standing between him and his shield and sword.

Still. Athena did not have her spear, either. The two stood, gathering their strength, catching their breath, preparing to settle the war once and for all.

"Shall we settle this with our fists?" Ares taunted, tugging at his breastplate, again wiggling his shoulders. His armor felt too tight and something was wrong, like someone had stuffed balls of wool into his shirt. He was so distracted by his discomfort he still had not noticed that he no longer had the same advantage in size and strength he'd once had.

"Gladly," Athena said, looking at the diminished god, watching puzzled as he wiggled and tugged at his armor.

Ares, in his arrogance, strode forward, smirking gleefully that Athena would be so foolish as to fight him, the mighty god of war, hand to hand. For all her vaunted logic and strategy, she was a fool.... As he approached, preparing to lunge in a grapple Athena, intending to pin her to the ground and make her beg, he realized he was looking her right in the eyes.... They were the same height. But that was...

Athena hurled a handful of sand she'd cunningly scooped up into Ares' eyes, grabbed him around the waist and lifted him off his feet, driving him to the ground. Ares' head and back slammed down, knocking the breath out of him. She smashed her fist into his jaw, then grabbed his breast plate and dragged him to his feet, spinning around, lifting him off his feet, but before she could throw him the straps on his beast plate snapped and the stunned god flew across the clearing to slam against the cliff wall with a groan, sliding down, his white, round breasts now exposed.

Athena retrieved Ares' sword, her sword now, and walked over to the stunned, defeated god, marveling as she looked at his pretty breasts. Had some god intervened to help her? What had brought about this wondrous change, turning Ares into half a girl? She put her sword to Ares' throat. "Surrender."

Ares, stared down at the soft, white girl's breasts on his chest, then looked up at Athena. He shook his head. Blinked. How had this happened? She seemed so confident. So strong. She had defeated him. "I surrender," he said. "State your terms."

Athena looked down at Ares, saw the cloudy look in his eyes, and smiled. She knew her terms. They came to her as easy as her breath. She felt them deep in herself. "Serve me," she said.

"For how long?" The thought stung, and yet she was so beautiful, wouldn't it be a pleasure to serve her?

Athena pressed her sword against Ares' neck. "As long as it pleases me."

"Yes, milady," Ares said, angry, ashamed, and yet pleased. Comfortable. It seemed... right... somehow... that he should serve Athena, and yet also very wrong. "I will be your loyal servant. As long as it pleases you."

"Very good."

Enyo stood on the peak of a nearby mountain and watched it all, watched Ares fall in defeat, saw his sweet white breasts, heard him pledge to serve Athena. She smiled. It was all happening just as it had been fated. Ares would become shield maiden to Athena, and Enyo would rise to her rightful place, no longer a minor goddess, but a major god to be worshiped throughout the world.

***

On the field below the Macedonians had been routed, and raced back toward their boats, hoping to at least escape with their lives. The Amazonians, as disciplined as their patron goddess, worked systematically to capture the leaders and the greatest warriors, letting the others escape back to their ships to flee Amazonia and tell the world what happened to those who dared invade Amazonia.

The Macedonians, climbing onto their boats or kneeling in chains at the feet of their Amazon masters, found they had womanly breasts, and wept in shame both at their defeat as well as their emasculating new shapes.

Chapter 4 - The Mortal World: Ambrose and the Slave-girl, Nubia

Ambrose grinned as Nubia stepped out of her gown, letting it fall at her feet. She stood before him one hand on an out-thrust hip, a smile on her full, soft lips. She wore the golden torque of the House of Ambrose around her slender neck, and slender chains of gold flashed against the dark skin of her delicate wrists and ankles, but otherwise she stood completely naked, her body a model of female perfection. She was Ambrose's favorite slave, and she knew it, and he knew she knew and didn't care.

"You get more beautiful by the day," he said, letting his eyes drift over her body, taking in the perfection of her shape, her skin. He felt himself growing stiff and gestured for her to join him on the pelts he'd spread on the floor of his wagon.

Nubia moved as smoothly and sleekly as a cat, and she slipped next to Ambrose, meeting his lips with her own, then giggling as he let his hands brush over her breasts, her belly. The two kissed and fondled each other like new lovers, and then Ambrose pushed Nubia onto her back and looked down at her. She could feel his stiff member pressing against the soft inside of her thigh, and she longed to have him inside her even as she secretly wished he would slow down and truly bring her to the heights of ecstatic glory a woman could experience.

Ambrose slipped inside her and began to thrust, his face a mask of concentration as sweat dripped down over his forehead and rained down onto Nubia's full, bouncing breasts. Nubia liked to watch Ambrose's face when he made love to her, and she could always tell when he was about to come because he would bite his lip. She panted softly, lifting her hips to meet his thrusts, and as he kept slamming into her she found herself surprised and pleased that he was taking so long. She felt tension rising in herself, intense pleasure building and building and as she stared at Ambrose's face thinking... yes, yes, keep holding back, keep holding back just a little bit longer...

Ambrose felt frustration growing. He needed release so badly, needed to unleash his pent up seed into this beautiful girl, but it wasn't coming, wasn't happening. His heart pounded in his chest, sweat slicked his body, he felt a throbbing in his groin like he'd never felt before.... And then... a strange warmth spread across his chest...

.... Nubia watched in amazement as Ambrose's chest swelled into the shape of a girl's breasts.... One moment he had his same thin but flat chest, and the next moment his chest swelled into twin little cones, pretty little breasts, that bounced on his chest as he thrust into her...

Ambrose felt the swelling, felt his breasts bouncing and jiggling on his chest as he thrust into Nubia. He was shocked and appalled as he looked into her eyes and saw them grow wide with amazement. He thought to pull out, get off her, but he needed to come so badly, so badly...

Nubia couldn't resist the urge to reach up and put her hands on Ambrose's perky new little breasts. She squeezed them, hard, digging her nails into the soft flesh...

Ambrose cried out, shaken by the strange and powerful new surge of pleasure that rocked his body as his slave girl squeezed his breasts, the breasts he shouldn't have, didn't have until only a moment before, and with her squeezing his breasts he finally released, exploding into her...

.... And Nubia cried out as well, her scream matching her master's as she orgasmed as well, a blazing ball of pleasure exploding in her abdomen and spreading throughout her body as she pulled Ambrose into her while still clinging to his firm little breasts....

He collapsed, falling onto his side, his breasts pressing against the inside of his arm. He gasped for breath, which sent tremors through his soft chest, and even as his whole body seemed to tingle with strange new feelings, he felt a mixture of shame and humiliation at what had happened to his body, at what Nubia had seen... and done...

Nubia lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, lost in bliss, reveling in the afterglow of her first orgasm since she'd been kidnapped, taken away from her husband and sold into slavery. She hugged her knees to her chest, rolled onto her side and saw Ambrose laying on his side, his back to her. She wanted to hold him, to feel those soft breasts again, and she snuggled against him, slipped a hand under his arm and cupped one of his round breasts in her soft hand.

Ambrose made a strangled noise and pushed her hand away. "Don't," he said.

"It's okay," Nubia said. "I like it."

"No," Ambrose said. "Go."

Nubia hesitated, thought to comfort her master, but she was a slave and knew she should follow orders. Of course he was ashamed to have breasts like a woman. What man wouldn't be? She stood and stepped into her dress, ran her fingers through her kinky hair. Just as she reached for the handle to the wagon door, Ambrose hissed, "Girl."

"Master?" Nubia turned. Ambrose was sitting up now, but he was holding one of the pelts modestly against his chest. It looked like such a feminine gesture that Nubia had to keep her face blank to hide her smile.

"Don't speak a word of this to anyone," Ambrose said, glancing down at his hidden breasts.

"Yes, master," Nubia said with a bow.

"Not one word!"

"Yes, master."

Ambrose looked at her, eyeing her carefully. Felt satisfied, and yet added, "It wouldn't be proper."

Ambrose had never before explained himself to anyone, let alone a slave, and Nubia did not fail to notice the sign of what could be seen as weakness. And yes, she thought, looking down at him clutching the pelt defensively over his newly blossomed breasts. He was smaller. She was sure of it.

"Is that all, master?" Nubia said, keeping her face blank, as she had been trained to do.

"Go," he said.

Nubia left. Ambrose fell onto his back, feeling the strange weight of his new breasts as the flesh pooled on his chest, his brown nipples pointing up at the roof. How had this happened? Why? And what would it do to his reputation if the world found out? Had the slave girl cast some witch's spell on him?

But no. If she had such power, she would not have allowed herself to be taken and kept as a slave for so long. But he himself had no knowledge of magic, either. No means to even begin to guess at what had happened. As soon as they got to town he would seek out a wizard who could help him undo this strange curse.

In the meantime, it wouldn't be hard to hide them. Many fat men had breasts like women and kept them hidden beneath layers of clothes. And he was certain Nubia would keep her mouth shut as he'd commanded. Pretty certain. But he felt... afraid. Nervous. As a slave owner, he managed through fear, kept his slaves and slave drivers in line through fear. He knew with certainty that if they found out he had a woman's breasts, and what's more had allowed a slave girl to play with them just as if he were a woman? They would fear him less. He knew that.

They might even come to not fear him at all.

And then he would lose all his power.

Chapter 5 - Zeus and Hera

Back in Olympus, Zeus landed on the tower of the palace he shared with Hera, his breasts jiggling as his feet settled on the cool stone. Again, he tugged at his robe, looked down to make sure there was no visible sign of the soft round swelling of his breasts. He descended into the palace, determined to sound Hera out, to see if he could glean even the slightest hint that she had done this to him or knew who had. He felt his anger growing as he remembered how she had drugged and bound him in the past, sought to join the other gods in overthrowing him. He was hyper-conscious of his changed body, the way his once hard, flat chest now shifted and bounced with every step. If anyone found out about this he would have to flee Olympus in shame.

"Zeus," Hera said, barely glancing up from her loom. "Back from one of your illicit couplings?"

Zeus chuckled. "So wonderful to see you, my beloved wife." Had she opened with anything else he would have known right away she was guilty, but her typical response, and the fact that he had just coupled with a mortal, left him still in doubt. He eyed her carefully, watching her body language, looking for any sign of guilt. Zeus wandered over to a couch that rested along the wall, sat down so he could see her face, or at least as much as he could see with her head down, focused as it was on her weaving.

Hera kept weaving, her slender, graceful hands working the fine thread. Zeus watched. Finally, Hera looked up and said, "Did you need something?"

"I just enjoy watching you weave," Zeus said.

Hera laughed and went back to her weaving. "Since when?"

"Since right now. You look very beautiful in this light."

Hera lay her knitting aside and stood up, opening her arms for a hug, not needing to fake how touched she felt to hear those words come from her gruff husband's lips, even though she knew he was only manipulating her. "Come. Hold me."

"Ugh," Zeus said. "This is why I never compliment you."

Hera stood, smiling brightly. "I have to give you a hug nevertheless." She walked toward Zeus, whose eyes grew wide with panic. Surely Hera would feel his breasts when they hugged?

Zeus stood and backed toward the door. "Stay away from me you crazy woman! If we start hugging that will lead to thunder and lightning."

"I don't see anything wrong with that," Hera said, hurrying toward Zeus, enjoying his self-consciousness and panic.

"I haven't bathed," Zeus, hurrying from the room.

"Well, go bathe and we'll pick this up again later!"

Zeus hurried back to their private quarters, threw himself on the bed, breasts bouncing. He hadn't seen anything in Hera that suggested guilt. She seemed like her old self. But then, if not her, who? Why? He decided to take a bath, as he did stink from his time in the mortal world, and he resolved as well to afterward drape himself in more layers of clothes, perhaps use a strip of cloth to tie down his breasts. He needed to be able to move about without constantly worrying his boobs would pop out.

He tugged on the rope to summon his man servant, gave instructions for his bath and the clothes he wanted laid out for him, and soon found himself stripping off his smelly robes and stepping into the warm waters of the royal bath. He couldn't help but look down at the little round breasts on his chest, the meaty pink nipples. He'd enjoyed looking at many firm young breasts in his life, and now as he looked down at his own he felt a mixed and confused stirring of desire within himself as he longed to touch the firm young breasts he looked at, to kiss them and caress them. And yet he felt an equally powerful new urge, the urge to have someone else squeeze his breasts, kiss his breasts;, take his hard little pink nipples in their hot, wet mouth and suck....

Glancing around to make sure that no one was watching, that no supernatural creature hid, invisible, in the corner, or that some mystic scrying pool fixed on him, Zeus lay back in the tub and slipped his hands up over his breasts, lifting them and then cupping them, squeezing them together, his hard nipples tickling the insides of his palms. "Mmmmmm..." he murmured as he found himself getting hard, new and old pleasures mingling. Cupping his hands under the bottoms of his breasts he pinched his nipples, tentatively, at first, and then in response to some deep, inner longing, harder, lifting his hips and gasping at the surge of pleasure that passed through his body.

Stop.... He thought. You have to stop... but his hands kept moving, squeezing, and he was imagining Hera now, on him, playing with his breasts, her hands holding them, teasing his nipples... I am Zeus, Lord of the Heavens, he thought, lifting and squeezing his breasts, now rubbing his palms against his erect nipples. "I am King of the Gods. I will not give in to...." But then, as if possessed, he once again pinched his nipples between forefinger and thumb... "pleasure...."

"Oh.... Oh....." he murmured. Pausing to reach down, he pushed his erection back between his legs and then squeezed them together, thrusting his hips back and forth while playing with his breasts, harder, more intently... it hurt, but so good.... And as he imagined Hera sucking on his nipples while she also slipped her finger into him, he exploded, ejaculating into the tub, gasping, a single tear rolling down his cheek and into his thick, bristly beard.

Chapter 6 - Ares and Athena

Ares followed behind his mistress, Athena, as the goddess led the way into her gilded palace on Mount Olympus. He carried her shield and helmet, and she led him to the armory, where she looked at him, smiled and said, "Polish my shield and helmet until they shine bright as the sun. Once you are done, sit here on the floor and prettily wait until you are called."

"Is polishing bronze the best use of my talents?" Ares said, through clenched teeth, thinking Athena only wanted to humiliate him.

"Dearest Ares," Athena said, cupping his chin. "You more than any of my servants know the standard to which a war god must be held. You among all my servants have the discipline to make it so. You among all my servants know how important it is that I when I leave this palace to guide my worshipers in war, I must always convey my divine splendor. So, yes, Ares, I do think this is the best use of your talents."

"As you wish, mistress," Ares said, feeling strangely flattered, fighting the urge to bow. Athena tussled his hair and then left. Ares set down his burdens with a sigh, looking around Athena's armory. Unlike his own, which was packed with weapons and armor, her armory stood mostly empty. A rack for one suit of armor. Brackets on the wall for a single shield. A rack with space for a spear, a sword. At the back of the large, bare room, he saw wooden cupboards, and walking back he opened them to find what he needed: polish and rags, and oil.

Sitting down cross-legged on the floor, Ares, god of war, began to polish his new mistress' shield, making small, clockwise motions, pressing hard, rubbing the polish over the metal and then cleaning it off, smiling to see the polish had magical properties; not only did it bring out a lustrous shine, but as he polished, it wiped away dents and dings. Hours passed, Ares' arms began to ache, but he felt a growing thrill of pride as the shield he'd nearly destroyed during their battle regained its former glory, and soon he held up the bright shiny armament, saw his blurry face reflected back at him, and smiled. Getting up, he hung the shield on the wall and stood back, rubbing his stiff, aching arms, admiring his work. It all seemed so surreal. That morning he'd woken in his own palace, the mighty God of War, confident that he and his Macedonian warriors would route Athena and her Amazons, and now here he stood, Athena's servant, and who knew for how long?

What had happened? Why had he grown smaller, weaker? Why did he have a girl's breasts? Athena had been just as surprised as he'd been, and he resolved to find time between his chores to somehow find an answer to what had happened to him. In the meantime, he had work to do, so he sat back down and began to work on Athena's breast plate; then her helmet.

When Ares finished he was very tired, and famished. Thirsty. He'd had no chance to rest after the battle, to eat, and now he crept to the entrance to the armory and peaked out, looking around, hoping for some sign of Athena, or some other servant he could ask to bring him some food and water. But the hall was empty, quiet.

I should just leave, he thought. Fly back to my own palace. Everyone knows I am a liar, and besides, I need to find out what has happened to my body. Let Athena be angry with me. Why should I care?

He started out the door. Stopped. Walked back inside and sat down on the floor as he'd been ordered. He wasn't sure why. He just felt he must. Though sitting there on the floor, his stomach growling, throat parched, he rationalized. It's better that I do as she says. Be obedient. I will please her, and then she will free me. Yes. Of course.

And so Ares, God of War, sat on the floor of Athena's armory, and to occupy his mind while he waited for his next orders, he closed his eyes and pictured his mistress, so tall and beautiful. He imagined her radiant smile, and the thought of her smiling at him and being pleased with his work warmed his changing heart.

***

While Ares polished Athena's armor, Enyo landed at the doorstep to his palace. She pulled open the great, iron doors and swaggered into the main hall. Ares' guards saw her, stood, hands on their hilts, ready to draw, but something held them back, and they stared at the goddess in confusion.

"Don't get your titties in an uproar, boys," Enyo said, one hand sassily on a hip. "I now stand as God of War and claim this palace as my own. You serve me now. Go about your duties." She strode forward, intend on inspecting her new premises.

Belerogeron, the head of the palace guard, drew his sword. "Stop. I serve Ares, and I have vowed to fight to the death to protect this palace."

"Your death won't be necessary. Probably," Enyo said, drawing her own sword and advancing. The others watched, struggling against their loyalty to Ares and a strange, instinctive feeling that they should obey Enyo. That she was, in fact, the new God of War, despite her sex.

Enyo advanced on Belerogeron, unleashing her divine radiance. The other guards dropped to their knees, heads bowed, but Belerogeron settled into a fighter's stance. Even so, he could not look at Enyo. She was a goddess, and he a mere mortal servant of Ares. He kept his eyes on the tip of her sword. He had sworn an oath, and he meant to keep it. He would die with honor and not live in shame.

Enyo batted the sword from his hands and sent it clanging against the wall, rattling to the floor. He reached down; pulled the knife from his belt, lunged at her, but she effortlessly side stepped his attack and slammed the pommel of her sword into his back, sending him crashing to the ground. The wind knocked out of him, Belerogeron squinted against stars flashing in his eyes. Enyo grabbed a handful of his hair, yanked his head back, placed the cold edge of her blade against his throat. He could feel the cold steel against his throbbing jugular.

"Serve me," Enyo said. "And keep your life."

"I have taken an oath to serve Ares, true god of war," Belerogeron said through gritted teeth.

"Ares is no longer God of War," Enyo said. "He is a serving girl to Athena. You no longer owe him your loyalty. I will give you one last chance to swear fealty to me, and one more chance only. Think carefully before you answer me."

There was no choice for Belerogeron. He had taken a vow. He took only a moment to offer up a last prayer to Ares, his patron God, and then he repeated, in as loud a voice as he could muster, "I break my oaths for no man or God."

He felt Enyo's blade sink into his flesh, cutting through his flesh as easily as paper, watched a dark red stream of blood shoot out from his neck, splatter across the white marble floor and the insignia of Ares, a cruel red arc slashing across his God's face. A sense of peace came over him as Enyo let go of his hair and he collapsed to the floor, his cheek against the cold marble as a pool of wine-red blood spread out around him.

Enyo watched him die, and then faced the men who remained kneeling. "A shame," she said. "Give him all proper funerary rights. He did what he thought was right. You all, on the other hand, did what I thought was right, which was a very good decision."

And with that she walked away, her sword dripping blood on the gleaming white marble as she inspected her new palace.

Chapter 7 - Hephaestus and Aphrodite

When Hephaestus woke from his nap, he still had breasts. How long had he slept? Judging by the position of the sun, an hour or so had passed. Hephaestus cupped his breasts. Lifted them. What to do about this strange mystery? Contact one of the other gods? But then he would have to reveal his shameful new breasts to another. And so, like most every masculine figure, he decided to simply hide them and go about his life. Getting up he went back into his shop and began to heat up his forge, intent on finishing the sword he'd been working. Hephaestus had always taken pleasure in his work, had found comfort with a hammer in his hand, and so by returning to work he soon forgot about the changes to his body, easily putting the strange new quivering of his chest out of his mind as he focused instead solely on the task at hand.

As Hephaestus returned to work, black smoke billowing from the crooked chimney of his shop, Aphrodite streaked across the sky like a meteor, glancing down at the shack, seeing the smoke and sighing with relief. She loathed the sight of the smith, the ugliest of the gods, and was too tired to even look at him. Flying in the window of her private chambers--she did not sleep with the brute-- she stepped out of her clothes and strode naked to her bath, where her servants had anticipated her arrival and prepared a steaming bath with scented oils. Slipping into the relaxing waters, she closed her eyes and sighed. Unbidden, an image came into her mind; she saw a shield carved with an impression of her face, ringed with pearls, white and black. And then a second, stranger thought: I would like to make myself that shield.

She was so taken with the design taking shape in her mind that the strangeness of the thought escaped her. No. She would not carve her face into the shield. That might weaken the integrity of the shield. So how to get the image onto the face without risking the strength of the shield?

Flashing, of course. She would hammer a piece of bronze paper thin, then press it over a wooden block carved with the image of her face. The flashing could then be placed over the shield itself! That problem solved, she began to think about the leather straps on the inside, running through different approaches in her mind, thinking about variations and improvement she might make on her husband's designs. She smiled, imagining herself wearing a leather apron, soot smudged on her face, the great hammer in her hands, and the thought of working the forge, being a blacksmith excited her, made her feel...

Aphrodite opened her eyes. Sat up. Rubbed her hands on her smooth face. What am I thinking? Me? A blacksmith? The goddess of love and beauty? In a leather apron pounding on a lump of molten steel?

She laughed, and yet, when she again pictured the image of herself working the forge, the red light of the flames dancing across her features, flickering in her eyes, she did think she would look beautiful..... or maybe, handsome?

Am I drunk? She wondered, marveling at the confused nature of her thoughts. Or going mad?

She got out of the tub, drying herself off. It all seemed so strange and random. Where had these thoughts come from? And, what's more, she wondered, examining herself, have my breasts gotten smaller? She felt them. Looked in the mirror. They did seem smaller, and it made her uneasy. She had always been beautiful, the most beautiful, the goddess of beauty, and that could never change, could it? Did she want it to?

Chapter 8 - Zeus and Hera

Zeus inspected himself in the mirror, turning sideways and examining his profile. His breasts were well-hidden. Not the slightest hint of his maidenly new chest could be seen. He had had to turn up the hem at the bottom of his robe, and had finally realized that in addition to his breasts he'd also grown slightly shorter, a realization that shocked and infuriated him, while also filling him with a deep sense of dread. How could this happen to him? The king of the gods?

It had to be some new attempt to overthrow him.

He asked his servants to bring food to his room, sending word to Hera he had a need for solitude; and so he paced his chambers, his anger building as he thought about who might have done this to him. Who had the power? The audacity?

No one, he thought. No one would ever dare disrespect me like this, and yet someone had. Someone. But who, and how to find out without revealing his shame to another? Who could he trust other than himself?

A knock on the door and the smell of roasted boar. Zeus walked over and opened the door, eager to eat, his mouth falling open in surprise when he found Hera standing there, holding a covered silver platter in one hand, a flagon of red wine in the other. "I thought we could eat together," she said, breezing part Zeus without waiting for his answer.

As she walked past, Zeus saw they were much closer in height. He was still taller, but not by as much. Tugging self-consciously at the top of his tunic, he said, "I asked for time alone."

Hera walked out to the veranda, placed the platter on the table and lifted the lid, revealing a choice cut of steaming, roasted pork. "We have not seen enough of each other, husband. Let's eat and talk of..... life." She gave Zeus a look he knew all too well, and he felt his nipples tighten in response to the lust in Hera's eyes.

"I need time to think," Zeus said. "Leave me in peace."

"Let's work on our marriage," Hera said, and the word gave Zeus a warm feeling. "Marriage is very important to you, is it not?"

"What?"

"Marriage," Hera said, and Zeus again felt a sudden surge of warmth in his belly. "You value marriage."

Zeus felt light-headed, confused, but then heard himself admit, "Yes. Of course. Marriage is one of the most important things in the world." He said it, and he meant it. He didn't think he used to believe that, but now it seemed so obvious. Marriage was so important.

"So, since marriage is important to you, to us, we should eat together and spend time together. You agree, right?"

"Well... Yes," Zeus said, tugging at his beard, staring into his wife's eyes. "Yes, of course." Why argue, he decided? She was right, after all, and maybe he could sound her out for advice... without letting her know that's what he was doing.

"You've changed your mind, then? You want me to join you?"

"Yes," Zeus said, walking out to the veranda, feeling a sense of relief, of satisfaction. They did need to work on marriage, to value it. He gave Hera a kiss, being careful not to let her lean in for a tight hug that would reveal his shame, and then pulled out her chair.

Hera glanced up at Zeus as she sat and smiled. She was well-pleased with how he'd responded to her prompting, and it confirmed that he was transitioning to his new status as Goddess of Marriage. How sweetly ironic that a philanderer like Zeus should soon find himself concerned foremost with marriage and domestic bliss. She would enjoy watching it happen.

Zeus sliced the roast pork, placed some on Hera's plate, then on his own. Then, acting on a strange impulse that came to him, asked, "How was your day?"

Hera smiled and began to tell him while Zeus listened, nodding intently.

After dinner, Hera had some fun chasing Zeus around the room. She teased and cajoled, lured him in for kisses, and always she would reach for the top of his tunic, and he would slap her hands away and retreat across the room, blushing furiously. It was kind of adorable to see him acting so much like a virgin, and Hera had fun with it for awhile, then finally let her bashful husband off the hook, bidding him good night, blowing a kiss from the door as she left to go back to her own chambers.

Zeus sighed with relief and frustration. He had never wanted Hera more, and yet he could not let her see--or feel-- what had happened to his body. It had been torture to work so hard to avoid the thing he wanted so badly. When he undressed he fought the urge to once again put his hands on his breasts, to tease his hard little nipples.

It had been a mistake, earlier, and he would not repeat it. He would not let himself give in to his body's womanly desires, to allow himself to surrender to the soft pleasures of his woman's breasts. He was Zeus, King of the Gods, and his will was strong as stone. Instead, he lay back, pulled the covers over his eyes, and began trying to list the names of all those who might even remotely have the power to make these changes in his body, his mind. But no answer came, and he drifted off to a troubled, conflicted sleep.

