Rated NC-17 
E-mail: astarte@uia.net 
Pairings: Xena/Hercules, Xena/Gabrielle, Hercules/Iolaus, Ares/Iolaus, 
Callisto/Gabrielle 
Warnings:  BDSM.  Angst.  Polymorphous perversity. 
Disclaimers:  The principal characters are the property of MCA/Universal and 
Renaissance Pictures.  
No copyright infringement is intended, and no financial profit is anticipated. 
Series:  This story is part of the "Everything-but-the-Kitchen-Sink" series, 
which is an alternate 
timeline for both series.  The first Xena/Gabrielle story branches off after the 
events in "The Debt."  
In this timeline, Hope has conveniently vanished and Solan is still living with 
the Centaurs.  The stories 
in the series take place in the following order: 
"Forced Revelations." 
"Never Let me Down Again." 
" . . . But We're Not the Same." 
"How Long Till my Soul Gets It Right?" 
"This Must Be the Place." 
"The Dark Side of my Soul." 
"Idylls of the Conqueror." 
Summary:  In an alternate timeline, Ares takes revenge on Hercules. 
Feedback encouraged and welcomed. 
  
  


Idylls of the Conqueror 
by atara 
Copyright (c) 1998 
  
  


Chapter 1 
  
  
The God of War paced around his temple, fuming. It had been months since Xena 
and his goody-two-
shoes half-brother had humiliated him, but Ares could be very patient in holding 
a grudge. If he was 
going to get revenge, he was going to do it right, and this required careful 
planning. And he *was* 
going to do it right. 


His glance idly slipped to the naked warrior, sleeping spent on the floor, his 
young body already adorned 
with the badges of battles fought in Ares' name. He had been amusing himself 
with this one, as he did 
with so many others, but the release of tension was only temporary. He had worn 
this one out, fucking 
first his mouth and then his ass, then casually, offhandedly, stroking him to 
orgasm because, after all, 
the boy had tried hard to please his god, and he was attractive, his battle 
scars so pleasingly defined 
against his skin. But now the boy was asleep, and the God of War's mind had 
returned, obsessively, to 
the same track, one that carved deeper ruts with every circuit around his mind. 


He smiled to himself. Yes, Hercules and Xena deserved to be punished, but he had 
learned a lot during 
Xena's recovery from her captivity by Callisto. The most important piece of 
information was just how 
deeply, ineradicably in love his pathetic half-brother still was with the 
warrior princess, despite his 
relationship with his blond boy-toy, Iolaus. The other thing he had learned was 
how deep Xena's 
commitment was to doing good. Ares finally had to admit, reluctantly and with no 
small degree of 
disgust, that her essential goodness had been a part of her all along, buried 
deep inside, and she'd been 
unfortunate enough to meet mentors who drew it out--and Hercules would have to 
pay for that as well. 
He knew that if his plan for revenge was going to work, he had to appeal to her 
integrity as well as her 
dark side. But he was forming a strategy to deal with that obstacle as well. He 
laughed to himself. If he 
pulled this off, it was going to be very, very satisfying. And he *was* going to 
pull it off. 


Meanwhile, he decided to check on the objects of his contemplations, adding fuel 
to the fire of his desire 
for revenge. Removing hs attention from the displays of weapons that bristled 
around his temple and 
from the sleeping warrior, he called up a window with which he could view events 
at a distance . . . 


* * * 


Xena and Gabrielle were indulging themselves with a night in a nice room in an 
inn. A tasty dinner, some 
wine, and a hot bath had inflamed them both, and they were determined to make 
the most of the comfort 
of their surroundings. Gabrielle had seen more and more of Xena's playfulness 
and lust return over the 
months. She was no longer adverse to pinning Gabrielle's hands down while she 
explored the bard's 
body, or tying her up while she teased her lover relentlessly, bringing her 
close to orgasm and backing 
off again and again, until Gabrielle was nearly mad with lust and frustration. 
Gabrielle craved nothing 
so much as having Xena's entire hand inside her, rocking and pumping her into an 
explosive climax. 
Xena, for her part, marvelled at the greediness of her young lover, determined 
to give her bard 
everything she wanted or needed. 


Gabrielle had been the soul of patience during her recovery. Xena knew she'd 
been frustrated when she 
seemed better, but then spiralled down again into an abyss of terror and 
despair. Her second encounter 
with Callisto had relieved her of her soul-wrenching fear of the blonde goddess, 
but had sent her into 
spasms of guilt and self-loathing about her warlord past. But a series of 
opportunities to do good, and 
Gabrielle's patient loyalty and reassurance had eventually pushed Xena's self-
flagellation back to its 
usual background level. It was a continuous stream coursing through her mind, 
pushing her to do good 
and disallowing her self-forgiveness, but it was no longer the raging river that 
drowned out any other 
thoughts. She could laugh again now and play, and her own lust for her 
insatiable lover flamed up anew. 


Sometimes they ran across Hercules and Iolaus, the two of them more harmoniously 
comfortable 
together than any time since Hercules' misguided and tragic marriage to Serena. 
Xena would smile to 
see how proudly Hercules showed off his ownership of the golden-haired hunter, 
noting that he 
reassured Iolaus at the same time with his gestures of possession. The four of 
them would share a 
meal, and Hercules would lightly rest his hand on the back of his lover's neck, 
and Iolaus would 
inevitably shudder with pleasure. Xena couldn't deny that Hercules still looked 
at her with an unfulfilled 
longing, and she certainly felt a measure of desire for him, but they both knew 
it was just going to have 
to stay unfulfilled. Life was pretty good right now, and you can't have 
everything. 


So Xena mused as she soaped her strawberry blonde bard in the tub, pausing for a 
swig of wine now and 
then. Her hands glided over taut muscles and lush curves, moving from 
Gabrielle's back to her abdomen, 
to her thighs, then up to her breasts. Gabrielle was squirming and the wine was 
only stoking her inner 
fires. "Be. Patient," said Xena, firmly, but with an undertone of amusement in 
her rich voice. "I like to 
make you wait. Got it?" 


"Yes," muttered Gabrielle, as Xena's words shot a bolt of desire into her groin. 
It was delicious to 
surrender to the warrior's control, and the frustration made it all the more 
piquant, but some part of 
her still rebelled and wanted to assert itself. When they got out of the tub, 
the rebellious side took 
over, and she gave in to an irresistable urge to pinch the warrior's rear end, 
rather hard. 


Xena whirled, her blue eyes blazing. "Oops," giggled the bard. 


"Oops, indeed!" snapped the warrior, fighting to keep a grin from breaking out 
on her face. "You'll have 
to be punished for that. Of course, since you obviously want to be punished, 
maybe the perfect 
punishment would be not to punish you." 


Gabrielle stood, naked, her hands on her hips and said defiantly, "Well, then, 
Xena, you're saying I can 
keep pinching you and get away with it. I'd suggest you watch your back." 


"I'd rather watch yours," purred the warrior menacingly, suddenly scooping the 
bard up in her arms. 
She sat down on the bed, flipped Gabrielle over on her lap, grabbed Gabrielle's 
wrists with her left 
hand, holding them at the small of her back, and smacked her legs apart with the 
right. 


"Xe-na!" squealed Gabrielle in surprise. 


"So this isn't what you want?" asked Xena casually, lightly stroking the firm 
buttocks of the squirming 
bard flung over her lap. A finger experimentally slipped inside Gabrielle, and 
Xena noted, "This 
certainly *seems* to be what you want. That isn't bath water in there." 


Gabrielle growled and squirmed harder, as Xena lightly stroked between her lips, 
drawing out more of 
her dewy secretions. "You're going to have to tell me you want it; you know 
that, Gabrielle," said Xena. 


Xena was always scrupulous in securing Gabrielle's consent when they played; 
even slightly 
intoxicated, she kept a leash on her dark passions. She knew Gabrielle craved 
the games they played 
together, but Xena did not want to violate her lover's trust or go one step 
beyond pleasure into anything 
that would cause Gabrielle real pain or terror or humiliation. She knew how 
those felt, and she would 
lacerate her own flesh before she inflicted such on Gabrielle. 


"I want it, Xena, please," begged Gabrielle, embarrassed, yet trusting, and 
fully aware of her lover's 
scruples. 


"I can arrange that." The darkly smooth voice of the warrior flowed over the 
helpless bard, and 
Gabrielle felt more moisture seep from between her lips. 


She drew in her breath sharply with a gasped, "Oh, yes!" when Xena's hand first 
came down on her 
needy buttocks. She raised herself up to meet the descending smacks, which made 
her bottom tingle and 
flush warm. Gabrielle sighed happily, secure in the feeling of safety and trust 
that rushed over her. She 
offered herself to her warrior, body and soul, again and again, and each time 
she was thrilled that Xena 
accepted the gift. And Xena felt awed and humbled by such trust, and her desire 
to keep it motivated 
and inspired her every day. 


Xena was happily admiring the wriggling body sprawled over her lap, while she 
delivered measured 
spanks to the bard's firm buttocks. Gabrielle was in perfect condition, but Xena 
effortlessly held her 
down and smiled as she monitored the way Gabrielle's squeaks and yelps of 
pretend protest began to 
transmute themselves into ragged and shuddering breaths. Once the warrior was 
satisfied that her 
victim's cheeks were nicely warmed, she again slipped her fingers between 
Gabrielle's legs. "You 
*did* like that," the warrior remarked. 


"Uh-huh!" gasped Gabrielle. "I like what you're doing now, too!" 


"Really?" asked Xena, raising her eyebrows slightly, as her fingers deliberately 
probed and explored 
her lover's center. 


Gabrielle was too aroused to mind being teased, and the teasing only made her 
whole body flush even 
hotter. It was indescribably enticing to be in the control of someone as 
powerful as Xena, someone she 
could trust not to abuse that power. She knew that Xena could readily do 
whatever she wanted with 
Gabrielle, but she also knew that Xena's first priority was her pleasure and 
safety. And Xena truly did 
have many skills. Gabrielle began to pant, as Xena formed three fingers into a 
wedge and began slowly 
sliding them in and out of the receptive bard. 


"Oh harder, please!" begged Gabrielle. 


"Didn't I say something earlier about being patient?" returned the warrior. Xena 
released Gabrielle's 
wrists, so she could gather a breast into her free hand and toy with it. Now 
Gabrielle had to contend 
with a finger circling her nipple, seeming to harden it further on each pass, as 
well as Xena's fingers 
entering her and slipping out at a maddeningly deliberate pace. Gabrielle was 
now groaning with 
frustration, but when Xena neatly tucked her thumb into her anus, Gabrielle 
emitted a sudden squeak. It 
was a sound the warrior adored, and she laughed appreciatively. Figuring that 
her lover would soon be 
just about overwhelmed with stimulation, she squeezed and released the breast 
she held captive in an 
increasingly faster tempo, while speeding up her penetrating strokes inside 
Gabrielle accordingly. 


"Ohyeahohyeahohyeah!" exclaimed the bard inarticulately, as Xena brought her to 
a convulsive climax. 


Xena pulled her up into a sitting position on her lap, kissing her repeatedly 
and murmuring, "How I love 
you, Gabrielle. I don't know what I did to be so lucky, but I hope I keep doing 
it." 


Sated and limp, Gabrielle returned, breathlessly, "Right now, Xena, I feel like 
the lucky one." 


* * * 


"That was very entertaining," muttered the god of war, "but couldn't you lose 
the sappy endearments? 
Yecch! Good thing I won't have to put up with *that* much longer." 


Next he turned his attention to the other object of his plans . . . 


* * * 


Hercules and Iolaus were camping out, on their way back home from stopping a 
small war that Ares had 
had an interest in. Hercules was contemplating his lover's golden hair and skin 
by firelight. Iolaus grew 
embarassed under the demigod's hungry scrutiny (unaware, of course, that there 
was another 
watcher), and grinned self-deprecatingly and looked away. 


"Look at me," ordered Hercules calmly. Iolaus looked back at him and squirmed 
slightly. Even after all 
their time together, first as friends and then as lovers, the demigod's 
possessive gaze still aroused and 
embarrassed him. Admiring the play of firelight on Iolaus' body, Hercules had an 
idea. "I want you 
naked; I want to see all of you." 


"Herc?" asked Iolaus. 


"Do it." 


Iolaus pulled off his boots, then nimbly leapt to his feet to pull off the rest 
of his clothes. Hercules was 
lying on his side, one arm supporting his head, and he showed no signs of 
undressing as well. "Now come 
here," he ordered. He grabbed Iolaus' wrist and pulled him down onto his knees. 
He grasped a handful of 
golden hair and pulled Iolaus' head toward his mouth, staking a claim to it with 
easy confidence. Iolaus 
moaned as Hercules' tongue invaded his mouth, while a finger and thumb 
simultaneously began tugging at 
his nipple. 


"Tell me," demanded the demigod, breaking the kiss and repositioning Iolaus with 
one hand, so he was 
sitting back on his heels, knees wide. 


"I'm y-yours," stammered the blond, fully aroused and already aching with need. 


"And this?" asked Hercules, wrapping a possessive hand around Iolaus' cock. 


"It's yours. All of me is yours, Herc." 


"That's right. Now, I've had a long day, and I want to be entertained. I want to 
watch you pleasure 
yourself. Perform for me." 


"What?" asked Iolaus. 


Hercules smiled, his eyes glinting with amusement in the firelight. "You heard 
me. Over there--where I 
can see all of you." Iolaus, stunned, moved automatically where directed. 
Hercules fished in a nearby 
pack, pulled out a vial, and tossed it to his companion. 


Iolaus' reflexes were independent of his conscious mind, and he automatically 
caught the vial, while his 
thoughts raced and tumbled in confusion. On the one hand, he was surprised this 
had never been asked of 
him before. On the other hand, he wasn't sure he could do something so private 
in front of an audience, 
even if that audience was Hercules. 


Very quietly, Hercules said, "Tell me what you're thinking, Iolaus." 


"You want to know what I'm *thinking*?" Iolaus blurted in surprise. "Since 
when?" 


Suddenly he found himself being dragged by the ankle and flipped over. Two hard 
smacks landed on his 
buttocks, and he was released. "I told you to tell me what you're thinking, not 
to talk back." 


Iolaus' erect member throbbed at these words and at their calm delivery. 
Hercules mastered him in his 
own quiet way, never raising his voice, but reinforcing his position 
periodically with a brief, but 
convincing, display of his strength. Iolaus loved it. Something in him yearned 
to be used and owned and 
appreciated in only the way an owner cherished a prized possession, which was 
one reason Xena had 
had her way with him so easily. He hadn't even realized at the time how much he 
had been inwardly 
hoping Hercules would claim him as more than a friend. He had been initially 
struck by Xena's beauty, 
but watching her fight had pushed him over the edge. This was someone who had a 
strong hand, and he 
was overwhelmed with realizing how much he had craved being subject to such 
strength. 


But that was all past and forgiven, if not forgotten. Right now, he was in the 
humiliating position of 
having to talk about his feelings about Hercules' demand that he perform for 
him. "I dunno, Herc. It's 
scary, I guess. I've never let anyone watch me do that before. I . . . uh . . . 
well . . . it makes me kind of 
squirm when you look at me. And doing that . . . " 


"Good," said Hercules decisively. "I'm going to like that. Now go ahead and 
remember you're doing this 
for *me*." 


"Yes, Herc," murmured Iolaus. He lay on his back and reached for the vial of 
oil, then started, as a 
strong hand pulled his legs wide apart. 


"Wait," said Hercules, getting up to roll up a blanket and pillow it under 
Iolaus' head. "I want to see 
your face too." 


Iolaus flushed, and his hand shook as he coated himself with oil. He realized 
that being manhandled in 
Hercules' usual effortless and impersonal manner actually allowed him to 
distance himself from what 
was going on. He was vulnerable, but matters were, he convinced himself, out of 
his control. Now he 
felt exposed in a whole new way. 


Hercules had returned to his reclining position, settling himself in an 
exaggeratedly comfortable 
manner. "Eyes open," he said abruptly. "If this were easy for you, what would be 
the point of it?" 


Iolaus opened his eyes and looked into the smiling face of his lover. He took a 
deep breath, then circled 
his shaft with his hand and began sliding it slowly up and down. He groaned and 
automatically closed his 
eyes, but remembered and popped them open again. "Take your time," said Hercules 
smoothly. "I'm 
enjoying this." 


Surprisingly, Iolaus found that he was enjoying it too. He came to a sudden 
decision to flaunt his status 
as prized possession. He stroked his cock with slow, smooth motions, letting his 
whole body writhe in 
response to his increasing arousal. If the big man wanted a show, then that's 
what he was going to get. 
His other hand moved to his chest, rolling a nipple between thumb and 
forefinger. Hercules smiled and 
nodded approvingly. Iolaus gathered some of the fluid seeping from the opening 
onto his thumb, and 
stroked the head of his cock in hard circles before grasping the shaft again 
tightly and returning to 
moving his whole hand up and down. His mouth was slightly parted as his 
breathing became more rapid, 
the pressure of his own fingers on his nipple grew harder, and his hips pumped 
into his own hand. The 
sheen of sweat on his body enhanced the gleam of firelight on his skin, and 
Hercules reflected that this 
had to be one of the most amazing and beautiful spectacles he had ever 
witnessed. 


"I'm close!" gasped Iolaus, instinctively knowing he should ask permission to 
come. 


"Go ahead," said Hercules generously. Iolaus stroked and pumped faster and 
harder, and his body 
convulsed as he spurted a fountain of semen. 


His chest was heaving with his ragged breaths, and his entire body had gone limp 
and fluid on him. He 
noticed Hercules standing up, pulling off his own clothes. He reached out his 
hand, and, understanding 
the signal, Iolaus tossed him the vial of oil. While Hercules quickly anointed 
his own erection, Iolaus 
grinned and panted, "So, was it good for you?" 


"Yeah, it was," answered the demigod with a conspiratorial smile, and his 
characteristic easy shrug. 
"And this is gonna be good for me too." He easily picked up the smaller man, and 
slowly and carefully 
impaled him on his own eager cock, while Iolaus wrapped his legs around his back 
and grasped his strong 
shoulders. "Oh. Yeah. I. Like. That," said Hercules, backing up carefully and 
bracing himself against a 
nearby tree. His large hands encircled and supported his lover's waist, and he 
began lifting Iolaus up 
slowly and pushing him back down on his erect member. 


"Gods . . . " gasped Iolaus. "You're so deep inside me." Hercules was showing 
off, of course, but it was 
a gift to Iolaus, who never ceased to be enticed by displays of his lover's 
superhuman strength. 
Watching Hercules fight still drove him wild with desire; sometimes he would 
drag the demigod to the 
nearest private place afterward, begging, "Please, Herc, fuck me now!" 


Hercules grimaced with the exertion, his teeth bared. He tightened his grip on 
Iolaus and began driving 
into his delicious burden. Iolaus moaned happily, as he could almost feel the 
bruises forming where 
Hercules' fingers dug into him. The demigod came with a ferocious growl, 
shooting liquid lightning into 
his lover's body. He carefully disengaged himself and swung Iolaus around into 
his arms and pulled him 
up for a long, breathless kiss. He thought of Iolaus stroking himself to 
completion, writhing and rocking 
and exposing himself entirely to his demanding lover. Hercules murmured in his 
ear, "Thank you for 
sharing your self with me. You're beautiful. I love you." 


"I love you, too, Herc," Iolaus responded contentedly. 


* * * 


*Can't you people engage in a good fuck without all the love talk?* the god of 
war thought to himself 
irritably. Still, he was in a remarkably good mood. He had enjoyed Iolaus' 
performance immensely, and 
it had given him an idea, another dimension to add to his plan. It would require 
a little more tweaking 
here and there, but it would be worth it for the pain it would cause his half-
brother and the pleasure it 
would give himself. 


He was coming to realize that he was going to need some help, and he knew 
exactly where to get it. 
Asking his mother for help wasn't usually his style, but trying to pull off 
something this big required 
that his pride make some concessions. And he knew the queen of the gods would 
delight in the 
opportunity to render her stepson invisible and unimportant, and she still held 
a grudge against Xena for 
her role in helping to free Prometheus. Having Hera to run some intervention 
with Zeus would help too. 
Ares chuckled to himself and flashed out of his temple to arrive at Olympus. 
  
