Aphrodite was intimidating.
Not because she was particularly physically dangerous, of course. She always prided herself in being a “lover, not a fighter,” naturally. But there was something about her allure that made her near impossible for Hera to speak to.
She was older than Hera, first off, a primordial being during the Titan era. After all, as Aphrodite said, “Love is the oldest force in the world.” Hera wasn’t too sure about that, but it seemed to make Aphrodite proud to say, and a confident Aphrodite was an attractive one.
Of course Aphrodite was attractive. Of course she was chosen as the fairest, too. It was only natural. But something about the Apple had changed Hera, bringing out an ugly, vindictive side she wished would die already. One thing led to another, and they were on the opposite ends of the war.
Aphrodite didn’t like to see combat, this much Hera knew. But she still saw her, dressed like a warrior, and her heart stopped. She wished she could be leading forces beside her, but the Fates had already made their decisions for them.
They still fucked, of course, but Hera justified it as a means to an end–a means to get that dreaded girdle out of Aphrodite’s possession and onto her own hips to distract her husband. Of course, that wasn’t how she personally *felt* about it, but Hera could be quite deceptive, not just to others, but mostly herself.
The war was over now. All the gods had paid their debts to one another, their wagers on the lives lost. Things were beginning to calm down outside of Hera, but the war waged on within her.
She relaxed on her bed, trying to ignore her feelings, eyeing the girdle still in her possession.
It didn’t suit her at all. Zeus loved it when she wore it, but she never enjoyed sex with her husband–and neither did most women she knew, though they did enjoy having sex with *her* husband–and didn’t want it sitting there, tantalizing her of her ruin of a marriage. Furthermore, it whispered to her in Aphrodite’s voice. Near constantly, she might add, and one could only hear Aphrodite’s husky voice for so long without going mad, and that was if Aphrodite was only saying benign things. The girdle did not speak vanilla words, but rather, scorching spices that made Hera’s skin prickle with arousal, simultaneously recoiling and begging for more.
She had to give it back to its rightful owner.
But how?
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Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/g5ttay/the_girdle_a_greek_mythology_heraaphrodite