Back in her chambers, Hera undressed and climbed into bed. Her evening chasing her blushing husband around his chambers trying to get a look at his breasts had left her very horny. She pictured him on his back, staring up at her from behind his thick, bristling beard, as she reached down and undid his tunic, opening it to reveal his soft little breasts, the nipples hard and brown, pointing up at her, inviting her to reach down with her strong hands... She'd seen them blossom on her husband's chest, and it was easy now to imagine the feel of them, soft and round in her hands. Easy to imagine him gasping, his eyes rolling back in his head as she fondled his breasts. She imagined that frightened look in his eyes as new passions filled his shrinking form; imagined him reaching up and grabbing her arms, trying to pull her hands off his breasts, struggling, realizing he was too weak. "Shush," Hera imagined herself saying, squeezing his breasts, kneading them with her hands. "Shush little goddess. Just lay back and surrender." In her fantasy, Zeus now had a woman's body, and a woman's full breasts. He had slender little arms and shoulders, and flowers woven into his hair; he still had his beard, though now surrounding a full, wet, woman's lips. The image of Zeus with a woman's shape, so pretty, with soft, smooth skin, sent a shock of desire through Hera, and she imagined the thrill of being on top of him, looking down on him, her pretty little husband.

Hera was playing with her own breasts, and now she reached down to the soft space between her legs, imagining it was Zeus' slit she now touched, that it was her getting wet as she slipped her fingers into his vagina, and that it was he who now made urgent little noises as she found his clit.

When she finished, Hera lay on her side, replaying her fantasy over in her mind, seeing her husband's slender body, imagining what he would look like from behind with narrow shoulders and a slender waist curving into a full, bouncy, heart shaped ass. She imagined herself as she would become, with a hard, angular body, a beard of her own hanging down to her chest, hidden beneath a mass of black, curly hair. She would miss being a woman, a goddess. She knew that. But this was a change that had to happen for the good of the world, and she knew she would discover new pleasures in being a god, a man, and having pretty little Zeus at her side as her loving wife.

The next phase in their plan would begin in the morning. It was a shame that she couldn't get a look at Zeus now, that they couldn't sleep together. It would be sweet to hold him, to introduce him to some of the pleasures of his changing body. She had even thought to slip him a potion of some sort, to make him aroused, to induce him to overcome his fear, but she couldn't risk doing anything that would make him suspicious. Zeus must not suspect her or any of the goddesses. She had to feign ignorance until the change had completed and Zeus was trapped in his new shape as a goddess for the next 1000 years.

In the morning, the next phase of the plan would begin. She suspected she would not see Zeus for some time. At least, not directly.

***

As day turned to night, and Helios landed the chariot of the sun, all throughout Olympus and the mortal world that worshiped the Olympian Gods, men drifted off to sleep and dream furtive, confusing dreams; and women did much the same. Everything seemed to have become jumbled: what was male, female; what they needed and feared; and their dreams took on strange new shapes as men dreamt of themselves wearing flowers in their hair, thin gowns that celebrated their full breasts and slender waist, and women dreamed of their own hard, flat chests and deep, booming voices. They all felt, male and female, afraid of these changes and desires, disgusted and yet excited and pleased. It was as if the whole world had gone into puberty. Men and teen-age boys throughout the Olympian world had done their best to hide their new breasts, had blushed with shame at the thought anyone would see them. Those married had slept on floors and couches, while teen boys, accustomed to strutting arrogantly around bare-chested, suddenly covered themselves modestly, thinking of all the teasing they would suffer if their sisters saw their new shapes. Some failed, of course, or were caught changing, and suffered teasing mockery just as they had feared, and hid in shame not knowing all the others had also changed.

Some, of course, reveled in the changes, dropped to their knees and thanked the gods for answering their prayers and giving them the beginnings of the shapes they felt they had been born to wear. Yet whatever their waking reactions, they all found themselves dreaming of proudly displaying their breasts to the world, proud of the budding proof of their manhood, thrilled at how much women loved to look at them.

Hecate did not sleep. Instead she drew a magic circle on the floor of her conjuring chamber, lit candles and burned incense, drawing forth all her magic arts and aiming it at Olympus. She would have felt guilty about what was happening to Zeus. They had been allies in the great war to throw down the titans, had built the new world of Olympus together from the ashes of the old. But what she was doing was good for the world and would be good for Zeus, she knew. She hoped he would one day see that he had needed to take this journey, to become a goddess, to live a new life in the world.

Even if he never saw that truth, if he cursed her for her part in taking his manhood, Hecate knew she did the right thing. And so she began to chant, casting the spell they all expected would send Zeus off on a journey that would keep him busy while he took on his new shape.

***

Zeus woke to the sounds of what seemed a great crowd murmuring in the courtyard below his palace. During the night his right hand had found its way to his soft breasts, and he removed it, annoyed that he'd been feeling himself up in his sleep, as well as the fragments of feminine dreams. Pulling on his robe, making sure no one could see his chest, he walked out to the deck. Leaning on the railing he looked down to see the crowd gathered around the Olympian Fountain, pointing and staring up at the statue of HIM?

The head was unchanged--still his noble, bearded face--but now the body beneath his head was the curvaceous shape of a woman, with full breasts, wide, round hips. Most insulting and terrifying of all, a flat, v-shaped space gaped between his legs. The pose was extremely feminine as well, with his slender little arms raised to rest on his head, lifting the marble breasts out and up, and his knees together, feet out like a flirty maiden.

Zeus raised his hand and summoned forth a bolt of thunder. The crowd turned and looked back at the rumbling and crackling sound of lightning, and they looked up to see Zeus, a storm of rage in his murderous eyes, the lightning bolt growing around his hand, flashing, great arcs of white and blue streaking out, a tiny and deadly storm that he hurled down at the statue, sending the people diving to safety as the mighty bolt slammed into the statue with a tremendous thunderclap, sending it exploding into fragments that rained down over the square as Zeus stood above it all, fists clenched in rage.

"Who did this?" He shouted. "Who dares disgrace Zeus, Lord of the Gods?"

The gathered crowd, gods and demi-gods, favored mortals, glanced up from under hands and arms, terrified of Zeus' rage - but their mouths fell open as they looked up at the mighty God, whose robe had fallen open when he launched his strike, and they all saw his small, round breasts, the pretty new breasts of the King of the Gods.

No one dared speak. People began creeping away. Zeus caught the strange looks and reactions at about the same time his nipples began to tighten in the cold morning air, and looking down he realized that everyone in the square had seen his shame. Quickly wrapping his robe closed, and then keeping his arms wrapped tightly around his chest, he felt himself blush. Unable to think of anything to say, he turned and hurried back into his room, mortified.

Hera had watched the whole thing from her scrying pool, covering her mouth when she saw Zeus' robe fly open. It hadn't been planned, but maybe it had been fated. She felt bad for him, knowing how ashamed he would feel now, but it was also an important step for him toward accepting what was happening to him. The world would know now, and Zeus would deal with it. For her part, she would wait until one of her hand maidens brought her the news. She had to keep up the act that she had nothing to do with the whole thing, and so she made sure she was dressed in her nightdress, her hair a bit messy, as if she'd just been woken up by the noise in the courtyard, and sure enough as she sat on the edge of her bed, she heard the pattering feet of one her girls coming down the hall, and she hoped to her feet and ran toward the door, meeting the girl there.

"What has happened?" Hera cried out. "I heard what sounded like an explosion."

"You won't believe it," the girl said, and she excitedly recounted the story--Zeus' statue with a woman's shape, his robe and the crowd seeing his breasts.

"Breasts? My husband?"

"I know it sounds impossible, but I swear it is true."

"Speak of this to no one..."

"Everyone saw..."

"NO ONE!" Hera said.

"Yes, Goddess."

And with that, Hera headed off toward Zeus' quarters, eager to play the supportive wife, and if necessary to push Zeus in the right direction.

The palace did have ears, and she was sure that her husband's spies would report her performance to him, and that he would not suspect the woman who was about to become his husband.

In the courtyard below, all the males found themselves empathizing with Zeus as they thought about the breasts they all hid beneath layers of clothes; but all pretended shock and surprise, especially if they were with women. But while others chattered about the strange events of the morning, one god simply examined a fragment of the shattered statue, picking it up and slipping it into the leather pouch he wore slung across his shoulders, the strap now nestled between his newly blossomed and well-hidden breasts. Then, he strode to the fountain, visually examined the pedestal where the smoking feet of the statue still stood anchored to the marble, then hopped over the water and began to carefully look at the pedestal itself, noting that the engraving below the statue now read The Goddess Zeus.

The god in question was Apollo, god of light, medicine, truth and prophecy. He found himself fascinated with what he had seen, both the statue and the living Zeus' firm young breasts, which mirrored his own. And standing on the pedestal, he closed his eyes and had a vision; he saw Zeus fully female, his body as rounded a vision of feminine perfection as the statue. His beard gone, he now had a pretty face, big eyes and a cute little upturned nose, and full, soft lips. He lay on a bed, propped up on his elbows, licked his lips and smiled up at the shadowy figure of a man. Apollo watched as the man, a god, dropped his robe and climbed into bed with Zeus, putting one hand on Zeus' soft hip and with the other cupping his chin, lifting his face, and learning in for a kiss, which pretty Zeus accepted eagerly. Apollo could now see the face of the god who dared use Zeus as consort, Aesma Daeva, Persian god of madness, and one of the most powerful gods of evil in all the Persian kingdoms.

Aesma Daeva? It didn't seem possible. Had the mad God done this to Zeus, to him? Would Zeus surrender his body to such a creature? Coming out of his reverie, Apollo looked down and saw a coin on the base of the fountain, and the coin bore the face of Aesma.

"Apollo?"

Apollo looked up and saw Hera leaning over the rail, looking down at him.

"Yes?"

"Come to Zeus' chambers. Your council would be very valuable to us."

"Of course," Apollo said, and Hera gave a wave and then vanished back into the palace. Apollo stared at the spot where she'd been standing, almost the same spot Zeus had shamed himself only moments ago. Something didn't feel right. Something about her tone. 'Your council would be very valuable to us,' she'd said, and Apollo was certain she'd meant to lie, though he believed the statement actually true. Nevertheless, he scooped up the coin marked with the face of their enemy and made his way to the palace doors.

Hera only seemed to have gone back inside, instead lingering on the terrace, peeking back out to make sure Apollo was gone. She did not want her husband's bastard poking around and getting some scent of Hecate in all this. It had been her purpose to induce Zeus to go down to the statue and find the coin. She had to get Apollo away from there, but now she had to get away from Apollo. The disgusting whelp had a way of always sounding out the truth. Hurrying back into Zeus chamber, where her husband sat in his great chair, his chin in his hands, she rushed to him and screamed, "Someone must pay for this insult!"

"They will," Zeus mumbled, deep in thought.

"Who dared to give my husband, the mighty lord of the heavens, a girl's breasts?"

Zeus flinched at the phrase, a girl's breasts.

"Who would give your statue the body of a woman?"

Zeus' temples began to pound.

"Who would give the mighty Zeus a vagina?"

"Silence!" Zeus said, standing up, lightning sparking in his fists.

"You must find them and destroy them! Prove you are still a man!"

Zeus stepped forward, raised his fist. "Maybe I need to prove it to you, first!"

"Father?" Apollo called from the door.

Hera turned and fled toward the door. "See if you can get through to him," she murmured, keeping her eyes down as she ran out of the room.

Zeus turned away from Apollo, once again wrapping his arms around his chest. "Leave me," Zeus said. "I don't want anyone to see me like this."

"Look at me, father," Apollo said calmly.

"Go away."

"Father. Please just look at me."

When Zeus turned, Apollo stood there holding his own robe open, revealing his firm little breasts to his father, giving him a brief glimpse before pulling his robe shut, his cheeks blushing with shame.

"You, too?" Zeus said, stunned.

"Yes."

Zeus scratched his beard. "This is something much greater than I had imagined."

"But how great?"

"Come."

Zeus and Apollo went up to the highest tower in his palace, which was the highest point in all Olympus and the Greek world. From here, Zeus could see all, and looking out he saw all the males in the Greek world... changed. Men throughout the realm now sported firm little breasts, as did the centaurs. He saw Ares, kneeling in Athena's palace, his own young breasts exposed as he sat, staring off into space... he saw Atlas, holding up the sky, firm young breasts having blossomed on his chest. The changes to the women escaped him, but he looked beyond the realms ruled by Olympus and saw... no changes. The world outside that the one ruled by he and the Olympian gods remained unchanged.

"You see it?" He asked his son.

"Yes," Apollo said, looking out to Persia and the dark palace that stood at the entrance to Aesma's dark realm, a smoking volcanic vent outside Nineveh.

Zeus braced Apollo, his eyes mad with rage. "I will find who did this, and I will destroy them!"

"I may have found a clue," Apollo said. "At the base of the statue." He pulled the coin from his bag. Handed it to Zeus.

Zeus stared at it. Turned it over in his hands. "Aesma Daeva."

He turned his gaze to the lands of the Persians, and saw there the gathering of a vast army, and a harbor crowded with many ships, their masts bright in the morning sun. "The Persians mass for war!"

"It seems so," Apollo said.

"Seems? No. It could not be more clear. The Persian gods and their people mean to move against us, and this..." He gestured toward his chest, cupping his hands.... "Is their first move. They seek to unman us, make us unfit for war."

"It may be so...."

"It is so," Zeus said, the lightning starting to pop and flare in his hands. "I know it. I feel the truth of it in my bones! In their arrogance they even left this coin. To mock us! They think us powerless to stop them and this dark, perverse magic."

Apollo held his tongue. Zeus was in a fury, and Apollo knew to contradict him now would only rouse his suspicion.

Zeus hurled lightning into the sky, sending great waves of thunder shaking the city as dark clouds gathered and swirled above him. "I will go. I will strike down that smirking fool of a god and hang his head from the gates of Olympus."

"Wait!" Apollo said. "It could be a trap."

"I don't care."

"I had a vision, father. A prophecy. Concerning you and Aesma."

"What? And yet you doubted his involvement in this plot? Tell me. Now!"

"It is disgraceful...."

"Speak!"

"I saw you, in the shape of a goddess, just as the statue appeared, and you offered your body to Aesma, as if somehow under his spell. You begged him, father, to take you as a woman."

Zeus turned away in disgust. "You saw this?"

"Yes."

"That prophecy will never come to pass," Zeus said.

"I saw..."

"Enough. I must think. Go. Learn what more you can."

Apollo could see how rattled his father had become at the news of the prophecy, and he didn't want to say or do anything that would make him feel more insecure, so he bowed. "As you command, father."

"Hermes!" Zeus called as Apollo took his leave.

The messenger of the gods raced up the outside of the palace and took his place next to Zeus, his silver, winged helmet flashing. "Lord Zeus."

"Go to Athena and Mars. Let them know the Persians mass for an all-out war against us."

"What of Enyo?" Hermes asked.

"Enyo?" Zeus said, surprised. "Why would you even ask?"

Hermes started to say, because she is the god of war, but then he shook his head, pushing the confused thought away. "I don't.... my apologies, Lord Zeus."

"Go!"

Hermes flitted off, and Zeus took a deep breath. He felt exhilarated to have taken action, to know who his enemy was. Apollo's vision unnerved him more than it might have when he recalled the fantasies he'd been having, the visions of himself as a goddess being pleasured by her husband. It could not happen. Would not happen. He was Zeus, King of the Gods. He would triumph. He felt a need to assert himself as a man, and he wanted very much to see Hera. They had not settled things before, and their relationship was so important to him. He wanted to make sure everything was good between them before he went off to face Aesma. Yes. He would remind her that breasts or not, he was still the man in their relationship, and at the same time it wouldn't hurt to ask her what she thought about all this.

Yes, he decided, elated. I will include her. That will make us closer.

Chapter 9 - Ares and Athena

Ares knelt in the armory all night patiently waiting for his mistress to send him new orders. The temptation to simply leave had been strong, but he wanted to keep his word, and so, still hungry and smelly from the battle, he'd knelt as he'd been told, until finally Athena arrived with one of her serving girls trailing behind.

"Athena!" Ares said, his heart rising with joy at the sight of his mistress, a reaction which disturbed and confused him.

"This is the new girl I was telling you about," Athena said, striding regally over to examine her brightly polished shield and armor.

Ares bristled at being referred to as a girl; but as he thought about objecting, the girl who'd come in with Athena knelt down across from him and took his hands, smiling at him. She was gorgeous, with bright, gray eyes, and Ares smiled back, feeling the inviting warmth from her surround him like a cloud. "I'm Phoebe," she whispered.

"Ares," Athena said, examining her glittering shield and armor. "You did an amazing job. I'm so proud of you."

The smile on Phoebe's face grew wider, and Ares' own smile grew wider in return. He felt aroused, but it was a new kind of arousal, as he found himself just looking at her face and wanting to kiss her, cuddle with her, stare into those pretty eyes. "Thank you, mistress," Ares said, not breaking eye contact with Phoebe.

Athena looked over at Ares, kneeling, holding hands with Phoebe, staring into the girl's eyes, and she felt again the absolute certainty that Ares was a girl now, a serving girl, or at least that was what he was becoming. She walked over and cupped Ares' chin, turning his head away from Ares and tilting it back so he looked up at her.

"Phoebe will train you in your new duties. Do whatever she tells you."

"As you wish," Ares's said, smiling, glancing back at Phoebe, who still held his hands. His heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of getting to spend time with Phoebe.

Athena let go of Ares' chin and smiled as he immediately locked eyes with Phoebe again. It was cute, really, she thought. Although, also a little disturbing. Whatever magic was at work here, that had changed the god's body, was clearly changing his personality as well. "Phoebe, take Ares and get her cleaned up, dress her as the other serving maids. I want her to serve at the feast tonight."

"Mistress?" Ares said, angry to be referred to as a girl so casually.

Phoebe squeezed his hands and shook her head, no!

"Yes, girl?" Athena said.

Ares, seeing the warning in Phoebe's eyes, bit his lip. "Nothing. Just," he decided he needed a lie to make sure Athena didn't press the issue. "Thank you for being so good to me."

"Of course," Athena said. But as she walked away intent on discovery, she was surprised by the flashing approach of Hermes.

"Goddess," Hermes said. "I bring news from Zeus. News of war!"

"Come," Athena said. "Tell me in my chambers."

"It concerns Ares as well," Hermes said. "Is he not here?"

"She is busy with her duties as my serving girl."

"What?"

"Come. I will explain on the way."

Back in the chamber, Ares and Phoebe got to their feet. "I do not like her referring to me as a girl!" Ares said, embarrassed.

Phoebe glanced down at his soft, round breasts, and Ares covered them with his arms. "You must never contradict her," Phoebe said. "You are her servant and she will call you what she chooses."

"I am not a mere serving girl!" He felt a kind of feminine fury building within him.

Phoebe took his hand. "Come," she said, dragging him along behind her. "I have my orders. We need to make you presentable."

Ares sighed but followed, enjoying the sight of Phoebe's round shoulders and her flashing white legs. At least he would get to spend time with a pretty girl, and if he had his way she would be kissing him before the night was over.

Phoebe led Ares to the servants quarters, and then to the women's baths. She clapped her hands, and a marble tub began to fill with steamy water. The servants in Athena's palace lived better than most mortals, Ares thought, running his hand under the flowing water, his skin tingling with anticipation at the bath to come. "Strip," Phoebe said.

Ares took off the remains of his ragged, filthy clothes and let them fall at his feet. He covered his breasts with his arms, but stood there proudly before Phoebe, feeling confident that the rest of his muscled, godly physique would impress Phoebe. He allowed his full Olympian radiance to shine forth, and Phoebe trembled at the sight of him. She took in the broad shoulders, bulging biceps, all made the more alluring by the soft little breasts squeezed beneath them, and beneath his turtle shell abs when she glanced at his member, before looking away, blushing. "Forgive me," she said. "Oh, my. You are a god."

Ares chuckled, stepped into the bath and closed his eyes as the soothing waters drained the stress of the last days from his body. "Come," Ares said, feeling his some of his godly swagger returning.

Phoebe knelt next to the tub, nervously avoiding eye contact with him now that she had seen him in his godlike radiance. Ares pulled back his aura, assuming once more the mortal appearance he'd taken on before, and then said, "Look at me."

"I shouldn't..." Phoebe said, still shaken at the memory of the sight of him.

"LOOK AT ME!" Ares commanded in a deep, demanding voice.

Phoebe looked at him, seeing that he once again appeared as he had when she had first met him. He was still beautiful, and she could no longer forget that he was a god, but now she looked into his eyes and smiled once more. Ares smiled back, took her hand and squeezed it, then brought it down into the water, placing it on his member. He still longed to kiss her, cuddle with her, run his hands through her hair, but he was a man, a god, and he would demand what a man demanded.

Phoebe knew what the god wanted, and she wrapped her soft hand around his stiffening penis. She liked the feeling of having this god in her hands, and she began to stroke him, back and forth, back and forth, watching his face as his eyes started to turn glassy and hard. Ares felt his penis getting thick, throbbing, but that sensation now mingled with the feeling of his nipples getting hard, turning into tiny little points of insistent pleasure, begging to be touched. They stared into each other's eyes as Phoebe worked Ares toward a climax, and Phoebe impulsively leaned in and kissed Ares on the mouth. Ares made a soft moaning sound, like a girl, and Phoebe, seeing his wet breasts swaying prettily in the water, reached down with her free hand and grabbed one of them, squeezing and lifting it as she kissed him again, this time sliding her tongue into his hot, eager mouth.

Ares pushed Phoebe's hand off his tit, terrified by the surge of feminine pleasure he felt at her touch, a soft, pink new pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him. But Phoebe, still kissing him, not halfway into the tub herself, put her hand right back on his tit, this time pinching his sensitive little nipple, once again making Ares moan in a soft, feminine manner. Keeping her hand working him below, Phoebe climbed into the tub, pushing Ares' head back, kissing him, their tongues hot and wet against each other. Ares buried his hands in her hair, holding her there, eagerly accepting her kisses while she kept squeezing his tit and his penis, until finally Ares called out, reaching his climax, unloading in the tub, spasming, grabbing his own tits and squeezing, his whole body electric with pleasure.

Phoebe collapsed onto Ares, and the two lovers gazed into each other's eyes. Their cheeks were flush, noses red, and both had a dreamy, glassy look in their eyes as new, complicated feelings of connection began to form between, each fearing and knowing that they were becoming entangled in the first threads of a new love.

"By all the heavens," Ares said, holding Phoebe's wet body next to his.

"I am glad you are pleased," Phoebe said.

They heard giggling, and both looked up to see a group of the serving girls had gathered at the entrance to the baths and been watching them. "Go! Get out!" Phoebe shouted, sending them running. "I will make sure they are punished," she said, turning to Ares.

Ares laughed and kissed her. "Why?" He said. "I think love-making is always better with an audience."

After, they dried off. Phoebe handed Ares a flowing white skirt, the same as the other serving girls wore. "You want me to wear... this?" He asked.

"No," Phoebe said. "Athena does."

Ares frowned but stepped into his skirt. Phoebe helped him tie it on with the sash, a lavender sash just like the other girls, a sash that fell across his hips at a sassy angle. He then strapped on a pair of sandals like the other girls wore, the straps making a crisscross pattern up the length of his calves and vanishing under his skirt. "Hold up your arms," Phoebe said. Ares did, but when she lifted a razor he started to lower them.

"By order of Athena."

And so the god once again raised his arms, and his arm pits were shaved smooth, as was his face. When she finished, Ares plucked glumly at his skirt and said, "You will lose respect for me now."

"No," Phoebe said, smiling, rushing up to put her arms around Ares' waist. "Never."

"I am emasculated. Dressed as a serving girl. Look at me." He glanced down at his breasts.

Phoebe put her hand on his sternum, nestled between his soft breasts, and said, "You are honoring your word. You are a man of honor."

They kissed, staring into each other's eyes.

"Come," Phoebe said. "It is time for the feast." She took Ares' hand and led him through the palace to the great hall where Athena had gathered with the leaders of the Amazons as well as assorted other goddesses. When Athena called for wine, Ares and a row of other girls lifted large clay pitchers and marched into the chamber.

"Ladies," Athena called out in a triumphant, ringing voice as Ares strode into the room, pitched in his hands. "I present to you Ares, patron of Macedonia, former God of War and now my serving girl."

The woman all jeered and laughed, and Ares, eyes downcast with shame, began filling the cups of the women who sat at great, crystal tables. "You've got a great set of little breasts!" one called.

"Can you pour wine from your tits?" Another asked.

Ares just kept a smile plastered on his face, as he had been ordered to do, served wine and cursed his blushing cheeks. Finally, he came to the head of the table and saw, for the first time, the former king of Macedonia. The man wore a pink dress with a long, flowing skirt. It had thin straps and a top that hugged and lifted his breasts, pushing them out for all the world to see. His beard had been shorn and his face painted in pastels. A glittering tiara rested on his head.

The Queen of the Amazons let her eyes play over Ares' bare breasts, his skirt, but she did not taunt him as some of her more foolish followers had done. He was yet a god, and so when he poured her wine, she merely said, "Thank you for your kindness."

Ares bowed, but when he started to move back down the table, Athena called. "Girl. Come here."

Ares looked up at her, anger burning in his eyes. But he set down his pitched and, lifting up his skirt, climbed the dais, where he was seated next to Athena. For the first time he saw Enyo, who sat dressed as a man, her legs spread, one hand on her crotch as she guzzled wine, regarding Area with a hungry look he could only call lust.

"Friends," Athena called. "I defeated Ares in combat, and he surrendered to me, accepting as condition of surrender that he should faithfully serve me. A mighty god of his word, he came here and has served most nobly in his new capacity. As such, I wish to honor this god tonight before you all."

With that, she draped a sash of flowers across his shoulder and hip, the blossoms nestling between his breasts. Then, she placed a garland of flowers in his hair that matched the flowers worn by the other serving girls, and which were also a mark of female fertility. Again, Ares seethed with anger and shame even as he found himself glowing with a mysterious new sense of pride.

"I declare Ares, tonight, before you all, Shield Maiden of Athena, to stand next to me in a place of honor when I go into battle."