  


Chapter 2 
  
  


A few days later, Hercules woke up, stretched, then leapt to his feet, realizing 
that something was 
wrong. In fact, more than one thing was wrong. Iolaus was missing, and he 
himself had woken up 
somewhere other than where he had gone to sleep. "Iolaus?" he called out, but 
there was no reply. He 
scouted around and emerged from the woods where he'd woken up only to see Ares' 
temple. But it was 
different--much bigger and more imposing. *What the . . . ?* thought Hercules to 
himself. Everything 
seemed subtly different, but except for the change in Ares' temple, which was 
inexplicable in itself, he 
couldn't put his finger on it. 


The doors to the temple swung open, and a figure emerged. A blond figure. A 
blond figure with curly 
hair. He had a broom and was sweeping the temple steps and whistling contentedly 
to himself. "Iolaus?" 
asked Hercules and ran for the steps. "Iolaus!" he exclaimed. "Boy, am I glad to 
see you!" 


Iolaus looked puzzled, and asked, "How do you know my name? And who are you?" 


*Great. Just great,* the demigod thought to himself. *He's lost his memory again 
and doesn't 
recognize me.* "I've known you for a long time," he began carefully. 


"Nope. You must have the wrong person. I've never seen you before." 


Hercules was starting to notice the differences in his lover's appearance. 
Iolaus' hair was longer, 
extending just below his shoulders, and he wore tight black leather pants and no 
shirt. His face had 
fewer lines, and he didn't hold himself with the edgy alertness that Hercules 
was so used to. 


"I don't get how you know my name," the blond continued, "and we haven't been 
properly introduced." 


"I'm Hercules." 


"Huh. Doesn't ring a bell." 


Hercules was having a sinking feeling that something much bigger was going on 
than a mere memory 
loss on Iolaus' part. Memory loss wouldn't account for the changes in Iolaus' 
appearance. "Why are you 
sweeping the temple?" he asked, genuinely puzzled and trying to focus on 
something small to help 
counter the rising wave of disorientation that was threatening him. 


"I'm the priest here. Have you come to make an offering to the god of war?" 


"Not likely!" snapped Hercules. He directed his glance skyward and yelled, 
"ARES! What in Hades is 
going on?" 


The god of war materialized on the top step of his temple, chortling, and laid a 
possessive hand on 
Iolaus' ass and squeezed. The blond seemed somewhat embarassed by this public 
display, but he leaned 
into the god's touch as if he were very familiar with it. 


"Why are you harrassing my priest?" demanded Ares, a malevolent smile glinting 
behind his eyes. He 
pulled the blond toward him and idly began pulling at an erect nipple. 


"Get. Your. Hands. Off. Of. Him," enunciated Hercules through clenched teeth. 


"Who *is* this guy?" asked Iolaus incredulously, pressing closer to the god. 


"Him? He's nobody," said Ares dismissively. "An acquaintance from another time. 
Another time! Hah!" 
he laughed. 


"I see," said Hercules, still gritting his teeth. 


"Well, you always were a little slow on the uptake," said Ares casually. He gave 
Iolaus a friendly 
smack on the rear, saying, "Finish up out here. I have to talk to my old friend 
inside. *Don't* come in 
until I call you--no matter what you hear." 


"Yes, my lord," answered Iolaus and went back to sweeping, while glancing at 
Hercules and shaking his 
head. 


Ares beckoned his half-brother inside and firmly closed the door. Just as the 
door closed, Hercules was 
on him from behind, an elbow firmly locked around the god's neck. "Whatever 
you've done, change it 
back NOW!" 


"Oh please," said the god, driving an elbow into Hercules' gut and freeing 
himself. "Get real, little 
brother. Do you really think I'd make it that easy?" 


Hercules roared with fury and leapt into the air, one foot driving into the 
god's chest. Ares flew back, 
then recovered, rematerializing in front of Hercules, and flipping him over his 
back. Hercules held on, 
pulling Ares over the same way. Then he whirled around, kicking the god solidly 
in the side. Ares 
grunted slightly, then smacked Hercules so hard in the face that the demigod 
felt blood oozing from the 
inside of his mouth. He swung his arm, hitting the god across the chest, and 
Ares fell into a short 
column holding a large amphora, which tumbled to the floor and smashed. "You're 
just creating more 
work for him you know!" yelled Ares as he leapt to his feet. 


Hercules grabbed his half-brother and began throttling him, but he was too angry 
to have much control, 
and Ares easily brought up his arms between Hercules' and shoved them apart. 
"Listen to me!" 
exclaimed the god. "I can't change it back--I fixed it so I couldn't change it 
back on my own." 


Hercules stopped fighting, and drooped, looking defeated. Ares relaxed, and 
Hercules suddenly lashed 
out, striking him a blow in the jaw. "That's for Iolaus," he muttered, before 
stalking several steps 
away. 


"Oh Iolaus is the *least* of the surprises you'll find in this time," gloated 
Ares, rubbing his jaw. "But 
you'll be glad to know I haven't hurt him or coerced him. He's here because he 
wants to be." The god 
laughed heartily. "That's almost worse isn't it for you? Than my forcing him? 
He's happy, but it's oh-
so-hard for you to see it. You'd almost rather I hurt him rather than see him 
give himself to me 
willingly. I always knew you were a selfish brute, brother of mine!" 


Hercules smashed another amphora, then sagged. He didn't want to make things 
harder on Iolaus. "Tell 
me what's going on," he demanded wearily. 


"What's going on?" asked Ares innocently. "Oh, you must mean *besides* the fact 
that I own your 
golden-haired boy and can fuck him whenever I please. Well, that, dear brother, 
is for me to know and 
for you to find out." Hercules charged Ares again with a furious growl, but the 
god vanished. Hercules 
sank to his knees and put his head in his hands. 


The door opened, and Iolaus came in, rather hesitantly. "He said it was all 
right for me to come in," he 
explained. He went over to the nearest smashed vase and began cleaning up. 


"I'm sorry. I'll help you," offered the demigod. 


"No thanks," said Iolaus quickly. "I'd rather take care of it myself." 


Hercules watched his efficient movements with a brush and dust pan, took a deep 
breath and asked, 
"Forgive me for prying, but does he treat you well? Are you happy?" 


Iolaus looked up with an innocent, unselfconscious, sunny grin, and said, "Yeah. 
On both counts. Why do 
you ask? And if you don't mind my asking, what was all that about outside?" 


Hercules felt his heart cracking inside him. Carefully hiding the catch in his 
voice, he said, "Case of 
mistaken identity. You remind me of . . . someone I know. May I ask how you 
ended up here?" 


"Sure," said the blond. "I don't mind some company. I got into a lot of trouble 
when I was a kid--
stealing, that kind of thing. One day he just appeared and offered to make a 
warrior of me. He brought 
me to the Conqueror's training camp--back when she first started to put an army 
together--and I 
learned fast. I fought in her army for several years, and he kept coming back to 
check on me. I think he 
was probably protecting me in battle, y'know. He asked me to be his priest . . . 
and to be his. Like I was 
going to refuse? He's incredible--being with a human doesn't come close." 


Hercules shook his head slightly, amazed at Ares' skill in bringing this off. It 
was apparent to almost 
anyone that Iolaus had a craving to be owned and to serve, and he was enticed by 
strength and power, 
and if Ares was treating him as well as he said, it wasn't surprising his 
devotion should be so complete. 
Hercules reminded himself that this Iolaus had never met him before; he didn't 
want to think about 
whether he or Ares would win in a straightforward competition for the blond 
warrior. Something else 
Iolaus said had struck a chord. "You said something about the . . . Conqueror?" 


"Yeah, the Lady Xena," said Iolaus in a tone that implied any fool would know 
that. 


Hercules' breath momentarily left him, and he gasped, but forced himself to 
remain calm. "Excuse my 
ignorance," he began. "I've travelled from a long way from here." 


"Yeah, you must have if you haven't heard of Xena the Conqueror," snorted 
Iolaus. "She pretty much 
has all of Greece under her control now, except for a few cities holding out. 
She'll defeat them in time. 
Good thing too." 


"Why is that?" 


"Julius Caesar. If not for her, we'd be part of Rome by now. Her methods are 
pretty harsh, but she has 
good cause. Any weakness, and Caesar's armies would devour us. We're lucky to 
have her; my lord has 
never had a finer protege," said Iolaus with satisfaction. 


"I see," said Hercules faintly. His head was spinning with the shock of all he 
had heard. He stood up and 
added, "Thanks for the information. I'd better be going." 


Iolaus nodded, then said, "Hey, you've travelled a long way. I've plenty of food 
here. Would you like to 
take a few things for the road?" 


Hercules' stomach recoiled at the thought of accepting Ares' hospitality, but he 
knew he needed to eat. 
"Sure, thanks, I appreciate it." Iolaus brought out a bundle and a skin full of 
fresh water. 


"Good luck on your journeys, friend," he said. "And take my advice--don't piss 
off my lord again." 


"I can't promise that," said Hercules grimly, as he left the temple. He sought 
out a quiet spot in the 
nearby woods and sank to the ground. Ares' alteration of the timeline had been 
thoroughly planned and 
was fiendishly clever. He apparently made sure that Xena and Iolaus at least 
were doing nothing that 
violated their essential natures. Iolaus was serving a master who treated him 
well and helped protect 
his country against invaders, and Xena could give full expression to her dark 
side, while yet engaged in 
a good cause. Hercules had to admit that Ares' scheme was pretty damned 
breathtaking. *And why am I 
here? And why do I remember the other time?* he asked himself, then smacked 
himself on the head. 
*Of course, he wants me to witness it all and not be able to do anything about 
it. He wants me to see 
Iolaus as his possession, and he wants me to see Xena unredeemed and fufilling 
the role he has always 
wanted her to play.* Hercules sighed in frustration and said quietly, "Shit." 


He forced himself to eat some of the bread and cheese and dried fruit Iolaus had 
packed for him, but it 
was hard getting it past the lump forming in his throat. He roughly brushed 
tears out of his eyes, but he 
couldn't stop thinking about how contented and *serene* this Iolaus had been. 
*Damn,* he reflected, 
*he's happier than he ever was with me.* He kept thinking about Iolaus serenely 
going about his duties 
and quietly deferring to his master. Then it finally dawned on Hercules that 
this really wasn't *his* 
Iolaus--his Iolaus was full of fire and passion and pure orneriness. His Iolaus 
hadn't lived under a fond 
god's coddling protection. *His* Iolaus would never be happy like this. He felt 
somewhat better and ate 
more of his food. There was someone he had to see, but he still felt a duty to 
this Iolaus, and he 
intended to keep an eye on him for a while longer to make sure that Ares was, in 
fact, treating him 
well. Then he would be able to put that concern behind him and work on restoring 
things to the way they 
should be. 


At night, he crept back toward the temple and found a window where he could see 
the interior 
unobserved. Ares was sprawled on his throne, in his usual indolent pose, 
stroking the golden curls of a 
kneeling and naked Iolaus, who held his hands clasped lightly behind his back. 
Hercules' heart sank when 
he saw the tattoo of a sword, matching Ares' earring, on one buttock. "You were 
made to be the 
possession of a god," Ares purred throatily. 


"Yes, my lord," Iolaus answered with a quick flash of a smile. "I'm glad *you* 
think so." 


"All, all mine," mused the god. His fingers trailed along Iolaus' neck, down one 
arm, then drew light 
circles around his stomach before moving to his chest. Ares carefully traced the 
curve of each pectoral 
muscle. "You're a good boy," he crooned; "you've been working out every day." 


"Yes, my lord," said Iolaus, blushing slightly. When Ares suddenly twisted one 
nipple, he didn't flinch or 
start, but merely opened his eyes a bit wider. 


"And so well-trained," mused the god, twisting and pulling on Iolaus' nipple, 
before ministering to the 
other one in the same fashion. He then reached down and began lightly squeezing 
the blond's balls and 
running one finger up the underside of Iolaus' erect and quivering cock. Iolaus' 
face was soft and 
vulnerable, and the god growled, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him 
forward for a bruising 
kiss. Hercules was trembling with jealousy and rage, but he managed to remain 
silent. He thought of the 
times he had let Iolaus down, most recently by marrying Serena, and he made a 
silent vow, if he ever 
restored the original timeline, never again to take his lover and companion for 
granted. 


With a glance at his own crotch and a slight gesture of his hand, Ares indicated 
that Iolaus was to 
unbuckle his belt and unfasten his pants. Iolaus deposited a reverent kiss on 
the tip of the god's freed 
and resplendently erect organ and proceeded to service Ares with his mouth, 
licking his cock in long 
strokes, moving down to bathe his balls in his mouth, one at a time, then taking 
the length of the god's 
member in his mouth and sucking on it until Ares stopped him with a quick 
gesture. With a wave of the 
hand, the god created a nest of pillows on the floor, and Iolaus quickly 
positioned himself there on his 
knees and elbows. The god waved away his own clothes, then materialized a bowl 
of clear oil, 
efficiently and unhurriedly lubricating the blond's anus with his fingers. With 
a quick coating of oil on 
his own cock, Ares pushed inside the tight opening, and Iolaus pushed back 
against him with quivering 
eagerness. Ares thrust hard, growling, gripping Iolaus' hips tightly with his 
hands, and Iolaus moaned in 
delirious ecstasy. The god climaxed with a primal roar, but then pulled Iolaus 
close with tender 
affection, stroking his muscled arms and combing through the riotous mane of 
blond curls with his 
fingers. He then teased Iolaus by running his fingertips up and down his still-
unsatisfied organ, then 
dipped his hand in the bowl of oil, and closed it around Iolaus' cock, bringing 
him off with vigorous 
strokes. Iolaus cried out in his climax, then curled into the god's protective 
embrace. 


When Hercules turned away, heartsick but assured that Ares was, in fact, 
treating Iolaus well, his last 
sight was of Iolaus lying on his side, with Ares behind him, caressing his back 
and buttocks, punctuating 
his caresses with an occasional possessive squeeze. Hercules kept trying to 
remind himself that this 
wasn't the same Iolaus he loved, but it was very hard to convince himself of 
that while watching *his* 
property so thoroughly and masterfully possessed by another, and that other 
being Ares. After all, if 
he couldn't succeed in changing the timeline back, this might be the only Iolaus 
in existence. Depressed, 
angry, and feeling helpless, he moved on toward his next destination. 


* * * 


The temple of Zeus looked much as it did in the original timeline. It was 
nighttime, and no priests were 
present. He pushed through the doors impatiently, then yelled "ZEUS! I need to 
talk to you now!" The 
king of the gods appeared soon thereafter. 


"What is it, son?" 


"Don't give me that, Zeus!" snapped Hercules. "You know what Ares has done! Why 
are you letting him 
get away with messing with the timeline that way?" 
Zeus hesitated. "There wasn't much I could do. He had help. Working together, 
they're pretty 
formidable." 


Hercules smacked his forehead. "Of course. Hera." He paced around the temple, 
having no outlet for his 
anxiety, frustration, and nervous energy. "Where do I fit in?" he demanded. 


"Ares promised me you wouldn't be hurt," answered Zeus. "No one here knows who 
you are. I didn't 
think you'd mind the anonymity." 


"You didn't think I'd mind . . . " Hercules' voice strangled in his throat, then 
he exclaimed, "Then didn't 
you think I'd mind losing my lover to Ares? Didn't you think I'd mind what 
happened to Xena?" 


"Ah, Xena," said his father. "She's the focus of the change in the timeline. It 
all has to do with her. If 
she asks Ares to restore the original timeline, he has to do it. That's the one 
concession I got out of 
them. Ares is right that I have favored you over him--I thought it best to let 
him have his way this 
time." 


Hercules was furious, "Zeus!" he snapped, making the name sound like an 
invective, "how is she 
supposed to ask that if she doesn't know about it?" 


Zeus tried to keep his patience; he understood why his son was upset, and he 
felt vaguely guilty about 
it. "She might have dreams of the other time. She might realize something's 
wrong. Unfortunately, 
Ares planned this very well. She's protecting Greece from invasion--very 
effectively I might add. I 
guess it's not very likely she'd recognize that she's somehow not herself." 


Hercules was gripping his hands together tightly, trying to stop himself from 
smashing something. He 
made a conscious effort to steady his breathing, then asked, "So he can't change 
it back unless she asks 
him?" 


His father nodded. "Well, then," said Hercules, "I'm going to have to persuade 
her somehow." 


"I can't help you there," said the king of gods gravely. 


"Why am I *not* surprised?" Hercules stalked out of the temple without bidding 
his father farewell, 
slamming the doors behind him. His whole body still twitching with frustration, 
he drove his fist into a 
large boulder with a roar. 


Almost immediately, he heard a voice call out, "Geronimo!" and his sister 
Aphrodite appeared in midair 
in a graceful dive and landed neatly on her feet beside him. 


"What's up, big brother?" she asked. "The old man is really down. Did you two 
have another fight?" 


He glared at her. "Do you know what Ares has done?" 


"Yeah," she shrugged. 


"Well, maybe you can figure out why I argued with Zeus!" 


"Chill, big brother. What's the big diff?" 


"What's. The. Big. Diff?" he repeated slowly and unbelievingly. "C'mon, 'Dite, 
even you should be able 
to figure this out. For one, Xena is a warlord now, Xena the Conqueror." 


"This is a problem?" she asked. 


"Yes. This is a problem. She's turning Greece into Ares' version of the New 
World Order. And the only 
way to change things back is if *she* asks him to. The other big diff, sister of 
mine, is that Iolaus 
belongs to Ares now." 


"Leatherboy's doing Blondie? That's way uncool. OK, now I get what you're so 
tweaked about." 


Hercules sighed. Talking to his sister was always frustrating, but it was 
particularly so now. "No, 
Iolaus is not *all* I'm 'tweaked' about. He's part of it." He began to pace 
again, ignoring Aphrodite, and 
talking almost to himself, "How am I going to be able to get close to her so I 
can talk to her?" 


"Well, du-uh," said the goddess of love. "Get yourself captured by her as a 
slave. You've got all the 
right equipment. She'll choose you as her personal boy toy in no time." 


"Xena keeps slaves?" asked Hercules, then sighed. "Of *course* she does. And why 
do you think she'll 
choose me for anything?" 


"Exsqueeze me? Have you looked in the mirror lately? If you weren't my brother . 
. . " 


"Don't go there!" Hercules interrupted her. 


"Well, anyway, you want to get close to the warrior babe, that's how. Of course 
you'll have to make 
the slave thing convincing. You'll have to lose the 'tude, dude. But look at the 
bright side--you'll get a 
chance to do your old girlfriend. I've heard she's really hot." 


Hercules briefly considered throttling his sister, but it was never worth 
getting angry at Aphrodite. It 
usually just washed right over her. "Thanks, 'Dite," he muttered with 
difficulty. "You've been 
surprisingly helpful." 


"Good luck!" she called out, as she vanished. "Later." 
  
  


Chapter 3 
  
  


After some inquiries, Hercules learned the location of Xena's headquarters, a 
heavily fortified castle 
outside Amphipolis. He also learned that she regularly sent out troops all over 
her territory, which was 
to say, most of Greece, to enforce order, to secure supplies, and to maintain 
military readiness. They 
would also capture slaves to serve the Conqueror and her officers and to perform 
menial labor. Now he 
just had to get himself captured and make it look convincing. He scouted for a 
couple of days and 
discovered a fairly large party of Xena's troops was approaching a village near 
Amphipolis. As several 
armed horsemen rode into the town square, Hercules had just been caught stealing 
a loaf of bread from 
a stall. Apparently oblivious to the presence of the approaching soldiers, he 
took a very carefully 
controlled swing at the stall owner, knocking him flat, but not doing much 
damage. 


He then took off at a run, carrying his misbegotten loaf of bread. He was 
quickly surrounded by a group 
of soldiers. He resisted capture as realistically as he could, pulling his 
punches and kicking with only a 
small portion of his strength, while trying not to make it obvious that he was 
doing so. It wasn't easy 
for him to fight like an ordinary man of his size, but he managed, and was soon 
jumped and held down by 
enough soldiers that he could conceivably give up. He heard another horse 
approaching, and one of the 
soldiers said, "Look what we caught, my lady." Hercules looked up and could not 
conceal his 
astonishment. Callisto looked down at him from the back of a magnificent black 
horse. 


"Well, well, well, what's this?" she demanded. 


"A thief, my lady," answered the soldier. 


"A thief," she repeated. "Not a very bright thief apparently." She rode up to 
Hercules, who was still 
being held by several men, and slapped him sharply across the face, then 
backhanded the other cheek. 


"Do you know what we do with thieves around here, stranger?" she demanded, while 
he glared at her 
sullenly, hoping he continued to convey the impression of someone not very 
bright. "We put them to 
work as slaves for the Conqueror, so they can be put to good use and kept out of 
trouble," she said 
casually, her voice deceptively soft. "My lady will be very pleased with *you*." 


"Your lady?" he asked hesitantly. 


"Yes," she said abruptly. "The Conqueror. You have the honor to have been 
captured by her second-in-
command." She turned to the soldiers. "Chain him securely. I don't want him to 
be able to move a 
muscle." Hercules was almost oblivious to the lengths of chain being wrapped 
around his entire body, to 
his arms being firmly manacled behind his back, and to the various locks 
snapping shut that held the 
chains in place. Callisto was Xena's second-in-command? It was almost enough to 
make him laugh. Ares 
certainly did have a twisted sense of humor. He was deposited in a cart, not 
particularly comfortably, 
and left guarded while Callisto and her soldiers finished their business in the 
village. As a matter of 
course, he experimentally tested the strength of the chains binding him--if he 
had wanted to, he could 
have broken them, but, of course, he didn't. Then he was on his way to be 
delivered into slavery. 


* * * 


Xena's castle was suitably imposing. Once through the gates, he was dragged 
unceremoniously out of 
the cart and made to shuffle along through the castle, his ankles hobbled 
together, and the chains and 
locks clanking. *I'll make a wonderful first impression,* he thought, wondering 
if his sister's idea 
really had that much merit after all. Once he and some other newly captured 
slaves were brought into 
the Conqueror's presence, however, he could think of nothing else. The Conqueror 
exhibited a 
commanding and powerful demeanor, wielding it like a scepter, and Hercules found 
himself almost 
feeling that serving her would be a privilege. 


She was sitting on a throne and wearing a long purple dress, trimmed with 
silver. A simple silver 
circlet adorned her head. Her legs were crossed, and he saw a hint of boots of 
the finest black leather. 
On a hassock next to the throne knelt Gabrielle, sitting back on her heels, her 
knees apart. She was 
dressed entirely in green, with a bodice and short skirt that, if anything, 
covered less than what she 
wore in the original timeline. The hassock was lower than the throne, and Xena 
had an arm resting on 
Gabrielle's shoulder, and a hand idly reaching into her bodice to toy with the 
closest breast. Otherwise 
she paid no attention to Gabrielle, who sometimes gasped silently or swayed 
slightly in response to her 
nipple being pinched or rolled between the Conqueror's fingers. Hercules was 
furious with himself 
because his first reaction was to find the scene undeniably erotic--he almost 
envied Gabrielle's position 
before sternly reminding himself how he felt about slavery. 


Callisto stepped forward, knelt on one knee and bowed to Xena, casting a brief 
glance at Gabrielle. "My 
lady," she said, "these are the new slaves. The supplies we acquired are already 
being stored." 


There were two other men and two women who had been brought in with Hercules. 
None were as 
securely bound as he was. Xena slowly got up from her throne, after giving 
Gabrielle's breast a rough 
squeeze. The slightest flash of alarm and recognition flickered in Xena's eyes 
when she noticed 
Hercules, but was instantly replaced by a studied brusqueness. She glanced at 
the women, turned to 
Callisto and said, "Kitchen or farms, wherever they're most needed." She then 
regarded the other two 
men and said, "Farms too or working on our fortifications if they have any 
talent for stoneworking. 
Take them away. *This* one," she indicated Hercules, "stays here." She appraised 
Hercules with cool 
deliberation, her eyes travelling his body. 


She jerked her head at Callisto, "Get those chains off him. What was he up to 
when you caught him?" 


"Stealing food," answered Callisto, unlocking the locks and removing the chains. 
"I don't think he's very 
bright--we caught him in the act." 


"I see," said Xena, never taking her eyes off of Hercules. "How very foolish of 
him. I want a pair of 
manacles for his wrists forged of the strongest metal we have. Leave the chain 
between them long 
enough to give him some freedom of movement. He's no good to us if he can't 
work." As the last of the 
chains was removed from him, Hercules straightened slightly, grateful to have 
the pressure off his 
arms. Xena suddenly pulled a knife from her boot--he later learned that she was 
never without this 
particular accessory--and held the point to his throat. "On your knees," she 
ordered, "very carefully, 
and get your hands behind you." 


Hercules knelt slowly, the point of the knife following him down, and he put his 
hands behind his back. 
"You're a slave now," said Xena calmly. "You'll be well-fed and have a place to 
sleep in return for your 
labor and absolute obedience. My question to you is, are you going to cooperate 
or not?" 


"I'll cooperate," he said softly, the knife point moving with his throat as he 
spoke, but pressing against 
him with such complete control that it never pierced his skin. He then allowed 
an edge of bitterness to 
creep into his voice. "It's not as though I have anywhere else to go. I'm not 
afraid of hard work, and I'll 
more than earn my food and shelter." 


"Good," she said shortly, letting the knife drop back into her boot in a swift 
and fluid motion. "You'll be 
chained, but that's mostly to remind you of your status. There won't be anything 
to stop you from 
running, but the manacles will identify you as my property. Returning escaped 
slaves to me is a popular 
activity in my territory--I have a generous reward system. What do you say to 
that?" 


"I won't run, my lady," he said, bowing his head in what he hoped was a 
sufficiently respectful gesture. 


"Well, Callisto," drawled Xena with satisfaction. "It looks like you've found me 
some valuable property. 
If he pans out, you and your troops will be rewarded." 


Callisto simply bowed her head in acknowledgment. 


Xena summoned her household steward. "Phideas, get him fitted for those manacles 
and get him a meal. 
If he's stealing food," she said, glancing at Hercules narrowly, "he's probably 
hungry. And show him 
where he sleeps. I'll put him to work tomorrow." She turned back to her new 
acquisition. "You may 
stand. Go with Phideas." Suddenly the knife was out of her boot and back in her 
hand. She tapped 
Hercules' chest lightly with the flat of the blade. "I don't want to hear of you 
causing any trouble, 
slave-boy." 


"You won't, my lady. You have my word," he promised softly. 


Xena began to turn away, then turned back, saying lightly, "Oh and take off that 
shirt and those 
gauntlets. You won't be needing them here." She grinned ferally as Hercules 
flushed, and Aphrodite's 
words echoed in his mind. He removed his shirt, and she plucked it out of his 
hand, watching him as he 
unbuckled his gauntlets, seeming to devour his chest and arms with her eyes, and 
remarking briefly, 
"Oh, that's very nice," before dismissing him and his keeper. As he left, she 
had returned to her throne 
and to her caresses of Gabrielle, and was conferring with Callisto. And Hercules 
had to confess himself 
feeling somewhat deflated at no longer being the object of that intense gaze. 


* * * 


If they did her bidding, Xena's slaves were actually treated quite well. The 
food was plentiful and 
nourishing, and he had a small private cell-like room to sleep in with a straw 
mattress. The male and 
female slaves slept in separate quarters, each with its own latrine and bathing 
facilities. The area 
where they slept was locked at night, but the individual rooms were not. He was 
put to work where his 
strength would be most useful, stacking wood, bearing heavy loads, helping with 
the continual repairs 
to the castle's fortifications and to the defenses around the villages nearby. 
For several days, he saw 
little of his new owner, but he wasn't surprised. Sometimes he caught a glimpse 
of her riding out in 
front of a body of troops. On these occasions she wore a leather garment and 
armor similar to the one 
he was familiar with, but all black, with gleaming metallic armor. 


One day, when delivering loads of firewood around the castle, he came upon 
Callisto with Gabrielle in a 
well-travelled corridor. Gabrielle was facing the wall, her hands flat against 
it above her head, and 
Callisto's hand was moving between her legs. Callisto was making no effort to 
hide what she was doing, 
and Xena was not far away, so Hercules had to conclude that the Conqueror shared 
her personal slaves 
with her second-in-command. The thought brought him a momentary dismay, but he 
reassured himself 
that Callisto had taken next to no interest in him since she'd brought him in. 
He fervently hoped she was 
only interested in women. After storing the appointed portion of firewood in a 
couple of rooms, he 
emerged back into the corridor to see Gabrielle moaning and pumping her hips in 
rhythm with Callisto's 
thrusts. At the same time, Xena emerged from another room. She leaned gracefully 
against the wall, 
crossed her arms, and smiled, watching until Gabrielle yelped in climax. "Very 
entertaining, Callisto," 
she remarked lightly, before moving away in Hercules' direction. "I hear good 
reports of your work, 
slaveboy," she said. "Keep it up." 


He bowed his head and said, "Yes, my lady," while inwardly cursing the puppy-
like leap his heart had 
taken when she turned her attention on him. Before he moved off, he noticed 
Gabrielle on her knees in 
front of Callisto, reverently kissing her hand and then being made to lick the 
warrior's fingers clean. He 
wondered if this particular relationship was a planned part of Ares' scheme, or 
if it had just evolved 
out of the situation. Under Xena's rule, human beings were simply *used* in any 
number of ways, and 
they were controlled with an impersonal efficiency. What affection he saw given 
to slaves had a 
distant, abstracted quality, and punishments were meted out ruthlessly, but 
again impersonally, for the 
slightest of infractions. 


Everywhere the firm hand of Xena's control was evident, although it was mostly 
administered through 
Callisto or Phideas. Hercules was horrified by what he saw and shocked at the 
thoroughness and 
pervasiveness of Xena's rule. Almost everyone he saw *wanted* to please her, to 
obey her. Her 
presence was as commanding as a god's, her will was law, and she wielded her 
personal influence like a 
finely honed and accurate tool, pulling a string here, nudging a lever there, 
keeping the entire system in 
orderly balance. Ares must have been ecstatic--it was what he'd wanted from Xena 
all along. And he 
found himself falling under her spell. His goal was to get close enough to her 
so he could talk to her 
about the original timeline, but he found himself responding whenever he sensed 
her eyes on him, 
standing straighter, making his movements more sure and fluid, trying to make 
the hardest labor look 
easy so his strength was apparent to the most casual viewer. He couldn't help 
trying to draw her 
attention--not simply because it served his original purpose, but because he 
yearned to be the focus of 
those intense blue eyes. He learned to move and work with minimal clanking of 
the chain hanging 
between his wrists, wanting to appear as graceful as possible; he hated the 
chain though, as it 
continuously reminded him of his lowly position. 


He had noticed that Xena and Callisto were apparently good friends, but not 
lovers. They worked well 
together as Commander and Lieutenant, but he often saw them laughing and joking 
together. Callisto 
seemed to be one of the very few people with whom the Conqueror dropped her 
commanding demeanor. 
He learned from Phideas, who liked to talk, that Xena had indeed raided Cirra 
when Callisto was a young 
girl and had taken Callisto prisoner. Callisto had apparently admired Xena from 
the start and wanted to 
emulate her, and Xena had taken the chance of having Callisto trained as a 
warrior. Her abilities were 
superb, and she eventually earned the position of Xena's second-in-command. 


One day Xena and Callisto had a picnic with Gabrielle in attendance, Xena 
apparently having chosen a 
spot where Hercules could see them as he worked rebuilding a crumbling wall. 
Gabrielle gracefully 
served out all the food and poured wine, then knelt between them, holding a wine 
goblet in each hand. 
The other women chatted and laughed, taking the goblet from Gabrielle's hand 
when they wanted a sip, 
then returning it, and sometimes popping a morsel of food into Gabrielle's 
mouth. 


When he had to turn away for his work, he would feel Xena's eyes on him, 
creating a slight chill in the 
back of his neck, but when he turned back, she was always looking at her 
companions. The meal over, 
they apparently ordered Gabrielle to strip, and they stretched her out on the 
grass, Callisto holding her 
arms pinned above her head and toying with her breasts, while Xena's hand 
stroked the slave's parted 
thighs and then buried itself between her legs. 


Just then Ares appeared before him, apparently invisible to the others. "How do 
you like this world, 
brother?" the god taunted. "Perfect order, and everyone knows his or her 
appointed place. Including 
you. I knew you wouldn't be able to resist coming here. I can't tell you how 
much I enjoy seeing you like 
this. It gives me so much satisfaction to fuck my golden-haired boy and know 
that you're in chains. 
They suit you." Ares chortled triumphantly. 


Hercules felt a fury rising in him, and even with the manacles and chain between 
his wrists he could 
have probably made Ares at least uncomfortable for a while, but he was not going 
to make himself look 
absurd by fighting an invisible god in front of Xena. He steadfastly ignored his 
half-brother, pouring all 
of his concentration into his work. 


"Very well," said Ares. "I have to talk to your owner any way." The god 
disappeared from Hercules' 
view, then reappeared in front of the three women. Xena glanced at him, but he 
said, "Carry on," with 
a grand wave of his hand. When Gabrielle thrashed and cried out, Xena turned her 
attention to Ares, 
who talked to her softly and urgently. 


Hercules was apparently the subject of their conversation. Xena laughed 
dismissively, her voice 
carrying. "So you know him, and he's a habitual liar? Well, you don't need to 
worry about what he 
might say to me, Ares. It's not as though I kept him for his conversational 
skills." 


* * * 


The next day Hercules had seen Xena and Callisto ride out with a body of troops. 
Gabrielle brought him 
his lunch, as she was sometimes sent to do. He had noticed she had a serenity 
about her similar to what 
he had seen in Iolaus at Ares' temple. This time, he gently asked, "Are you 
allowed to stay for a while 
and talk? I don't get a lot of company." 


She gracefully settled herself on the ground beside him and laughed. "You will 
soon enough. She has her 
eye on you." 


In between eating his bread and cheese, he asked, "Does that bother you?" 


"No," said Gabrielle, shrugging. "If I were the only one she ever took to her 
bed, she'd wear me out." 


"How . . . um . . . do you feel about being here?" he asked, embarrassed, but 
curious. "I mean, 
yesterday, was that hard for you?" 


Her eyes gleamed with mischief. "No. I liked it. It's pretty flattering to have 
both of them focused on 
*me*. I like being here." Her voice took on a dreamy tone. "She's just so . . . 
amazing. From the first 
time I saw her, I knew I wanted to be lost in her, give myself to her. She's the 
most powerful person in 
Greece-- how could I not want to please and serve her?" 


Hercules nodded despite himself; he had noticed that feeling growing in himself, 
but he didn't like it. 
"What about Callisto?" he asked. 


Gabrielle laughed ruefully. "She pays more attention to me than the Conqueror 
does. Xena always keeps 
her distance. She doesn't let anyone get too close to her. Callisto lets me in 
sometimes. Xena never 
does." She shrugged. "It makes me feel good to please them. And I hate it when I 
make mistakes. I never 
want to disappoint them. Of course, I don't like being punished either." 


"I can imagine," he murmured. 


"It's pretty brutal," she agreed. "But it works to keep people in line, and it's 
only happened a couple of 
times, and not for a long time. I'm very careful. But not just to avoid pain. 
They have important work 
to do; I want to do whatever I can to smooth whatever part of their way I can." 


Hercules was torn by conflicting feelings. Part of him wanted to shake Gabrielle 
out of her 
complacency. Something about their lives in this timeline had exaggerated both 
her and Iolaus' desire to 
please, to subsume themselves into something larger. But it had erased the spark 
and energy and 
stubbornness that made them who they were. The Gabrielle he knew would sacrifice 
almost anything for 
Xena, would follow her till the ends of the earth, and would do almost anything 
Xena told her; but she 
would also speak up when she disagreed with Xena, she could fight with courage 
and determination, and 
she would have talked the ears off anyone who would listen about the evils of 
slavery and war. 


Gabrielle stood up, saying, "I really should get back." 


"Thanks for the lunch--and the conversation." Yes, part of him raged inside at 
her serene acceptance of 
her status . . . but part of him envied it too. There *was* something about this 
Xena that drew him, 
something the Xena he knew kept carefully contained and controlled. This Xena 
would have never let her 
army get out of her control the way *his* Xena had. She could have unleashed her 
personal magnetism 
and gotten control of Darphus and her men, but even then something had prevented 
her from exerting 
the irresistable influence over others that she was capable of. Perhaps she 
didn't trust herself to 
control it, and even at her most savage, she was afraid of giving her power full 
rein. That was one of 
the reasons he had been able to see her potential for good. As cruel and 
murderous and vicious as she 
had been, she had known there were lines she shouldn't cross. This Xena had no 
such scruples, but he 
felt himself drawn to her, despite despising her methods. It troubled him that 
he couldn't figure out if 
that feeling was simply an artificial result of her charisma being brought to 
bear on him, or whether it 
originated within himself. It didn't occur to him until later that perhaps those 
possibilities did not 
mutually exclude each other, that the feelings Xena inspired in him and others 
*were* real and that 
was what made her so dangerous. He did know that he craved to be singled out by 
her, and that 
Gabrielle's casual "She has her eye on you" had unleashed a wave of hope in his 
heart. 


At the same time, he recalled Gabrielle's information that Xena never let anyone 
close to her. Hercules 
*had* to get close to her to accomplish his goals, but he also desperately hoped 
the bond he had with 
*his* Xena would have some meaning in *this* world. As he worked, mechanically 
setting the stones 
in place and mostly succeeding at keeping the chain out of his way, he realized 
what disturbed him so 
much about Gabrielle and Iolaus' manner. It was their glassy serenity. They both 
seemed to enjoy and 
find fulfillment in their roles, and they obviously derived sexual satisfaction, 
but both seemed to lack 
*passion*. They were graceful, obedient, and responsive, but it was as if their 
responses were more 
conditioned and automatic than spontaneous or *alive*. His own passion for Xena 
had never died and 
never would, even as they had allowed an enduring friendship to grow between 
them. He felt an 
unaccountable desire to break through the invisible wall the Conqueror kept 
around herself, and he 
somehow knew that if he had any chance to do so, it would be by distinguishing 
himself from Gabrielle 
and the other slaves. He wanted this Xena to recognize him as a part of her 
soul, and he wanted to melt 
her detachment into something resembling the passion and intensity of the Xena 
he knew. 
  
  


Chapter 4 
  
  


A few days later, Hercules found an opportunity to bring himself to the 
Conqueror's attention, although 
it would not have been his first choice of methods. He was bringing a load of 
wood inside, and Gabrielle 
was approaching the room where Xena held conferences with her generals. She was 
carrying a tray 
with a carafe of wine and some mugs. Suddenly and inexplicably, her grip shifted 
on the heavy tray and 
she dropped it. Reacting on instinct, Hercules sped down the hall to her side, 
dropping his load of wood 
heavily. He said to Gabrielle, with all the authority his voice could muster, 
"*Don't* say anything!" As 
the door slammed open, and an angry Conqueror stalked out, he dropped to one 
knee, his head bowed, 
and said, "I'm sorry. It was my fault, my lady; I accidentally bumped into her." 


Xena pulled his head up by the hair and looked him shrewdly in the eye. Her gaze 
seemed to say, "I know 
you're lying," but what she said out loud was, "That was a very expensive wine, 
slave boy, and you 
disrupted my meeting with my generals. I can't take that lightly." 


"Yes, my lady," he murmured, shocked at his own feelings of awe. Much as he 
disapproved of her 
methods and everything *this* Xena represented, he couldn't help but be 
intoxicated by her aura of 
power and authority. And he quailed inside at the thought that he'd angered her, 
although he knew it 
wasn't his fault, and he was pretty sure she knew it too. "I can't tolerate that 
kind of carelessness," 
she continued, her voice like ice; "you'll have to be flogged. Be in my throne 
room at sunset." 