The crowd roared with approval. Ares, unsure what else to do, dropped his eyes and knelt before Athena, the tears in his eyes mingling joy, shame, hate and love. He looked out, searching through the crowd for her face, the beautiful face of the woman he'd fallen in love with. He caught Phoebe's eyes, and saw she was crying, too. She smiled. He smiled. He knew it would be okay.

Chapter 10 - Hephaestus and Aphrodite

For the first night of his new life, Hephaestus did not have to work hard at all to hide his blossoming breasts from his wife, Aphrodite. He made his way back to his palace, stripped off his clothes and toweled down, disgusted by the soft jiggling of his chest. Then he dressed, still stinking of smoke and sweat, ate his dinner alone and went to his room, dropping into his bed and drifting off to sleep. He felt lonely. As always. Rare, indeed, was Hephaestus among the philandering Gods of Olympus. Not only was he the only ugly God, but he loved his wife more than anything, lived for her, suffered for her, and he ached with sorrow at the disgusted, scornful look that crossed her face each time she saw him, the look of hate that cut him like one his finest swords.

Aphrodite hated Hephaestus. She, the goddess of beauty, could not stand to be in the same room as him, and the fact that he loved her anyway, pined for her, only made her hold him in greater contempt. He'd told her more than once--go. Have your lovers. Your revels and debauches. I want you to be happy, and if that's what it takes then go, but can't you please love me? A little?

She had laughed in his face, laughed so hard she'd fallen to the ground, clutching her belly, gasping for breath, weeping with laughter. She had stumbled from the room, doubled over, laughing and laughing, and the next day when he came in from work he'd found her in his bed, his own bed, with a common shepherd. He still remember the smile, the hard, disgusted look in her eyes, as he'd walked in and seen her there, had seen the disrespect and contempt, and had just turned and walked away, his guts churning, swallowing his hate and the desire to kill the foolish mortal, which is what his wife wanted. He had felt sick with love, and hated himself for it.

This morning, he rose before dawn as he always did, and dressed. On his way to eat, he looked in on Aphrodite and saw her sleeping in her chambers, the sheets twisted around her long, lithe limbs, her perfect face so dazzlingly beautiful in sleep. It was the only time he could look on his beautiful wife and simply love her, and he watched, his heart full of joy. He watched her gently falling and rising chest, and he realized his breathing had matched hers, and their breasts rose and fell together. But the realization once again sent a jagged bolt of fear through his body. How she would mock him if she saw his girlish breasts! He quietly crept away, ate, went to work, and amidst the flames and smoke and ringing hammer he forgot about his wife and his loneliness.

When Aphrodite woke, her head was again full of designs and plans, and the odd new desire to hold a hammer in her hands. She even thought about going out to Hephaestus' shop and trying her hand at some iron work, but her grotesque oaf of a husband was already out there, and she had no desire to see his pathetic, puppy dog eyes as he pleadingly and pathetically looked to her for love.

So, with a silvery laugh the goddess of beauty flew off into the world, looking for some excitement, and when she heard all the hubbub from outside the palace of Zeus, she flitted her way over to Olympus, her mouth falling open as she looked upon the statue of Zeus, still with his face, but now the body of a beautiful full bodied woman. Then, just as she shook her head, trying to fathom the meaning of this strange sight, Zeus came out onto his deck, hurled the lightning bolt and flashed the crowd with the sight of his firm little breasts, looking down in surprise and then retreating like a teen girl.

Aphrodite had no idea what to make of it all, but she did know quality gossip, and so she immediately headed off to find someone--anyone-- she could dish it to. She hurried down the street, and soon came upon a small wooded park where she saw Dionysus and his female counter-part, the goddess Kotys, frolicking and passionately kissing. "Kotys!" Aphrodite called. "Dionysus! Have you heard the news?"

"News?" Kotys said, breaking off her kiss, though she and the god remained in each other's arms.

"We've been busy drinking and fucking," Dionysus said. "Because it's springtime somewhere."

Kotys laughed at his joke, and Aphrodite smiled. "You didn't hear the thunderclap? The explosion?"

The two laughed. "No. Now, if you will excuse us, we have some divine boning to get back to."

"Wait!" Aphrodite said, eager to spread her news. "You will want to hear this. Zeus, the great god Zeus, has a girl's breasts and accidentally showed them to half of Olympus!"

"Breasts?" Dionysus said.

"Him, too?" Kotys said, shrugging.

The two separated, and when Dionysus turned, Aphrodite saw that he, too, had round, firm breasts, his hard little nipples sticking out, having stiffened in response to their passionate coupling. He reached up and gave them a squeeze. "I thought I was the only lucky one."

"Lucky?" Aphrodite said.

"It makes fucking that much more fun!" Kotys, standing behind Dionysus, slipping her hands under his arms to cup his breasts.

"Ummmn," Dionysus said in a breathy voice, half an octave higher than usual. "How did I manage all these years without these puppies?"

"Somehow I don't think Zeus is having quite so much fun with his new pups," Aphrodite said.

Kotys and Dionysus turned to face each other, kissed. "How did his tits look?" Kotys asked between kisses.

"Great," Aphrodite said. "Just as pretty as Dionysus'."

The two laughed and went back to kissing.

Aphrodite walked down the street, musing. If Dionysus and Zeus both had breasts now, who else might? Could Hephaestus have popped out a pair?

Just then she heard shouts, and then girls laughing. A group of young demi-gods came running around the corner, arms crossed over their bare chests, each one trying to hide his jiggling breasts. A group of girls ran behind, giggling, shouting, chasing the blushing boys, and then behind them came Ate, goddess of mischief, his eyes sparkling with glee. "Appreciate my handiwork?"

"What did you do?" Aphrodite asked.

"Made their tops vanish while they were flirting with those girls. I thought it would be fun if they got teased about their boobs for a change."

"So, do they all have breasts now?"

"It seems that way," Ate said. "And in the mortal world, too. All the males seemed to have blossomed overnight."

"It's... gross," Aphrodite said, though part of her had been.... Aroused at the sight of the young men and their soft breasts, a feeling that confused her.

"It's an opportunity for mischief!"

"Did you hear about Zeus?" Aphrodite said, realizing that in her shock she'd forgotten about her gossip.

"Zeus?"

Aphrodite smiled. "He showed his tits to half of Olympus this morning!"

"What?" Ate said, her eyes sparkling with glee.

Aphrodite told the story, the two goddesses laughing. "Well, Ate said, eager to dish her own gossip. "You've heard about Ares?"

"Ares?" The two had had affairs, and she suddenly pictured the angry god with breasts. "He has boobs?"

"No. I mean, yes, but there's more. Athena defeated him in combat, and he has now vowed to serve her."

"Ares? Serving Athena? Like a slave?"

"Evidently. I heard from some of the girls in the palace that she had him polishing her armor."

It was intriguing, and Aphrodite made a mental note to follow up on the story, but she currently had a greater urgency to go and see her husband. "You have any idea why this has happened?" Aphrodite finally asked as they exchanged farewell kisses.

"No. But I think it's good, don't you?"

Aphrodite wasn't so sure. It seemed like it could be a threat to them all, to their way of life. And yet, it felt right. It felt like men and gods were supposed to have breasts, and that the reality of the world had now corrected an error. Still, she didn't like not knowing. She would have to find out, but in the meantime, she could think only of her ugly husband and his newly blossomed breasts.

Launching herself into the air, she flew quickly back to their palace, and hearing the ringing of steel in the workshop, she landed out front, throwing open the door and marching in shouting, "Show me!"

Hephaestus, his hammer above his head, sweat pouring down his face, looked up in surprise, the reverie of his work broken by his wife's silver voice.

Aphrodite marched toward him, her eyes locked on his chest, which was hidden beneath his robes as well as his leather apron. Hephaestus felt himself blush as he guessed her meaning. "W- what?" He felt his nipples tightening, as a confusion of excitement and fear consumed him.

"Show me!" Aphrodite said, her big, pretty eyes sparkling. As she got closer, she noticed that she'd gotten taller, or he'd gotten shorter, or both. He still stood taller than her, but not by as much.

"I don't understand," Hephaestus said, lowering his hammer, using the tongs to take the breast plate he'd been working on off the anvil and placing it near the fire to keep the metal supple. He turned away. Given how shaggy his beard had grown, as well as the red light from the fires, he doubted she could see him blush, but she would be able to see the lie in his eyes.

Aphrodite grabbed Hephaestus' bicep and turned him to face. "Come. Show me your boobs! I want to see them."

"Boobs?" Hephaestus said, faking a little laugh. "You have gone mad, woman."

"Have I?" Aphrodite answered, her eyes sparkling as she stepped forward and put her arms around Hephaestus' waist. She was looking up into his eyes, smiling. "Then let me see that rock hard chest of yours. Let me see your muscles. I long to caress you, like a woman should caress her husband."

"I'm working," Hephaestus said, trying to step away, but Aphrodite moved with him, and he did love having her so close, looking into those big, pretty eyes of hers.

Aphrodite, untying the back of Hephaestus' apron, rose up onto her tiptoes and kissed him. Hephaestus couldn't help but answer, it was so rare that his wife offered her affections, and now he felt both his member and his nipples hardening. He knew it was a trick, but thought she was just going to try and kiss and flirt him into showing her his breasts, which he would never do. He did not expect that when the kiss ended she would slip his apron off him and toss it across the room to land in a heap on the floor.

Aphrodite's eyes went wide. The shirt Hephaestus wore underneath was soaked with sweat, and it clung to his firm breasts. The sweat had rendered the cotton material semi-transparent, so it not only clung to his erect nipples, but they could be seen through the material, dark and feminine and prettily inviting. "By all the stars in the heavens," she said, eyes sparkling with glee. "It is true."

Hephaestus, glancing down to see the wet shirt clinging to his breasts, covered them with his arms, his cheeks burning with shame. "Go ahead," he said, his shame turning to anger. "Mock me. Have your laugh."

But Aphrodite was dealing with her own sense of shock and surprise as looking at her husband, standing there with his breasts... shy, scared, covering his girlish shape with bashful arms... she felt her heart swell with love for him, compassion... and lust. She stood there, stunned by the new feelings she felt for her husband, whom she had always hated and despised, and just stared at him, shaking her head.

Hephaestus didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to turn and run, part of him wanted to... hit her. Make her pay for his shame. But the way she was looking at him, staring... it confused him.... And so he, hyper-conscious of the feeling of the soft breasts pressed together under his forearms, said, "Did you do this to me?"

Aphrodite barely heard him. She had planned to ridicule him. Belittle him. But instead she said, "Show me."

"No," Hephaestus said, backing away toward the door. "You did do this. You've disgraced me, humiliated me, cheated on me, and now you have unmanned me." He shook his head. "You... you..."

Aphrodite could see her husband was about to run, and she darted forward, leaping into the air. Hephaestus instinctively caught her around the waist, and before he could react she threw her arms around his neck and found his lips, locking him into a passionate kiss that caused him to stumble backwards until his back rested against the wall next to the door, sunlight cutting across their lower bodies, their upper-bodies lost in the smoky red light of the fires. When the kiss ended, Hephaestus set her down, and she clung to him, his soft breasts pressing into hers. They both saw stars and gasped for breath, and Aphrodite ran a hand through Hephaestus' hair, smiling up at him. Hephaestus felt... scared and confused by the feeling of his breasts against his wife's, the strange feminine pleasure flowing from his breasts, and he started to push her away, but she locked her arm around his waist and kissed him again.

"Don't run from it," she said. "Stay here with me."

"I don't understand..." Hephaestus said, the years of insult he'd endured from her still in the back of his mind, distrust mingling with all of his other confusing new emotions. "...what's happening. Why are you doing... this?"

Aphrodite laughed, now plucking playfully at her husband's beard. "I don't know," she said. "I don't understand it myself. But suddenly.... I don't know how else to say it... I think you're.... beautiful."

Hephaestus' eyes clouded and he looked away, stunned at her mockery. He was ugly, had always been ugly, and now he was... a freak.

But Aphrodite put her hands on his cheeks and turned his head to face her. She pressed her body more firmly against his, lifting a leg so she could feel her mound against his thigh, even as she pushed her chest forward, rubbing her breasts against his, and she looked right into his eyes and repeated, "You are beautiful now. You are. And I want you to take me." She kissed him then, again; a passionate, full-bodied kiss, and Hephaestus' desire overcame him, all his fears and shocks and embarrassments, and he picked Aphrodite up and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her out into the sunlit yard and then laying her down gently on the thick, emerald grass. Aphrodite looked up at Hephaestus, her hair spread out around her, her own firm breasts straining against her thin dress, her nipples pointing up, matching her husband's, both of them eager for pleasure. Hephaestus' shirt felt so constricting, and he desperately wanted to feel his skin against his wife's, and so he did what felt natural, grabbing the hem of his shirt and lifting it over his head, freeing his breasts to bounce and sway as he tossed it to the side, and then stood above his wife's slender body, his arms at his sides, letting her enjoy the sight of his firm young breasts.

"You are so pretty," Aphrodite said, rubbing her legs together. "Come down here, and let me see if your breasts feel as good as they look."

Hephaestus giggled, and then got down on the ground next to his wife, and when she put her soft hand on his breasts, her palm covering his firm nipples, he gasped and said, "Wow."

Chapter 11 - The Mortal World: Ambrose and Nubia

Ambrose had been unable to sleep. He couldn't get used to the feeling of his breasts, and his mind was haunted by the memory of Nubia's hands on them, her pinching of his nipples, the way he'd only been able to get hard when she'd begun to play with his breasts, just like he was a woman. As he lay thinking about it, his nipples grew hard again, and he fought against the desire to play with himself, determined to assert his will as a man. He lay on his side, and felt the soft little breasts squeezed beneath his arm, pressing against each other. He rolled onto his back, sighing with frustration, but each time he breathed he could feel them rising and falling, his hard little nipples rubbing against his rough cotton sheet. He slipped on a tunic, but again his nipples refused to calm, and he felt them rubbing insistently, little pulses of pleasure, calling to him. He kept his arms at his sides, closed his eyes and prayed to his patron, Hermes, the god of merchants, to relieve him from this torture. Finally he got up and took some opium, which he was loathe to do as he knew it would leave him sluggish, but he needed to escape the feminine demands of his breasts.

Opium fueled dreams followed. He found himself at the Temple of Hephaestus, but it was not the Temple of Hephaestus. The once dour, gloomy temple now shone in bright shades of white and pink, and Ambrose knelt before the statue of a goddess, a representation of female perfection, and he called out in a clear, high-pitched voice, "Hephaestus, goddess of beauty, I have been your sweet and loving servant, obedient in all things, and I ask now that give me bigger breasts, so that I may please my master...."

The scene shifted, and he found himself standing with his shoulders back, proudly displaying his bare, bounteous breasts to Nubia, now tall and bearded, her head wreathed with thick, curly black hair, her own chest hard and flat as a man's. "Do they please you, master?" Ambrose asked in a pretty little voice.

"Yes," Nubia said, letting her eyes drift up and down Ambrose's naked body. He felt a thrill of excitement pass through him as she did so and then stared into his eyes with the hard, hungry eyes of a bull. "Pleasure me with that sweet mouth of yours."

Ambrose giggled, and then dropped eagerly to his knees....

Ambrose was running, running, his breasts swaying and bouncing, his arms out, waving awkwardly at his sides. Something was chasing him... or someone... and he screamed out "Nubia!" Only to find himself on his back staring up at her, smiling as she looked down at him. He put his hands in Nubia's thick, curly hair, arched his back, his knees together, and said, "Take me" and then she was on him, and his vagina was hot and wet and eager, and he was soaked in sweet, his soft rounded body slick with it and Nubia's manly musk, and when she entered him he screamed...

Ambrose woke, startled by his own shout, and realized he was having a wet dream. He sat up as his body finished the fantasy, a sad loneliness and emptiness coming over him, as well as a sick terror and disgust as the fragments of his dream played through his confused mind.

There was a rapping at the door to his wagon. "Master? I heard a shout." It was one of his guardsmen, Poliminus.

"I'm..." Ambrose voice cracked. He coughed, clearing his throat. "I'm fine. Just... dropped my kettle."

He heard the guard stepping away. Ambrose's dream had unnerved him. In his dream he'd become a slave, a slave to Nubia, and the thought terrified him. Had it been just a confused dream? A result of his strangely re-formed body? Or had it been a prophetic dream? A warning? The impossible feelings came back to him.... Her member in his mouth, her member in his vagina... and he felt it moving in him again, an echo of the pleasure he'd felt passing through him and once again bringing his nipples to attention.

"Ugh!" He hated these breasts for so many reasons. He grabbed them, tugging at them as if he could pull them off, but he felt only the same confusion of pleasure and desire at the feeling of his hands on his breasts, the feeling that he was both a man and a woman, and the tingling of his nipples once more inflamed his mind with the impossible pleasure he'd felt when Nubia had been fucking him...

He went to the basin, splashed water in his face. Toweled the sticky remnants of his jizz off his belly and leg, and then anointed himself with oils to hide his scent. He needed action. Had to keep busy, and he had to make sure his property was secure; that there would be no uprising from his slaves.

The sun was only just edging its way above the horizon as he emerged from his wagon. Tang, an Asian mercenary he'd hired for this mission, had a fire burning and was preparing the morning meal for him and the men. It was cold in the desert in the morning, and Ambrose saw his breath in the clean, dry air.

He saw Poliminus and went over to him. "Poliminus," he said, sizing him up as they stood together. Poliminus had been about half a head shorter than Ambrose, and he still was, meaning the other man had shrunk as well. Had all his men gotten smaller? Had all the slave girls gotten bigger, as Nubia had?

"Yes," Poliminus said, eyes on the horizon.

"Let's remain extra vigilant. Allow no more than three of the girls out at a time, and there should always be three guards on them. Let's make sure they are chained with their wagons as well. At all times."

"Yes. As you wish." Poliminus, who'd popped out his set of breasts the day before, and grown smaller and weaker, was glad to hear the caravan master order extra security, and he realized as well that his master had grown smaller. Each of the men subtly checked out the other's chest, wondering if the other man had changed as well, but they had both taken extra precautions to hide their soft, girlish new shapes.

"Pass the word. And, absolutely no sex with the girls, even if they are not virgins."

"Of course," Poliminus said.

Ambrose clapped the other man on the shoulder. "Good man."

He went over and joined Tang at the fire, warming himself. The food smelled incredible. Poliminus went and spread the word, and shortly three of the caravan guards went to the first of the four wagons where the slave girls were chained and brought three of them out to stretch, make water, get some sun and air. It kept them fresher and more alluring for the market. Ambrose saw that they all seemed taller, bigger than before. He thought to walk over and take a closer look, but hesitated. He didn't want them to realize he'd gotten smaller, weaker. He was, he realized, a little scared. "They are only girls," he thought. "Be a man. Go over and inspect them."

But his feet wouldn't move. He stood in place, looking at them, nervous and ashamed of himself for being nervous.

There were thirty-four girls, and he had five men plus himself to manage them. That was plenty. He needed the men more to fend off any brigands they might meet on the road. But if those girls grew bigger and taller than he and his men? Stronger?

They will still only be girls, he assured himself. Just keep them cowed, and when you get into town next week you can sell them and find someone to remove this curse.

***

Nubia had had her own dreams and visions. They were equally as confusing and disturbing but left her feeling elated. She been a man, tall and strong, and yet she'd still been dressed as a slave, with the golden Torque of the House of Ambrose around her neck, and the jewelry glittering at her wrists and ankles. The Torque was too small, choking her, and her wrists and ankles bled where the metal cut into her flesh. She was being led to the wagon of Ambrose by two pretty little men. They wore the armor of the caravan guards, but it was awkward and oversized, their shirt sleeves hanging down over their hands, pants legs bunched up around their little legs. Their helmets hung sideways on their heads like pots, and long, curly haired flowed over their shoulders. They were cute, and Nubia smiled to herself as she let them lead her to Ambrose's wagon, whom she longed to see anyway.

When they opened the door, she climbed into the wagon and stared down at the pretty little thing Ambrose had become. He wore his old clothes, but like the guards they hung on him like a tent, and with his long, pretty hair, his big eyes and cute little upturned nose, he looked like a teen-age girl who'd dressed up in her father's clothes. Most absurdly, he'd used charcoal to draw a beard onto his smooth face, and he was scowling up at her, trying to look tough, his little hands bunched into fists.

"Pleasure me, woman," he said, putting on a masculine voice, but sounding like a girl trying to imitate a man.

Nubia laughed, strode over and grabbed Ambrose's long hair, yanking it.

"Ow!" Ambrose shrieked in a high-pitched, girl's voice. He reached up and tried to get her hand out of his hair, slapping weakly as Nubia slipped an arm around his slender waist, lifted him off his feet, and while he kicked and screamed, she carried him over to his bed where she tossed him. Ambrose rolled onto his hands and feet, trying to crawl away, shouting, "Stop!"

Nubia ignored him. Instead, she grabbed his hips and ground her groin against his backside, laughing as he squirmed and gasped. Then, she flipped him onto his back, grabbed the top of his tunic and tore it open, causing his big, bouncy breasts to spring free. "Stop!" He shrieked again.

"You told me to pleasure you," Nubia said, "and I would never disappoint my master."

"Sto...." But before he could finish the word Nubia smothered his mouth in a kiss, her own hard, flat chest pressed against his soft breasts while she shoved her arm down his pants and found the soft wet slit between his legs....

Nubia woke to her own confused pleasure.... She was wet and hot, her nipples hard, but she felt herself squirt, and she was a man and a woman, and she was smiling because she knew that soon, very soon, she would be the master.

The six other girls in Nubia's wagon watched her, aroused by the sight of her writhing in passion, but more curious than anything else. "She had a vision," one of them said. "Get her some water."

The girls, chained to the wall, shifted around, getting Nubia some water and rags to wipe herself clean.

"Tell us," Ebony said. "What did you see?"

Nubia had not only been daughter to the king before being captured by the slavers, but daughter to a witch, and known to have the gift of prophecy.

"Tell us," the girls begged.

Nubia took Ebony's hands, made eye contact with the other girls one by one, and then whispered, "Soon, we will be free. Very soon."

Chapter 12 - Zeus and Hera

"Hera," Zeus called, entering his wife's chambers.

Hera looked up from her loom. "My husband."

Zeus pulled up a stool and sat next to Hera. "I must leave you for a time."

Hera paused in her weaving. "Should you? In your condition?"

"My condition?" Zeus felt his temper rise. "I have no condition."

Hera began to weave again, trying her best to act the way she thought she would act if she knew nothing. "I did not mean to anger you."

Zeus closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He'd come to strengthen their bond before his quest, not to get into another one of their petty battles. "I know. I have news. I know who cast this spell that disgraced our house. The Persian God, Aesma Daeva."

"Aesma? But, why?"

Zeus told her about the coin, the massing of the Persian forces.

"They mean to destroy us," Hera said, putting away her loom work and putting her arms on Zeus' shoulders. "Our world."

"Yes."

"And so, what would you do?"

"I go to confront Aesma. To kill him, and I will stick his head on a spike."

"Good," Hera said. "I would expect nothing less from you, great lord of the gods."

"I am glad to hear it. I need you now more than ever. You and I must be as one mind, to lead Olympus in this time of war."

"Of course. Only... no. Never mind."

"What?"

"I am just being a foolish woman. Forget about my hesitation."

"Hera," Zeus said, taking her hands. "This is what I mean. You must speak freely. Tell me what is in your mind and heart! Only then can we be sure we are together in all of our trials."

Hera nodded, pleased to see that his transitioning status as goddess of marriage was making him receptive to her words, since the plan relied on her convincing him to avoid a direct attack. "Well, the coin? It must have been left on purpose."

"Yes. A taunt. He wanted me to know he was the one who.... shamed our house."

"Then, he expects you to come to him in a cloud of rage, to attack him directly and seek to avenge us."

"Yes."

"Could it be a trap?"

"Yes," Zeus said. "I suspect it is a trap. But I am Zeus. I will destroy him nonetheless."

"And yet he has shown that he possesses mighty magic. He was able to.... Disgrace our house."

Zeus' temples were starting to pound. He wanted to tell Hera to just spit it out already, but he controlled himself, instead nodding, focusing on her words.

"So perhaps it would be better to enter using a Trojan Horse, like Odysseus."

"I don't follow you," Zeus said.

Hera stood and started pacing. "Not a literal Trojan Horse. I mean, you sneak into Aesma Daeva's realm. Go around his trap. Disguised as a mortal worshipper, you could walk right into his palace and catch him by surprise!"

Zeus nodded. Yes. It did make sense. He thought of Apollo's vision, his own haunted thoughts. He was Zeus, slayer of Titans, but he would be on the Persian's lands, where they were strongest, and the foul Aesma had shown powers Zeus did not understand and wasn't sure he could counter. "You speak... words of wisdom," Zeus said. "Yes," he said, now standing as well. "I will go down to the mortal world, take on mortal guise, and sneak into the realm of the mad god and break his neck."

He went over to Hera and took her in his arms. "I love you, woman. Together, we are unstoppable." He tilted her backwards and kissed her. Hera met the kiss, her own passion rising. Zeus lifted her off her feet, and their lips still locked in a passionate kiss, he carried over to her bed and gently lay her down, roughly pulling open her dress, grabbing one of her breasts roughly with his strong, calloused hand. They rolled and tumbled together, Zeus kissing Hera on her neck, her breasts, her tummy. She squeezed his still powerful shoulders, ran her hands along his back, but when she started tugging at the top of his tunic, he pulled her hands away and pinned her arms above her head. "No," he said sternly between kisses.

"I want to see," Hera said.

"No."

"It makes me horny thinking about them."

"No." Goaded, Zeus lifted her hips and positioned himself between her legs. Hera relaxed back, ceasing to struggle, and Zeus began to thrust into her like a wild animal, both of them reaching a sweaty, musky orgasm together. Zeus rolled off, onto his back, and quickly drifted off to sleep. Hera couldn't help herself. She reached out and started to carefully untie the laces that held her husband's tunic closed, determined to peel off his layers and get a look at his pretty breasts, but before she'd gotten halfway through Zeus grabbed her slender wrist and pulled her hand away, mumbling "no."

Hera rolled onto her side, annoyed. Well, she would bide her time, and when it was all done Zeus would be her pretty little wife, and he'd gladly show her his breasts then. Until then, she just had to bide her time. Zeus had fallen for their scheme, and he would be running off on a wild goose chase that would keep him in the dark until he got his vagina and woke up to find himself goddess of marriage and wife to Mighty Hera.