"Yes, my lady," he answered, angry with himself for the slight quaver in his 
voice. Still holding on to a 
handful of his hair, she slapped him once across the face, and he felt utterly 
naked, as if the heat of her 
hand striking his cheek had instantly melted his clothes and several layers of 
skin, leaving him exposed 
in a way that was entirely unfamiliar to him. 


He gazed up at her, lips slightly parted in astonishment, wondering just what he 
*wouldn't* do at her 
command. Her icy blue eyes seemed to lance into his, noting and gauging the 
depth of his surrender to 
her authority. One side of her mouth quirked slightly in a glimmer of a 
predatory smile; then she turned 
her attention to Gabrielle, who was standing nearby, her eyes wide with 
disbelief. "Get us some more 
wine and help him clean this up," ordered Xena before returning to the 
conference room. 


Gabrielle scurried off to fulfill the first order, while Hercules mechanically 
went to fetch cleaning 
supplies. When Gabrielle had safely made her delivery, and was helping him clean 
up, she gasped, "Why 
did you do that? Do you know what's going to happen to you?" 


"Yes," he answered quietly, with a slight smile. "I remembered what you said 
about being punished. I 
think I can better take a flogging than you. I have a pretty high pain 
tolerance." 


"Oh, she'll make sure it hurts," insisted the blonde slave. "She'll probably 
have Callisto do it, and she's 
deadly with that whip. But I can't have you take a punishment for *me*." 


"Yes. You. Can," he said firmly. "Will it make you feel better to know I also 
had my own reasons for 
wanting to come to her attention?" 


"It helps a little," Gabrielle said softly. "Whatever your reasons, thank you. I 
owe you." 


"No you don't," he returned. "I took this on myself." 


* * * 


At sunset Hercules was dutifully waiting in the throne room, on his knees, head 
bowed. Part of him was 
still tugged by an urge to submit and surrender to Xena, and part of him held a 
hard determination not to 
break, but rather to give her the best show he could. He realized suddenly that 
his urge to submit and 
his desire to perform for her were part and parcel of the same impulse. 
Resistance was out of the 
question--it would utterly thwart his reason for being here. Breaking down would 
be intolerable and 
make him a failure in the Conqueror's eyes. Dignified submission seemed the only 
option. He hoped he 
could muster it. 


Xena swept in, followed by Callisto who was carrying a long, coiled whip with a 
single tail. Several 
household slaves and attendants followed, as well as some of Xena's generals--
Hercules was to be made 
an example of, and all watching would know that Xena ran her household, and by 
extension her 
territory, with an iron hand. Xena sat on her throne, and her generals dispersed 
themselves around 
her, while the slaves, including Gabrielle, were off to the side. 


Xena's voice echoed in the large chamber. "Slave boy! Go stand with your hands 
against that column. I 
expect you to keep both hands there until I tell you to move them." 


"Yes, my lady," he answered in clear, firm voice. 


He walked over to the column she indicated. It was wide, and he placed his hands 
flat upon it and apart, 
the chain from his cuffs dangling between them, his legs wide for balance. 


Xena spoke to Callisto: "Give him twenty, ten on each side, in a feather 
pattern. I want his whole back 
striped. And he looks pretty tough--make them deep enough that he'll be feeling 
them for a few days. 
Draw blood." 


"Yes, my lady," answered Callisto, with a hint of delighted mania in her voice. 
So she wasn't entirely 
unlike her other self, thought Hercules, as he tossed his hair back impatiently 
and waited. Callisto came 
up behind him, saying thoughtfully, "Oh yes, that's very nice. The marks will 
suit you, slave boy. I 
think we'll start . . . here," she noted, as she traced a line along his 
shoulder blade with her finger, then 
traced the identical line on the other side, while he struggled not to recoil 
visibly at her touch. "And 
then here," she added, moving her finger down, "and then the other stripes will 
be longer until we get 
down . . . here," she ran her fingers along his lower back, "when they get 
shorter again. It's really 
quite an attractive pattern. My Lady Xena has good taste." She moved around to 
his side and in a 
suddenly hard voice, ordered, "Kiss it!" She brought the coiled whip to his 
lips, and he bent his head and 
kissed the black leather, trying not to show that he was actually a little 
afraid. Her voice returned to 
the almost childlike quality it had had earlier: "And you'll be glad to know I 
have *perfect* control." 


He tossed his hair again, restlessly, and he caught a glimpse of Xena watching 
with intense focus. Yes, 
he had certainly brought himself to her attention. The thought steeled him, and 
he took a deep breath, 
focusing his attention, and consciously relaxing his muscles. The preparation 
helped a little, but the 
first crack of the whip took his breath away. It was like a line of icy cold 
fire on his skin, followed by 
almost unbearable rush of pain from the wound's contact with open air. The line 
followed the identical 
path Callisto had traced with her finger, and he could feel a tickle from drops 
of blood beginning to drip 
from the stripe, while it still burned and throbbed with a sharp ferocity. 


Callisto paused, wanting Hercules and all the watchers to absorb the impact of 
the first stripe before 
she laid down the second. With a deafening crack, she sliced open his flesh on 
the other side, with 
apparently the same length stripe, and the same depth as the first. Another 
pause, and another blow on 
the first side. This time the line of fire was slightly longer. He gasped with 
each blow, but refused to 
cry out. By the sixth stripe, he had to concentrate to keep his now sweaty hands 
in place on the column. 
From what Gabrielle had told him, slaves were *always* bound during a flogging, 
and the fact that he 
wasn't, he realized, meant that this was a very serious test. He had no 
intention of failing. 


But it was hard, oh, so hard. The stripes grew longer as they moved in perfect 
precision down his back, 
each one angling up from his spine to the outside. The sharpness of the pain 
brought tears to his eyes, 
and he had to battle down a surging impulse to whirl around, rip the whip out of 
Callisto's hand, and 
break her neck--or at least drive his fist into the column which supported him, 
bringing it down. There 
was something about this quality of pain that sent bolts of energy surging 
through him--he *had* to 
move, he had to release some of the pain--and he couldn't. He thought of *his* 
Xena, her back marked 
by Callisto's knife, and his own back repeatedly opened up under this Callisto's 
whip, and his mind 
whirled with confusion. And his blood welled out of each slice from the whip, 
and it suddenly occurred 
to him that it was an offering to the Conqueror. He carefully repositioned his 
slippery hands, fought 
back the low growl that was rising in his throat, and surrendered himself. 


With each crack of the whip, he gritted and bared his teeth, trying not to let a 
sound escape, and he 
tossed his head, his flying hair being the only part of his body he was allowed 
to move. He was 
shattering and dissolving with each strike, his will seeming to seep out of him 
with his blood. Despite all 
of his problems with his father, so much of his sense of himself was bound up in 
being the son of Zeus. 
Now all that was slipping away, so that all he was was a slave whose body no 
longer belonged to him, 
but was subject to be used and even flayed open at the will of another. The pain 
never got more 
tolerable, and in fact, each successive blow built up the pain across his entire 
back even more. It was 
more unbearable each time the whip laid his flesh open with perfect accuracy, 
every time his back 
erupted in that sharp-edged flash of fiery pain. After what seemed like hours, 
it was over, the 
twentieth stripe laid down with the same exquisite precision as the first. His 
back both burned with 
pain, all the wounds flinching from the open air, and itched ferociously--both 
the deep, quivering itch of 
the wounds themselves and the tickling sensation of numerous tendrils of blood 
making their way down 
his back. 


He remained in position obediently, waiting for permission to move. "You may 
move now," said Xena 
calmly, "and thank her who gave you your deserved punishment." Gabrielle had 
prepared him for this, 
and the thought sent a wave of nausea through him. He carefully turned around, 
got down on his knees, 
and bent his head down to kiss Callisto's boot. She emitted a slightly manic 
giggle, and he wondered if 
she had any idea how close she came to being flung bodily across the chamber. 
Then he stood up, 
squared his shoulders despite the pain, and walked boldly and with his head high 
toward Xena's throne. 
There, he again dropped to his knees, again bent over to kiss her boot, noting 
the pain as the skin on his 
back stretched open the slashes from the whip. He murmured, "Thank you for 
correcting me, my lady." 
She simply nodded coldly and said, "I trust you won't earn yourself another 
flogging, slave boy," then 
directed Gabrielle to tend to his wounds, dismissing them both. 


Gabrielle was crying as she led him to the castle infirmary, where wounded 
soldiers were normally 
treated. "I . . . I've never seen a whipping like that. Oh gods, and it should 
have been me!" 


"No," he hastened to reassure her. "I knew what I was doing when I stepped into 
that. *Please* don't 
blame yourself." He cupped her jaw gently in his hand and tipped her face up to 
look in his eyes. "Listen 
to me, Gabrielle. It was *my* choice." He knew Xena had chosen Gabrielle on 
purpose. She couldn't flog 
her for dropping the wine, but she could certainly make her suffer his flogging 
vicariously. 


Gabrielle let herself be consoled; she was used to others telling her what to do 
and think. She prepared 
a salve, explaining, "All I'm allowed to put on your back is something to 
prevent infection." Hercules 
nodded; of course, Xena wouldn't want it to heal any faster than necessary. If, 
as he expected, 
floggings were usually administered to set an example to other slaves, she'd 
want the reminders to 
last, and the stripes were deep enough that even his faster-than-normal healing 
ability wouldn't get rid 
of them soon. 


He ceased to pay attention to Gabrielle's gentle touch on his back, as he 
pondered his own reactions to 
the flogging. Nothing had shaken his unwavering belief that slavery was an 
absolute wrong, but 
something in him had thrilled at the knowledge that Xena had ordered and was 
witnessing his 
punishment. His abasement was all the more complete in that she'd ordered 
another to administer the 
flogging--that it was Callisto was an irony that he couldn't even begin to get 
his mind around at the 
moment--and in that he'd essentially consented to it by not being bound. He 
gestured slightly and 
realized he was getting used to the clinking of the chain that dangled from his 
manacled wrists; much of 
the time he forgot it was there. And feeling Xena's eyes devouring him as the 
whip landed, he had felt 
an overwhelming desire to please her. He flushed, bowing his head so Gabrielle 
wouldn't see as she 
continued her ministrations to his back. Who was he becoming, he wondered. 


* * * 


Hercules had even more trouble than usual falling asleep, worried that he might 
roll on his back and still 
troubled by his responses to the whipping. Sleep had used to come so easy to 
him, but not here. He had 
become so used to having a warm body, a particular warm body, to enfold into his 
embrace each night, 
that he was uneasy sleeping alone. He forced himself not to think of Iolaus when 
Xena was around; he 
had to be alert and focused. But at night, or during the days when he had seen 
the Conqueror riding off 
on business, his thoughts invariably made their way to the blond hunter. He 
imagined himself twining his 
fingers in the tangle of curls; gazing rapt into those bright blue eyes which 
signalled surrender and 
submission and a knowing sense of mischief and complicity at the same time; 
feeling his heart skip a 
beat when one of those dazzling smiles flashed onto Iolaus' face; plunging his 
tongue into the warm 
cavern of Iolaus' mouth; watching that mouth sucking on one of his fingers, 
Iolaus' eyes closed in 
dreamy bliss; stroking his hands possessively along the muscled arms and legs 
and over the blond's 
chest and abdomen and back; sinking his fingers or teeth into the round, taut 
buttocks; and bringing the 
hunter's nipples to life with his rough ministrations. He usually had to stop 
his remembering at this 
point. Whenever he thought of Iolaus offering his mouth or his ass to be 
penetrated by Hercules' cock, 
the demigod invariably had a vision of Ares using Iolaus the same way, and his 
stomach would clench in 
hopeless fury. Enthralled as he was by the Conqueror's magnetism, he wanted his 
lover and friend and 
property back. 
  
  


Chapter 5 
  
  


The next day Hercules was back outside repairing fortifications. Xena was 
sparring with Callisto, 
whose moves were as lightning fast as he remembered, but Xena eventually 
disarmed and overpowered 
her with solid kicks and blows. Xena's war cries and Callisto's shrieks rang in 
the air, as both women 
flipped and whirled, trying to get an advantage. When Xena had Callisto pinned 
to the ground, she let her 
up and dismissed her with a friendly pat on the rear. 


He straightened momentarily, stretching and wiping the sweat from his eyes with 
his forearm, careful 
not to hit himself with the chain that dangled between his wrists. He winced, 
for the sweat stung the 
cuts in his back, but he'd been too busy to notice it until now. He felt her 
eyes upon him again and turned 
around. "Slave boy!" she called, walking toward him. "Do you have any fighting 
skills?" 


Hercules replied matter-of-factly, "I've been told I have some abilities in that 
area, my lady." 


"Really. And how are your reflexes?" 


He suddenly reached up and caught the knife she had thrown just as it was 
whizzing past his ear, and 
answered drily, "Fine." 


She grinned, "I see. Well, as you see, I'm sorely in need of a challenging 
sparring partner. Are you 
willing to volunteer?" 


"I don't want to hurt you, my lady." 


"So sure of your abilities, are you?" she laughed. "Well, think of it as doing 
me a favor. Even Callisto's 
too easy an opponent, and my skills are getting rusty. And I prefer to improve 
my chances of surviving 
the next battle any way I can." 


"Of course, my lady," he answered, remembering a time when *his* Xena had 
demanded he practice 
with her. He easily leapt the portion of wall he had been working on and 
approached the Conqueror. He 
returned her knife and dropped to one knee before her and bowed his head, his 
honey-colored hair falling 
forward. "However I can be of service, my lady." 


"Stand up. Hold out your wrists." She unlocked his manacles and tucked the key 
back into her bosom, 
saying, "Don't get used to being without those. They suit you." 


"As you wish," he answered quietly, wondering to himself, *Why does she trust 
me? I could easily 
break her neck and run. Is it so obvious that I've surrendered my will to hers?* 


"Turn around. Let me see your back," she commanded lightly. He complied. 
"Callisto does lovely work, 
don't you think?" she asked. 


"I can't fault her technique, my lady," he answered mildly, while she indicated 
that he could turn back 
and face her. 


She laughed. "You are a genuine prize, slave boy." She grabbed a sword from a 
small cart filled with 
weapons and tossed it to him. "So show me what you've got," she challenged. "And 
don't think of holding 
back, or I'll *really* lay your back open for disobedience." 


He didn't bother to explain that he rarely used his full strength in fights with 
humans. As it was, 
remembering his experiences with *his* Xena, he knew she would prove a 
challenge, even to *his* 
strength. They came together in a clash of blades, attacking and parrying. 
Hercules wondered if she 
knew that every move pulled and reopened the gashes in his back; he concluded 
she probably did and 
that this was another test. Of what? The extent of his submission? He knew she 
was more skillful than 
he was with a sword, but he took advantage of the fact that he could move 
considerably quicker than 
she would have expected, given his size. And Xena was being cautious, aware that 
he had no protection 
for his lower arms. Their movements evolved into a controlled dance, Xena 
attacking, and Hercules 
parrying. She whirled around, slashing downward toward his sword, and he spun 
backward, bringing 
the sword up with the strength of both arms above and behind his head. "You're 
not bad, slave boy," she 
muttered. 


Eventually, she saw an opening, and with a carefully controlled blow, she sent 
his sword flying away 
from him. He was actually relieved--this was more familar territory for him. She 
advanced on him, 
her sword flashing, but he readily avoided her blows, sometimes ducking under 
and sometimes jumping 
over her slashing sword, then threw himself into a sudden roll, knocking her off 
her feet and onto her 
back. She arched her back and jumped into a standing position, exclaiming, 
"*Good* boy!" As she raised 
the sword, he charged her, grabbing her wrist and throwing her. She flipped and 
landed on her feet and 
took a flying leap to strike him in the chest with a solid kick. As she spun 
around to kick him again, he 
caught her foot in his hand, upending her. She was up again immediately, but was 
breathing more 
heavily. 


"Is this the kind of thing you were looking for, my lady?" he demanded, as she 
came up behind him, and 
he drove an elbow backward into her stomach, which sent her flying backward. 


"Yes it is!" she panted, flinging her body into a roll, leaping to her feet, and 
charging him. He was about 
to grab her and simply pick her up and toss her, knowing she wouldn't get hurt, 
but she was quicker and 
managed to hook a foot around his ankle, bringing him down hard on the grass. He 
winced as the blades 
stabbed into the wounds on his back, almost all of them bleeding again and 
stinging excruciatingly from 
sweat. She pointed her sword at his throat, but he clapped his hands on the 
blade. Their eyes locked, 
and for a moment he thought he saw a gleam of recognition there. They had been 
there before, and he 
wondered if any memories from the original timeline were seeping through. As it 
was, she was 
distracted for a moment, and he wrested the sword out of her grasp, flung it 
aside and rolled up to his 
feet. 


Mad at herself for letting her concentration waver, she took it out on Hercules, 
driving him backward 
with a series of solid, well-placed kicks to his chest and stomach. "C'mon slave 
boy!" she taunted. He 
ducked under a backhanded swing to his jaw, and scooped her into his arms. She 
flipped herself over 
backward and out of his grip, struck him a blow in the jaw that spun him around, 
then locked her arm 
around his neck from behind, yanking his head back by the hair with her other 
hand. 


"Am I allowed to surrender, my lady?" he gasped, knowing he was perfectly 
capable of dislodging her 
arm but not positive he could do so without breaking it. 


"Normally, I'd say no," she said, releasing her grip on him, "but I think your 
back's taken enough 
punishment." His back was streaked with blood, and strewn with clinging blades 
of grass. She reached 
out her hand and clasped his wrist firmly, treating him for a moment, as almost 
an equal. "That was 
impressive, slave boy. Best workout I've had in a *long* time." 


He bowed his head, then dropped to one knee, surprised at how naturally this 
gesture was coming to 
him. "My privilege and my pleasure, my lady." 


"Flatterer," she laughingly accused. "Stay there." She retrieved his manacles, 
then fastened them back 
on him, musing, "you seem to have a lot of ways of making yourself useful. Take 
those weapons back to 
the castle, then get yourself cleaned up and get those gashes looked at again. I 
want to see you and 
Gabrielle in my chambers at dinner time. It's time for you to learn some new 
duties." 


"As you wish, my lady," he replied. 


She looked down at him, where he remained kneeling, traced one finger in a path 
over his cheekbone and 
along his jawline and thence to his lips, where he lightly kissed it. "You're 
turning out even more 
useful, not to mention entertaining, than I anticipated, slave boy. *Don't* 
disappoint me." She turned 
around and walked away, collecting her sword as she went, neatly flipping it up 
into her hand with her 
foot. He got up slowly and rather painfully and set about fulfilling her orders. 


* * * 


As he moved toward the slave's quarters to get cleaned up, Gabrielle came 
running toward him. "She 
wants me to take care of your back," she explained. 


He nodded. "Just let me wash up a little first." 


The cold water was excruciating on his back, but he was glad to flush all the 
sweat and grass and dirt 
out of the gashes from the whip. 


"What did she do to you?" asked Gabrielle, applying a salve that would prevent 
infection. 


"Target practice," answered Hercules, and he shrugged self-deprecatingly and 
smiled. 


"She wants you to wait outside her chambers; I'll bring her dinner later. She'll 
let you know when 
you're wanted," explained Gabrielle. 


Hercules waited outside the Conqueror's chambers, as ordered. After a while, the 
door opened, and she 
looked out. "Come in, slave boy." As he followed her, he noticed that she was 
wearing a long black 
robe, tied with a sash, with apparently nothing underneath. 


"Let's see your back," she said abruptly. He turned around, and her fingers very 
lightly inspected him. 
"You'll do. They'll heal. Now--I'm assuming that strength of yours is good for 
more than carrying 
firewood, repairing fortifications, and flinging me around the practice field." 
She smiled almost 
warmly, before resuming her abrupt tone. "How are you at giving a massage?" 


He grinned, saying, "I've been told I have some abilities in that area." 


"Good. Prove it." She unlocked and removed his manacles, then walked over to a 
kind of padded table, 
opened the top of her robe and pulled her arms out of the sleeves, then lay face 
down on the table, her 
back bare. Hercules had caught a glimpse of breasts, breasts he had caressed and 
worshipped and 
suckled. What this Xena had in common with *his* Xena was an utter lack of self-
consciousness about 
her body. Xena could be just as intimidating nude as she could in the severest 
armor. 


"As you wish," he whispered, and began rubbing her neck, thumbs firmly rotating 
at the base of her 
skull. Any flexing of his muscles made his own back throb and ache; Callisto had 
laid stripes across 
every possible muscle group. But he was overcome again with an intense desire to 
please this cold 
warlord, and not only as a ploy to achieve his goal of restoring the original 
timeline. 


"Oh, that's good," she purred, as his strong thumbs made their way down her 
neck. "You just got 
yourself another job, slave boy." 


"I--I hope to please you, my lady," he stammered. 


"Well, keeping working at it," she returned. "You've made me a good deal sorer 
than I've been for a long 
time." 


His hands moved to her bare shoulders, and he began to probe them deeply with 
his fingers, using his 
strength to coerce knotted muscles into submission. "Is this too hard, my lady?" 
he asked as his thumbs 
worked deeply into her shoulders. 


"No. I'll let you know if it's too hard, slave boy." 


"Yes, my lady," he answered, somewhat abashed. But he took pride in his task, 
and relished the feeling 
of the tense muscles yielding to his pressure. He didn't exactly know what such 
a massage would feel 
like--no one he knew was strong enough to really liquify his muscles like that, 
although his Xena had 
come close--, but he knew from experience that a Herculean backrub was a prized 
commodity. Iolaus in 
particular would congratulate himself on having a half-god as a lover, when 
Hercules would give him a 
massage. No, best not to think of Iolaus now. Satisfied that the shoulder 
muscles had loosened 
sufficiently under his hands, he placed them on Xena's upper arms and began 
working his way down. She 
allowed herself a small sigh of contentment, and Hercules smiled to himself. 


Suddenly he noticed faint lines radiating across her back. Transfixed and 
momentarily forgetting 
himself, he traced one with his finger. "Yes," said Xena abruptly, as if reading 
his mind. "I don't mete 
out any punishment I haven't experienced myself. I wasn't born the Conqueror, 
you know. Now get back 
to work, slave boy." 

"Yes, my lady." Silently wondering about *this* Xena's past, he found a sore 
spot immediately under 
her shoulderblade, a hard knot of tension. He began rubbing it gently, then 
harder, seeming to dissolve 
it under his fingers. He moved down her spine, with sweeping outward strokes of 
the heels of his hands, 
and then worked his thumbs into another area of tension in her lower back. 


He returned his hands to her shoulders, for another long and deep massage, until 
she said, "Nice work, 
slave boy." Xena sat up, pulled on her robe, then gestured to the manacles. 
Hercules brought them to 
her and held out his arms while she locked them back on. Then she said, 
"Gabrielle will be bringing my 
dinner soon. Go kneel in the corner there out of the way. Watch and learn." 


He flushed, but moved quickly to his appointed place. He had a pretty good idea 
just what he would be 
watching and learning, and a tangle of confused emotions whirled in his brain. 
On the one hand, he found 
his position both embarrassing and humiliating. Embarrassing because he would be 
watching Xena making 
intimate use of Gabrielle; humiliating because he was being made to watch. At 
the same time, he had a 
flash of hope in his heart; if he was to watch and learn, then presumably Xena 
would be wanting him for 
the same purposes. Yet he also felt absurdly jealous of Gabrielle. How did the 
Conqueror have this 
effect on him? 


But then he reminded himself ruefully that Xena always *had* had this effect on 
him, if not in such a 
dramatic way. The day before the battle with the revivified Darphus he had 
fallen hard, although he 
suspected it first happened when he held a sword to her throat, and she had 
glared at him, courage and 
defiance blazing out of those blue eyes. But that day before the battle--when 
poor Iolaus had gone off to 
scout--and he had watched her bravely confronting her new life, he had realized 
in a flash why Iolaus 
had been so dangerously infatuated with her. Hercules willingly handed her his 
heart on a platter. He had 
hoped she did care and that she was, in some way, reciprocating his feelings, 
but he already knew they 
weren't destined to be a couple. But he also realized it didn't matter what she 
felt--he was willing to 
give her anything she wanted, even if she was just using him. 


Despite all the pain that had come later--his own hurt feelings about her 
entirely expected departure, 
Iolaus' hurt feelings about his betrayal, and Ares' subsequent assault on Iolaus 
which finally forced the 
friends to confront their feelings about each other--he had never regretted that 
time. Desire had flared 
between them, white-hot, pure as silver, and incandescent. His hands had burned 
where they touched 
her body, his muscles had melted when she touched his, their mouths had fused in 
drought-quenching 
kisses, and when she had guided his cock inside her, she had locked him to her 
with a strength and force 
that freed all of his own. He was surprised they didn't consume each other in 
the heat and friction of 
their powerful bodies. 


From that point on, a part of him had belonged to her, even as he was forced to 
realize his love for 
Iolaus, even as he later betrayed that love with his own impetuous foolishness 
in marrying Serena. 
When Hera had bound Prometheus, Hercules' first and only thought was that he had 
to stop Xena from 
striking the fatal blow. When Ares had framed him for Serena's murder, she had 
brought him back to 
himself, and in a few quiet words she had made him see his own mistakes with 
utter clarity. He had had 
to take time to mourn, but it was the memory of Xena's words that finally sent 
him back to Iolaus, 
apologizing the most abject way he knew how. And when Callisto had taken Xena 
captive, leaving her 
hurt, terrified, broken, and shattered, he had dedicated himself to putting her 
back together. Which, of 
course, had gotten them into this mess. They might have known that humiliating 
Ares would have future 
repercussions, but they both couldn't resist. 


And here he was, kneeling on a stone floor, his wrists manacled, waiting for a 
demonstration in the 
proper methods of serving as a personal slave of a violent and ruthless warlord, 
while his lover was 
quite happily serving as the plaything of the god of war. Hercules' musings were 
interrupted by a light 
tap on the door and the entrance of Gabrielle. 


She carried a heavy tray and deftly set the dishes and platters on the 
Conqueror's table, barely 
acknowledging Hercules' presence. Her job was to please her Mistress, and if her 
Mistress wanted him 
there, then that's how it should be. She poured a goblet full of wine, then 
stepped back. Xena gestured at 
the blonde slave's clothes, and Gabrielle took them off, folding them carefully 
and putting them on a low 
stool. She knelt, naked, near Xena's chair, and Xena said, "You need some 
adornment, girl." She pulled 
something that glinted out of a pocket in her robe. It was only when she began 
to attach them to 
Gabrielle's nipples that Hercules realized it was a pair of silver clamps, 
linked with three light chains. 
He winced slightly in sympathy, as Gabrielle silently gasped, her lips parting 
but making no sound. 


"Have you already eaten?" asked Xena brusquely. 


"Yes, my lady," whispered Gabrielle. Hercules and Iolaus had played with such 
toys before, and while 
he was usually the one applying them, not wearing them, they reversed roles on 
occasion. He 
remembered the sensation quite vividly--an intense, shooting pain that burned 
and throbbed its way 
directly to his cock. He couldn't help wondering how it would feel with a 
woman's full breasts, and then 
he was horrified, but not entirely surprised, to discover that his cock was 
beginning to swell inside his 
tight pants. 


"Good," said Xena, "because I want some entertainment while I eat." She was 
seated at the head of a 
long wooden table, and she directed Gabrielle to get up on the table, lying down 
at the other end out of 
the way of Xena's dinner. "Spread your legs wide, girl," she ordered. "I want 
your fellow slave to have 
a good view. Now play with yourself. I want you dripping wet by the time I 
finish eating, but I don't 
need to tell you not to come." 


Hercules flushed a deeper red, but no one was looking at him, and he couldn't 
help watching with rapt 
attention. And he couldn't help remembering when he had ordered Iolaus to 
perform in a similar fashion 
for him. Gabrielle positioned herself as directed, spread her legs, and began 
playing with her own pubic 
hair, twisting the reddish curls around her finger. She then slid her finger 
along her center, parting her 
lips. At first she circled the entrance to her vagina with one finger, 
occasionally sliding it inside. 
Hercules glanced at Xena. He couldn't see her face, but her pose reminded him of 
nothing so much as a 
large bird of prey, focusing intently on its victim. She ate her dinner 
abstractedly, her attention on 
Gabrielle. 


He was getting increasingly aroused and was disturbed at his own reaction. There 
was no question that 
the situation was highly erotic, but it made him deeply uncomfortable at the 
same time. And Gabrielle 
was so matter-of-fact about what she was doing. She was obviously becoming more 
aroused, 
particularly as her now slick finger began circling her clitoris, but from what 
he could see of her face, 
she seemed neither humiliated by nor passionately involved in what she was 
doing. He might very well 
be in her place soon, he thought, as he watched her spreading her lips wider 
with one hand, and stroking 
her own increasingly engorged clit with the other. Would he be able to obey the 
Conqueror's every 
command, no matter how personally humiliating he found it? Would he be able to 
please her? Would he 
be able to distinguish himself from Gabrielle and the other slaves enough to 
earn her confidence and 
accomplish his mission? And would be able to move her enough to melt some of the 
ice from her eyes 
and her heart? He knew his desires were no longer entirely related to his 
mission; he knew he had to 
reach *this* Xena somehow in order to accomplish it, but he also wanted to reach 
her because he was 
captivated by her. And much to his own discomfiture, he was captivated by the 
idea of *serving* her. 


Xena finished her dinner, and ordered Gabrielle to stop what she was doing and 
clear the table. Gabrielle 
obeyed instantly and gracefully, not a hint in her facial expression to indicate 
that she was frustrated. 
She cleared the table, taking the heavy tray outside, but leaving the wine, 
which she brought into 
Xena's bedroom. Xena beckoned to Hercules, and he got up and followed her. She 
pointed to a stool in the 
corner of the bedroom, saying, "Over there. You've probably had enough of 
kneeling on a hard floor for 
now." Hercules was a bit surprised at the Conqueror's taste for luxury as he sat 
down on the stool and 
looked around him. The bed had a very sturdy iron frame, undoubtedly useful for 
securing bed-mates, 
and was draped by a canopy of rich purple velvet which matched the coverings on 
the bed. A few iron 
rings jutted from various points along the wall or hung from the ceiling, making 
the Conqueror's 
propensities very apparent. 


Xena directed Gabrielle to pull the coverings off the bed, and then she took off 
her own robe. Her body 
was as perfect as Hercules had remembered, strong, muscled, and yet rounded in 
all the right places. 
He desperately wanted to taste those nipples again and to fill his hands with 
the contours of those 
breasts. Gabrielle scurried to put the robe away, and then Xena said, "Hands and 
knees. Middle of the 
bed." Gabrielle obeyed, positioning herself on her hands and knees, legs spread 
wide. Hercules suddenly 
noticed a variety of chains and cuffs hanging from the corners of the bed frame. 
Xena selected the 
length she wanted and buckled the leather cuffs onto Gabrielle's ankles and 
wrists, so that there was a 
length of chain extending from the slave to the corners of the bed. Xena 
carefully maneuvered herself 
between the chains at the head of the bed, sitting in front of Gabrielle with 
her own legs parted. "Please 
me now, girl," she ordered. Gabrielle crouched lower, kissing her Mistress 
reverently between her 
legs before proceeding to pleasure her with her lips and tongue. 


*Watch and learn; there are rituals here I'm supposed to be picking up,* thought 
Hercules to himself, 
shifting slightly to accomodate his increasingly uncomfortable erection. Xena 
caught his eye as he 
shifted, and let a knowing half-smile reveal that she knew exactly what was 
making him uncomfortable. 
Then she returned her gaze to the strawberry blonde head moving between her 
legs. Hercules was 
momentarily rocked by a surge of jealousy, and he was sure Xena had read that 
too in her momentary 
glance. He deeply envied Gabrielle at the moment, wishing it was his tongue 
tasting the Conqueror's 
essence, his tongue giving her pleasure. And he knew, without any self-
inflation, that his strength made 
him better at providing that particular pleasure than almost anyone. Still, 
Gabrielle must have known 
what she was doing, for Xena soon took in her breath sharply, her body jolted in 
climax. 


"Good girl," she purred, stroking the slave's blonde hair. "Would you like to 
come, girl?" 


"If it pleases you, my lady," answered Gabrielle, back up on her hands and 
knees. 


*The rote answer,* thought Hercules grimly. *Watch and learn, indeed.* 


Xena retrieved a vial from a table next to her bed and positioned herself behind 
Gabrielle. "Get on your 
elbows," she ordered softly, and Gabrielle lowered herself again, and Hercules 
couldn't help admiring 
the way the pose made the slave's buttocks stand out while exposing all the 
treasures that lay between 
her legs. Xena pushed Gabrielle's legs a little farther apart, then poured oil 
from the vial over her hand. 
She spent a few moments stretching Gabrielle's vagina with three fingers, but 
was satisfied the slave 
was sufficiently prepared, and made her hand into a fist and pushed it inside. 
Hercules gasped at the 
same time that Gabrielle did. Gabrielle had obviously been entered this way 
before, and Xena's hand 
passed the muscled opening easily. Hercules had never seen anything quite like 
it, for all of the 
experimentation he and Iolaus had done. Seeing Xena's fist vanish into 
Gabrielle's body, seeing her wrist 
tightly gripped by those strong muscles was one of the most powerfully and 
intensely erotic sights he 
had ever seen. It gave him ideas, and he glanced at his own big hands, now 
marked with manacles and 
wondered two things: if such a thing would be possible with Iolaus, and if he'd 
ever have his Iolaus back 
to try it. 


Xena began moving her hand, rocking it slightly, then increasing her tempo, 
pulling her fist out part of 
the way and pushing it back in. Hercules pretty much forgot how to breathe, and 
he watched Gabrielle 
seeming to pull Xena back inside her. Xena's fist drove faster, and Gabrielle 
shrieked and bucked in her 
climax. "Good girl," murmured the conqueror, leaving her fist where it was. With 
the inside edge of her 
other hand, she began rubbing the slave's clitoris hard in a sawing motion. 
Gabrielle came again almost 
immediately. 


"Thank you, my lady," she gasped breathlessly. "My lady is too good to her 
slave." 


Xena only smiled and unbuckled the cuffs. She pulled Gabrielle into her arms, 
carefully removed the 
clamps, and held her while the slave came down off her shattering climaxes and 
gasped with pain from 
the clamps' removal, gave her some gulps of wine from her goblet, then dismissed 
her gently. As 
Gabrielle had reported, the Conqueror slept alone. Gabrielle obediently went to 
the outer room to gather 
her clothes and departed. Her body radiated all the signs of someone who had 
been thoroughly fucked, 
but her face maintained its usual placid expression. 


Xena carelessly pulled on her robe and tied the sash as she crossed the room to 
where Hercules waited 
mutely. "And did you learn, slave boy?" she asked. 


"I trust . . . I did, my lady," he answered carefully. His condition was all too 
apparent, and his cock had 
been ready to burst out of its leather restraints for quite some time now. 


Xena rested her hand lightly over the obvious bulge in his pants. "You're 
frustrated, aren't you, slave 
boy?" 


"Yes, my lady," he answered, his voice strained and his face flushed. 


"Good. I'd like you to stay that way for a while--until I give you permission to 
come. I won't know what 
you're doing alone in your sleeping chamber, obviously, but I'm asking you not 
to take care of it 
yourself." 


She could see by the defeated sag to his shoulders both that he was going to 
obey her command and that 
he wasn't at all happy about it. "As you wish," he murmured, bowing his head as 
he felt both shame and 
frustration flood his cheeks. 


Xena reached out and gently ruffled his hair, to soften the blow. "It's obvious 
you're not accustomed to 
slavery, boy," she said. "You're not like the others here. Yet that gives you 
the potential to be all the 
more valuable to your owner. I can see your willingness to suffer for me and to 
obey an order that I 
can't possibly enforce. That pleases me, slave boy." 


"Then I am more than rewarded, my lady, " he answered, and he meant it. 


She grinned and dismissed him. He walked rather uncomfortably to his sleeping 
quarters, and it was a 
long time before his erection subsided enough for him to get to sleep. Yet the 
thought of bringing himself 
relief was no longer even a remote possibility, and he realized he had submitted 
himself utterly to the 
Conqueror. No one but himself would know if he stroked himself to climax, but he 
wasn't even tempted 
to disobey Xena's command. 
  
  


Chapter 6 
  
  


Hercules woke up in the morning with his back itching ferociously; it meant that 
it was beginning to heal 
with his usual rapidity, but it wasn't comfortable. Before eating a quick meal 
and heading out to his 
work, he went to the infirmary in search of some kind of salve that would keep 
the cuts from drying 
out even more and cracking open again. He ran into Gabrielle on the way, and she 
offered to help. 
Hercules felt acutely self-conscious, remembering the night before, but 
Gabrielle's serene demeanor 
was unchanged. She applied salve to his back gently and efficiently, then 
returned to her other duties. 


Hercules spent the morning chopping and stacking firewood for the castle. The 
chain dangling between 
his wrists made the job extremely awkward, and he could feel various muscles 
getting sore from the 
effort of trying to swing the ax without hitting himself with the chain. And he 
was troubled by his 
experiences the night before--by Xena's treatment of her slaves and by his own 
undeniable reactions to 
that treatment. 


Suddenly he stopped in mid-swing, feeling the unmistakable mental twitch of 
sensing one of his divine 
family members nearby. He turned around to see Ares watching, his arms folded 
across his chest, and 
a wide grin leering from his face. "It's good to see you settling into your new 
lifestyle, brother," he 
mocked. 




"This isn't over yet, Ares!" snapped Hercules, his voice hard. 
"In your dreams," laughed the god. "You're just a body to her, a piece of 
particularly well-prepared 
*meat*. And she's content in this time in a way she never was before--no 
conflict, no internal 
struggles. I don't know why I never thought of this before. If you really think 
she's going to listen to 
your stories about another time, you're deluding yourself." 


Hercules glanced around. Xena and Callisto had ridden out that morning, and no 
one else was around. 
With a primal roar he flung the ax at the god, striking him in the chest. Ares 
looked vaguely surprised 
at the ax blade buried in his chest, then pulled it out and threw it back with a 
roar of his own. Prepared 
for this move, Hercules sidestepped and caught the ax by the handle, tossing it 
aside. 


Ares charged him, but Hercules clasped his hands together and swung out, 
catching the god in the 
stomach. Ares staggered backward, but charged again, grabbing the chain and 
yanking Hercules 
forward, then giving him a solid knee to the groin. Hercules took in his breath 
sharply and gasped, "you 
must be worried that Xena *will* listen to me, or you wouldn't be here trying to 
convince me 
otherwise." He punched Ares in the jaw with a sharp jab, causing the god to let 
go of the chain. 


Ares kicked Hercules in the stomach, sending him flying backward. The hard 
landing on his back opened 
several of the gashes, and as he jumped to his feet, he could feel the shock of 
air, and grass, and sweat 
stinging the wounds. "Wrong again, brother," taunted Ares. "I just hate to see 
you wasting your time 
and energy in a lost cause." 


"Your concern is touching," muttered the demigod, biting off his words sharply. 


"You should work on some acceptance issues," said Ares with mock sincerity. "You 
could do worse than 
to be the Conqueror's favorite pet." 


"What's the matter?" asked Hercules calmly. "Jealous?" 


Ares' face twisted in a brief spasm of rage, and the fight resumed, with 
Hercules silently cursing the 
chain that limited his movements. He managed to grab the front of Ares' leather 
vest, however, and 
haul him forward, kicking his feet out from under him. He straddled the god, 
bringing his wrists 
together, and swung the chain in a vigorous swipe across Ares' face. "Gotcha, 
didn't I?" said Hercules 
with a lethal smile. 