But resisting his wife's demands had been a battle for Zeus, that had required an act of godly willpower. And when he slept, he dreamt of opening his tunic, letting his soft breasts sway free, and sighing as his wife took them in her hands

Hera went to sleep slightly disappointed. It had been fun to try and get him to show her his breasts, but she wanted to win. Still. She curled up and smiled to herself. Zeus had fallen for the lure, and he would run off now, distracted, too busy to even suspect the truth, and when he returned, he would be her pretty little wife, and then she would have him as a husband takes a wife.

Zeus' Quest Begins

Zeus awoke well before dawn and made his way back to his own rooms. Walking out onto the terrace, he looked down at the shattered ruins of his statue, half expecting to see it restored, once again giving him that woman's shape, but the broken pedestal stood, still empty in the soft moonlight. Zeus looked up at the pallid moon, full, pregnant, and he felt himself drawn to it, almost mesmerized by its soft beauty. Strange he'd never really noticed it much before, not like this. Pulling his eyes away from the moon, he changed into fresh clothes, grabbing a satchel and a walking stick. He would hide his regal, godly glory and move among the mortals, slipping into Persian lands unseen among the mortal masses and come upon his enemy by surprise.

Launching himself into the sky, he flew to the sleepy fishing village and port city of Kythira, landing on a lonely outcropping outside of town. The sea stretched out before him, dark and jagged with whitecaps, and the wind whipped his beard back over his shoulder. The city rose on a steep rocky hill, whitewashed houses crammed together along twisting, confused streets. The town shimmered in the moonlight, every window dark, the only light Zeus could see was the flickering red of the watchman's torch as he walked along the docks, drowsily making his pre-dawn rounds.

Zeus felt invigorated by the smell of the sea, the breeze, the call of adventure. He'd been stagnant, restless, and this attack by Aesma, shameful and perverse, had woken him up. He would kill the foul Persian God, and the blood on his hands would change forever the worlds of gods and men.

Zeus knew Kythia well. The women there were glorious, and he had once grown obsessed with a certain maiden, daughter of the mayor. He had taken the shape of a stallion and presented himself as a gift to the family. Delighted in the mighty steed, they had taken him to the family compound outside Kythia, where the daughter lived most of the year with her mother. The young woman-- what was her name?-- her eyes had lit up at the sight of the regal stallion, and she'd ridden Zeus out into the fields, where he'd revealed himself to her, and taken her under the hot, summer sun.

Zeus smiled, then thought of Hera and their marriage, a sudden pang stabbing at him--was it guilt? He frowned. Annoyed. He'd liked the idea of having a little fun, harmless fun, in Kythia, and this guilty feeling was not welcome at all....

Pushing aside his confused feelings, Zeus walked to the town, trying to put his mind on the task at hand. He knew he needed to secure passage on a ship. He wanted to just be one of many passengers, blending in, and one that would take him to Persia. So, he would go down to the docks and book passage, then perhaps see if the women of Kythia were still as lovely as he remembered.

Chapter 13 - Ares and Athena

Ares woke in a strange room in a strange bed, a woman's arms around him, and he looked around in confusion as the cloudy web of sleep cleared and he remembered where he was now, who he was now. The serving girls stirred all around him and so he slipped out of Phoebe's arms and got up, rubbing his face before stepping into his skirt and fixing it around his waist. He picked up the garland of roses, slightly less perfect than the night before, the symbol of female fertility Athena had given him to wear. Looking down at it, he felt a knot in his stomach--anger, shame--at what he'd become, at what she was doing to him. When he'd agreed to serve her, he had never imagined she would humiliate him like this, treating him not as a god but a serving girl. He thought to tear the garland apart, swear off his service. Athena had not acted in an honorable way, had disrespected him, and he was within his rights to refuse her any further service.

And yet, he sighed and placed the roses on his head as his master had commanded, struggling to get it to sit properly. He felt Phoebe's hands on his own as she helped him adjust his garland, fixing it into his hair so it wouldn't slip. Her bare breasts pressed into his back, and his own breasts tingled with pleasure at the feel of them. Phoebe kissed him on the shoulder, and he glanced back at her with a smile.

"You look pretty," Phoebe said, catching the look of disgust in his eyes.

"I am a god, the god of war," he said. "I am not supposed to look... pretty."

"Well, you do."

Ares stood, now slipping the garland over his head, letting the soft petals fall against his skin, nestle between his bare breasts. "Shield Maiden," he murmured. He thought about his own palace. About having his own servants bringing him food, taking orders. The thought grew stronger in his mind that he would leave this place, leave Athena. He would take Phoebe with him, though, he decided. She had grown on him.

Phoebe went about her own preparations, letting Ares stew. She could understand why he would feel disgraced..... he was being disgraced... and yet... somehow it all seemed right to her, and, she thought, maybe even to him.

Apollo

Apollo had not slept. He'd returned to his own palace after the events with Zeus, and gone to his library to search among the ancient scrolls and tablets there for anything that might speak to what was happening--a precedent, a tale from the world of the titans or even some rival gods in another realm, but after only a few hours he'd fallen asleep, and when he'd awoken his mind had been filled with music, insistent music that demanded his whole attention. And so he had sat down with his lyre and begun to compose, writing a song that came to him from the muses, nearly every word just flickering to life in his mind, as if he were remembering a song he'd learned as a child and forgotten, and it wasn't until many hours later when he finally felt he had captured the song that he could even stop and look at the words he'd spoken and then written while in the throes of composition:

The world turns and the four winds blow

By the tides swell, they ebb, they flow

The gods, new shapes do find they wear, soft and round, with skin so fair.

Each now has a womb for children to bear and garlands nestled in his hair

The goddesses, too, new shapes do take, tall and strong immaculate now manly gods they stride with pride and draw little she-gods to their sides

All is new! All is changed!

The gods and goddesses places exchange, of their names and lives memories remain, but all the rest their new shapes claim

A new day has come, a new era rises

An ancient magic the world revises

A new world order

The time has come: Metanoia.

The world turns the winds blow

A new world order, Metanoia

Apollo sang the song, charmed and terrified by its beauty, and its message. Could it be possible? Would he soon have the shape of a woman? A womb? The sun had set while he worked. Helios had landed his chariot, and a dark, gentle night breeze now blew in the windows of Apollo's rooms. He stood and walked to the window, looking out to see the moon rising in the inky sky, and the soft beauty caused his heart to flutter. Opening his shirt, he took his breasts in his hands and squeezed, feeling their warm, soft weight in his hands, the gentle pulsing of his heart pumping blood through his soft skin, memories of the first time he had held a woman's breasts as a young, growing god, still living in exile, hidden from Hera. It had been.... He had no words for that first time he had touched them, seen them so white and perfect...

And now he had his own, and if the prophecy came true he would have a slit between his legs, and a womb... he thought of that young girl---- Callista had been her name--that silvery voice, her soft belly and long, round legs... how beautiful she'd been, what a joy it had been to look at her face, her body, to hold that soft little body against his, to take her... and he imagined himself now in her place, looking into her hungry eyes as she touched his breasts, spreading his legs, smiling up at her as she grinned down at him, putting his hands on her hard, flat chest....

Suddenly he saw himself, still on his back but now with a belly, full with child, sweating, gasping with pain as his baby struggled to be born, and Zeus was there, a goddess as well, holding his hand along with his sister Poseidon, and the thought was...

Terrifying. Horrifying.

He? The god Apollo giving birth to a child?

He pulled himself away from the soft light of the moon, pulled his shirt closed. The word at the end of the song... what had it been? He went back to the table where he'd written down the song, and there it was, Metanoia.

Metanoia? Repentance. To change one's mind or purpose.

Change or purpose? He glanced back at the sheaf of soft white moonlight pouring in his window, and immediately he felt his heart flutter.... It felt like love, it felt the way he had always felt about the sun.

Metanoia. The change. But why? How long? Could it be stopped? He felt sure that the strange changes had nothing to do with Aesma. It had struck him from the beginning with the discovery of the coin, and the vision of Zeus offering himself to the god did not suggest that god was to blame, only what would happen as a result of the change. Yet, Zeus seemed determined. He needed some way to persuade The Lord of the Heavens that going to Aesma was a mistake. Who might have knowledge of the Metanoia? Who?

Hecate, he decided. Yes. She was a Titan, daughter of Perses and Asteria, the star goddess, and her knowledge and wisdom older than that of any Olympian god. For a moment he thought to wait until morning, but looking toward his window, he once again felt the soft light of the moon calling to his feminizing heart, and so on impulse Apollo leapt into the air and flew off into the night, flashing across the dark, wind tossed skies, passing through and above the clouds before dropping down a mountain outside Lagina, where she had built a mighty palace that looked down on the city, where she was worshiped and honored above all other gods, served by eunuch priests who kept fires burning to her day and night, the sweet smoke rising constantly from the walled city.

Even as Apollo descended toward the top of the highest tower, he saw Hecate emerge from the stairs, throwing back the door and striding out onto the flagstones, looking up at him. "Apollo," she called as he landed. "It is always a delight to receive the son of mighty Zeus."

Apollo embraced her, and they kissed each other on the cheek. "And I am honored to be so welcomed."

"Has the change come over you as well?" Hecate asked, searching his face.

"Yes," Apollo answered.

"I do not believe it within my power to undo the changes to your body, nor those of any of us," Hecate said.

"You've changed, too?" Apollo asked, following Hecate down the winding stair.

"We all have," Hecate answered, amused but not surprised to find that Apollo was so focused on what was happening to him and the other gods that he had failed to notice the change in her. "Can't you see that I have grown taller?"

Apollo looked at her, surprised to realize that she had, indeed, grown taller. "I thought I had just gotten smaller.... Shorter...." He answered.

The two entered her primary conjuring chamber, and Apollo saw books, scrolls, tablets out on tables everywhere. Hecate gestured toward all the works of ancient lore and magic, delivering the lines she'd rehearsed in case anyone should come to her. "When my body changed, I began to search for a way to reverse the changes, but all normal shape-shifting spells seemed able to create only temporary changes, or odd and unexpected outcomes. I thought I had been the only one affected, and I sent agents into the world to seek who might have placed a spell on me--there are few who have the power."

"Then you heard about the rest of us."

"Yes," Hecate said. "And the mortal world as well. "But so far I have found nothing to explain the changes, or to identify who might be to blame."

Apollo glanced lovingly at a tablet that dated back to the earliest days of the titans, written in a language he could not read. He loved learning, and idly wished he had the opportunity to learn these ancient tongues unknown now to any but Hecate and perhaps one or two others, words from another time and another world, ruled by gods more ancient and mysterious than the one's he knew. "What does the word metanoia mean to you?" Apollo asked.

Hecate was glad the god was focused on the tablet of Cthulhu, as she felt the shock on her face to hear Apollo speak the word. "Metanoia?" She said. "Repentance?" She felt nervous. How much did Apollo know? What had he found out?

"Change. Conversion." Apollo looked up from the tablet.

"I don't understand."

Apollo, not in the least suspecting that Hecate and the other goddesses had brought about the change, explained. "I had a vision. A song came to me." He sang it, his tenor voice clear and true.

"What does it mean?" Hecate said.

"I was hoping you might tell me. It speaks of ancient magic, and if anyone would know of magic from the ancient world, it would be you." As Apollo spoke those words, hearing them out loud, he had a sudden feeling - a hunch, his budding women's intuition? - that Hecate knew something.

"Are you calling me old?" Hecate said, busying herself with a scroll, rolling it carefully and returning it to one of the many racks that crowded the room.

"You know something," Apollo said, walking towards her.

"No," Hecate said. "But I will try to find..."

"What do you know about Aesma Daeva?"

"Aesma? Why?" Hecate felt her confidence return. She had expected questions about Aesma.

"I found a coin at Zeus' fountain. A Persian coin with his face carved on it."

"Aesma?" Hecate said, still with her back to Apollo, who now stood right behind her. "He might have the power to do something like this."

"Yes?" He took her arm and turned her to face him. "I think so, too. The Persian army masses, their navy gathers."

"They must be planning a war against us, the gods and men of our world." Hecate tried to leverage herself free of Apollo's grasp, but he held tight. "Aesma must have cast this ancient spell against us, a first volley in the struggle to come."

Apollo pulled Hecate close and said, "You are a liar."

"What?"

"You agreed far too readily to the suggestion that Aesma was responsible for all this. You hesitated when I mentioned Metanoia."

"We need to be united right now against the Persians," Hecate said, now struggling to get free. "Let me go."

"Tell me what you know."

"Let go of me."

"Tell me!"

"I don't know anything!"

"Liar!" Apollo pushed her against the wall, brought a hand to her throat. "Tell me. What is The Metanoia?"

Hecate shook her head, her eyes burning with defiance. "You're acting like a hysterical girl."

Apollo began to squeeze. "I know you know something. I know you are lying to me. I will choke the life out of you if I have to, titan witch."

"Zeus loves me," Hecate said, her voice choked. "He will kill you for it."

"Not if he finds out you betrayed him." Apollo squeezed, harder, harder.... Hecate's face turned red, redder, her tongue stuck out of her mouth, lolling about as she made choking, gasping sounds, digging the nails of her free hand into Apollo's arm, ripping at his skin, her body beginning to spasm, her eyes bulging and glassy. Her world began to flicker, her vision began to grow dark. Apollo, driven on by his rage and terror over what was happening to him, fought back the impulse to pity and tightened his grip.

"Fine..." Hecate finally gasped, and Apollo let go, her body collapsing to the ground at his feet. "I'm sorry," she said, gasping. "I'm sorry."

Apollo, seeing her writhing on the floor, gasping for breath, felt pity for her, but didn't want to lose the advantage. "The Metanoia?"

Hecate held her hands to her throat. "One..." her voice sounded like gravel as she gulped for breath. "One moment. Water." She started to stand, but then fell back down on the ground.

"Stay there," Apollo said. "Do you have water up here?"

"There," Hecate said, pointing toward a clay pitcher that sat across the room. Then, she rolled onto her back, writhing and gasping, her hair in her face.

"Don't move," Apollo said, going over to get the pitcher, keeping his eyes on the witch.

"Should have told you," Hecate said. "They... swore to... secrecy...."

So, Apollo thought, she had been threatened. "Who?"

Hecate started to speak, but coughed, and coughed.

"Just hold on," Apollo said, coming over with the water. "Drink this."

"Thank you," Hecate said sitting up and taking the pitcher in her hands, drinking.

"Who swore you to secrecy? Who did this?"

"Zeus," Hecate said.

"What?"

Then Hecate sprang forward, the pitcher in her hands, and shattered it over Apollo's head.

Apollo stumbled backwards, stunned.

Hecate raised her hands and shouted in a guttural, ancient tongue, the tongue of the first gods, those who had ruled primordial Earth before the coming of even the titans, and the words she spoke translate as these: Stone, stone, make the man, flesh to rock I command! Power flashed from her hands, arcane bolts of great, granite lightning, and Apollo spasmed and fell to one knee as the energy sent shockwaves through his body and caused his clothes to ignite into flames...

"You will pay," Apollo said through clenched teeth, tearing off his burning clothes and tossing them aside, but as he rose stiffly to his feet and raised his hand, he saw that it had already turned to stone, and he watched as the stone began to crawl up his arm.

"Don't fight it..." Hecate said.

Apollo turned and ran, his legs feeling heavy and stiff.... looking down he saw one foot had turned to stone, and he clomped his way up the stairs, fighting for each step as his body grew stiff and heavy.

I hope he doesn't get stuck on my stairway, Hecate thought, following behind the panicked god.

"Artemis!" Apollo called. "Sister, I...." but then his words were silenced as Hecate threw a spell of silence over him, and so he climbed and climbed, stumbling out into the light at the top of the tower, both legs and arms now solid stone, and he strained to lift them, plodding toward the edge of the tower, soundlessly shouting, until finally, just as he reached the low stone tower wall, his body froze, his arms lifted toward the sky, his face full of hope and desperation.

Hecate walked up and looked at the statue. Apollo with his small breasts. Quite adorable. "I will have to keep you like this until the transformation is complete," she said, putting one of her hands on Apollo's small, stone breast. "I'll explain it all to you later. I hope you will understand, but this had to be done for the good of the world. In the meantime...." She ran her hands over his face. "Good. Good. No one will recognize you now. Just in case they come looking."

Apollo could see and hear, his mind still worked though trapped in a stone shape. He felt nothing, but he heard Hecate walk away, heard the door to the tower close. A bird flew down and landed on his head. Damn it all, Apollo thought. He was trapped here now. Trapped. And Zeus was wandering off to Persia on a fool's errand. Apollo remembered his vision. It disgusted him. His father. Turned into a goddess. Offering himself to the mad god Aesma. I can't let this happen, he thought. I must stop him! And so, he began to search through his mind, to try and think of some way out of his trap, and mentally called out to his sister, Artemis. He had told no one where he was going. No one. And now, perhaps, no one would ever know.

The Second Turning

Chapter 14 - Zeus and Hera

Zeus had booked passage to Sidon on a merchant ship. It was not difficult. Sidon was one of the busiest port cities in the world, trading its glass and purple dye to the world. The ship would not leave for two days, so he bided his time, taking a room at a local inn, where being bored and still Zeus, he began to lust after the inn-keeper's daughter, Minta, a bright, lithe limbed girl who never seemed to stop smiling and laughing. Zeus decided to take her, but it took him an entire day to overcome his growing new sense of guilt about cheating on Hera and-- more-- a new fear that his cheating would hurt their relationship. Finally, late that night, he saw Minta sneak out of the inn, slipping from her father's watchful eye, and Zeus followed, seeing her wind her way along the twisting streets until she came to a small alley, where she took a seat on an old wooden chest and sat humming to herself, fidgeting nervously as if waiting for someone.

Zeus grinned and decided to take the shape of a lion. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face when a mighty lion came strolling out of the darkness.... "Meow." Zeus looked up and around. He was not a lion at all, but had taken on the shape of a cat. "Meow?" He tried to will himself to the shape of a lion, but his body shimmered and wavered, and once again remained in the shape of a cat.

As Zeus turned in a circle, looking at his white furred, long-haired cat body, confused, he heard Minta say, "Oh! You're so cute!"

Zeus looked up. Minta was approaching, a wide, bright smile on her face. She was reaching toward him, and Zeus looked up at her not sure what to do as she started to scratch him behind the ear. Zeus found himself purring in response, and he walked around her in a circle, rubbing his body against her legs.

Minta scooped the white cat up into her arms, pressing Zeus against her breasts and kissing him on the head. "You're so pretty!" Minta said, hugging him.

Zeus, thrilled that his plan was working, purred louder, rubbing his head against her soft breasts, looking up at her with wide eyes.

Minta scratched him under the chin. "I've never seen such a beautiful cat! Do you have an owner? Are you hungry?"

Zeus nodded, then playfully nipped at her finger.

"I'm going to take you home!" Minta said, excitedly, keeping Zeus nuzzled up against her warm body. "But, my father can't know."

That's the idea, Zeus thought, purring happily against the girl's soft breasts.

Minta gazed down lovingly at the white cat in her arms, with his big green eyes and little black nose. "I'm going to name you... Amara! Because you are so pretty!"

Amara? A girl's name. Zeus ignored it. She would learn her mistake soon enough. He found it kind of funny to be called cute and pretty, anyway. No one had ever called him cute!

Minta carried Zeus down the narrow streets and sneaked back inside to her room, where she then put him down on her bed. "Sit right there and be good. I'll be back with some milk."

"Wait," Zeus said in a squeaky little cat voice, enjoying the look of surprise on the girl's face.

Minta's mouth fell open. "You can talk?"

"Yes," Zeus said. "I am not really a cat."

"What are you?" Minta said, backing away, now looking a little afraid. She glanced over her shoulder as if about to call her father.

"Don't be afraid," Zeus said, making himself small, putting his hands on his paws, wagging his tail. "I won't hurt you."

Minta smiled, though she was still tentative. "So, what are you?"

Normally, Zeus reveled in revealing himself as a god, the king of the gods, but with this girl, and her father in the room below, he had a new impulse. He liked being cute for her, and so he said, "I'm a sprite!" And with that he took on humanoid shape, but kept his catlike features and long, white fur, looking like a humanoid cat.

Minta's eyes got wide, and the fear was replaced once again by a smile. "You're magic!" She said, stepping closer. "Can I pet you?"

"I would like that," Zeus said, still in a squeaky cat voice, resting his chin on his paws, wagging his tail.

Minta sat on the edge of the bed and began to scratch Zeus behind the ears, then under his chin. Zeus rose up and climbed onto her lap, and she scratched his belly, then let her hand fall to one of his breasts. "You're a girl, right?" Minta said.

"A boy," Zeus said. "Is that okay?"

"Yes," Minta said, pushing Zeus onto his back. "That's just fine." She put her hands on Zeus' breasts and squeezed, and Zeus threw his arms above his head and purred.

"This isn't your first time?" Zeus said.

Minta giggled. "Sex? No. But with a sprite, yes." She straddled Zeus, squeezing her soft thighs against his ribs.

"Take me, then," Zeus said. "Make me yours."

"Patience, Amara," Minta said, smiling. "I want to make this last, little one."

Zeus growled and showed his little teeth. "I just want to please you," he heard himself say, surprised by his words, but under the control of his feelings. "I'll do whatever you want me to."

"Good," Minta said, still playing with Zeus' breasts. "Good. Because, I have something I want you to do."

Zeus sat on the edge of the bed in one of Minta's dresses, a white little dress, as she tied a pink bow into his hair between his twitching cat ears. "There," she said. "Now you look really cute."

Zeus plucked at his dress. He felt ridiculous, but also cute and pretty. "Do I please you?" He asked. He wanted to look cute for her. Pretty for her.

"Delicious," Minta answered, pushing him down on his back....

After, Zeus found himself in her arms. She'd fallen asleep, while he'd lain there awake, just feeling warm and happy, but finally as the sky outside lightened and the cool morning breezes began to blow, he slipped from her arms, climbed out the window and made his way back to his own room, managing to sneak in unseen. Once in his own room, he willed himself back to his mortal shape, and immediately he could tell something... a lot of things.... were wrong. He felt the air against his cheeks--- his bare cheeks. He'd had a beard since he could remember, and he brought his small hands up to his cheeks, felt his smooth, soft skin. Was it because of how he'd acted? Because he'd agreed to wear her dress?

The loss of his beard felt as shameful to him as the blossoming of his breasts, made him feel less a man, a god. Angry at himself for how he'd been acting, he slipped out of the girl's white dress, which he'd still been wearing, tossing it aside, then stopped, looking down at a body he did not recognize. His whole body was now smooth and hairless, and his small breasts had gotten bigger, fuller. He also could not ignore that his hips now had a girlish curve to them, and then saw how slender his wrists had become, how thin his arms.

Zeus closed his eyes. Imagined himself as he had been, his old shape, all bulging sinew and shaggy beard, and felt his body shift and flow... but when he opened his eyes he saw the same breasts, felt the same smooth cheeks, saw the same slender wrist. No, he thought, feeling sick to his stomach, sitting down on his bed, his knees together, putting his head in his hands.

No. This can't be happening.

But it was. The wheel had turned again, and The Metanoia had advanced to a new phase. All throughout Olympus the changes came, and the mortal world as well.

***

Hera had watched it all, starting the night before. Sitting next to the scrying pool, she'd watched her wayward husband slip into a dress, let the girl tie a bow in his hair, then lie back and let her take him as if he were the woman. It had angered and pleased her, and when she saw his new shape, the shape of a teen-age girl save for the male organ he still possessed, she smiled in pleasure, watching as Zeus sank down onto his bed in despair to weep. She wished she could comfort him, or laugh at him, or both, but she just shook her head and stood, before going to look at herself. She had grown taller, broader shouldered, and her arms were now wiry with muscle. She had the tiniest little hint of breasts, and looked like a very butch young woman, or else a slightly effeminate man. More a man than her husband now, she lifted her arm, made a fist, looked at her bulging bicep.

It was, gross, a little. She did not love this new body. She missed being beautiful. But she would get used to it. She would have to. There was no turning back....

There was a knock on her chamber door. She quickly pulled her robes closed. "Enter."

Her serving girl, Helena, opened the door, tall and handsome. "The goddess Hecate requests an audience," Helena said, her voice now a low tenor bordering on an alto. Helena was a well-trained servant and hid any reaction she might have had to the changed shape of her master.

"Send her in," Hera said, noting the drop in her own voice.

Hecate strode in, taller and more muscular looking than Hera, and Hera felt herself bristle slightly at the sight of a taller woman. "Hera, Lord of the Heavens," Hecate said.

Hera reached out and the women shook hands, looking each other in the eye. "Come. Sit. Things are going well."

"Yes," Hecate said. "You look quite... handsome. How do you feel?"

"Bulky," Hera said. "Skinny! I am used to having more.... me."

"I know. It will take some time to adjust. You sound almost like a man."

"I'll sound more like one soon enough. Everything is going according to plan."

"Almost everything."

"What happened?"

"Apollo came to see me. He had a prophecy regarding The Metanoia, saw something, a song."

"Damn him," Hera said. "I wish I had killed the bastard. You denied everything? Sent him off?"

"No," Hecate said, relating the story of what had happened. "I made his statue look like a nymph, so if anyone does come looking they won't recognize him."

"Is there anything else?"

"He called out to Artemis. I put a silence spell on him after, but she may have heard."

"She could be a problem." Hera rose and went to her scrying pool, Hecate following behind. She summoned forth the image of Artemis, saw the goddess in the forest, moving among the trees, her purpose unclear.

"She doesn't seem alarmed or in search of her brother," Hecate said.

Hera nodded. "I'll keep my eye on her. For now, let's just continue on as planned."

"Yes, Lord Hera."

"You did well," Hera said. "Things could have been much worse."

Chapter 15 - Ares and Athena

Ares slept as his body changed, his arms taking on a slender, feminine shape, his breasts swelling, hips rounding. Phoebe spooned him from behind, her own body growing taller, stronger, more masculine. When she woke, neither realized the changes that had occurred, but as Phoebe let her hand slide from Ares' soft, round hip to his full, womanly breast, a thrill went through her body, and she kissed her lover on his long, graceful neck.

"Mmmmm," Ares said, wiggling closer to his woman, feeling warm and safe in her arms.

Phoebe took one of his slender wrists in her hand and rolled him onto his back, climbing on top of him to look down and see his cute little upturned nose, his full, fleshy lips and wide, pretty eyes ringed with curly lashes. Her eyes glided excitedly down from that sweet face to his graceful neck and now full, melon-sized breasts. She smiled. "You're so beautiful," she said, pulling her gaze from Ares' breasts to those pretty eyes, still clouded with sleep.

"Thanks," Ares said, arching his back, running his hands through his thick, curly hair, still waking up, feeling eager for some early morning loving, not conscious of how things had changed. As Phoebe leaned down he closed his eyes and tilted his head back, accepting her kiss, feeling his fingers tingle as he instinctively reached up and put his little hands on her shoulders, their hard, sinewy flesh like the roots of an ancient oak, and he felt his nipples harden with excitement at how muscular his girlfriend was even as confusion started to cloud his sleepy, horny little head. Phoebe pinched his nipple as they kissed, and Ares mind clouded with pleasure. But even as his body insisted he forget his concerns and just let his girlfriend take him, he slipped his hands down to feel Phoebe's hard biceps, and then to trace the contours of her hard, turtle shell abs.

When the kiss ended, he opened his eyes and looked at Phoebe, and now Ares' eyes were growing wide with fear. "Stop," he said, surprised at the sound of his voice--like the voice of a woman, or a younger boy.

"What is it?" Phoebe said, one hand still on Ares' breast as she kissed him on the neck.

"I don't know, just..." Phoebe kept kissing his neck, squeezing his breast... "STOP!" Ares shrieked.

Phoebe, not fully aware of how much she'd changed, hesitated. "What's wrong, you..."

"Get off me!" Ares said, kicking at her with his legs.

Phoebe, unused to her men shrieking and kicking, rolled off the bed. "Okay, okay..." she said. "What's the matter?"

"You're," Ares put one hand to his throat while using the other to pull the sheets up over his breasts. "Changed. Different."

"Me? You're the one..." Phoebe looked down at herself, saw the veins popping on her hard, muscled forearm, the ribbed abs, the tiny little remainders of breasts on an otherwise powerful, muscular chest. "What?"

She hurried over to a mirror, the one all the girls shared to make sure they looked presentable to their goddess, and her mouth fell open with the word, "gross." She looked like a boy-girl, or a girl boy. Like a very athletic woman with angular, masculine muscles covering her body from her calves to her now thicker, shorter neck.

"You hardly look like yourself anymore," Ares said, staring in fascination at the woman he'd been sleeping with, both disgusted and... aroused at the sight of her, with her now square jaw.

"What's happening to me?" Phoebe said, feeling sick to her stomach, now aware that her own voice had dropped half an octave, closer to a tenor.

"It's like you're turning into a man," Ares said, still holding the sheet protectively over his breasts, which he now glanced down at, sensing their greater weight, the pull on his sternum, the way they were swaying.

"We're turning into each other," Phoebe said, seeing Ares looking at himself, the realization dawning on him.

"No," Ares said, shaking his head. "No."

"Come and see."

Ares hesitated, and realizing he was nervous, Phoebe moved away from the mirror. Wrapping himself in the sheet, Ares got off the bed and walked to the mirror. He saw a young woman looking back at him, her pretty face framed with thick, curly hair, and then he opened the sheet up and stood there, his knees together. He saw he now had a woman's shape, with wide, round maternal hips and full, firm breasts, but it was his tiny little arms that terrified him the most. "I have to stop this," he said, pulling the sheet closed, turning to face Phoebe.

"What are you going to do?"

"Go back to my palace. Find out who is doing this to me, to us, and stop them. Before it's too late."

"But Athena...."

"I don't care."

"You gave your word."

"I am not going to be a woman!" Ares screamed. He needed something to wear. His skirt was better than a sheet, and there was nothing else he could get right away. The serving girls, now all taller and boyish, just like Phoebe, had gathered to watch, and they looked on in amazement as Ares, God of War and Shield Maiden to Athena, stepped into his skirt, now looking more like a female than any of them. "Come with me," Ares said, remembering his love for Phoebe even in her changed form.

"How?"

"Just take my hand."

Phoebe hesitated. Athena would be furious. Might change her into a piglet. Or worse. But looking at Ares' pretty eyes she saw the love in his girlish heart, and the need, and the fear, and so she reached out and took Ares' soft little hand in her own, and then the two of them rose into the air and flew out of Athena's palace.

Phoebe felt her heart rise with excitement as the two rose up into the air and through the clouds, the wind whipping through her hair, and she realized that she was holding the hand of a goddess, a god, rather, who loved her, and she felt like the luckiest mortal who had ever lived. In mere moments, they landed in the courtyard outside Ares' palace, and exchanged a quick hug, but even as she felt Ares full, soft breasts pressing against her belly and rested her chin on his head, she felt the tension in his little body.

"What is it?"

"This isn't right," Ares said, seeing the insignia of Enyo on the banners flapping above the ramparts. "Wait here."

But even as Ares started marching toward the doors of the palace, his little fists clenched at his sides, his bare breasts swaying defiantly, the great bronze doors swung open to a blaring of horns, and Enyo, wearing a suit of Ares' armor and flanked by 100 women warriors, marched out to greet him. "Shield Maiden of Athena," Enyo called. "I am honored you visit my palace."

"Your palace?" Ares said, his cheeks turning pink as the rage built within him.

Enyo strode forward, coming to just a few feet of Ares, and then stood, looking down at him. "Of course. This palace belongs to the God of War, little one, not to Athena's Shield Maiden."

Ares stared up at her, fury burning in his big, pretty eyes. He had no intention of playing games with her. "Leave now while you have the chance."

"Go back to your master, little maiden, before I spank you."

With a high-pitched scream, Ares launched himself at Enyo's throat, getting his tiny little hands around it and knocking her onto her back. He felt the old thrill of battle, a surge of bloodlust, and imagined choking the life out of the snotty, uppity bitch, but then she grabbed his wrists and easily yanked his slender little arms off her throat, rolling the two of them over and then pinning Ares' arms above his head as she straddled him.

Enyo's warrior women laughed as they saw Ares so easily pinned.

"No," Ares said, his pretty face flushing, his mind reeling with shock at how much stronger Enyo had become. He strained with all his might, but his little arms were nothing to Enyo, and then he tried to buck her off, making pretty little grunting sounds even as he felt sick at how helpless he felt under her powerful body.

"You're making me horny!" Enyo shouted, then laughed a loud, forceful laugh, that was echoed by her warriors.

Phoebe rushed forward, wanting to help little Ares, but Enyo's warriors grabbed her, and she watched as Enyo yanked Ares to his feet, then threw him over her knee, lifting his skirt and exposing his round, womanly behind to the air. He struggled, helplessly, and his eyes met Phoebe's as Enyo brought her hand whistling down against his soft, round behind with a WHACK that echoed throughout the courtyard. "This..." Enyo said, and punctuated each of the following words with another spank, "Is. What. Happens. To. Bad. Girls!"

It didn't hurt, really, not that much, but having Phoebe watch him being spanked, laughed at and humiliated, shattered his ego and his pride and he, once the fearsome God of War, began to cry, his tears dripping down to the courtyard pavement, where they immediately blossomed into roses.

Enyo paused. "Promise to be a good girl, and I will stop."

"Bitch!" Ares shrieked, kicking his feet angrily.

Enyo spanked him some more, asked again, and again. The ninth time, Ares finally said, "I'll be a good girl," and Enyo pushed him off her knee, sending him crashing to the ground, weeping in a field of daisies.

Enyo stood and stretched, pleased. She was God of War now, Athena's equal, and no longer a mere minor goddess. Ares, meanwhile, who'd always been so arrogant and dismissive of her, Ares was done, and she leaned down, slipped her arms around Ares' narrow waist and hoisted him over her shoulders like a sack of potatoes, carrying him into her palace to the cheers of her warriors.

Chapter 16 - Hephaestus and Aphrodite

Aphrodite held a piece of bronze with a pair of tongs, sweat pouring down her face. The steel glowed a deep, red, and Hephaestus stood behind her, giving instructions. He looked like her sister now; the same changes having come over the pair as the others. "Now," Hephaestus said in his new voice, "place it on the anvil... the flat part... good, now use the hammer to..."

Aphrodite swung the hammer she held in her other hand, slamming it against the hot metal with a mighty clang, and she then pounded it, again and again, white hot fragments flying in the air as she pounded it until it was flat and smooth. She smiled, proud of herself, and held up the flattened steel to show her little husband. "Not bad, eh?" Aphrodite said.

"Fine," Hephaestus said, smiling prettily in approval. "Good."

Aphrodite chuckled. If the other girls could see her now! "Let's make a sword! Together!" She tossed the piece of metal she'd been playing with into the water sending up a great jet of steam.

"I don't know," Hephaestus said, but Aphrodite put a hand on the small of his back and steered him over to where his molds were stored.

"We're doing it!" Aphrodite said. "I want a sword! Something big and sharp!"

"Well, okay," Hephaestus said, smiling as Aphrodite leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "I guess." The transformation had come as a shock to Hephaestus, just as it had to the others, but it had come with so much good; he was no longer the ugly god, the one ugly god, and his wife no longer hated and despised him. And if Aphrodite was as bossy as ever, he found he didn't mind so much. She was so affectionate, and she actually wanted them to spend time together. It was, well, he didn't even have words for how good it felt.

Chapter 17 - Ambrose and Nubia

Ambrose and his men were scared. They stood in a circle, far enough from the slave wagons not to be heard, their now oversized clothes hanging baggy over their curvy little bodies. Each of the men had a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, right up beneath his eyes, hiding the shamefully smooth chins and little noses they'd found themselves with--faces none of them could deny looked more like those of the slave girls than their own.

"We could just leave them here," Hazem said, making his voice lower, trying to sound like the man he'd been, but the tremble in his voice was heard by all of them. "Make our way to the city."

'Then what?" Poliminus asked. "All of our money is tied up in these slaves."

"I have relatives there," Hazem said. "I could..."

"And what about the rest of us?" Poliminus said.

"Go home to your own families, and..."

"Put on veils and hide behind our wives’ skirts?" Ambrose interrupted. "Would you so easily surrender?"

"No, I..."

"We just need to keep it together until we get to the city. Then, we will sell these slaves and each of us can go our own way."

"Have you seen them?" Hazem shouted, his voice cracking. "They are bigger than us now! Stronger! They..."

"Are still slaves. They are all to a one chained inside these wagons," Ambrose said, gesturing toward them with a slender hand. "They can't do anything."

"But when we bring them out for air, to stretch..." Hazem continued.

"We won't."

"But..."

"For the remainder of this journey they stay in chains. If that hurts their value, if it makes them sickly, better that than we risk a revolt." Ambrose stared at Hazem, who stared back, then looked away. It was quiet save for the whisper of the wind across the desert.

The men shifted around, looked off at the sky. Ambrose said nothing. He wanted to give them time to think, mull it over, and conclude that he was right. One by one, they looked back at him and nodded. Finally, seeing all the others nod, Hazem nodded as well. As the other men drifted off, Hazem lingered.

"Forgive me," he said. "I..."

Ambrose put a hand on the other man's shoulder and gave it squeeze. "You are one of my best... soldiers, and I am glad you spoke your mind."

"Thank you, Ambrose," Hazem said, relieved.

"Now, let's get these slaves to market and make some money." Ambrose held out his hand, instantly feeling self-conscious at how small it was, how slender his wrist, and when Hazem reached out his own tiny hand and the two shook, they stepped forward for a quick, manly hug, only their bodies felt strange, and Ambrose thought Hazem smelt like a woman and felt his own nipples getting hard at the close presence of the man girl, and they separated, blushing, and went their separate ways.

Ambrose sought out Poliminus next, whose auburn hair had turned a brighter red, and now hung in thick, lustrous curls down to his shoulders. His hair is so pretty, Ambrose though, cursing himself for the thought. Poliminus, seeing the caravan master approaching, nodded. "Something unexpected happens on every journey," he said, not bothering to deepen his voice.

Ambrose chuckled and responded in the higher pitched voice that was now his. "Yes, but never quite this unexpected."

"Do you think it's the slaves? Could this be their magic?" Ambrose slipped the scarf down, letting it pool around his slender neck, his smooth, pretty face now exposed to the sun.

"I don't think so," Ambrose said. "But I have wondered as well."

"Have you considered Hazem's suggestion? If the slaves did revolt, it would not end well for us." Poliminus palms went to his cheeks, as he felt his soft, hairless face, a face he hadn't seen or felt since he'd gotten his beard as a teenager.

"No. I will not walk away. You know we have faced death many times. Many times."

"But this? Perhaps it is worse than death."

"We'll get through this," Ambrose said. "Just as long as we stick together. We will find a way to reverse this spell. Get our beards back."

Poliminus chuckled, taking his hands away from his face.

"Bring Nubia to me. I need to cement her status as my ally, and I will sound her out as to this magic."

"But," Poliminus' eyes narrowed with concern, "she...."

"I'll be fine," Ambrose said. "I can handle her. Just bring her to me. Keep her in chains."

"And if she tries to escape?"

"Kill her."

Ambrose went to his wagon, struggled to climb the stairs that were now too high for his small legs. But he managed, and once inside he unraveled the scarf from his own face and looked at himself--his full, womanly lips, tiny little nose, big, innocent eyes, and most of all his own smooth, hairless chin. No. He couldn't allow Nubia to see this face, his face, and so he wrapped the scarf back on, hiding everything beneath his eyes, and then he tucked his hair up under a turban. It left his little seashell ears visible, and his long, slender neck, so he pulled his scarf up over his ears and then wrapped another around his neck. He was still adjusting and tugging, starring in the mirror, when Poliminus called from outside the wagon, "The slave is here," and Ambrose noted with approval that the other man was now dropping his voice into a lower register.

The door opened. Nubia climbed into the wagon, and as soon as Ambrose looked into her eyes, all the lies and denials he'd been telling himself melted away, and his body tingled with desire for her. Nubia still wore her slave girl's garb, but it looked incongruous on her new shape-- thin silken top covering her now tiny breasts, the torque around her neck, clearly too small, the flesh around it lumping over. Ambrose inwardly cringed at the sight, empathizing with the pain she must have been feeling even as his eyes hungrily took in her broad, muscular shoulders.

"You've changed," Ambrose said, sitting in his great chair, hoping it disguised his loss of height.

"Yes, master," Nubia answered, standing at the door awaiting her orders, but taking an inventory of the diminuated man who sat before, most of his face hidden beneath scarves. Good, she thought. He is becoming insecure, losing confidence, she would be able to use that.

"Do the changes please you?"

"It only matters if they please you, master."

"Come. Sit next to me."

Nubia walked over and knelt down at Ambrose' knee, and he cupped her chin and tilted her head back. Her face-- she had become handsome-- like a young man with a square jaw and even a bit of thin stubble on her chin like a teenage boy might get, and the feel of the stiff whiskers against his fingers made Ambrose heart flutter. He found himself staring into her eyes, losing himself in them. Nubia put a hand on Ambrose' thigh, and he almost giggled, then started talking, forgetting to disguise his voice, not even aware it had actually risen a half octave above its new level. "I need to... I have... questions... I mean, well, you have whiskers, and so.... um.... I need to...." Ambrose hand slipped down to Nubia's muscular shoulder. "I need to...."

"I know what you need," Nubia said, feeling emboldened by her master's discombobulated rambling.

"What?" Ambrose said, his mouth falling open, his hands trembling.

Nubia took his hand in hers and stood, leaning in close, their faces nearly touching. Ambrose, terrified at what he felt, what he needed, dropped his eyes, but Nubia pulled his scarf from his face and whispered, "look at me" and he did, and his cheeks flushed, the tip of his nose turned pink, and even as he started to shake his head, to whisper "no" Nubia kissed him, kissed him hard, still holding his little hands in her own.

"We shouldn't," Ambrose said, glancing fearfully toward the door, he tried to pull his hands free, but Nubia held them firm, forcing his arms down to his sides as she slipped onto his lap, kissing him again. Ambrose felt a rush of excitement—she’s so strong!

"But, they might..."

"Hush," Nubia said, kissing him quiet, then lifting him, switching their positions so she cradled Ambrose in her lap, one strong arm around his slender waist.

Ambrose struggled weakly, not really wanting to resist but just for the thrill of being controlled by her, dominated, and she didn't disappoint him, her arm tightening around his waist even as with her free hand she grabbed his jaw and forced him to look at her. "You are beautiful," Nubia said, looking at the smooth face, the big eyes, the plush lips.

"No," Ambrose said. "I look like... I look ridiculous."

Nubia started to undo the laces on his robe as she kept talking. "Your eyes are.... so deep and pure... sparkling like diamonds in the sun...."

"Stop," Ambrose said weakly, slapping at her hands as she undid his clothes, but she ignored him, instead kissing him again even as she got the top of his robe open and reached down to cup his now full, firm breasts.

"Your body is incredible!"

"Don't..." Ambrose managed between kisses, "please, I..."

But Nubia kept going, kissing and fondling his soft body, and Ambrose turned now and pressed himself up against her, kissing her back, losing control of himself, consumed with passion, his nipples hard and aching for attention as he pressed his breasts against her, her whole body, his skin tingling and sweaty and hot, and he tossed off his turban and shook out his long hair, then kissed Nubia again, pressing his bare breasts against her, and she grabbed his ass and stood, lifting him, Ambrose wrapping his legs around her waist, the two still kissing as she carried him to the bed, lay him down and climbed on top. They pulled each other's clothes off, and then Nubia sat back, looking down at Ambrose with his full, soft breasts, his hard little nipples pointing up at her, his slender arms and soft, flat stomach. Ambrose had a fuzzy look in his pretty eyes, his arms above his head, open and surrendered, and he whispered, "pinch my nipples."

Nubia reached down and pinched them, hard, and Ambrose gasped and arched his back, digging his hands in his hair and then he said, "harder... harder...."

And Nubia did, thrilled at the power she felt, at the reactions she was getting from the pretty little she-man he master had become. She watched his pretty face, saw him lose himself in pleasure, and then she started to suck on one of his nipples while playing with the other, and Ambrose dug his nails into her back, grinding into her with his now hard-- if small-- penis. She mounted him then, knowing he was ready, and Ambrose bit his lip, making small little chirping sounds as they came together, found their rhythm, and Nubia finally brought him to climax.

After, Nubia spooned her little lover, one arm draped over his round hip. Ambrose lay on his side, glowing with pleasure, but also shame and confusion. He had never meant to do... to let her do... what she'd done. His mind had been clear, he'd intended only to find out...

But that was all a lie. Since the night he'd first changed he'd thought constantly of the girl, had longed for the feel of her hands on his breasts, for the thrill of being made love to be her. Had he become her slave? Had the change in his body done so much? But it was more than that, he knew. Even before the change, he'd made a terrible mistake with this one. He'd allowed himself to feel for her, and that feeling had grown to .... "love you" he whispered out loud, and immediately felt terrified.

"What's that?" Nubia said, half asleep.

"Nothing," Ambrose answered, his heart racing. Why had he said that? Now she knew, well, maybe she hadn't heard. Didn't know. But, what if she had done this to him? What if it was her magic? Shouldn't he be angry? Want revenge? Wouldn't that be what he would want if he were still a man?

"Nubia?" He said, now turning in her arms to face her.

"Yes?" She said, her eyes still closed.

"I... want to ask you something?"

"Can it wait?"

"Um.... no."

"Okay," Nubia said, opening her eyes. "What is it?"

"I'm going to ask you a question, and I'll... well, I'll know if you're lying or not? So, tell me for real, okay?"

"Of course," Nubia said, gently running her hand along his smooth swerve of hip, hiding her smile at his changed demeanor, the way he was speaking in questions. "What is it?"

"Did you... are you the one... this, the way we changed? Did you?"

"Did I do this to us?"

Ambrose nodded.

"No," Nubia said.

Ambrose stared into her eyes. Saw the truth. Gave her bicep a little squeeze. "Okay. Good. I had to ask?"

Nubia nodded. "It's okay. But..."

Ambrose eyes went wide. "But? What?"

"Nothing," Nubia said. "I love your cute little nose."

"Don't... try and change the subject! But, what? Do you know who did?"

"No," Nubia said, chuckling. "No. But... what I was going to say is, and don't get mad, but what I was going to say was, I'm glad it happened to us."

"Why?" Ambrose said.

"Because in answer to the question you didn't ask but really want to, yes, I love you, too."

"You? Heard? I mean, you do?"

"Yes," Nubia said, brushing Ambrose' hair back from his forehead. "Yes. I love you."

Ambrose felt his eyes filling with tears even as he smiled. "I don't know why I'm crying," he said, ashamed.

Nubia kissed him. "It's okay. I understand. I used to be a woman, too."

Chapter 18 - Hera's Zeus

Zeus lay on his bed for a time, hiding under the covers, trying to ignore the changes to his body, but no matter which way he lay -on his side, his back... he couldn't ignore the weight of his new breasts, the strange feel of his rounded hips. He rolled onto his stomach at one point and felt his firm new breasts squeezing against the mattress, and he immediately rolled onto his side. Minta had knocked, asked him if he wanted breakfast. She didn't know he was the man girl kitten from the night before; Zeus had told her to go away.

But now the sun had moved along in its path, and morning had almost slipped away. He needed to get down to the docks, to the boat, to get to Persia and get his hands around the neck of the sick god who'd taken his masculinity and left him in this half-female shape. So, Zeus dressed, his clothes now hanging off him, the hem of his robe dragging along the floor as he walked, but since the only other option was Minta's dress he decided he would just have to make do. Downstairs, a fresh-faced young woman sat behind the front desk looking sheepish. Zeus tossed some gold coins onto the desk, intent on hurrying out of the Inn before someone recognized him. "I see you changed, too," the girl said barely acknowledging the generous bounty of gold Zeus had left.

"I... OH!" Zeus stopped, realized the young woman was actually the inn keeper. "You mean?"

"We've all changed. Again."

"Good fortune to you," Zeus said, processing the new information.

"And you as well."

As he walked down the winding village streets toward the docks, Zeus saw a world he could not recognize. Everyone he passed looked like a girl-boy or a boy-girl, a she- man or a he-woman. Some few had developed faster than others, tall strong women who looked more like boys, but most of them he could only judge their sex based on their clothes, and who could be sure on what clothes suggested of the bodies beneath? Certainly, though, he had the sense that most of those he saw moving around the city now were females, and he supposed, based on his own embarrassment, that many of the men were keeping out of sight.

His suspicion was confirmed when he got down to the docks and stood looking at the crew "manning" the ship he had booked for the journey, the New Morning. They were all clearly women as women now appeared, tall and wiry with muscle, if still a bit girlish or boyish. "Good morning!" One particularly handsome woman called, hopping from the deck to the dock. "You must be our passenger." She embraced Zeus and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

The embrace had been a friendly one, as was the custom on this island, but Zeus' breasts had brushed against the woman and he stepped away, his cheeks flushed. "I am, but where is Captain Thrace?"

The girl chuckled. "He isn't feeling himself this morning, so I and my crew will be making the voyage. It seems none of the men were feeling quite up to the task today. I'm Captain Naia."

Zeus frowned, feeling nervous.

"I sense you are concerned," Captain Naia said. "The women of FFHFYII are raised to work the ships, though we usually only work close to shore. You don't need to worry your pretty little head over it. I assure you I will get you safely to Sidon." She took Zeus’ hand in her own and guided him toward the gangplank. "After you."

Zeus found himself smiling as he allowed himself to be led by the hand toward the boat. Captain Naia was so cocky and self-sure! Yet, it wasn't her worthiness as a sailor that concerned him--he was a god and wouldn't drown even if they swamped the ship-- but looking at the lean, strong bodies of the crew, he worried whether he would be able to control himself and keep his legs closed for the journey.

"Cena. Show our guest to his room."

"Thank you, Captain Naia" Zeus said, smiling up at the young woman's handsome face. She was still holding his hand, and he lingered there basking in the warmth of her confident smile.

"You will join me for dinner tonight," Captain Naia said.

"I would be delighted," Zeus said, his smile growing even wider as Captain Naia lifted his little hand and brushed the back of it with her lips. A giggle escaped from the king of the gods, he couldn't help it, and sensing the Captain's eyes on his backside as he walked away, Zeus put a little extra swing into his hips and glanced back over his shoulder, grinning, his cheeks red.

Captain Naia answered Zeus' pretty smile with one of her own, but she smiled the smile of a very hungry wolf who had just spotted a very tasty little rabbit.

Zeus shivered with excitement. Keep your legs closed, he reminded himself, keep your legs closed! You owe it to your husband-- wife! He thought about the captain's smile, forced himself to think of Hera. What would she look like now, he wondered, trying to imagine her changed as the mortals had changed--taller, more muscular. He didn't think she'd like it much. She'd always been proud of her beauty. Would she be jealous of him now?

Once in his cramped little cabin, Zeus lay down on the hard little cot, put his arm over his eyes and took deep, long breaths, feeling the weight of his breasts rising with each one. It was painful for him to travel so slowly-- the lives of mortals were so brief. How unfair, he thought, it should take them so long to get anywhere.

He could have simply flown to Persia in less time than it would take to get this boat out of port, but now more than ever subterfuge seemed like the better choice. As a God among mortals his changed shape and, he had to admit, altered mind, did not matter. None of them posed the slightest threat. But another god? Would he still be up to the challenge when he got there?

He looked at his slender arm. His dainty wrist. Perhaps he should have sought some other path, a way to be restored to his true self before facing the mad god? Could he go on now, in this new shape? Face the mad god looking more like a woman than a man, more like a goddess than the Lord of all the Gods?

But what other choice did he have? Go running back to Olympus crying like a little girl? Confirming the truth that this new body declared to the world? That he was no longer Zeus, slayer of titans, but a kitten? No. He was still Zeus, Lord of Heavens, and he would see to it that Aesma paid for his insolence.

He heard the voices of the women shouting, Captain Naia barking commands. The boat lurched rocked, began to move, the crew shouting excitedly as their journey began. One of the crew began to beat on a drum, another played the fife, and Captain Naia began to sing in her silky, tenor, the ancient song of her people:

Anemoi Anemoi the winds I call to thee

Bring fortune to we poor sailors

As we embark upon the sea

Anemoi great wind lords

I humbly do beseech

That with your help speedily

Our destination do we reach

Zeus smiled, pleased to hear the ancient song, sung so well by the captain, but the next verse brought a frown to his pretty face.