Ares roared and shoved the demigod off him, rolling up to his feet and taking 
Hercules down with a jab 
to the solar plexus. "What you haven't figured out, brother," sneered the god, 
"is that I win either way. 
If I lose Xena to the original timeline, you lose her too, and I *know* that 
however much you want your 
golden boy back, you're gonna miss what you have here." Ares' eyes were bright 
with triumph, and a 
predatory grin slashed his face. "And you'll spend the rest of your life knowing 
how much of a slave 
you are and . . . " Ares vanished, with his voice trailing off, "knowing that 
*I* know it too." 


Hercules sagged momentarily, staggered by the truth of Ares' jeering words. But 
he took a deep breath 
and forced himself to return to his work, all the while shaking inside. There 
was nothing he could do 
about what he was discovering in himself, and there was nothing to do about 
Ares' knowledge of it. It 
would just be another weapon against him in the god's arsenal, but Hercules 
wasn't without his own 
collection of Ares' weaknesses. The never-ending contest would just have another 
layer of bitterness 
added to it. His only consolation was that if he *did* succeed in restoring the 
original timeline, Ares 
would probably be too humiliated by his defeat to blurt out embarrassing facts 
about Hercules to Iolaus 
and Xena. 


He spent the rest of the day in a haze of self-pity, doing his work 
automatically, while cursing the fact 
that he would never be let alone, never be able simply to live his life without 
worrying about his loved 
ones or himself being targeted. Then he thought of Iolaus moaning under his 
hands and mouth, his blue 
eyes brilliant with desire. Hercules fell to his knees, his face in his hands, 
awash in memories of his 
life with the blond hunter. There were plenty of rough edges where they rubbed 
against each other, 
sometimes irritatingly, sometimes painfully, but where they did fit, they fit so 
well. Waking up next to 
Iolaus gave Hercules a peace that he hadn't felt since he lost his family, but 
at the same time, Iolaus 
inspired in him a consuming lust linked with a desire to possess that he had 
never felt with anyone else. 
And Iolaus gave himself--freely, willingly, completely, with a fierceness and 
strength that let Hercules 
know that Iolaus was going after what *he* wanted just as ruthlessly as Hercules 
was. And that 
knowledge freed the demigod to love Iolaus with a driving passion, claiming the 
hunter ever more 
surely as *his*. 


He got up with a sigh, preparing a load of firewood to bring into the castle, 
unaware that he had been 
watched by two women on horseback, one dark and one blonde. "There's more to him 
than meets the 
eye," mused Xena to Callisto, "although what meets the eye is certainly 
enticing. I can't help wondering 
what it is that he left behind." 


* * * 


While Hercules was distributing firewood inside the castle, Gabrielle came 
running up to him. "She 
wants you tonight after dinner; she's having a dinner meeting with Callisto and 
some of the others. 
You're to wait like last night." 


Hercules nodded. "Thank you, Gabrielle. I'll be there." 


When he was done with his chores and had eaten supper, he cleaned himself up, 
not happy about the 
twinges and stinging across his back. He would have felt a lot better if he 
hadn't been fighting with 
Ares, and he gritted his teeth in a momentary spasm of fury. He reflected that 
this was probably not 
the best mood in which to greet his Mistress, remembering his sister's pithy 
advice to "lose the 'tude, 
dude." But he was both depressed and angry and didn't know if he could hide it. 


His body strung tight with tension, he took himself to his appointed place 
outside the Conqueror's 
chambers. After about ten minutes, he saw her approaching down the corridor. 
Just watching her walk, 
he felt the aura of the magnetism she emanated, and his earlier mood thawed into 
an irresistible drive 
to please and serve. "Slave boy," she said matter-of-factly, then simply jerked 
her head toward her 
door, indicating that he was to follow her. 


There was a bath filled with steaming water waiting in the main room. Xena 
turned to look at Hercules 
and asked, "So how are you at washing a woman's hair?" 


"Pretty good, I think," he answered with a shrug and slightly raised eyebrows, 
thinking of the time 
when he'd been called to wash a shattered and bruised Xena's hair after her 
ordeal with Callisto. And 
Deianera had loved for him to wash her hair. 


"Good," she said. "Help me remove my armor." 


"As you wish," he said quietly and unbuckled her armor, removing it, and sliding 
the bracers off her 
arms as she held them out to him. She sat down, indicating her boots, and he 
knelt in front of her, 
pulling them off. 


She stood up and took off the rest of her clothes and said, "Go get that tray." 
The tray held soap, a 
sponge, and some vials of fragrant oil. He brought it over to the tub and shook 
a few drops from one of 
the vials into the water. "Very good," she said as she stepped into the tub. "On 
your knees, slave boy. 
I'll let you know when I need your help." Hercules kneeled by the side of the 
tub watching the Conqueror 
as she languorously soaped herself, drawing the sponge along the length of first 
one, then another 
bronzed, muscled leg, then along her arms. As the sponge in her hand swept in 
circles around her 
breasts, he felt his neglected cock beginning to stir. His eyes were riveted by 
her glistening skin, the 
taut curve of her neck, the slope of her breasts, and the alert nipples 
responding to the touch of the 
sponge and the difference in temperature between the water and the air. 


Xena suddenly tossed the sponge back over her shoulder, saying, "Think fast, 
slave boy!" Hercules 
reached out and caught it, reacting even before the words were spoken. "Wash my 
back," she ordered, 
leaning forward to give him access. 


"Yes, my lady," he answered, wrapping a loop of the chain around one arm so it 
wouldn't swing against 
her and complying quite willingly, sliding the sponge across the hard planes of 
her back. His fingers just 
ached to reach around and cup a slippery breast, and he figured she knew it, but 
he obeyed her 
scrupulously, not venturing with even a finger outside the selected territory. 


She sighed in relaxation, then said, "Now my hair." 


Hercules rubbed the soap between his hands, working up a lather, then began 
rubbing the soap into 
Xena's hair. His fingers massaged her scalp with exquisitely controlled 
pressure, and she exhaled 
slowly, saying lightly, "When Callisto brought you in, I knew you were special, 
but I didn't imagine 
you'd be useful in *so* many ways. I can't wait to find out what *else* you're 
good at." 


Hercules flushed, but continued working his fingers through her long hair, 
feeling it slide like wet silk 
between his fingers. There was a pitcher near the tub, and he filled it, 
carefully rinsing Xena's hair, 
entranced by its sleek fall away from her forehead as she tilted her head back. 
"Towel," she said as she 
stood up gracefully, rivulets of water glittering as they flowed down her body. 
He wrapped a large 
towel around her, then used another to soak up water from her hair. She sat down 
on a chair, still 
wrapped in her towel and told him where to find a comb. Hercules combed Xena's 
hair dexterously, then 
brought her her robe as ordered and helped her into it. She turned to him, 
tracing the shape of his lips 
with one finger. 


Xena draped herself in a large armchair, letting her robe fall open. "You have a 
lovely mouth, slave 
boy," she remarked; "come here and show me if you're as skilled at giving 
pleasure as you look." 


Hercules raised his eyebrows slightly and moved to kneel before her chair, his 
mouth quirking in a half-
smile. Feeling reckless, he asked, "Would my lady like it quick, or should I 
draw it out?" 


Xena grabbed a handful of long honey-colored hair, yanking hard, but the slight 
twitch of her mouth 
showed her amusement. "Draw it out, slave boy. In fact, I don't want to come 
until I tell you I'm ready. 
And keep your hands to yourself." 


"As you wish," answered Hercules quietly. This was something he was both good at 
and loved to do, and 
he had no doubt about his abilities to read her signals and hold her off until 
she was ready. And he had an 
advantage she didn't know about--experience, however brief, of pleasuring Xena's 
body before. 
Remembering how Gabrielle had started, he kissed her lightly at the very point 
of the upside-down 
triangle of her dark curls. He then parted the already-moist lips with his 
tongue, tracing a path along 
her center with a featherlight stroke. His strenuous tongue danced over her 
contours and along her 
folds, probing, licking, stroking, teasing, and swirling. Sometimes he toyed 
with the entrance to her 
body with the tip of his tongue or used it to tightly circle her clit. He would 
steadily increase the 
pressure of his strokes, as Xena's breathing grew more rapid, and her grip 
tightened in his hair. Then 
he would back off, exploring her with the lightest of touches as her breathing 
reluctantly slowed. 


He pushed inside her with his tongue, fucking her with voluptuous deliberation, 
probing the slick 
passage, using his strength and skill to keep raising the level of her arousal 
without taking her over the 
top. Then he drew long ovals with his tongue up from her entrance and around her 
clit and back down, 
while her breathing grew increasingly ragged. Hercules wondered if he could push 
the Conqueror to 
demand to come, and he closed his lips around her swollen clit, flicking it with 
his tongue. "Now, slave 
boy! Now!" she growled roughly, and Hercules smiled to himself, lapping at her 
clit with vigorous broad 
strokes that brought her shuddering to her peak and over it into waves of 
convulsive climax. 


She released her grip on his hair as her breathing slowed, and he sat back on 
his heels, tossed his hair 
back, and looked steadily into her eyes. "I'm impressed," she said coolly, and 
he marvelled at how 
quickly she mastered herself. "You're looking pretty pleased with yourself," she 
continued, "and don't 
think I don't know what you were doing there, boy. I wouldn't want you to forget 
your status, and that's 
why I will go to bed satisfied tonight, and *you* will not. Understand?" 


"Understood, my lady," he answered, his eyes shining with the knowledge of 
having pleased her. His 
cock was demanding attention, but his own satisfaction really didn't seem that 
important at the 
moment. 


Xena pulled him toward her by his hair, thrusting her tongue roughly into his 
mouth to taste herself 
there and kissing him roughly. Then she released him and said "You're dismissed, 
slave boy. Perhaps I'll 
have more use for you tomorrow." 


He bent over to kiss her hand and murmured, "Thank you for letting me serve you, 
my lady," then got 
up and walked out of the room, about as uncomfortably as he had the night 
before. 


* * * 


This time Xena summoned Hercules herself, after a day spent conferring with 
Callisto and efficiently 
and briskly directing groups of men who were moving weapons and supplies. She 
watched him work for 
a while, her lips involuntarily quirking into a smile as she admired the play of 
muscles under his sweat-
sheened skin. She observed the way he compensated for the annoying presence of 
the chain between his 
wrists, the way his biceps bulged as he lifted the heavy boulders he was using 
to repair her 
fortifications, and the way he tossed his long honey-colored hair off of his 
face. 


Finally she approached him, saying peremptorily, "Slave boy! I have use for you 
tonight. Get yourself 
cleaned up and come to my chambers." 


"As you wish," he answered, with a slight bow of his head. 


Newly bathed, he took himself to the doors of her apartments. The guards outside 
let him in with a 
knowing wink. She was at a table, looking at some parchment documents, and 
wearing the black silk 
robe she'd worn before. "Down," she said, pointing to the floor. He knelt near 
her feet, silently, and 
waited, his head bowed and his hair falling forward around his face. She licked 
her lips and went back to 
her work, until there was a knock at the door. "That'll be my dinner," she said. 
"Go get it and bring it 
inside. Set it up here." She cleared the documents off the table, while he went 
to the door. 


Hercules accepted a tray with covered dishes and a carafe of wine. He carefully 
set the table for her, 
moving as smoothly as possible to prevent the chain from clanking against 
things. "Very nice," she said. 
"Now, down." 


"Yes, my lady," he answered and knelt again near her feet. She began eating, 
then offered him a piece 
of food. He flushed for a moment in anger, but opened his mouth and took it. 


She laughed. "I knew some indignity would get to you, slave boy. Well, too bad. 
I *like* feeding you, 
and I like seeing you on your knees." 


"As you wish, my lady," he answered, not very effectively concealing the edge to 
his voice. 


She laughed again and offered him a sip of wine from her cup, and the meal 
continued, with the 
Conqueror feeding Hercules from her hand, treating him as nothing so much as a 
prized pet. His jaw and 
the cords of his neck tightened in anger and humiliation, but he had resolved to 
earn her trust, and if 
she wanted to feed him like a pet, then he would submit to it. When she finished 
her dinner, she said, 
"Take the tray outside. Someone will clear it up. Leave the wine." He carefully 
replaced the used dishes 
on the tray and took it to the guards outside. 


"Now come here," she ordered, "and bring the wine." He carried the carafe and 
the goblet to the 
bedroom where she beckoned him. 


"Now strip." 


"As you wish." Hercules nodded questioningly toward a low stool, and she gave 
him an answering nod in 
permission with a brief flick of her hand. He sat down and began to take off his 
boots. She poured 
herself a glass of wine and sat down on the bed to watch. He stood up and let 
his belt fall to the floor. 
She raised her eyebrows slightly and nodded at him to continue. Her scrutiny 
made him uncomfortable, 
but he found it enticing as well. He knew others admired his body, but he had 
never given it much 
thought. Now, being treated as a desired object, he was pleased at the 
impression he made. He 
unfastened his leather pants and pulled everything off, standing before her 
naked. 


She looked him up and down appraisingly, as a smile began to spread across her 
mouth. 


She pushed herself back on the bed, so that she was leaning on a pillow that 
rested against the iron bars 
at the head of the bedframe and patted the bed in front of her. "Come here. Sit 
facing away from me. 
And lean forward a little." He obeyed, and she began lightly tracing the cuts in 
his back with her 
fingertips and lightly stroking the muscles which stood out. "What a magnificent 
plaything you are," she 
remarked. "If the gods designed you as a pleasure toy, they couldn't have done a 
better job." 


Her voice was like dark honey laced with spice, and it insinuated itself around 
all his nerves, while her 
fingers played across his back. "I want you to answer my questions," she said in 
a harder voice. 


"As you wish, my lady," the demigod answered. 


"Why did you take that whipping for the girl? I hope you realize that what I was 
punishing you for was 
your presumption in intervening. I knew right away that the accident wasn't your 
fault." 


"I figured that, but I wanted to spare her punishment, my lady. I thought I was 
more capable of enduring 
a whipping than she was." 


"I see. And if you figured I saw through your ruse, what made you think I would 
go along with it?" 


"I hoped the prospect of seeing me whipped would prove entertaining enough that 
you would spare her," 
answered Hercules very quietly. 


"And so it was," the warlord remarked, drawing her finger with slightly harder 
pressure along each 
cut. "Was it so for you?" 


"If you're asking if that kind of pain excites me, my lady, no it doesn't. But I 
will admit to wanting to 
make an impression on you, to please you." 


"And so you did. How about this? Would *this* excite you?" He heard her reach 
for a knife, pull it out 
of its sheath, and then he felt her drawing it lightly over his back. She didn't 
break the skin, but merely 
skimmed the surface with the blade pressing just enough for him to feel it. The 
knife would leave faint 
lines, but not draw blood at that rate. "*Does* this excite you?" she demanded. 


"It would be obvious to you that I was lying if I said it didn't, my lady," said 
Hercules, ruefully 
regarding his stirring cock. 

She laughed. "And what if I decided to hurt you with this?" She pressed the 
point slightly into his 
shoulder blade. "What if I wanted to watch your blood oozing out of your skin? 
Would you try to stop 
me?" 


"No, my lady." 


"Why not?" 


"I want to please you." His voice trembled slightly. 


"That's hard for you, isn't it?" Xena purred, continuing to play with him, now 
drawing circles and 
spirals with the very point of the knife. 


"Yes and no," he answered. "Obeying *anyone* does not come easy for me, but I 
can't help wanting to 
serve you, to . . . submit to you." 


"I've noticed. It's one of the things I like about you, slave boy. You do it 
even though it's hard for you. 
It's been a long time since I've bothered summoning a man to my bed. Frankly, I 
prefer that little slave 
girl you protected so nobly. But there's something very tempting about you." She 
tossed the knife aside 
carelessly, got up and ordered, "Lie down with your hands above your head." 


He complied, and she wrapped the chain around his wrists, pulling them together, 
then reached for a 
lock on the table next to the bed and locked the chain to the lowest of the iron 
bars of the frame. His 
arms were stretched above his head, and his erection was impossible to conceal. 
"Oh, that's lovely, 
that really is," she murmured. "Chains become you, slave boy. What *is* it about 
you?" She raked her 
nails down the the underside of his arm, from his elbows to his armpits, leaving 
faint red lines. "I just 
look at you, and I want to abuse you," she continued. "And you're splendid, 
undeniably, but it's not just 
your looks that draw me." 


"You flatter me, my lady," he remarked, smiling up at her, while thinking to 
himself, *Perhaps you 
sense that I love you, love you even though you tried to murder me and you 
betrayed my best friend, 
love you despite your crimes and your dark soul. I ache with love for you--did I 
fall when I held a 
sword to your throat, and you offered it to me, expecting me to kill you? Or did 
I fall later when you 
changed? Ah, it's not you anyway, or is it?* 


She smiled. "May-be," she drawled, tracing a finger down the line of his jaw, 
"it's because those blue 
eyes of yours seem to beg for it whenever you look at me." 


*Admit it, Herc,* he thought to himself, *it's *this* one you want to be with 
right now. It's *this* 
Xena who makes you want to submit and serve.* He gazed up at her, eyes glowing 
with desire, and 
said, "Is it so obvious that I need you to use me?" 


"It's so obvious, slave boy, and use you I will--for *my* pleasure. Whether you 
will be allowed 
satisfaction will depend on how well you please me." 


"As you wish. But I have a name, my lady." 


"No doubt. And what is it?" 


"Hercules. Would you please indulge me by letting me hear you say it?" 


"It can't hurt," said the warlord casually, as she drew her hands along his 
upper arms, revelling in the 
feel of the slightly straining muscles. Then in a much gentler tone than he'd 
heard her use yet, she said, 
"Hercules. Hercules. *My* Hercules." 


He closed his eyes, and an identical voice from his memory came to his inner 
ear, saying, "Is this what 
it feels like to be you, Hercules?" 


"So, Hercules?" she asked. "Why haven't you broken that chain? I know you can." 
Her hands still 
molded his upper arms, sometimes travelling to his chest. 


"Yes, I can," he said simply. "I've *chosen* to obey you, my lady." 


"I'm flattered," she said with a wry smile. "But why should I trust you not to 
change your mind and 
decide to escape . . . or worse?" 


"You have my word," he insisted. "I will obey you and serve you to the best of 
my ability. And, 
frankly, there's not much you could do about it if I did decide to leave." 


"That will have to do," she said abruptly. "You're just too delicious to resist 
right now." Her hands 
wandered over his chest, running her fingers through the hairs, and lightly 
raking him with her nails. 
She stood up suddenly, untied her sash, and let the silk robe fall off. 


"You're beautiful, my lady," he said reverently. 


She smiled, and walked across the room to retrieve her knife, well aware that he 
was watching her as 
she moved. When she returned, she suddenly mounted him, and he gasped as his 
cock was enclosed by 
her moist heat. She didn't move, but took the knife and began drawing patterns 
with its point on his 
chest. "Don't move until I tell you," she ordered, while she drew lines along 
his abdominal muscles with 
the knife, then moved it back up to his chest, tracing a spiral that radiated 
outward from first one 
nipple then the other. His nerves danced as the point of the knife travelled 
over his chest and abdomen. 
She drew a circle with it within the hollow of his throat and then a straight 
line down to his navel, and 
then etched icy-hot lines along the tender flesh on the undersides of his arms, 
one after the other. She 
was fascinated by the swell of his pectoral muscles, and traced them with the 
knife, sometimes pausing 
to press it harder into his flesh, but without drawing blood. He moaned softly; 
it was agonizingly 
delicious to be inside her, and it was maddening not to be able to do anything 
about it. "I know what you 
want, Hercules," she added, "but whether you get it or not will depend on your 
perfect obedience. And 
on *my* whims. A slave shouldn't count on having his desires satisfied." 


"As you wish," he whispered. 


"Exactly," she answered with a smile, and he dared to grin back. They both knew 
they had an unspoken 
understanding, as if they were reading each others' minds. But she didn't want 
him to be too 
complacent, and she pressed the point of the knife into one nipple with perfect 
control. He wouldn't get 
hurt, but the sensation was like a bolt of lightning straight to his groin. He 
groaned aloud, exerting all 
his willpower to prevent his hips from thrusting upward. While keeping pressure 
on one nipple with the 
knife, she reached for the other with her free hand, and began to pull on it and 
roll it between her 
fingers. Hercules had a double motivation not to move. He was genuinely afraid 
of displeasing her--and 
not because he feared punishment, but because he wanted her to be pleased--and 
he didn't want to jolt 
the knife point pressing into his nipple. The other nipple burned with her rough 
handling. He was 
consumed with desire, and the desire to surrender himself to her pleasure burned 
even hotter than the 
desire for his own release. 