God of the Sea, mighty Amphritite, we thank you as we embark

For allowing safe passage in the light and in the dark

Amphritite, Lord of Horses, Ocean ruler true

We ask for your blessing, as we call to you

Send your sweet boys Pollux and Castor

To guide as safely from disaster

We love and honor you, great sea lord and master.

Zeus sat up, anger rising in him, the blood in his temples pounding. Amphritite? God of the sea? She was merely wife of Poseidon. What was happening? Standing, clenching his little fists, he thought to strike the mortals blind for their insolence, shatter their boat and turn them all into jellyfish. How dare they? They...

But somehow, he knew it all to be true. Amphritite was god of the sea now, or becoming God of the Sea. He could feel it. Poseidon was her wife, goddess of currents. But, no. That wasn't right. Couldn't be right. Had to be wrong because it might mean...

He was changing into... something else, too. Someone else. Who was he becoming? What would he be? The answer was right there, he could feel his destiny, practically see himself standing next to Hera, smiling up at her. She would be his husband, she would be king of the gods, he sensed the truth of it all, but it was too terrifying for Zeus to face, and he stood shaking his head, his whole body clenched in anger. No. No. No.

He was Zeus. Lord of the Gods. Not... not a goddess. Never! The world began to turn red, his old rage coming back, and raised his hand, intent on summoning lightning and blasting the mortals' stupid little boat to pieces, rising up into the sky and hurling himself against Aesma in a storm of rage like the Zeus of old, the Zeus he was and would always be.

There was a knock on the door. Zeus thought to send a bolt of lightning through the door, imagined it splintering the wood, setting the ship aflame, but then he remembered the mate who led him here, and more he thought of Captain Naia, her smile, that handsome face, and he took a breath and pushed it back down into himself. Save it for Aesma, he thought. Let it all build up so when the time comes he will have known no fury like that of Zeus.

"Yes," he said, straightening his clothes, his hair. "Come in.'

The door opened. "The Captain asked me to come down and see if you wanted to come up on deck and see the city from the sea as we depart. It really is quite pretty."

Zeus nodded. "Yes. Of course. Thank you." He started toward the door.

"You might want to put on something more. The wind has picked up and it is chilly."

"Thank you," Zeus said, surprised and pleased the young woman was so concerned for his comfort. "I'll be fine." He followed the woman to the deck.

"Come!" Captain Naia shouted. "You must see Kythia as we depart. It is so pretty."

Zeus allowed himself to be led to the captain's side, though he was inwardly rolling his eyes. He was Zeus. He'd seen Olympus. Nothing in the mortal world, "Oh, my!" he gasped as he saw the city, flashing bright white in the sun, rising from the choppy ocean waves like a platinum spire.

"You see?" Captain Naia said. "It is the most beautiful city in the world!" She slipped her arm around Zeus' waist as she said the words and pulled him to her side. Zeus pulled back for a second, but it felt so good he acquiesced, putting one hand on Captain Naia's strong back, his head against her chest as he looked out, watching the beautiful city receding into the distance.

Chapter 19 - Athena's Ares

"This will hurt," Enyo said, looking down at Ares, who lay on his back. He wore only his serving girl's skirt. His breasts and belly lay exposed.

"So what?"

"Do you want to hold my hand?" Enyo said in a taunting, sing-song voice.

"I want to break it," Ares answered.

"Ohhhh...." Enyo said, but finally settled into the work at hand, taking a thick needle and using it to pierce the flesh along the inner wall of Ares' belly button. Ares clenched his teeth, determined not to show any reaction to the pain. Enyo quickly dabbed the wound with alcohol, and then inserted a belly ring into the hole she had created, leaving Ares' with a pink sapphire in the middle of his belly that glittered every time he moved. "Adorable," Enyo said.

Ares just lay there. He didn't have the energy to care. Athena had defeated him in battle and made him her Shield Maiden, and now Enyo had usurped his godhood, stolen his palace and spanked him in front of the woman he loved, a woman who looked more like a man than he did now.

"She needs more jewelry," Enyo said, out loud but as if to herself. "Yes. Sit up."

She handed Ares a pair of arm golden arm cuffs, slender little serpents-- Athena's symbol-- that would appear to have wrapped themselves around his biceps. They were dainty-- scarcely big enough to fit around the arms of a teenage girl. Ares knew they would fit, and slipped them on, first left, then right.

"Now everyone will be sure to notice your pretty little arms," Enyo said, enjoying the sight of Ares adorning himself with jewelry. "Finally, let's do a little more with that pretty face of yours!"

Ares sat as Enyo outlined his eyes with black, then reddened his lips and rubbed a blush into his cheeks. Finally, she placed a new crown of roses on his head, and then she led him to a mirror. Ares looked at himself. Saw his painted face, the pink jewel flashing in his belly, his full breasts. He shook his head side to side but said nothing. Enyo stood behind him, smiling. "What? Don't you realize how pretty you are now? Aren't you going to thank me."

"I should kill you," Ares said.

"Now that's no way for a serving girl to address her better." Enyo slipped one arm around Ares' waist, pressing herself up against his plump rear end, then kissed him on his smooth shoulder, while her other hand lay flat against his belly.

"Let go," Ares said through clenched teeth.

Enyo kissed him on the neck, her hand moving up, coming to rest just beneath his breast, then sliding up to just touch the under breast.

"Let go," Ares said, hating the pleading sound in his high voice. He twisted, but Enyo held him tight, now cupping his breast as she kissed him on the neck and began to grind into his behind. "Stop!"

"I can't," Enyo said in a husky voice. "You're too beautiful."

"I'm... not..." Ares twisted, trying to leverage himself free. Enyo pushed him up against the mirror. He saw his own terrified eyes, the steam from his breath.

"I have to have you," Enyo said, showing his skirt down over his round hips, letting it fall to floor to pool around his feet. "I need you."

"No," Ares said, thinking of Phoebe. "Please."

Enyo slapped him on the ass, hard, and then when he tried to slip away, she shoved him against the mirror, hard, and then she locked her arm around his waist and slapped him again.

"Athena," Ares said. "She will be angry."

"Call your master to protect you, then, girl. Call her now, and I will stop."

"No. I don't want..."

"You do want it," Enyo said. "Just as much as I do." She lay her forearm across Ares' back, just below his shoulder blades, and pressed him hard against the mirror. He could feel his soft breasts crushed against the glass. Then, Ares felt Enyo shove something, cold and hard like marble, between the cheeks of his behind. He yelped, a high-pitched squeak of shock. Enyo kissed him on the neck, the shoulder, pressing him against the mirror, pushing him, and Ares looked at himself again, at the tears streaming from his big, frightened eyes, and he thought, This is my fault. I deserve this.

When she'd finished, Enyo dropped the marble pleasure wand she'd been using to the ground, turned Ares around so he was looking up at her. She was standing so close, his breasts brushed against her chest, and she cupped his chin, lifting his face and kissing him on the lips. "The first time is always scary," she said, staring into his eyes. "But I did it because I love you, you know that right?"

"Yes," Ares said softly, nodding, looking up at Enyo, tears still pouring from his eyes. "Yes. Sorry."

"Good girl," Enyo said, kissing him again. Then, she brushed some stray hairs from his face and said, "go fix your face. Then, I'm taking you home to your master." She stepped aside and Ares, relieved to finally be free of her oppressive presence, sighed with relief as he hurried over to the dressing table to fix his make-up. He sat down, drying his tears, then looked up at himself, at the woman in the mirror, and he started crying again.

Chapter 20 - Aphrodite's Hephaestus

Hephaestus lay with his head in the crook of Aphrodite's arm, his breasts pressed against her ribs. She was playing with his hair, plucking at a strand of it, staring into his eyes. They were naked, entwined after making love, both of them enjoying the warmth of each other's bodies. Aphrodite finally smoothed the hair back, then traced her thumb along Hephaestus' jaw line before running it along his soft, plump lower lip. Hephaestus, staring into her eyes, began to gently suck on her thumb, enjoying the feeling of it between his soft lips.

Aphrodite watched him, gently stroking his smooth shoulder as he sucked and nibbled, his eyes getting hazy, but then she was surprised to find tears forming in her own eyes as she looked down at her husband's gorgeous face.

"What is it?" Hephaestus said, sitting up.

Aphrodite turned away, but Hephaestus placed a gentle little hand on her shoulder. "Talk to me. Please. Tell me what's wrong."

Aphrodite turned back. She shook her head. "Nothing. Everything. I'm so confused."

Hephaestus nodded. Waited.

"You'll hate me, or think I'm crazy."

"I won't. I won't judge you. I ... I need to know you. To know who you are so I... so I can know who I am now. Don't shut me out."

Aphrodite looked away, decided she had to risk it, and said, "I'm jealous of you."

"Me? What?"

"You're prettier than me now. You're prettier, and I'm jealous, and I hate myself for being jealous but that's how I feel."

"Prettier? No. No. You'll always be..."

"If you're going to lie, then there is no point in having this conversation."

Hephaestus sat back. "I wasn't..."

"You were trying to be nice. I have eyes. I have a mirror." She held out her now muscular arms. "I am not pretty. Admit it!"

"You are handsome," Hephaestus said. "You're a very attractive..."

"Man?"

"Goddess."

"You're lying."

"Did it feel like I was lying in bed just now. I don't mean lying in bed, I mean..."

Aphrodite laughed. She couldn't help herself. "I know what you mean. And I know what you are saying is true, but as much as I love you now-- I mean I always loved you--"

"Who's lying now?" Hephaestus said, stung.

"Everything is so wrong. I don't know what I'm saying or doing. I can't stop thinking about my husband's breasts! My husband's breasts! And I have all these ideas for designs and swords and shields, and I also still want to be the woman, the goddess, the pretty one. I feel like I am losing everything I ever was, and I don't know what I'm becoming, what this new thing will be, and you’re sucking on my fingers like a woman and it is all so wrong."

"Did it feel wrong?" Hephaestus whispered.

"No," Aphrodite said. "And yes. Can you understand that? It feels both to me. Perfectly right, and terribly wrong."

"I feel the same way. I'm scared, too. Look at me. Look at what I'm becoming. And I don't know if I want this, or will be able to be what this goddess is that seems to be growing within me, but I do know that I love you, and I always have, and for the first time you look at me, and I don't see disgust in your eyes, and so I don't care. I don't care! As long as we're together, and I don't know if you love me or if you'll ever love me, but if you just don't hate me and you'll let me love you then that is enough."

Now they were both crying, and reaching toward each other, and wrapping their arms around each other, holding each other close, and Aphrodite said, "I love you. I love you more than anything or anyone. You are my goddess, and you are everything."

Hephaestus wept, wept so hard he couldn't speak, didn't need to, but they just held each other, crying together, and then they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Hephaestus woke first, brought back to wakefulness by Aphrodite's snoring. His arm was under her head and had gone numb, so he gently tried to slip it free, but Aphrodite woke. "It's dark," she murmured.

"Yes."

They could barely see each other in the darkness-- just a glint in the eyes of the other, bringing them out of the shadows, but their bodies were together, and they were warm, and they both felt closer than they'd ever felt. "Make love to me," Aphrodite said. "In the dark. But this time, let me be the girl."

"Okay," Hephaestus said, climbing on top, straddling her, reaching down at putting his hands on her tiny little breasts. It felt odd to be playing the man, sitting in this position with his own full breasts swaying on his chest, but he also found it exciting, and he began to make love to his husband-wife as if he were still the man, she still the woman, and they both smiled in the dark as a new idea formed in each of their minds: they didn't have to choose, or let their bodies tell them who they were-- they could be whatever they wanted to each other.

Chapter 21 - Nubia's Ambrose

"I'm going to need your help," Ambrose said after they'd made love. He was kneeling, naked, his hair a passionate mess.

"You are my master," Nubia said. "I do what I am commanded to do."

Ambrose smiled. "I need you to be my spy among the slaves. Keep your ears open for any talk of revolt."

"Of course. And, if you wish, I can lead them toward obedience. Speak to them of the necessity that we not attempt anything here in the midst of a strange country, where the color of our skin marks us." Even as the words left her lips, Nubia worried she might have sounded over-eager, but Ambrose just nodded with approval.

"Yes. Good. It isn't far, and we must not have any trouble." He stood and made his way behind a dressing screen. "Are you certain they will listen to you?"

"I am the daughter of the king. They have always listened to me," Nubia said, her eyes drawn to a hook on the wall. Several key chains hung from it. Chains that held the keys to her freedom, including one she believed was a master key. Would Ambrose even notice if she took it? He was so love struck.

"Of course. Scare them. Let them know that in this land the punishment for a slave who turns against their master is death, and there will be no mercy," Ambrose called, still from behind the screen.

Nubia saw him raise his arms as he slipped into some kind of robe. If she didn't go for it now it would be too late, but her instincts told her to wait, and so instead she lay back on the bed, pulling the covers around her.

Ambrose came back from behind the screen, smiling, running his hands through his hair. "You look comfortable."

"Can I sleep here tonight?" Nubia said. "I want to hold you."

Ambrose crawled onto the bed, kissed her. "I want that. I do but, the slaves would get suspicious, I think?"

"You know best, master," Nubia said.

"Just know I will be missing you. Come."

"That thought will keep me warm." Nubia sighed, climbing from the bed.

Ambrose wrapped his scarf around his face and led her to the door. "The slave is ready to return," he said.

The door opened, and he passed Nubia off to the guard. Outside, a small fire sputtered in the desert wind. The men, huddled around the fire, their faces hidden, looked so small. Nubia glanced back over her shoulder at Ambrose. He smiled and made a small wave, then turned and went back into the wagon, his eyes immediately going to the keys. She'd passed his little test. She hadn't taken one. Hadn't even moved toward them, though he was pretty sure she's seen them. It made his heart flutter. She really does love me, he thought. She really does! He knew that as soon as they made it to town, he would free her. It would be a surprise. He would free her, and then she would ask him to marry her, or he would ask her, or maybe they would ask each other at the same time!

But he would free her, in any case, and even if she left, that would be fine; it would terrible and he would be heartbroken, but it would be fine, because he loved her, and he wanted her to be happy. You can't love someone and own them at the same time, he thought, throwing himself on his back, giggling. You can't love someone and be a good person and keep them as a slave. He'd never liked slaving. Often, he hated it. Slaving had made him cruel, cold; he'd treated people in terrible ways, and yet he'd been born into it, a slaver's son, and what other way could he have made it in the world?

But now, by some miracle or magic, Nubia had come to him, and now he had fallen in love, and he was turning into something new, someone new, someone good and kind, he thought, someone who would deserve her love. She was a princess! Would that make him a prince? He didn't know or care. He just knew that he was in love, really in love, for the first time in his life, and as he drifted off to sleep, he closed his eyes and whispered:

Zeus, goddess of marriage, mother of alp lease let Nubia be my husband

Let her make me her wife

And I promise I will offer sacrifice at your temple

Every day for the rest of my years

I want this more than anything

More than anything

More than anything

Chapter 22

The headwinds of a mighty storm began to chop the ocean and toss the New Dawn just as Zeus sat down to dinner with Captain Naia, who had come around the table and held Zeus' chair for him as he'd sat, a frivolous but one that had brought roses to the god's pretty cheeks. Zeus and Naia stared into each other's eyes, speaking little but saying much, the ship creaking and groaning as it rocked back and forth, occasional shouts from the crew as they struggled to be heard above the howling winds. The soft yellow light of the lanterns shifted and flitted across the room with the movements of the ship, making it seem as if the two of them were underwater, floating safely in a magic bubble.

Finally, as they each finished, Naia said, "you have something here," and reached across the table, gently running her thumb across Zeus' lip at the corner of his mouth. When she finished, Zeus licked at the area with his little pink tongue, then smiled.

"You look lovely," Naia said, staring at him. "So beautiful."

"Thank you," Zeus answered, looking away, not used to being looked at like... that. Remember Hera, your marriage.

"What is it like for you? Being so changed?"

Zeus looked up, away. "You mean?"

"Yes."

"I don't know."

"Surely, you miss being tall and strong. Is it terrible for you?"

Zeus was tempted to tell her he was a god, that he was much stronger than he looked, but as with Minta, he felt it might make her nervous, put her off, and he knew how women seemed to like it now when he was cute. "Not so terrible, as long as I have a big, strong woman to take care of me?"

"So, do you like it? I was worried my brother was going to throw himself from the cliffs."

"I don't ... what about you, then? How do you feel? Do you miss being pretty?"

"I was never pretty. I was always a tomboy, and I hated that my brother got to do everything, go anywhere, while I was always expected to stay home or have some kind of escort, and once I started to grow up, they wouldn't let me play with the boys anymore, and they wanted me to marry." She spat out the last word with contempt.

"So, did you like other girls?"

"Not always," Naia said, and she let her eyes drop from Zeus' face to the rest of his body, and he could feel that she was mentally undressing him, picturing his soft curves. "What I really liked were boys who were like girls." She sighed and pounded on the table. "And I wanted a life of adventure! Excitement! I wanted the kind of life where I would find myself Captain of a ship on a voyage of Persia with a beautiful and mysterious man."

"Oh? So, am I your dream come true?"

"Yes," Naia said, her voice low. "You are."

Zeus' heart fluttered. Hera. Marriage. He giggled and covered his eyes. "I don't know what to say?"

Naia stood and came around the table. "Then don't say anything," she whispered in Zeus' ear, then blew into it, reaching around to squeeze his breast, her hand over the top of his robe. Zeus stood, and somehow found himself in her arms, her hands on his cheeks, his hands on her waist. He was looking up at her, his breasts pressed against her body. Naia kissed him, gently, and his body started to burn with desire, and he shook his head.

"What is it?" Naia said.

"I'm, I shouldn't, I'm married."

"She doesn't need to know."

"It isn't right."

Naia kissed him again. Put her hands on his plump rear and squeezed. "Oh, by the heavens, this is so hard," Zeus whispered, leveraging himself free of Naia's arms. "I'm sorry," he said. "You are a handsome woman, and if I weren't married?"

Naia smiled. Nodded. "I understand," she said. "Let me get the door for..."

Just then a mighty wave slammed into the side of the ship, sending it lurching to port, the floor leaping up from under them both. Zeus shrieked as he was tossed from his feet, but a seasoned sailor, Naia immediately grabbed a post with one arm, and grabbed Zeus with the other, pulling him to her side and holding him close as the ship righted.

Zeus’ chest heaved, his heart racing. He felt his soft breasts pressed against her body, his round hip against her, looked up with gratitude at her strong, handsome jaw, and lifting one foot off the ground, he got onto his tip toes and putting a hand behind her head, pulled her down for a kiss, all willpower fading, desire consuming him, Zeus wanted her, needed her, and she lifted him off his feet as they kissed, and he felt light as air in her arms, giggling as she effortlessly carried him over to her cot, lay him on his back and climbed on top, kissing him and pulling at his robe while he eagerly kissed her back and started tugging at her pants, pulling them down off her hips.

Naia struggled to get Zeus' robe off. He had put it into thick layers and seemed to have tied it up in knots, trying to hide his breasts as much as possible while also hoping to keep them from bouncing everywhere. "Let me," he said, but even as he spoke Naia impatiently grabbed at the material and tore the top of his robe open, the sound of the cloth ripping as Zeus’ full, soft breasts sprung free.

"Uh, oh," Naia said, holding the shredded fabric in her hands, but Zeus just laughed, throwing his head back, and cupping his own breasts with his small hands, he lifted them toward Naia and said, "do you like them?"

Naia chuckled and answered by taking one of his nipples in her mouth and sucking, while she grabbed his other breast and started to rhythmically squeeze, even as the two of them began to grind into each other. Zeus started to make high-pitched little chirping sounds, losing himself in the full body buzz lovemaking had become with his changes, and Naia began to work her way along the rest of his soft body, running her fingers over his shoulders and belly, kissing his neck, reaching down and squeezing his ass, while Zeus lay back, squeezing her strong, muscular shoulders, reveling in all the new sensations flowing over his new body, and as they both found themselves growing near madness with the pleasure and desire, the one feeding the other, Naia finally climbed on top and lowered herself onto Zeus's throbbing little member, putting her hands on his breasts and then rising up and down while Zeus thrust his hips in unison, until finally he felt release, and they both cried out in soft, women's voice and then fell into each other's arms, their bodies slick with sweat.

"No one's ever made love to me like that before," Zeus said, stunned and confused and still buzzing with pleasure. He pushed sweat slick hair off his forehead and kissed her, then put his head against her chest.

"You're a goddess," Naia said. "An impossible goddess."

Zeus stiffened, shocked, angered, but looking at her face he realized she was being poetic, not intending insult, so he just sighed and wiggled closer, reveling in the echoes of pleasure that still gently rolled over his body, even as his mind already began to turn to Hera. I have to stop doing this, he thought. It must end. This will be the last. I promise. And she need never know.

***

But she did. Hera had watched the whole thing from her scrying pool. Her husband, it seemed, was still a slut. She would have to keep him on a short leash once he was able to bare children. She didn't to have to put up with a pregnant husband who was carrying other women's babies. But for now, she was pleased with the changes to his personality. Even in his relations with this mortal girl he was the woman now, and that boded well for them all. Zeus was shaping up to be quite the little goddess, and that pleased her, though she would make him pay for his disloyalty. Once she was fully Lord of the Heavens, and he her wife.

Chapter 23 - Artemis

Artemis stared at the moon. She felt nothing. That lack, that emptiness, terrified her. She had always felt connected to the moon, alive in the soft glow of the moonlight. She had right in the moonlight; it was the light of her world, her life, her essence, and the nights when Selene rested, leaving the night sky dark and empty of moonlight, her chariot never leaving the stables, on those nights Artemis had always known the most soul-crushing loneliness she could imagine, so great she often wept with despair until Selene appeared again, even the barest sliver of the moon restoring her contentment.

But now Selene road high in the sky, her chariot fully lit, as big and bright as it could be, and Artemis felt that same loneliness, that same feeling of wrong. She knew if had to be connected to the changes in her body, and all the bodies and demeanors of the gods, and she covered her face and wept, despairing to think of a life without the moon. She couldn't stand to be alone, and she thought of her brother, Apollo, radiant son of the sun, and she determined to go to him now, just to be with someone she knew and loved, hoping it would take away this crushing sense of despair. And so, she slung her bow over her shoulder and whistled. Her hunting dogs came running, barking, wagging their tails, as did the team of stags who pulled her chariot, and whom her nymphs now fitted into their stays. Artemis' nymphs now looked more like pretty young boys than they had, and though she still found them pleasing she thought she preferred them as they had been before; still, she loved them all. "I go to visit my brother," she said. "You all remain here and please yourselves as you will. I shall return soon, I hope."

The nymphs all nodded and grunted, crossing their arms under the small breasts. "Come, Philos," she said, calling to the favorite of her hunting dogs. "Come!"

Philos barked happily and jumped into Artemis' chariot, sitting beside her, wagging his tail.

"To Apollo's palace!" Artemis called out, and her mighty stags pulled her chariot forward and then rose into the air. Coming to Apollo's palace, she was greeted by his servants. He had left on some errand. No one knew where. "Which direction?" That they remembered, and so Artemis once more launched her chariot into the sky, flying in that direction, scanning the horizon for signs of her brother. She noticed the massing of the Persian fleets, and looking closer, she saw that nothing there seemed changed; men and women were for the most part clearly divided by shape and fashion, with only some falling into a glorious middle area, whereas in all the lands ruled by the Olympian gods is was now hard to tell man from woman.

Curious, but she had he quest, and as a master huntress, she had to find her brother. A god flying through the heavens left no traces, though, nothing for her to track, and so she scanned the horizon, letting her instincts guide her, trusting her intuition to tell her where he might have gone... And then she heard a woman's voice, calling faintly to her.

"Artemis..."

"Hold!" She pulled the reigns, and her stags held up, their hooves churning at the clouds.

"...help me..."

It was a woman's voice, and she knew it was her brother. Listening carefully, with her ears and her heart, she guided her chariot toward the voice, flying along, moving closer and closer, hearing the soft voice of her brother growing more clear, until she saw she flew toward Lagina, the palace of Hecate, the smoke rising from her great temple in serpentine tendrils that twisted and entwined themselves above the great city.

Hecate. Artemis' eyes narrowed with anger. The titan witch. What had she done to Apollo? Why had she betrayed him? Was she in league with the Persians? The questions burned in Artemis' mind, even as she circled downward toward the ancient witch's tower, and saw there the status of a nymph, a status that called out to her, a statue she knew housed the spirit of her brother. Artemis chariot landed in a clattering of hooves, and she cursed herself for failing to show more caution, but her passion had overtaken her. "Brother!" She called, rushing to Apollo's side, and placing her hand on his cold, marble shoulder. "I am here."

"Artemis!" Apollo called. "Hecate! Beware the witch!"

"Why did she do this to you? What is going on?"

But before Apollo could answer, their tower began to shake, the sky darkened, and Artemis stags began to stamp their hooves nervously as Philos began barking angrily, snapping at the air around him. Artemis turned to see swirling mists gathering on the roof, flashing bolts of purple luminescence arcing through the tendrils, and even as they swirled, she saw eyes, arms, and bodies taking shape among the swirling shadows.

"Wraiths!" She called, unslinging her bow and unleashing a barrage of arrows into the shadowy forms, which howled and raged and vanished as the goddess' magic arrows pierced destroy their ectoplasmic shapes. Yet more appeared and more, and they began to swarm Artemis, getting too close for her to use her bow, and she felt their cold chill of the grave coming over her body as their spectral hands plunged into her, seeming to decrepitate her flesh even as they sought to hungrily devour her godly soul... for they were the spirits of the ancient gods, consumed with jealousy and hatred of all that had supplanted them. Artemis swung her bow, trying to drive them back, but they threw themselves at her en mass, their octopoid faces bubbling with tentacles that now seemed to run over her skin, coating her in slime, and the world grew dark as Artemis found herself being driven to her knees, a deathly chill entering her body and her mind, and she wondered if this would be her end, if she would die here in this moment, next to her brother, slain by the deadly wraiths of a forgotten world...

"Be gone!" A deep voice shouted, and the wraiths screamed as rays of blinding light cut through the darkness, cutting into their bodies and drawing great clouds of steam. "I dispel you foul creatures! Return to the world of death!"