"Please, Xena," he begged her hoarsely. "Please let me use my hands." 


She raised her eyebrows at his free use of her name, but decided to let it go 
because she liked the sound 
of her name in his pleading voice. "What for?" she asked coolly. 


"To give you pleasure, Xena, my lady, please." 


She put the knife aside and laid her hands flat along his chest. "Go ahead," she 
said. "Free yourself. 
Impress me." 


This was a harder task than it would have been before, as he now had to cope 
with the chains wrapped 
around his wrists and the lock on the bed, but it would simply take more effort. 
He began to pull his 
wrists apart, straining against the metal. He clenched his teeth with the 
exertion, and Xena felt his 
entire body tense beneath her. He also had to concentrate on controlling 
himself--he hadn't been given 
permission to come yet. As he separated his hands, the chain began to creak and 
ever so slowly some of 
the links began to pull apart. "That's amazing," she said, despite herself. He 
pulled harder, his body 
flexing, and the muscles swelling in his chest and arms. The chain suddenly 
snapped, and the heavy iron 
lock that had attached it to the bar flew off. He reached up and snatched it out 
of the air and was left 
with the manacles on his wrists, and a length of broken chain dangling from each 
one. 


"I *am* impressed," she said, grinning, her eyes sparkling. "Can you break off 
those chains so they 
don't get in the way? Leave the manacles--they look good on you." 


"As you wish," he said, smiling back, his face alight with pleasure. He snapped 
the chain off each 
manacle, and again she enjoyed the flexing of his muscles beneath her. 


"Now what did you want to do with those hands now that you've freed them?" she 
asked. 


"Make you feel good," he said softly, "although apparently I already am doing 
so" he added with a slight 
raise of his eyebrows. Her juices flowed down around his stiff cock and down her 
thighs and lubricated 
his belly and hips. 


"Yes, you can tell I liked that," she purred in a sultry tone. "Now, go ahead, 
make me feel even better." 


He slid his large hands up along her rib cage until he cupped her breasts, then 
grasped them firmly and 
began to brush his thumbs over her erect nipples. "Yesss," she hissed, then 
added, "don't think you 
have to be gentle." 


"As you wish," he said, with a wide smile. He began molding her breasts more 
roughly in his hands, 
then rolling the nipples between his fingers. 


"Harder," she said through clenched teeth. "Use some of that strength of yours 
in a good cause." 


"As you wish," he repeated, pressing harder, while pulling on her nipples 
sharply. With a rough 
squeeze, he brought her to her climax. She gasped and let out a sharp cry, and 
she pulsed around his 
aching cock. He held his body utterly rigid, willing himself not to come, and 
when the danger had 
passed, he looked up at his mistress, noting the sudden softness in her face and 
the gesture with which 
she pushed her dark hair off her forehead. 


She gazed at him, her blue eyes piercing his own. Her lips twitched slightly in 
a knowing smile, which 
he returned. But what she said, in a devastatingly soft voice, was "Get your 
hands back over your 
head." 


He obeyed, and she leaned forward, bracing herself on his arms, knowing he had 
the strength to support 
her weight. "Stay still," she admonished, and began to slide herself up and down 
on his cock. He gritted 
his teeth as the friction made his arousal all the more unbearable, and her 
fingers dug into the flesh of 
his arms. With perfect control, she raised herself almost all the way off him, 
then lowered herself back 
down, with a maddeningly slow pace. This continued for several minutes, and he 
tossed his head, 
growling softly with his teeth bared, unable to keep his body entirely still or 
his voice silent. 


Suddenly, with one hand, she grasped a handful of his long hair, and wrapped it 
tightly around her hand, 
her fist now bracing itself on his arm. "You've been *very* *very* good. You can 
move now, slave 
boy," she whispered, "and you have permission to come, but you'd better give me 
a good ride." His hips 
rocked upward at her words, and he began thrusting into her slowly. She matched 
her motions to his, 
and he gradually moved his pelvis faster. "Go ahead, slave boy, show me how 
strong you are," she 
urged. "I *like* it hard and fast." 


"As you wish," he gasped. It was actually an infinite relief not to have to be 
gentle and hold back as the 
world's strongest man had to with other female lovers. Given permission to go 
all out, he thrust into 
her with all his strength, and she clamped herself against him with all of hers. 


Hercules' groans grew louder as his cock drove into her depths, and her 
breathing got faster and 
faster, until she came with a shrieked "YAH!" while yanking hard on her handful 
of his hair. His orgasm 
followed hers immediately, and it was as if weeks of tension released themselves 
in an overpowering 
flood. His hips high rose off the bed, lifting her with them, as he came, and he 
roared, engulfed with 
ecstasy. She collapsed against his chest, and he ventured to put his arms around 
her, and they lay 
together while the spasms of their bodies gradually slowed. 


Tears were welling dangerously in his eyes, however, and he turned his head 
away, letting his hair fall 
over his face. Between the long-delayed physical release and his conflicting 
feelings about Xena and 
about his own submission, Hercules was overwhelmed. He felt as head-over-heels, 
foolishly in love as 
a teenager, beset with a desperate puppy love that thrilled at the least 
acknowledgment by the beloved. 
He felt deliriously happy to have pleased his Mistress and humiliated at his 
willing surrender at the 
same time. 


As Xena carefully levered herself off his body, he quickly placed his hands back 
over his head. "You 
have good instincts, and I like that," she said softly, "but you can drop the 
formalities for *now*." He 
lowered his arms, and she brushed the hair out of his face, forcing him to 
reveal to her his tear-filled 
eyes. "You don't know how much I cherish those tears," she murmured. "My other 
slaves are so inured 
to their status that they don't really *feel* what it is to give of themselves. 
You give yourself 
willingly, and it's so very hard for you," she mused. She lightly stroked his 
arm as she talked, tracing 
the curve of a bicep, then she bent to kiss him. She parted her lips, and he 
accepted the invitation, 
letting her capture his tongue in her mouth and claim it as her own as she 
sucked on it forcefully, while 
her tongue twined around it in an urgent and compelling dance. 


When she broke the kiss, she reached across him to the table next to her bed, 
rummaging in the drawer. 
She pulled out a key and unlocked the manacles on his wrists, saying gently, but 
with an ironic smile, "I 
don't think you'll be needing those any more, slave boy. Somehow I don't think 
you'll be trying to run 
away." Xena reached for the knife abstractedly, the way another person might toy 
with a toothpick and 
began tracing lines along the swell of his biceps. 


He swallowed, his eyes still leaking tears, "That I won't, my lady." 


"You came to me for a reason, didn't you?" she asked. "The minute I saw you I 
knew those chains 
couldn't hold you, and you must have let yourself be captured." 


"You're very observant, my lady." 


Xena smacked Hercules sharply on a nipple with the flat of the knife, saying, "I 
didn't get where I am 
now by being unobservant, slave boy." 


His cock immediately sprang to attention, and he heard a throaty chuckle beside 
him. "One of these 
days, you're going to have to tell me where you're from and why you're here," 
she paused, "Hercules, 
but I haven't much time, and right now I want to amuse myself . . . with 
*this*." She touched the very 
tip of his cock with a finger, then drew it down its length, then shifted to sit 
between his legs. He felt 
the point of the knife press into his balls and gulped suddenly. Xena laughed 
and remarked, "I suggest 
you hold *very* still, slave boy." 


"Yes, my lady," he breathed. With the flat of the knife, she weighed his balls, 
lifting first one, then the 
other. Then she delicately scraped the blade over them with a touch so light he 
felt no pressure, just a 
wisp of breeze as the knife hummed over his flesh. 


"You trust me," she said wonderingly. "Any other man I know would have gone 
completely limp by now 
in fear." 


"I have reasons to trust you," he said softly. 


"Hmm. That's an intriguing thought, but I'll hold it for later." Xena tapped his 
cock with the flat of the 
knife. When Hercules moaned, his arousal rising in him again as if it hadn't 
been quenched, she tapped 
him harder, then slapped his cock on one side with the knife and then on the 
other as it swayed and 
quivered. Hercules' knuckles were white where he was gripping the bed frame 
above his head, as Xena 
proceeded to drag the point of the knife along the underside of his cock, and 
then, with an exquisitely 
delicate touch, she collected a drop of the fluid that was seeping out of the 
tip onto the knife and licked 
it off with a feral grin. 


"Gods. What you do to me, slave-boy." She put the knife aside and moved up to 
the head of the bed. "I 
want you to pleasure me with that magnificent tongue of yours," she ordered, 
straddling his head. 
Hercules readily complied, placing his hands on her buttocks to help support her 
weight and probing her 
depths with his tongue, while her juices and his own seed spread along his 
cheeks and chin. Then he 
sucked her clit between his lips and closed his teeth on it, all the while 
sucking hard. Xena climaxed 
with a triumphant whoop, and Hercules felt the paroxysms of the muscles under 
his fingers. She shifted 
so she was sitting next to him and descended upon his mouth for a brutal kiss 
that left his lower lip 
bleeding from the ravages of her teeth. 


"You're mine," she growled roughly. "Mine, slave boy." 


"Yours, my lady," he murmured, awed by the intensity of her passion. 


"You may not wear my manacles any more, but I want you to bear my mark, 
Hercules," she said 
fiercely. "And I want to see you bleed for me, up close." 


"Wh-whatever you wish, my lady," he agreed, caught up in this moment where 
nothing else existed but 
Xena and his need to please her. 


"On your knees," she said in a slightly calmer voice. He scrambled off the bed 
and knelt, gazing up into 
her blazing blue eyes from his own clear blue depths. She had the knife in her 
hand, and he noted how 
much the knife was an extension of her body, of her power and control. "Brace 
yourself," she said 
dryly, then with a few swift strokes, she carved her initial into his upper arm, 
slightly below the 
shoulder. "That will last for a while," she said with satisfaction as the blood 
began to well up, "and the 
beauty of it, is that I can always have the pleasure of doing it again." 


She straddled him, impaling herself on his erection, then leaned forward to lick 
the blood from the mark 
she had carved. Then she kissed him, forcing her tongue into his mouth. Her 
voice low, she said, "Yes, 
taste yourself. Taste your essence, taste yourself opening up to me, giving me 
everything that you 
are, Hercules." 


*Not everything,* he thought to himself as a wave of love for Iolaus washed over 
him, Iolaus who gave 
himself so willingly to *him*. 


But then she whispered, "Fuck me, slave boy. Use your strength to lift your 
Mistress," and he was 
swept away again by his own desire to be possessed. He slipped his hands under 
her muscular buttocks, 
and she grasped onto his hair with both hands like reins. His head fell back, 
and the cords of his neck 
stood out while he raised and lowered her on his throbbing shaft, forcing 
himself to keep to a deliberate 
pace, until she ordered, "faster now." 


Within a few moments she yelled, "Oh yes! *Good* boy*!" and she convulsed around 
him, triggering his 
own obliterating, shattering climax. 


Spent and exhausted, he nonetheless managed to sweep her up in his arms and 
deposit her on the bed. 
She patted the bed next to her, and he lay down gratefully, lifting her hand to 
his mouth and pressing 
kisses on it. Xena ran her fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, pushing it 
away from his forehead, 
then ran her fingertips along his cheekbone and jawline. "I have to tell you 
something," she said after a 
while. "Caesar's preparing a force to sail toward the coast. He sends out these 
*feelers* now and 
then," she said disgustedly, "always hoping I'm somehow no longer in power or 
weakened. Or maybe he 
hopes these periodic skirmishes will wear me down. I have to defeat them 
convincingly--then he'll stay 
away for a while. We leave for the coast tomorrow." 


"I saw the preparations," answered Hercules quietly. "Let me go with you." 


"Why?" she challenged, her hand flat on his chest. 


"You've seen that I can fight, my lady," he offered. "I can help." 


"You're sooo transparent I can see right through you," she purred silkily. "You 
want to be there to try 
to defend me, don't you?" 


He nodded. "I don't need protecting," she said harshly, but then her tone 
softened, "but I'll take you 
with me on *one* condition." 


"Yes, my lady." 


"You obey my every order without question--as a warrior, not as a favorite, not 
as a devoted slave. 
That means you go where I tell you, whether it leaves you in a position to 
defend me or not. 
Understand?" 


"Yes, my lady," he answered, bowing his head. "I will obey." 


"All right then," she smiled. 


"If I may make a request," he began. 


"Yes?" 


"My shirt and my gauntlets. I'll feel pretty silly going into battle without 
them." 


"Of course," she laughed. "You'll have them in the morning when we ride. When we 
get back here, 
though, you give them up again. You're a slave, *my* slave first and foremost." 


"I understand, my lady." 


"Good," Xena said decisively. "Now go get some sleep. We'll be up early." She 
pulled Hercules to her for 
a prolonged kiss, then smacked him on the buttocks. "Now go, slave boy." 


He dropped to one knee, kissed her hand, and whispered, "Thank you, my lady. F-
for everything. I . . . " 


"You don't need to say anything," she said gently. "I *know*." 


He got up, pulled on the minimum number of clothes to make a decent exit, and 
headed for his own 
quarters. 
  
  


Chapter 7 
  
  


The next morning, everyone was up early, preparing to travel to set up camp and 
meet Caesar's 
advance force. Hercules had to admire the efficiency of Xena's operation. She 
and Callisto and her other 
lieutenants all had their designated roles, and Xena had her personal magnetism 
at full power, as she 
gave orders in a quiet voice that somehow carried whereever she needed. And 
those orders were 
obeyed instantly and impeccably the first time around; everyone knew that Xena 
meant business, and no 
one wanted to anger or disappoint her. Hercules was again dismayed at how 
susceptible he himself was 
to that commanding tone, but knew he had better things to do than worry about 
it, and helped load 
weapons and supplies until he was summoned to join Xena's party and ride out 
with her. 


When they arrived at the coast, a camp was set up, again, with practiced 
efficiency. Xena particularly 
oversaw the healer's tent, doublechecking the availability of bandages and 
herbal preparations. Callisto 
occasionally cast curious looks toward Hercules, but she had plenty to keep her 
occupied, and Xena 
didn't bother explaining herself unless she had a reason. By all indications, 
Caesar's soldiers would be 
landing early the next morning. Hercules insisted on staying close to Xena, 
suspicious of assassins, and 
Xena rolled her eyes in exasperation. "All right then, slave boy," she had 
hissed, "you can wait on us 
during dinner." 


Hercules merely bowed his head in assent and silently served during Xena's 
dinner meeting with her 
lieutenants. Again, she radiated power and authority, and Hercules, who thwarted 
the gods every 
chance he got and was a demigod himself, found himself in awe. That she had 
selected *him* as a bed 
partner seemed to him an unparalleled honor, and as she spoke to her officers, 
he thrilled at the 
memory of her hands and her knife on his body. While she listened carefully to 
the others' suggestions, 
she made absolutely clear that her word was absolute. Unlike the warlord Xena he 
had first encountered 
in his time, who was a creature of rage and impulse, *this* Xena was in complete 
control. The respect 
her lieutenants had for her was evident; every one of them gave the impression 
that dying in battle for 
*her* would be a privilege. They would do everything in their power not to let 
her down. 


After the others left, Callisto lingered, jerking her head toward Hercules. 
"He's fighting for us, 
Callisto," said Xena curtly. "You'd be surprised at his abilities." 


"Uh-*huh*," said Callisto, looking Hercules up and down and bowing to Xena 
before taking her leave. 


"I want you to get some sleep," Xena said to him. "I have guards watching my 
tent." 


"Yes, my lady," her murmured, settling a sleeping mat near the tent's flap. 
Anyone entering would 
have to go through him. Anyone but Ares, that is. A flash of light announced the 
arrival of the god, who 
was accompanied by Iolaus this time. 


Hercules had to stop himself from gasping Iolaus' name, but Iolaus just looked 
slightly surprised, 
recognizing Hercules from the temple, and said "Hi! How ya doing? You're with 
the Conqueror now, 
huh? Lucky break." 


Remembering some basic rules of hospitality, Hercules offered Iolaus something 
to eat and drink and 
forced himself to make light conversation with him, noting that he had the same 
bland and placid 
demeanor he had displayed at Ares' temple. But there was a massive lump in his 
chest, and he ached to 
see this Iolaus, so different from his own golden lover. 


Ares acted as if he didn't even exist, reminding Xena of the size of Caesar's 
forces and giving her 
advice, which she listened to with a slightly bored expression on her face. *So 
that's where she gets 
her information,* thought Hercules to himself, while the warlord and the god 
discussed strategy. 


When the discussion was over, Ares ran a casually possessive hand down Iolaus' 
back and over his ass, 
saying, "C'mon, boy," before they vanished. 


Hercules couldn't prevent a flash of pain from flaring on his face, while Xena 
studied him impassively. 
"Something tells me you and the war god have a history," she remarked. 


"We do," said Hercules softly. 


"You turn out more interesting by the day, slave boy. And I want to hear all 
about it--after we get back 
home. Right now I have a battle to think about." 


"Of course, my lady." 


* * * 


Xena had no cause to regret bringing Hercules. While she rode among Caesar's 
troops like a whirlwind, 
sword flashing and hair flying, he mowed down soldiers like a juggernaut, 
steadily incapacitating one 
soldier after another, cracking heads together, sending soldiers flying backward 
across the battlefield 
with powerful blows or kicks, and using their own weapons against them, grabbing 
a spear from one 
man and using it to knock out four soldiers at a time. Xena's warriors fought 
well, although they were 
pressed by Caesar's, and Xena and Callisto seemed to be everywhere at once, 
bolstering confidence, 
shouting commands, and backing up cornered warriors. Hercules' fighting 
deflected some of the 
attention from Xena, which was his intention. Of course, she was still the 
principal target. At one point 
he grabbed a spear that was speeding right toward Xena and hurled it back to the 
unfortunate soldier 
who threw it, cutting off his short career and his life at the same time. Xena, 
meanwhile, threw her 
chakram toward a huddle of Roman soldiers, knocking them flat and forcing them 
to drop their shields. 


As the fighting got close, Xena vaulted off her horse with an "Alalalalalala!" 
disabling soldiers with 
spinning kicks and driving elbows. Hercules waded toward her, plowing soldiers 
out of his way. He 
watched Xena react intuitively to a soldier coming up behind her, as she drew 
her sword and jabbed it 
sharply backward into the man's stomach. She jerked it out and drove it into 
another attacker, deftly 
getting around his shield, then using her foot to shove his body off her sword. 
Hercules picked up one 
soldier and flung him, using him to knock down several others in his path, 
allowing Xena's warriors 
easy pickings from the downed men. He was charged by several soldiers with 
swords and drew his 
own--Xena had insisted he carry a weapon--and blocked and jabbed and parried, 
his sword clashing 
against their shields. They were professionals, and one of them gave him a 
fairly deep gash in the side 
before he had them all disarmed and knocked unconscious, except for the one that 
died from a chakram 
slicing across his throat. 


Suddenly Xena yelled, "Hercules! Over there! Go help Callisto, NOW!" She herself 
was working her way 
toward the commander of Caesar's forces, and Hercules hesitated a fraction of a 
second. But he had 
promised to obey orders. Callisto was surrounded by a large group of men and was 
in trouble, although 
she was doing considerable damage. Hercules snatched a bow and arrows from a 
dead Greek warrior. 
Swiftly fitting the arrow and pulling back the bowstring, he shot one of 
Callisto's attackers and then 
another and then another when he ran out of arrows. He ran toward the now-
diminished group, swinging 
the bow like a club, felling another pair of soldiers. More approached, but he 
flung them out of the way. 
Callisto knocked down another with a flying kick and a shriek, and filled with 
fury, beheaded another 
with her sword. 


"Thanks, slave boy," she said to Hercules drily. "I owe you one." 


"My pleasure," he answered grimly. They fought their way back toward Xena, who 
was now duelling 
the Roman commander. 