The creatures swirled, panicked, and Artemis rose to her knees. Looking up she saw Selene, now radiant with the bright light of the sun, tall and strong and brave, and she was laughing as she blasted at the creatures. Artemis stood. "Selene!" She called. "Ever has the sight of you brought me joy, but never more than now!"

The wraiths circled and hissed, whispering, and then they launched themselves at Selene, forgetting about Artemis. "You belong to the darkness," Nyo-haster called. Selene responded by unleashing all her light in a great blast, and the night creatures surged against it, and even seemed for a moment like they might overwhelm Selene, but Artemis unleashed an arrow that pierced Nyo-haster, and then she destroyed the second and third most powerful among the elder gods present, and the cloud of blackness then rose off into the sky, wailing.

Selene descended to the tower. She wore radiant, golden armor, and her pale skin was no more, as her complexion now radiated with the bronzing of the sun.

"You are so changed," Artemis said, plucking at Selene's long, black hair.

"I am now god of the sun," Selene said. "What strife is there now between you and Hecate? The three of us have always been allies and friends."

"She turned my brother into a statue," Artemis said. "I don't know why, but when I arrived here to help him she sent those dark spirits to kill me. I will understand if you do not want to choose sides."

"I have already chosen sides by helping you," Selene said. "But let us go now to Hecate and if she will speak, we will know her mind and see if there is some resolution to this we can agree on."

"Very well. But be on your guard."

Artemis led the way, the two descending the dark tower stair. The wind moaned its way through the tower, and they could hear what sounded like steel clinking against stone. Cautiously, they descended, expecting danger around every turn, and finally they came down to Hecate's workshop, where she stood, waiting for them, her staff in hand. Her eyes were sunken, her skin clammy.

Artemis had her bow ready, an arrow notched. "Betrayer," she said, circling to the right while Selene moved to the right. "I would kill you now, but Selene has persuaded me otherwise."

"We just want to talk," Selene said. "To understand."

"And to free my brother."

"Very well," Hecate said, though it seemed as if each word was drawn from her with great effort, tremendous strain. "To understand what I am doing, and why it is for the good of the world, I must begin my story back in the earliest days, when the primordial gods still moved upon this planet, and even the titans were newborn."

"She's stalling," Artemis said.

"Speak and be brief," Selene said.

"The slightest move will end with an arrow in your throat," Artemis said. "Do not trust in my former love for you."

"If you want to know, I will tell you," Hecate said, then waited, still leaning on her staff, her face tense as if in great pain or concentration.

"Speak!" Artemis shouted, watching Hecate, certain she was preparing some new attack.

Chapter 24 - Athena's Ares

Enyo led Ares by the hand, marching him right up to Athena, his pink belly ring flashing with each step. "I brought your girl back to you."

"Oh, Rese," Athena said. "You.... look gorgeous." She ran her hands over his smooth, round shoulders, touched his arm cuffs. "These are amazing."

"I thought you would like that," Enyo said. "Well, I better get back to the soldiers. It looks like war is coming."

"Yes," Athena said. "Let us hope not, though."

"I want a damn war," Enyo said, raising a fist as she swaggered out the door. "I've been dying for this!"

"She is young a foolish," Athena said, running her fingers through Ares hair. "The world is so changed, is it not, sister?"

"Don't call me that," Ares said, yanking his head away from Athena's probing hands.

"Oh," Athena said, throwing her arm around Ares' shoulder. "That's what you are now, you know?"

"I'm still your stepbrother," Ares murmured, annoyed.

"Oh?" Athena said, playfully. "I don't remember my brother being so pretty."

"You're the worst," Ares said, trying to pull away, but Athena pulled him back. It reminded him of how Enyo had physically overwhelmed him, and he hated feeling, once again, under the control of a woman, but he stopped struggling and instead just pushed the feelings of anger and resentment down inside.

They came to a room filled with... girls? Boys? Ares wasn't sure, but they were gathered around a great cloth, which they were working on with needle point, creating some sort of wall hanging. "Go in and spend the day with these silly boys, Rese, and enjoy yourself." She gave him a kiss on the cheek and then walked away, humming a war march.

Ares walked into the room. Boys? He glanced at the smooth faces, the thick heads of glossy hair, all crowned with roses. The soft, naked breasts, most full like his own, though a few of the younger men had smaller breasts. They all had slender arms. Eyes turned to Ares, and he could tell the other boys were checking him out, rating him against themselves, and by the glint of anger in some eyes he knew he was one of the prettiest. He found a spot among the rest. "We are making a tapestry in your honor," the boy next to him said in a sweet, soft voice.

Ares looked and saw the image they were working on sketched out on the cloth, with numbers showing which color thread to use in each place. The image showed him being crowned with roses by Athena, and under it read Ares, Shield Maiden of Athena. "Wonderful," Ares said. "Just wonderful." The boys around him, men, really, had been guards and stable hands and blacksmiths in Athena's service, but now they were all here, stitching, chatting, getting used to their new roles and lives.

After, he served wine at dinner, then ate dinner with the other servants. He'd seen no sign of Phoebe, and when the day ended and his service was done, he went back to the women's quarters to find the women were all now taller than him, and that among them he looked the most like a woman now. It made him nervous and uneasy, though he was yet a god and they mere mortals, and they looked openly at his full breasts, and admired his soft skin. He pretended not to notice but made his way to the cot he'd once shared with Phoebe, lay down and curled up, drifting off to sleep. In the morning he woke, dressed, fixed his hair and did his face with the items Enyo had given him. He caught a glimpse of Phoebe, wearing a bronze breast plate, sliding her sword into her scabbard. She been a made a member of Athena's royal guard! Ares' heart leapt with joy for her, and he idled near the door she would use to exit the room hoping she would notice him, but she walked by without any acknowledgement, though he was sure she had seen him, and he pushed down his tears and forced a smile onto his face as he served breakfast that morning.

He went to the armory next, where he polished and maintained Athena's armor. This was his favorite job, the only one he really liked at all. He loved the sight and feel of the armor, the weight of it. It reminded him of what it had been like to be a god, the god of war, and he ran his slender fingers over Athena's shield, remembering his old life, but even as he kept picturing Phoebe in her armor, so tall and strong, and how empty he felt now.

I have to stop with these silly, girlish thoughts. Phoebe is just a moral. It was just a lark, a fling, a moment in time. I am yet a god, or a goddess? I am divinity, and she is a mere mortal, and she doesn't mean that much to me. Can't!

He caught a glimpse of her again later that day and raised his hand, close to his side, a pensive wave, but she ignored him, and he remember being humiliated in front of her, Enyo spanking him, his tears, and of course she would want nothing to do with him anymore. He'd been unmanned before her. No woman who'd seen that would want him. He looked down at his breasts. Would any woman ever want him? He felt like he'd swallowed glass. This was all his fault. He'd failed her, failed her as a god and a man, and now on top of that she felt badly about it, felt ashamed. He had to tell her he understood, that it was okay, that she was in her rights to be ashamed of him.

He waited that night, waited for her to get off duty, and when she walked wearily into the women's quarters, her armor clanking, Ares, heart racing, stepped out in front of her. "Phoebe," he said. "I need to talk to you."

Phoebe looked down at the pretty little god, her eyes full of pain. "I can't," she said. "I'm sorry."

She started to step past him, but Ares blocked her way. "I need to say some things to you. I'm just asking that you listen. You owe me that much."

"Fine. But, not here." She led him out to a small garden behind the palace, enclosed by tall bushes, ringed with wildflowers. Phoebe crossed her arms and looked at the sky. "Say it."

"I just wanted to tell you," Ares started. "I wanted to say." His heart was racing, he was breathing hard, his breasts rising and falling. "I know I ... failed... you. I failed... I failed myself... I am not... you saw me... I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it, I understand why you hate me, and don't want anything to do with me, and I don't want you to feel bad because I am... this... now, and I know I disgust you, and..."

"What?" Phoebe said, looking up. "What are you saying?"

"I've been... unmanned. You saw me... degraded. I don't blame you for hating me."

"I don't hate you. I hate myself."

Ares' mouth fell open. Hate? What? What are you?"

"I love you." Phoebe said. "I don't think anything will ever change that."

"But then why have you been avoiding me? Why?"

Phoebe dropped to her knees, took Ares' hands. "Because I failed you. I should have protected you. But I stood there, powerless, while that nasty slut of a god did what she did to you in front of all those people? I didn't think you would ever want to see me again."

"But I'm the one who's supposed to... you mean you don't hate me after seeing that?"

"My heart went out to you. I felt every blow, I felt your pain, and I hated myself more with each second as I stood there, forced to watch, unable to protect the man I loved, still love, will always love. Will you forgive me? Can you?"

Ares knelt down now, too, and they stared into each other's eyes. "There's nothing to forgive. Enyo is a god, she is so powerful, you couldn't do anything."

They hugged, kissed, sank onto their backs and stared up at the stars, both lost in their tangled thoughts as they stared up at the sky, dusted with a million points of light. "I don't know what's going to happen to me," Ares said. "I don't know if I can be what I'm becoming."

"Nothing is certain anymore," Phoebe said. "But nothing much ever was for mortals."

"So how do you do this?"

"What?"

"Change."

"My mother always said, you can fight change and lose or embrace it and win."

"That sounds wise, but means nothing," Ares said.

"No. No, I don't agree."

"Help me understand."

"Well, I can spend all my time thinking about how much better it was being a serving girl, how I didn't have to wear heavy armor, and I didn't have to worry about getting attacked, or I can think how lucky I am to get to be a guard now, to protect the goddess, to have a chance to fight. My situation is the same either way, but one choice is to look at it as a curse. The other, as a reality."

"And what about me? How is being reduced to a minor goddess, the shield maiden of my stepsister, whom I hate, a good thing?"

"You have to figure that out for yourself. No one can tell you."

"I don't want to."

"Then you will always be miserable." Phoebe propped herself up on her elbow, leaned down and gave Ares a kiss, then a pat on the hip. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Ares said, watching her go. Then, he turned his eyes back to the night sky, the stars. Mortals, he thought. Mortals. How rarely do they consider the possibility that they rather than fight or accept, they could pout and plot, maybe poison their wicked stepsister, or find some way to imprison her in Hades' realm, or find a way to turn Enyo against her.

He chuckled at the thought. I guess, he decided, as plots and schemes ran through his head, and the anger began to burn brighter. He cupped his breasts. And maybe I can find some way to use these puppies to create some chaos. Then he giggled.

I guess I will always be Ares, after all.

Chapter 25

Zeus clung to Captain Naia's side as the New Dawn pulled into port at Sidon. A squat, crescent-shaped city that hugged the shore, it lacked the romantic beauty of Kythia, but for the gleaming spires of its many temples to the gods of many nations. Even one to Zeus himself. Naia's arm lay casually across his hip, while Zeus held her tight, cherishing these last moments they would have together.

"So, mystery woman, are you certain you don't want to return to Kythia with me and my crew?" Naia asked as they pulled alongside the dock, and her sailors began to tie the ship up.

"You know I can't," Zeus said softly, "though my heart aches at our parting."

Naia turned Zeus in her arms so they faced each other. "I will always remember your eyes, your smile. You are a... goddess."

Zeus laughed, a bright little laugh, and said, "kiss me. And then I am going to walk away, and I'm not going to look back, because if I do, I won't have the strength."

Naia kissed him, a kiss full of sorrow, and then Zeus turned, hopped onto the dock, and disappeared into the crowd.

"Who do you think he was?" One of the sailors asked.

"I don't know," Naia said. "But he was a hell of a good fuck."

The two women chuckled and went back to their work.

Zeus did not rest or stop in Sidon. He made his way through the city and out the gate, and then headed out into the wilderness, eager to get to the Palace of Aesma, to finish this while he still could. His time with Naia had been sweet and tender, and terribly disturbing, because Zeus had never been any of those things, and he found himself liking it, enjoying being the woman in the relationship, having Naia take the lead, be the aggressor. He worried, thinking of the vision Apollo had shared with him, worried that he was going to Aesma's palace not for payback, but for pleasure.

For three days, Zeus walked in the forest, alone with his thoughts and fears. He thought often of Hera, and wished his loving wife were there with him, that she could help him somehow, and he even thought to call to her, but he knew that spoke of some new weakness in him, some new need that made him less the god he'd been, and more the goddess he was becoming. But he was so lonely, so unsure of himself and his path, each day it grew harder and harder for him to go on. Hera watched it all, checking in constantly at her pool, and she felt the same need to be close to her husband in this time of danger, to comfort him, to tell him everything would be fine, but she couldn't. Not yet. Not until the third turning of the wheel.

But then, on the third day of his wanderings, Zeus had an encounter.

Zeus made his way among the trees in the forest, stepping over the great gnarled roots of the ancient trees, batting away the spider's webs, hopping over great fallen tree trunks festooned with massive mushrooms and slick green moss. He knew the cave he sought lay somewhere deep in the heart of the ancient wood, but as he wandered deeper and deeper into the forest he heard a voice--a high, sweet pretty girl's voice that caressed his ears like silk and the girl sang a prayer:

Alone I wander in this forest dark and deep

I play among the trees, the forest creatures' company I keep

But now I am a woman and so a lover I seek, goddess Hephaestus, lady of love

Send me a lover to hold in my strong arms

Glorious Hephaestus, I do beseech, send me a lover who is true

Hephaestus? Goddess of love? Zeus felt a chill. Had he changed places with his wife? Zeus would have just assumed the girl was confused, simple, but now he knew she was only responding to the changes in the alignment of the gods. All the more reason he needed to move on, complete his mission, restore the order that had been lost!

And yet he followed the voice, consumed with curiosity, eager to see this maiden. That was all, he promised himself. He would glimpse her, only, and then be on his way. What harm could come of that? And so Zeus made his way toward the voice, coming upon a narrow path which he then padded along, hurrying his steps, almost running until he came to a clearing, where a tall, broad shouldered girl stood next to a well, two earthen jars at her feet as she sang and turned the great wooden gear that pulled a thick rope up, and as she turned the gear rigid lines of muscles on her arms and shoulders tensed and stood out and Zeus bit his lip at the sight of such a strong young woman.

He assumed the shape of a deer, as he had so often done, and he stepped tentatively out into the clearing and into the sight of the handsome girl. She stopped singing and looked upon Zeus, and her eyes grew hard at the sight of him. "What's this?" She said.

Hera smiled, thinking the same thing as she looked in wonder at her husband's surprising new form.

Yes! Zeus thought, his heart singing with joy at the heat in the girl's eyes. He turned in a circle, letting her get a look at his shape from every angle, then he turned and lifted his tail, glancing back expectantly, his heart racing with excitement.

The girl rubbed her chin and laughed. Great horns rose from her head--a mighty, jagged rack of bone, and Zeus wagged his behind in excitement at the sight of her as her face was covered with dark fur, and her face elongated raking on the shape of a deer even as she fell forward onto her hooves, now a mighty buck who shook his head and took in the scent of the doe that stood before him.

Come, Zeus thought, lifting his hind further in the air, excited as Zinovia grunted and pawed at the ground. Yes! Mount me!

Oh, Zeus, Hera thought. You don't even realize what you have become. She leaned in closer, fascinated to see how her husband would handle what was about to happen to him; what he clearly wanted to happen to him!

Mount me? The thought sent a chill of terror through Zeus as he suddenly realized he had taken on the form not of a buck but a doe, and in terror he bolted from the clearing as frightened by the hungry look in Zinovia's eyes as his own desperate need to be mounted by her.

I am King of the Gods and Lord of Thunder! Zeus thought as he raced into the woods. I will not be.... He refused to even think about it.

Zinovia laughed as the little doe sprinted away, her white behind high in the air as she leapt into the woods. Yes, she thought, running after. It would be more fun to mount the sweet little doe after a good chase!

Zeus sprinted among the trees, making a zigzag pattern, but glancing back he saw Zinovia easily closing in on him. She's so big and fast! He thought. How can I escape her? He tried to will himself back to his own shape, his godly form. He would smite the foolish mortal with a mighty bolt of thunder, then, and she would know the error of her ways in seeking to take the king of the gods!

But nothing happened. He remained a doe! Coming to a ravine, a wide ravine, Zeus' eyes went wide. Could he make such a leap? One glance back at the mighty buck and he knew he had no choice--he sped up, running as fast as he could, leapt, closing his eyes and... he felt his front hooves land on the soft forest floor, but his back hooves landed half on the ledge, half off, and then they slipped off! He began to slide backwards, kicking desperately with his back hooves, trying to find purchase.

Zinovia, seeing her doe in peril, bounded across the ravine. Then, she took Zeus' pelt in her teeth, as a mother deer might grab a fawn, and she gently pulled on Zeus, pulling him forward, away from the edge and to safety. Zeus looked in the eyes of the mighty buck as he pulled her to safety and when his legs were finally on solid ground he stood unsteadily, trembling, his nose filled with the thick masculine musk of the buck who had just saved her from falling.

Zinovia nudged Zeus under the chin. Made a snorting sound like a horse. Stomped his hooves on the ground. Zeus felt she had lost control of herself, her ability to think, to make decisions. She could think only of the smell of that mighty buck and the insistent demand he now made on her, a demand she longed to fulfill. Lowering her head, Zeus turned around, once more raising his tail and his back quarters. He felt the mighty buck mount him, felt the buck take him, and Zeus' whole body tingled with pleasure, the proudest doe in all the forest because Zinovia was mightiest of bucks, the strongest and most fierce, and for slender little Zeus, it was a triumph that she should be chosen by such a mighty male to be his mate.

Zinovia finished, dismounted. Zeus kept her head down, satisfied and ashamed at what she had just had done to her, had wanted done to her. Zinovia came around and nuzzled her conquest, then licked her on the neck before bolting off into the forest. Zeus watched her go, then sank to the ground, tucking his legs under him and placing his little head on the side of a moss-covered log. He was playing the scene over in his mind, reliving the excitement and shame. What have I done? He thought. What have I become? If a doe could cry, he might have cried tears right then, a confused female consumed with post-coital shame and guilt, but instead he just sighed and, once his breathing slowed, drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Hera reached toward the cool waters of the pool, toward the sleeping face of the pretty little doe her husband had become. This would change him. He would never be the same, and she hoped and believed it would be for the better. He'd been an awful God, and now she hoped his experiences would transform him into a more noble goddess, the kind of goddess she deserved as a mate.

Morning.

The sound of a twig breaking some 50 yards away woke Zeus. He hopped to his feet, ears raised, scanning the forest for danger, his heart racing. He stood stock still, but every muscle tensed. He would flee at the slightest sign of danger.

There were none, and so, freed at last of his instinctive reaction to danger, Zeus had a moment to become aware that he was still a doe. Memories of the previous day's mounting flooded back to him. He willed himself back to his godly form. Nothing. Zeus had never been trapped in a shape before, and he had no knowledge of what to do. The thought came to him--call out to Hera or Hecate.... Someone, for help.

But no. He could not have anyone see him like this, The King of the Gods trapped in the shape of a female deer?

No. No. He could not allow this disgrace to be known to the world. Curious, he made his way back to the clearing, the well where he had first found Zinovia singing. It was empty, but the clay jars were gone. He followed the path he'd found, twisting back until it came to a small cottage in the wood. Smoke rose from the crooked chimney, and out front Zinovia was chopping wood, swinging an ax in powerful strokes that sent the lumps of wood flying in a cloud of splinters.

Why has she regained her shape? Zeus thought. While I am stuck like this?

She is so strong and tall! He thought, looking upon her, and remembering, too, how she had saved him, and how she had nuzzled and licked him after taking him. He was hungry and thirsty, and so he walked bashfully out into the clearing.

Zinovia looked up. Stopped swinging her ax. She stared at Zeus, her head tilted to the side. Zeus would have giggled if she could have.

"Well, hello there?" Zinovia said, setting down her ax. She knelt and held out her arms. Zeus walked tentatively forward, fighting against his animal instincts, and when he got close enough Zinovia scratched him behind the ears. "You are no ordinary doe, are you?"

Zeus shook her head. No.

"I thought not. Are you a girl? Were you turned into a doe by the gods?"

Zeus nodded, liking the story, preferring it to having Zinovia somehow perceive that she was not only a god but the king of the gods.

"You must be hungry," Zinovia said.

It's like she can read my mind! Zeus thought, nodding, swooning, love swamping her heart.

"I'll get you some grain."

Zeus watched Zinovia walk away, admiring the confidence of her gait, her broad shoulders. Sitting down in the grass, Zeus thought only of Zinovia, the sound of her voice, her eyes, her chin, the way she had made love to Zeus, had been so sweet after. Yes, Zeus thought. True. She had left as soon as it was over, and she would have liked for Zinovia to stay, for the two of them to nuzzle further, but she'd been in the shape of a stag, and she'd simply obeyed her baser instincts, just as Zeus herself had done!

Zinovia came back with a bucket of grain in one hand and a bucket of water in the other. Zeus wagged her tail and licked Zinovia's hand, and Zinovia scratched Zeus behind the ears some more, under the chin. Zeus rolled onto his back, like a dog, and when Zinovia reached down and rubbed his belly, teasing his teats in the process, he kicked his legs and trembled with joy that the mighty stag who had made a girl of him now tickled his belly and let her hands run over his teats.

Zinovia had more work to do and left. Zeus ate the grain until he'd had his fill, then drank water from the bucket. No longer thirsty, no longer hungry, the girl god wandered around the small cottage until she spied Zinovia, now carefully weeding a small garden surrounded by a field stone wall. She'd rolled up her sleeves, and again Zeus thrilled at the sight of her muscular, sweat glistening arms. It was a shame Zinovia could not once again take on the shape of a stag, she found herself thinking, as she was consumed with the desire to once again be taken by her.

The instincts of his new shape were strong, and Zeus found herself nearly lost in her desires, but by force of her godly will she pulled herself away from Zinovia, trotting off into the woods, wanting to get far enough away she couldn't see or smell her. She walked among the great trees, finding that she could think more clearly when she moved, and so she started to move in what she believed were ever widening circles around Zinovia's cottage, his mind noting and cataloging things he would previously have paid little attention to--bark rich trees where he could feed, signs of predators having been in the area, and the rich, musky sent of males, stags, that thrilled and scared him! Meanwhile, as Zeus, the doe, became aware of her forest and focused on her survival, Zeus, the budding goddess thought about her predicament, her mission. Clearly, she could not hope to successfully reach RA while trapped in this shape. He had to get out of this body.

But how?

Again he tried to will it. Nothing. He found a pool and submerged himself, emerging to shake the water from his fur but remain trapped as a female deer. He painstakingly examined every plant he could find, excitedly chewing some agrimony, known for its power to remove a curse, but he remained in his new shape. He chewed nettles and ate of the yarrow flower, but yet still he remained a skinny little doe.

The forest grew dark as the sun began to set, only a few narrow shafts of golden light cutting through the canopy. Zeus wanted to continue her quest, to keep looking for one more herb, one more flower that might free her from this body, but then she heard it--the howl of a wolf in the gloom, and she trembled in terror at the sound of it, all his animal instincts going on full alert.

He froze, stock still, his ears up as he tried to get some better sense of where the wolf was, how near, whether part of a pack, all while trying to remain invisible. His little heart raced, and he struggled to regain mastery of himself from the doe's mind.

"Giiiiirrrl!" He heard a distant voice call, Zinovia's voice. "Giiiirrrrllllll!"

Zeus' little heat sang out with joy, and she bolted off in the direction of the voice - and none too soon because the wolf, a foul outcast beast with dried blood in its fur, had smelled her and been creeping up on her, inching in closer intending to tear the little doe's throat out.

Could Zeus die? Could she be harmed in this form by a mere creature of the woods?

Who could be certain of anything as the gods became goddess, and the king of the gods took on the shape and life of a helpless woodland deer?

Zeus sprinted off, and if she could have screamed as the wolf snapped his jaws and bounded after her, she would have, but instead she ran, ran with all her speed, and try as he might the foul wolf could not close the distance, so when Zeus burst out of the woods and ran to cower behind Zinovia, she stood tall, ax in hand, and when the wolf came out of the forest and saw her he yelped, skidded to a halt, turned and ran back into the night.

Zeus, trembling, curled himself around Zinovia's legs, and she looked down and said, "You poor little thing." She picked Zeus up and carried him to the back of the house, bringing him onto the enclosed back porch. Zeus stared up at her, thrilled to be cradled in her arms like a child. When Zinovia set Zeus down, she realized he was still trembling, and she patted him on the head. "It's okay. You're safe now. Do you understand?"

Zeus nodded, though he could not stop trembling. "You'll sleep inside tonight. I'll get you some warm blankets. How does that sound?"

Zeus nodded. Yes. He would like that. He was overcome with gratitude, with girlish love. Zinovia brought back food and water, blankets. Zeus saw someone lingering at the door to the house, a dark shape backlit by the flickering firelight from within the cottage. Zeus' ears perked up, and Zinovia glanced back, which caused the figure to vanish back into the house.

"Oh," she said, chuckling. "That's my brother, at least he is for now. He seems to be turning into my sister, and he's so embarrassed about it he doesn't want anyone to see him. Silly, right?"

Zeus nodded, though he well understood.

"I told him I doubted a girl who got turned into a deer would look down on him just because he looks like a girl now, but boys are weird."

Zeus nodded. He loved hearing her talk. Watching her dark eyes. She was so handsome!

"I just wonder why you're stuck like that," Zinovia said, running her hand down the length of Zeus's spine, cupping his rump. "It doesn't make any sense."

Zeus did his best to shrug, though he was much more focused on the glow he was getting from having Zinovia's strong hands on his body. She had been so kind to him. So protective. "I just wish I could thank her properly, let her make love to me again like she did before...."

And as he wished those words, great horns sprouted from Zinovia's head, and she once again took on the shape of a mighty stag, and the girl-goddess Zeus once again willingly surrendered herself to him.

In the morning, Zinovia let Zeus out of the porch, and the little god trotted out to the woods and relieved himself, squatting and letting his bowels free. As soon as he finished, he ran through the woods a bit, dunked his head in a cool little pool of water. He thought of Zinovia in the form of a buck, and once again he craved the smell of her, the feel of her on him, in him, taking him...

Zeus knew he would have to call for help. He seemed trapped in his shape, and with each day he felt more and more a doe, satisfied with her simple woodland life and simple woodland pleasures, content just to be Zinovia's pet and mate.

He knew who to call, the one goddess among all of the goddess who would understand what he was going through, who would not mock her father turned female deer, and so he sat back on his haunches, raised his big, brown eyes to the sky and began to pray:

Kybele, my son and my daughter, great goddess of the mountains, Your father, Zeus, Lord of Heavens, calls you in his hour of need

Son to Zeus, Daughter of Gaia, the earth

Know that Zeus calls to you unmanned and trapped

In the shape of a woodland doe

His great and noble quest...

"Father?" Kybele said materializing behind Zeus and staring in wonder at the little doe her father had become.

Zeus turned. Nodded. Yes. It is me, he thought, feeling consumed with shame.

Kybele reached down and ran her hands along Zeus' neck, and then she said, "I grant you the power of speech."

"Thank you," Zeus said, in the squeaky, tea-kettle voice of a little girl. He lowered his head in further shame at the sound of his voice. "Can you make my voice deeper?" He asked.

"No," Kybele said, smiling down at him, scratching him behind the ears. "How did this happen, father?"

"I don't know," Zeus said.

Kybele put her hands on her hips and gave him a stern look.

"I heard a girl singing in the forest, and I thought to approach her in the form of a stag..."

"But you became this sweet little doe instead."

"Yes. Can you change me back?"

"Yes," Kybele said, putting her hands on Zeus's belly, running them along his length. "But not for seven months."

"Seven months!" Zeus shrieked. "No! I can't stay like this for seven months!"

"You have to, father. I don't know exactly how to break this to you, but... um... you are going to be a mother." She was smiling still, feeling her father's belly.

"A.... what? Mother? But.... You mean?"

"You are pregnant, King of the Gods, and you have not one but two babies growing in your belly!"

Zeus closed his eyes. "Please tell me you are joking."

"No, father. I am serious. You are pregnant with two fawns, and I can't return you to human form until you give birth."

"But my quest?" Zeus said, his voice rising in pitch. "Hera? Get them out of me, please. There must be a way!" He put his hooves on Kybele's shoulders, looked her right in the eyes. "You have to get them out of me somehow. The whole world will laugh at me if I have these babies."

Surprised at her reaction, Hera wiped the tears from her cheeks. She felt for him, truly, her darling husband, finding himself like so many careless girls before him, pregnant, his reputation ruined, his life forever changed. This would be one of the major tests of his young womanhood, and it would be a hard one. She longed to be there with him, to kiss him and hold him and tell him it would all be fine, but she resisted the urge to run to his side. If he called her, she would go to him, but it had to start with a humble cry for help from him.

Kybele stroked Zeus' cheek. "You would kill the babies within you?" She said. "To save your pride?"

"Yes," Zeus said. "No. I don't know!" These babies were Zinovia's, their babies together, and he loved her, and she had been so kind and loving to him even though he seemed but a helpless girl. Had anyone ever loved Zeus and expected nothing in return? No favors? No boons? How would she feel about their babies? Did it matter?

I am Zeus, he thought. God of Gods. Lord of the Sky. I am not a girl or a doe, and I can't be a mother. How strange to have... life... growing inside him! "I know there is a way. I have heard women talk of it."

"I don't know if you know what you are asking."

"I do! Kybele, I travel to the Palace of Aesma Daeva to kill the mad god. He is the one who has caused this great change on Olympus, the gods and goddesses all muddled and confused. But I am running out of time! I must get there, and soon, before it is too late, before we are all man mothers!"

Kybele, who had been born both male and female, shook her head. "I will not help you kill your babies, but there is a way I can help you."

"What?" Zeus said eagerly. "How?"

"I can create a potion that will speed up your term. You will have your babies in a single day."

"I don't want to have any babies!"

"How important is your quest?"

Zeus walked in a circle, his head low to the ground. Then, he looked up, his big doe's eyes wide with fear. "You must never tell anyone!"

"As you wish, father. Now, you just wait here, and I will fetch the things I need to speed your pregnancy."

"Meet me in the yard of the small cottage over there," Zeus said, with a nod of his head. "I must speak with the.... father?"

"Good," Kybele said, scratching his chin. "I'll be back soon."

Zeus trotted nervously back to the cottage, found Zinovia chopping wood. "Zinovia?" He called in his piping little voice.

Zinovia dropped her ax. "You can talk?"

"Not until just now. I prayed to a goddess for the power of speech."

"Your voice? How old are you?"

"Older than you can imagine, but I need to tell you something. I've never had to say this, so I am not sure, but I know now why I have been trapped in this shape."

"Why? Can the goddess help you?"

"I am trapped like this, and don't be mad because I really didn't want this to happen, but I am trapped like this because I am... with child?"

"Child? You mean? Mine? From when we?"

Zeus nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Don't... I mean, I played a part in it all."

Zeus laughed. "Well, there's more." He told her about Kybele, the potion. "And I won't be able to stay here, or to keep the babies. Not now, and probably not ever. My wife is very jealous."

"You're married? And a man?"

Zeus nodded.

"And having my babies?"

"I know, right?"

"You really do get yourself into trouble."

"You have no idea."

"Well, we'll figure something out. We have to. Anyway, what's your real name?"

"You may want to sit down for this." She was the father of his children, so Zeus decided he needed to be honest with her. "It may come as a shock."

"Haha."

"I am Zeus, King of the Gods."

"You mean I knocked up the kind of the gods?" Zinovia feinted.

Kybele returned with her potion, and Zeus licked it up. The mortals felt strange around two gods. It had changed everything. So, Zeus and Kybele spent the night on the porch, while Zinovia and her bashful brother went inside, though they had tried to insist the gods sleep inside.

The next day, Zeus went into labor, and he felt the babies slide out of him, his babies, and as soon as they were born, he retook his true form, and though he was still technically male his hips were now wider and rounder, his breasts fuller, heavy with milk, and the babies, too, had human shape.

Hera watched it all, her mind in turmoil as her husband bore another woman's children. It was a testament to her own changes that she did not want to kill the babies, as she would have in the past, and found her desire to curse Zinovia easily repressed. She would reserve her wrath for her little wife, though the fact that he'd had to have twins was a pretty good down payment for the slutty little goddess. Most of all, though, she wished she could have been there with him for such a life-changing event.

Zeus held one of his babies to his breast as it sucked peacefully on his nipple. Kybele held the other. Zinovia was pacing nervously. "How am I to feed two infants?"

"Is there someone around with milk who could serve as a wet nurse?"

"I don't know of any, and things are so changed."

"If you can find a volunteer, I could create a potion that will give mother's milk to whoever drinks it. It would..."

"I can do it," Zinovia's brother called softly from the hallway where he'd been hiding, glancing furtively at the king of the gods and his newborn babies. He stepped out into the room, bashfully, with slouched shoulders. He wore his oversized man's clothes, but they could all see the shape of his blossoming body.

"You would?" Zeus said.

"I would love your babies as if they were my own," Gregus said, his heart filled with new maternal impulses and needs. "They are the most beautiful things I have ever seen."

Zeus had never done anything harder than walking away, leaving his babies behind. He had fathered many children and neglected them all, but these babies were different. He had carried them in his own body, they were his, and he wept without shame, and vowed to himself that he would visit them often, and bestow blessings on Zinovia and her brother, and that his babies would have glorious lives, and they would know that he, Zeus, was their mother. He would make sure of it.

Chapter 26 - Nubia's Ambrose

Ambrose lay on his back. Nubia was kissing him, giving him lots of tongue. Their mouths tasted of the sweet, red wine they'd been drinking, and his head swum with intoxicating pleasures. "More wine," Nubia said, breaking off the kiss, grabbing the bottle. She put it to her mouth, tilted it back, and pretended to drink down a great gulping mouth full before handing the bottle to Ambrose, who giggled and sipped.

"Come on, boy!" Nubia said, punching the soft flesh of his hip. "Drink like you mean it!"

Ambrose put the bottle to his full, fleshy lips and tilted it back. Nubia lifted the bottle higher, and some of the dark red wine spilled from the corners of Ambrose mouth and dripped onto his breasts. He swallowed and burst into giggles, falling onto his back again, staring up at the spinning ceiling. Nubia licked the wine off his soft breasts, then wiped them with the corner of the sheets they lay upon, then looking down at Ambrose' pretty face, his cloudy, drunken eyes, she said, "Opium!"

"No," Ambrose said. "I can't even sit up right now..."

But then Nubia was sitting him up, and she took a toke of opium and then covered his lips with her own, blowing the smoke into his mouth. Ambrose inhaled, the world had gone bleary, and he slurred, "I love you so much. By the gods just take me. Take me now."

"Let's play a game," Nubia said, stroking his soft cheek. "Something different." She draped her silken top over his breasts, the top she wore as his slave girl.

"No," Ambrose said, his voice rising into a girlish whine. "Let's just make looooove!"

"For me. Wear this. Come on now."

"Oh, fine then. Just hurry." Nubia fitted the little silk top over her master's breasts, tying to strings behind his slender neck, then the panties, the pantaloons, and finally the glittering golden torque, which she locked into place with a clinking of metal.

She put her finger under Ambrose' chin and tilted his head back. "You are my slave girl now."

"Is that what turns you on?" Ambrose said, barely aware of himself, of what he was doing or saying. "Do you want me to be your slave girl?"

"Yes."

Ambrose giggled. Knelt back on his heels, his legs together, shoulders back, breasts out, and then in a tiny little voice he said, "How can I please you master?"

"Good," Nubia said. "Yes. Very good. Show me that pretty smile."

Ambrose smiled.

"Get on your hands and knees."

Ambrose heart started racing. He knew what she was thinking, but he was drunk, stoned, seemed to have lost the ability to say no, and so he got on his hands of knees, and looking back over his shoulder he said, "now what?"

Nubia slapped his ass. Hard. Ambrose gasped. Then she pulled down his pantaloons, his panties, and she slipped something into him, something hard and cold. 'Ow. It hurts!"

"Shut up," Nubia said, slapping his ass again. "Tell me you love it. Want more."

"I'... want more... I... love it..."

"Say harder..."

"Harder," Ambrose said.

"Faster. Oh. Ouch!" She was pushing it into him, hard, and pulling it out, and his body was rocking, his breasts swaying, his hard nipples rubbing against the smooth silk of his top, and he was filled with pain and pleasure, even as the room again began to spin, and he heard Nubia grunting while he heard himself making little chirpy sounds, just like a woman, and in the middle of it he passed out.

Nubia rolled Ambrose onto his side. Ran a hand over his soft round hip. Then, she pulled the covers over him, grabbed the master key from off the wall. She put her chains back on, but wrapped herself in a blanket, preferring to leave Ambrose in his new outfit, and then she said, "yes, master. As you wish," and went over to the door, knocking. Poliminus, bleary eyed, let her out. He looked at her suspiciously.

"What do you have under that blanket?"

Nubia opened it, revealing her naked body. The key was hidden in her palm.

Poliminus glanced into the wagon, saw Ambrose sleeping. He'd overheard enough to know that Ambrose would be... tired, and so eager to get back to the fire, he led Nubia back to the wagon and locked her in with the other girls. Nubia smiled, held her finger to her lips, and showed them the key she held in her palm.

***

A bucket of water splashed onto Ambrose' face, and he sat up, his mouth hanging open in shock and surprise.

"Time to get up, slave boy!" Nubia said.

Ambrose rubbed his eyes, his head still clouded with the alcohol and drugs. Bright morning light poured in from the open door to his wagon, and all he could see of Nubia was her shadowy outline.

"What is happening?" Ambrose said, pushing his blankets down, shielding his eyes, becoming aware of the silk top that hugged his breasts, the metal torque around his neck, fragments of the night before came back to him. "Is this some game?"

Nubia grabbed Ambrose by the hair and dragged him to the door of the wagon. He shrieked in protest, struggled, but then she tossed him out, falling to the sand with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. He pushed at the sand weakly with his small arms, trying to get to his feet, but Nubia jumped down beside him and said, "kneel!"

Ambrose started to stand, ignoring her, but she punched him, hard, and he fell back to the ground, and then Nubia grabbed a fistful of his hair again, and this time when she pulled him up, he knelt, holding his stomach, struggling to breath, to see in the bright sunlight, and as his vision cleared his mouth hell open again, his eyes went wide. There were his men, all dressed as slave girls, all kneeling in a semi-circle before him, and behind them stood the ranks to the slaves, tall and muscular and lanky, looking at him.

"Nubia," he said. "Please, I..."

"You will speak when spoken to, boy."

"But I..."

"Shut up!" Nubia slapped him across the face.

The other men all winced.

"You are now my slave, as are your boys. You will do as you are told, and you will address me as master. Do you understand?"

Ambrose nodded. Nubia kicked him on the thigh. "Yes, master," he said in a small voice.

"We are going to take you to market and sell the lot of you. As virgins, you will all likely fetch a very fair price. It is fitting, I think, that those who sought to make slaves of others, will now be made slaves themselves. Do you not agree?"

Ambrose began to cry, but he knew what he had to say if he wanted to avoid another beating. "Yes, master."

"I name you Anoitiana, the she-fool. Did you really think I could ever love someone like you?"

"Yes, master," Anoitiana said softly through his tears. Yes, because I loved you. What a silly little fool I have been, with all my thoughts of freeing this slave, marriage a shared life together. But I loved, at least, I loved, he thought. Even if I have lost it all, at least I loved.

Undone by his foolish, woman's heart, Anoitiana was led away and locked in a wagon with the other boys, and they sat and cried together as they contemplated their future lives as slaves.

The Final Turning

Chapter 27 - Hera's Zeus

Zeus came to the temple of Aesma. Flames rose from the great towers, and the whole of its brass walls glimmered and shifted, as unstable as the mad god's mind. I am much changed from the god who first set out on this journey, Zeus thought, beyond even these clothes, for he had put on the clothes of a Persian woman. The change had not come to the lands of Persia, and since here he seemed like a woman, with his smooth face and little girl voice, he thought it best to dress as one.

I am now a mother, and I am fearful that I will die here not for my own sake, but for the sake of my children, whom I would never see again. And I came here to save myself, but I am now here to save the world, for all of our children. Aesma may see me in this goddess' shape and think he is winning, but he has no idea at the rage that burns in a mother's breast for anyone who threatens her babies.

He stepped forward, ready to mix in with the crowds and enter the temple as planned, where he would use secret access to the throne room to surprise and then kill the mad god. Now, it was time to end this.

"Zeus!"

Shocked to hear someone call his name, he turned. "Hera?"

"I come to stop you."

"What? Why?"

"Because the third turning is about to occur. The final change. And you will no longer be at all Zeus, Lord of the Sky, but Zeus, goddess of marriage."

Even as she spoke the words, the sky darkened, and Zeus found himself growing smaller, his body shifting and changing under his clothes, and as Hera stood taller, stronger, more masculine. "It is done," Hera said. She raised her hand, and Zeus saw lightning dancing among her fingers. "I am not Lord of the Gods."

Zeus raised his slender little hand. Tried to summon lightning. Nothing. "No," he said, shocked. Scared. "No."

"Yes."

"Then, come with me!" Zeus said. "Let's go. Together. Now. He has to pay for what he's done!"

"Zeus, he didn't do this."

Zeus looked at her, and he knew the truth, maybe he had suspected it all along, but he hadn't wanted to believe it was, could have been, "you?"

"You're going to find out anyway. But yet, it was me. I did this not to us, but for us."

"You turned me into a goddess. Stole my throne. My-- power?"

"I did it for us, for the good of everyone. This was all foretold, the Metanoia. It had to..."

Zeus turned and started to march back toward the temple.

"Wait? What are you doing?"

"Getting back at you!" Zeus said. "For what you did to me."

"But....?"

Zeus spun around, walked back to Hera, and looking up into her face he said, "I'm going to sleep with Aesma Daeva. You want to turn me into a goddess? Deal with it!"

"You wouldn't," Hera said. "You slut."

"Watch me!"

"Fine. See if I care! You never were anything but a nasty little slut anyway!"

"Just wait and see what I slut I'm going to be now, husband! See how people talk about you!"

"I hope you get pregnant!"

"Me, too!" Zeus yelled, marching into the temple. "Me, too!"

That slut, Hera thought, watching her husband march into the temple of the mad god, Aesma. I hope he gets what he deserves. Like I care what he does. I am king of the gods now! And he is just my... my wife.

She hated and loved him, wanted him to suffer and protect him, but not unless he called to her, not unless he begged her! And so Hera went and found a pool, and she watched as her wife walked into the temple, and no longer needing to hide, made his way to the mad god's throne room.

Aesma lay sprawled out across the floor, his body ever shifting, taking on now the leg of a boar, then that of a lizard, the head of a bull or a dragon, or a man with a beard trimmed into the shape of a square, and long, pointed ears, but with sharp, fanged teeth like a cat. Seeing Zeus enter, he took on human shape, though naked, and Zeus glanced at the god's member, blushing.

"Zeus, you come to me much changed and unexpected. What brings you to my palace, little he-goddess?"

"I want you to take me," Zeus said, plainly, throwing off his shawl, slipping out of his dress, and standing naked before the mad god, shameless now of his full breasts, round hips, or even the slit between his legs. "Ravish me."

Aesma laughed, giggled, ran his eyes over Zeus’ beautiful new shape. "Madness," he murmured. "Is this even real? Could Zeus be standing before me begging me to take him? It must be a dream or a spell, an illusion." And yet he walked toward Zeus, curious, fascinated at the perfectly shaped female before him.

"Turn," Aesma said. "Spin."

Zeus did, letting the god see his body from all sides and angles, lifting his arms and putting his hands in his hair, his breasts out, round, plump ass back.

Aesma bit his fist, moaned. "No," he said. "No. This can't be real, or else you are under a spell, or I am more mad than ever."

"It is real," Zeus said, stepping forward, throwing his arms around Aesma's neck, pressing his naked breasts against the mad god's body. But now Zeus felt the mad god's stiffening member against his soft thigh, and he trembled with fear at what he was offering, but he thought of Hera, who had done this to him, and he wanted her to suffer, so he pressed closer and said, "I'm doing this to anger my husband."

Aesma laughed, now twirling Zeus around, slipping his arms around Zeus’ slender waist. His laughter shook the throne room. "Oh, now you are irresistible to me little he goddess! Now I must have you!" He swept Zeus off his feet then, lay him down, climbed on top. "I'm going to fuck the hell out of you."

Zeus felt terrified, elated, sick and triumphant. The mad god was on him, and Aesma was twisting his nipples, and it hurt like hell, and he could feel the mad god's member pressing against him, and smell his wine tainted breath, and it was ugly and nasty and nothing like his times with Naia, and he wished he had never come here, that Hera would save him, someone would save him, but he closed his eyes instead and just thought about Olympus, and his palace, and his life before he'd been turned into a goddess, and he just hoped that Aesma would be quick, and even as Aesma licked his neck and pawed at his breasts, Zeus thought, "Am I a virgin?"

"No," he said. "I don't want this. Stop."

Aesma laughed and kept pawing at Zeus. "You begged for it you little slut."

"But, no, I don't... please... Hera!"

Hera heard her husband's cry, and raging with fury, she launched herself into the air, and flew down, smashing her way through the roof of Aesma's throne room, and landing in the midst of an avalanche of crumbling stone, lightning passing back and forth between her hands. "Get off my wife," she said.

Aesma turned, saw Hera, licked Zeus again, reaching down between his legs to run her fingers over his vagina. "I'm going to take this girl," He said. "While you watch."

Hera roared, charged, and tackled Aesma, knocking him off Zeus, who scrambled to his feet and ran across the room to huddle in a corner, watching as Aesma took on the shape of a hydra and began to snap at Hera with his many heads. Hera dodged his lunges, stunning him with a barrage of lightning bolts, the roof above them continuing to crumble, the walls shaking, but she was unused to fighting, and Aesma knocked her off her feet, then taking on the shape of a giant squid she pinned Hera's arms to the ground, Hera's lightning shooting out across the marble as she strained to free herself.

"Give me your wife in payment for your life," Aesma said.

"No!" Hera said. "Never. Zeus, run! Run!"

"No," Zeus called out in his high, little voice. "I won't leave you! Take me, Aesma. Take me and spare my husband!"

"The he-goddess offers himself to me! Do you hear?"

"Kill me, then," Hera answered. "I don't want to live without him."

"Hera?!" Zeus cried out. "No!"

"Then this is how it ends," Aesma said, raising one of his great serpent heads, opening his mouth and shooting flame into the sky. "Now dies Hera, King of the Greek Gods!"

But then an arrow flashed from the sky, piercing the serpent's head, which made it wither, the neck falling away, and a beam of blinding sunlight poured down into the temple as Selene, Artemis and Hecate descended, helping Hera to her feet, and then standing at her side before Aesma. "The victory is ours!" Hera said. "Surrender now, mad god, and I will let you live."

Aesma backed away, returning to his true form. Shaking his head. "That one offered herself to me! She came to me and offered herself! And you have defiled and damaged my temple! Where is my justice?"

"It is three against one," Hera said. "That is your justice."

What about me? Zeus thought, stepping tentatively forward.

"No," a cold, gravelly voice called as a shape rose from floor. "Aesma does not stand alone." They all recognized Asto Vidatu, demon of death. "You have come into our lands, our kingdoms. You will face us."

"All of us," Angra Mainyu, Lord of the Daeva's said, taking shape from the shadows as well. "A conflagration that will leave all our lands and peoples in agony and death."

"Very good," Aesma said. "Let us begin."

Hera, Hecate, Artemis and Selene stood in a circle, raising their weapons, and the Persian gods advanced, and the earth began to shake as the gods prepared to battle.

"Wait!" Zeus called out, stepping forward. "There must be a way we stop this from happening! Let us come to terms!"

Hera, seeing death and destruction the likes of which hadn't been seen since the end of the titans, nodded. Angra did as well. "What terms will you accept?" Hera said.

"Aesma is the one who has been wronged."

"Yes," Aesma said, leering at Zeus, and wanting the conflict and death, said, "I want the he-goddess as my wife."

"No! He is my wife and property! What else?"

"I want Zeus! That is all I will accept!"

"You would risk all-out war with us?"

"I would welcome it!"

The lightning began to crackle in Hera's hands, Aesma rose up, Zeus actually felt himself blushing to be fought over so, though he was also terrified, but then Hecate said, "Perhaps a compromise?"

"No!" Hera and Aesma shouted together.

"What do you propose?" Angra said.

"The Persephone Solution," Hecate said. "For half the year, Zeus lives here with Aesma as his wife. For the other half, he lives with Hera."

"No," Hera said. "I won't hear of it."

"It is insane," Aesma said. "So, I accept."

"Hera," Hecate said, "all of the Daeva rise up and converge on this palace. You must consider..."

"No! No, I won't! Zeus is my wife, and he..."

"Agrees," Zeus said, softly. "I agree."

"But Zeus?"

"Can I talk to my... husband... alone? For a moment?"

"There is a room behind my throne," Aesma said.

Zeus took Hera's hand and led her to the antechamber. His pretty eyes were filled with tears. "You have to let me do this."

"No," Hera said, angrily. "You are my wife!"

"I can't allow all this conflict and death. I can stop it, and I am willing to make this sacrifice for the good of all."

"But, Zeus. Aesma is a monster, a demon. I can't share my wife with such a thing."

"Don't think of it that way, Hera. I will be someone else when I am here, a different goddess, and only when I am with you am I Zeus."

"I don't want this," Hera said, kissing Zeus's hand.

"Nor do I, but it is a sacrifice that I must make for the good of all. Please, let me."

They wept, kissed, held each other, and then Hera and Zeus walked out into Aesma's throne room, hand in hand, and Hera said, "I agree to your terms. For half of each year, pretty Zeus shall be your wife."

Conclusion

All heads turned when Hephaestus, goddess of beauty, entered the room. He was tall, with lithe limbs, a full figure, bright, sparkling eyes and perfect skin. Scarcely anyone noticed his handsome husband, Aphrodite, God of Smiths, but she had grown used to it and accepted that her wife was now the pretty one. The two had never been happier. The gods and goddesses had all gathered for the annual festival to welcome Zeus back from the land of Persia, and they sat down at long tables, laden with food, talking cheerfully of the past year and the year ahead. Ares scurried about, serving wine, and spreading gossip to every ear. Hera sat at the head of the table, her chin now buried beneath a thick, curly black beard. Trumpets sounded, and Zeus entered the room, flanked by his entourage, a party of pretty boys in silken dresses, roses in their hair. Zeus smiled prettily, a perfect vision of the goddess, and meeting Hera's eyes, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes sparkled. She had never looked more handsome, and he eagerly awaited their first night together after six months in the depraved company of Aesma.

As Zeus daintily climbed the step to the head of the table, Hera stood, took him in her arms, and tilting his head back, she kissed him on the lips to the cheering of the crowd. After, they turned and smiled, and then Zeus sat, glancing at his husband as Hera made a brief speech with pride and admiration, just like a good little wife should.

Ares, who had heard of the great confrontation second hand, spent the whole night flirting with Selene, and finally had managed to slip away with her once the feasting had ended and the guests were all dancing or mixing, making small talk. He found himself sitting on her lap, one of her rough hands cupping his breast, as they kissed.

"Come on," Selene said. "Let me make love to you, little goddess. I promise it will be fun."

She had her hand halfway up Ares' skirt, working its way up the inside of his soft thigh, and he covered it with his own to stop her progress.

"Tell me first!" He whispered. "Tell me what happened at Hecate's tower!"

"I can't," Selene said, kissing him. "I am sworn to secrecy."

"I won't tell anyone," Ares said, kissing her back. "I promise."

"No," Selene said.

Ares pulled her hand up his thigh, right to his vagina, and then he pushed one of her fingers inside him, making a soft, moaning sound as he did. "You can get more of that," Ares whispered. "All of it."

"Damn you little minx," Selene said. "Okay. Okay." She had one hand on one of Ares' firm breasts, and with the other she was fingering him, and Ares' grabbed her member and squeezed it. "Hecate. She told us. The full prophecy."

"Go on."

"It was always foretold that with the coming of the Metanoia Zeus would become the wife of Aesma, that he would unite the two nations and bring peace, and that he would bare many children to each of his husbands. She knew it, but she kept this hidden from the others, and especially from Hera. Hecate planned it all from the very beginning."

Ares smiled and lay back. "Okay," he said. "Fuck me, then."

Selene climbed on top of him. "You can never repeat this to anyone."

"Of course not," Ares said. "Now come on. I have to get to work." And, he thought, tuning Selene out as she began to ride him, I don't mean serving wine.

***

And so did life go on among the Olympians, though everything was different, much of it was the same as it had always been for lo these many years.