"Don't interfere," warned Callisto. "Just help me watch her back and make sure 
none of *them* tries 
anything." Hercules nodded. Sure enough, a Roman soldier threw a knife at Xena's 
back, but Hercules 
leapt forward and deflected it with his gauntlet. As it bounced off the metal he 
caught it by the hilt, and 
a moment later, the soldier had a knife sticking out of his throat. "Nice move!" 
yelled Callisto, grinning 
widely, while she drove her sword into another approaching soldier. 


Xena fought with single-minded determination, blocking each stroke with her own 
sword, and eventually 
disarmed the Roman commander, declaring, "Don't tell me you're the best Caesar's 
got. Now are you 
going to give yourself up, or am I going to have to kill you?" The soldier went 
for a knife, but before his 
hand reached the hilt, Xena buried the sword in his body, shrugging and saying, 
"Your loss." 


At that point Xena's victory was assured, and the Roman forces were mostly dead, 
injured, or taken 
prisoner, with only a few surviving to flee back to their boats. Hercules 
winced. He'd seen plenty of 
battlefields, but the sight never failed to sicken him. While Callisto dealt 
with the prisoners, and Xena 
had a confidential conversation with the wounded Roman second-in-command, a 
conversation that would 
terrify him enough that he would never join another invasion of Greece, Hercules 
joined the warriors 
who were moving about the darkened battlefield, picking up the wounded and 
carrying them to the 
healer's tent. 


After what seemed like hours of carrying one broken and bloody body after 
another, he was assured 
that all the wounded had been collected, and he assisted the healers to the best 
of his ability, until 
Callisto approached, the torch she carried, casting flickering shadows across 
her face. Hercules 
shuddered; however much he told himself this was not the same woman he knew from 
his own timeline, 
he couldn't dismiss the sinister associations that her presence evoked. She had 
noticed. "What is it, 
slave boy? Am I that terrifying?" she asked, her eyes glinting in the 
torchlight. 


"I'm sorry, my lady," he said, trying to sound respectful, as he knew the 
Conqueror would *not* be 
happy with him forgetting his status. "You bear a striking resemblance to 
someone else I know, 
someone who caused a lot of harm to people I care about." 


She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "My lady Xena trusts you, although we 
both know you let 
yourself be captured by me for some reason known only to yourself. All I can say 
is that if you do 
anything to harm her, you'll have me to answer to, no matter how often you help 
me out on the 
battlefield." 


He bowed his head. "You needn't worry, my lady Callisto. Harming her is the last 
thing I would do. It's 
true I have my reasons for being here, but I would never violate Lady Xena's 
trust." 


Callisto nodded. "Anyway she wants to see you. In her tent." 


"Thank you, my lady," he answered and made his way toward the Conqueror's tent. 


The guards at the entrance stepped aside immediately to let him in, and he 
ducked under the flap. Xena 
turned around to greet him, and he immediately knelt down on one knee, bowing 
his head. "Hercules. You 
were invaluable today. Many more of my warriors would have been killed if not 
for you," she said. He 
looked up at her to find her intense blue eyes scanning him. "You and I are 
going to have a lot to talk 
about when we get back," she added. "You may rise." Hercules stood up, and Xena 
suddenly exclaimed, 
"You're wounded! Why didn't you get that treated?" 


He shrugged, "I heal quickly, my lady, and I was helping the healers." 


She shook her head in exasperation, then reached up and delivered one stinging 
slap across his cheek. 
"You're *my* property, slave boy, and you have a responsibility to *me* to take 
care of yourself! 
Just because I've granted you some favor doesn't mean you can forget your 
position. Ya got that?" 


"Yes, my lady. I'm very sorry," he said meekly. Xena had to turn aside, to hide 
the half-smile that 
arose on her lips at the stricken and abashed look on his face. 


In a gentler voice, Xena said "Come here. Let's take care of that. Take off your 
shirt and lie down here. 
I can see what I'm doing better." 


She carefully cleaned, dressed, and bandaged the gash in his side, while he 
marvelled at the light and 
skilled touch of her fingers. While she worked, he asked hesitantly, "What 
happens to the prisoners, my 
lady?" 


"Some join my army, some become slaves, some, of course, are traded for 
prisoners of war from our 
side. If they can't adjust or be controlled, they're killed," she explained 
dispassionately, her gentleness 
in treating his wound contrasting sharply with the bluntness of her tone. 


"Killed how?" he asked, feeling slightly ill. 


"Sword in the heart usually. If you're wondering if I crucify 'em, I don't. No 
crosses, no death wheels. 
I've been crucified myself--thanks to Caesar. While up there, with my legs 
broken by the way, I made 
two vows. One was that I would devote my life and all of my power to stopping 
him. The other was that 
I would never subject anyone to a painful, lingering death. I don't *need* to do 
that to keep people in 
line. Satisfied, slave boy?" she asked drily. 


"Yes, my lady," he murmured. The Conqueror was no model of humanity--the marks 
on his back that 
she was lightly tracing testified to that--but there were clearly defined limits 
to her inhumanity. 


"Come with me," she said abruptly. "I have to make some rounds." She tossed him 
his shirt, which he 
pulled back on. "You can make yourself useful and carry this," she added, 
handing him a leather bag 
filled with bandages, herbal preparations, and other necessities of the healer's 
art. He followed the 
Conqueror to the healer's tent, where she immediately set about treating wounded 
warriors, directing 
Hercules as her assistant. She was as skilled a healer as the Xena he knew, and 
she stayed up most of 
the night, dressing wounds, setting fractures, consulting with the healers, and 
visiting briefly with 
each of her wounded soldiers. Hercules followed, carrying her bag and treating 
minor injuries, while he 
marvelled at the brusque, yet gentle, demeanor she adopted with the injured. It 
was many hours before 
Hercules trailed her back to her tent and dropped wearily onto his mat by the 
tent flap for a couple of 
hours of sleep. 
  
  


Chapter 8 
  
  


The Conqueror returned to her castle in triumph. The first night back was spent 
celebrating with her 
officers, but she excused herself after a few hours and summoned Hercules to her 
chambers. He 
entered and immediately dropped to his knees and began pulling off his gauntlets 
and taking off his shirt. 
An amused half-smile quirked her lips as she took them from him. "You're a good 
boy," she observed. 
She stroked along his jawline with her index finger, then tipped his head up to 
look at her, and noticed 
that his eyes were filled with tears. With a bemused smile, she asked, "What is 
it, slave boy?" 


"I don't think you'll like my explanation, my lady," he said hesitantly. 


"Don't worry about it. You have my permission to speak freely." She draped 
herself over a chair and 
beckoned Hercules, pointing to the ground in front of her chair. 


He got up, walked to the indicated spot, and knelt again. "I . . . I don't 
believe in slavery," he began. "I 
never have. I know that all of this . . . " he gestured widely, " . . . is 
wrong. But here I am. What have 
you done to me? And how have you done it?" 


"Haven't you figured out by now, slave boy, that I haven't done anything to you? 
To the others, yes. 
Not to you. Whether you believe in slavery or not, you obey my every order, and 
more than that, you 
go out of your way to make sure you please me. And when you know you have, your 
eyes light up with 
devotion. You're not like Gabrielle and the others. They don't know anything 
*but* giving themselves to 
their owners. They don't have a choice about what they are. Not you. You could 
free yourself any time 
you chose; we both know that. But here you are." She lifted her eyebrows and 
smiled again, her eyes 
glinting with amusement. 


"You *made* the others the way they are, my lady," he noted cautiously. 


"Yes," she agreed. "I can't afford to have my authority questioned. *Greece* 
can't afford for me not to 
have perfect control. Caesar's too dangerous to us. But there's a price, I see 
now. So many of my 
people have . . . a kind of emptiness behind their eyes. I never saw it until I 
saw the desire in *yours*, 
Hercules. The way you offer yourself to me--it's such a struggle for you, and it 
means all the more to 
me. What you do takes a type of strength that I don't often encounter." She 
changed courses abruptly. 
"Let me see that gash in your side." 


"It's much better," he began. 


"I didn't ask your opinion of it, slave boy. I asked to *see* it," she snapped. 


"Of course. I'm sorry, my lady." He pulled off the bandages, and she touched him 
lightly, inspecting the 
wound. 


"You heal unnaturally quickly, slave boy. I think it's time for you to tell me 
who you are and where 
you're from and why you're here. But come to bed. I may as well amuse myself 
with you while we 
talk." 


"As you wish." As they stood up, Hercules suddenly took Xena by the shoulders 
from behind, sliding his 
hands down her arms, so he lightly held them behind her back. "I'm curious, my 
lady," he said mildly. 
"Do you ever consider that I'm one of the few people in Greece who could have 
*my* way with you if I 
chose?" 


Xena turned around to look at him, her face glowing. "Yes, slave boy, and it's 
so enticing knowing you 
have that capacity but would never use it against me. All that strength is at 
*my* disposal--freely 
offered." She jerked her head. "Now come on and do as you're told." 


"Yes, my lady," said Hercules with a wry smile and a slight sigh, as he let go 
of Xena's wrists, 
followed her into her bedroom, and removed his clothes at her direction. 


She settled herself against a pile of pillows leaning against the head of the 
bed, then patted the spot in 
front of her. "Lean back here against me. Yes, here." He found himself between 
her legs, his head 
leaning on her shoulder. With one arm she reached around him, and began to play 
with his chest, 
occasionally twirling a curl of hair around her finger and tugging it, 
occasionally tracing circles around 
one nipple or the other. 


He was fully aroused, and she noted, "You do like it when *I* give you orders, 
don't you?" 


She grasped a handful of his hair with her other hand and pulled his head so he 
would have to look up at 
her. With an embarrassed but warm smile he admitted, "Yes, it seems that I . . . 
do." 


"Well, *that*," she indicated his erection, "will have to wait. Let's start with 
who you are," she 
ordered, as her hand travelled across his chest. 


"Well, that will also explain why I heal so quickly. I'm the son of Zeus--and a 
mortal woman." 


He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him and a soft whistle. "A half-god. 
That explains a lot. In fact, 
I suspected as much once I saw your strength. I thought you were sent here as a 
punishment perhaps. 
But the son of Zeus? I've never heard of you." 


"There's a reason for that, but it's a long story." 


"I'm comfortable," she said with a smirk. "Carry on." 


*This isn't easy,* thought the demigod to himself as the Conqueror's long 
fingers combed through the 
hair on his chest. "Please let me ask you a question first, my lady. Do you ever 
. . . have unusual 
dreams?" 


"Ye-ess," she said slowly, her eyebrows knitting in a frown. "I dreamed of you, 
slave boy, before you 
ever appeared here. You're lucky I didn't use my dreams as a basis for deciding 
what to do with you. In 
most of them, you had bested me in a fight, and you were holding a sword at my 
neck." 


"That happened," he said quietly, turning to look at her. "In another . . . 
timeline." 


Her hand on his chest stilled. "Another timeline? That's pretty improbable, boy. 
Why should I trust you 
or anything you say?" she demanded suddenly and harshly. 


"I could leave," he said mildly. "You know you couldn't stop me. I could kill 
you. You couldn't stop me 
from doing that either. If I'd wanted to harm you, I would have done it by now. 
I--I obey you, no matter 
how . . . hard it is for me." 


"Prove yourself to me," she said, her voice hard. "Prove to me that I can do 
anything I want with you, 
and you'll submit to it." 


"You can do anything you want with me, my lady," he whispered. 


"What if every reflex you had was telling you to resist me? Would you fight or 
surrender?" 


"Surrender, my lady," he said firmly. 


Suddenly her arm moved up and tightened around his neck, cutting off some of his 
air with careful 
precision. A tremor ran through Hercules' body, as he quelled his instinctive 
reaction to yank her arm 
away and protect himself. 


"You're mine," she hissed fiercely. "I can do this to you because you're mine." 


Hercules didn't respond. He was conserving his breath, concentrating hard on 
willing himself to remain 
still, while seemingly every cell in his body cried out for escape. The pressure 
on his throat increased 
slightly but perceptibly, but this was Xena, and he had to trust her, just as he 
was expecting her to 
trust him. This was a test of his submission and loyalty, and he intended to 
pass it. He consciously 
relaxed further against her, and as the pressure increased again, a blackness 
seemed to rise before his 
eyes. Then Xena's arm was gone, and air flowed into his lungs, causing him to 
cough. 


"I don't know if I'd entrust myself with what you just gave me there, slave 
boy," she said wonderingly. 
"You've more than proved yourself. Carry on with your story." 


"Yes my lady." He breathed in deeply, then pressed on hurriedly. "This isn't the 
way things are 
supposed to be. Ares and Hera changed the timeline. That's why you've never 
heard of me." 


"Oh really?" she asked, her hand stilling for a moment, before tracing light 
circles around one of his 
nipples. "And why would the gods do such a thing?" 


Hercules sighed. "Where do I start? I'll get the simple reason out of the way. 
This was Ares' idea. He 
has always resented me, as has Hera. Ares is convinced that I am our father's 
favorite, and Hera is 
jealous of Zeus's feelings for my mother. In the other timeline, you and I 
humiliated Ares rather badly-
-it was a lot of fun too," his face lit up with a quick smile, "and he wanted to 
get back at both of us. So 
he changed things in a way that I would lose . . . everything that was important 
to me." 


"Explain." 


"In that timeline, I'm a . . . hero. I don't really care about that--I get tired 
of the word 'hero' in fact--
but I've devoted my life to helping people. People call on me for help because 
they know of me. In this 
timeline, no one has heard of me. No one would think to ask me for help. I also 
try to help people find the 
good in themselves--and he nullified the most important time I did that. And he 
. . . " Hercules' face 
twisted with anger, "took away someone very dear to me." 


"Your lover?" asked Xena, tugging on Hercules' arm, so he could turn around and 
face her. As he talked, 
she continued to fondle him, her fingers playing along the muscles of his upper 
arm. 


"Yes," admitted Hercules, his face darkening. 


"Who is it?" 


"You know the priest at Ares' temple? The one he brought with to your tent the 
other night?" 


"The one with the golden hair," affirmed Xena. "You have good taste. What's his 
name?" 


"Iolaus. And the way he is now . . . he's not like that. It's like he's just a 
shell of who he really is. Ares 
took away all his spirit, his soul, his . . . fire. In the other time, Iolaus is 
*mine*, but he's always 
challenging me, fighting me . . . and then giving himself to me--all of himself. 
And the gods know I don't 
deserve him. I've let him down, I've taken him for granted, but I've learned. 
He's my center, my home, 
my other half . . . " he trailed off, his eyes welling with tears. 


"I'm sorry," said Xena softly. "It must hurt you to see him now." 


"Yes," growled Hercules angrily. "Ares did everything he could to cause me 
pain." 


"And what does this have to do with me?" 


"All of it," answered the demigod. "Your dream . . . about me. In the other 
timeline, you were a 
warlord, but not like now. You were known as the 'Destroyer of Nations,' and you 
were drenching 
Greece in blood. Caesar wasn't invading, like he is here. You were just . . . 
angry and . . . in pain . . . and 
deadly. I met you at the right time. You were ready to change, and I helped you. 
Your army went on a 
rampage--destroyed every person in a village they attacked. One baby was left 
alive, and you saved 
him, and for that you got drummed out of your army. I'm sorry, my lady." He had 
seen a shadow 
crossing her face. 


"The only reason I believe you," she said slowly and abstractedly, "is that I've 
dreamed some of these 
things. There was . . . I had to . . . I had to walk a gauntlet, didn't I?" 


Hercules nodded. 


"I can't understand that. I would never let my army get so out of control." 


"I think," began Hercules carefully, "that you were ready for a change. Let me 
ask you, do you have 
other dreams? Of me? Of Gabrielle?" 


Xena shook her head. "Why would I dream of Gabrielle?" 


Hercules slammed a fist into the mattress in frustration. "He's controlling your 
dreams, damn it! He 
knew dreams from the other time would leak through. But he's managing to select 
which ones. Strife is 
probably helping him with that. Listen. After the gauntlet, you wanted to get 
your army back. You tried 
to kill me, thinking that would do it. I . . . stopped you--that's the fight 
you've dreamed of. But then you 
decided to help me fight your army--to stop them from taking over and killing 
everybody. Ares was 
helping them. You killed your lieutenant, Darphus, who had turned against you, 
but Ares revived him 
and gave him control of his beast, Graegus. Darphus would have slaughtered I 
don't know how many 
people, and he was close to being unstoppable, if not for you. You helped me 
defeat him. And you 
*changed*--for the good. Ares doesn't want you to dream of that--he wants to 
scare you into keeping 
your control here at whatever the cost. He wants you not to trust me. He wants 
to make sure you 
aren't swayed by what I say." 


Xena's lips were pursed in concentration. "So what do I do in this other time 
since I stopped trying to 
kill you, slave boy?" 


"You help people." 


"*I* help people?!" she laughed harshly. "How?" 


"You protect them against warlords, you help stop wars, you save people in 
danger. And Ares has 
never accepted that you changed. And he's never forgiven me for encouraging you. 
He's wanted you 
back ever since--and this is how he got you back under his banner. He created a 
threat--Caesar's 
invasion--that you would have to devote yourself to countering. You were always 
the one he wanted to 
rule the world--on his terms." 


Xena paled slightly. "I've sometimes wondered if I was letting him use me. But 
what I had to do was too 
important. I didn't worry about it. I can't imagine a life when I'm not fighting 
Caesar--or a life without 
an army under my command." 


"That's what's Ares is counting on." 


Xena changed the subject. "And what other dreams should I have had of you? And 
what does Gabrielle 
have to do with it?" 


"You and I were lovers," said Hercules quietly, his eyes downcast. "For a very 
short while. And we 
stayed friends. Soon after you left . . . left me to start atoning for your 
past, I . . . was forced to 
realize my feelings for Iolaus. Thanks to Ares, ironically, but that's another 
story. And you met 
Gabrielle. She's your life's companion, your best friend, your lover. She's not 
like she is here. She's a 
bard--and quite a fighter too." 


"Gabrielle is a fighter?" asked Xena incredulously. 


"Yeah. She's an adopted Amazon queen, and she learned from them. She's a 
wonderful person, Xena. 
Gabrielle's the reason you stayed on your path in that timeline. She has a pure 
heart and a reverence 
for life and an inner strength that you couldn't imagine from seeing her 
counterpart here." He smiled. 
"She'll talk your ear off, and she stands up to you--there's a spark in her that 
Ares managed to 
eradicate here. Just like he did with Iolaus." 


"Really?" asked Xena. "I'm intrigued. But you, slave boy. Am I right in guessing 
you still care for me--
or the person I am *there*?" 


"Very much," he admitted softly, his eyes hooded with griefs both old and new. 


"I've never stopped 
loving you. There's a part of my heart that will always be in your keeping. Ares 
knows that." 


"And you came here to try to put things back the way they were--in the other 
time? That's why you let 
yourself be captured." 


He nodded. "But you learned something about yourself, didn't you?" she 
continued, brushing a thumb 
across his nipple. "You want and need what you have here, don't you?" 


"Yeah," he said quietly, nodding, his eyes wide and straying to the mark Xena 
had made on his arm the 
other night. 


"And if the other timeline is restored, you'll remember this?" 


"I think so. I think that was part of Ares' plan. I--I would miss . . . 
belonging to you. Ares has made sure 
I'll pay a price no matter what happens. I can't avoid that. But this isn't 
right, Xena. You belong with 
Gabrielle, and Iolaus belongs to *me*. You don't have to be the Conqueror. 
There's so much good you do 
*there*. Without leading an army, without owning slaves. But it has to be your 
decision. That's the one 
concession Zeus got from him and Hera. If you ask to go back to the other time, 
he has to do it." 


"What's the catch?" she asked shrewdly. "If Ares knew you would eventually tell 
me about this, why 
does he think he can succeed? What are the disadvantages of returning to the 
other time?" 


"I suspect that you're much happier *here* in some ways. In the other time, 
you're always fighting 
against yourself, Xena. So much of you wants to go back to your warlord days, 
and Ares has extended a 
standing offer to you to make you the leader of the world. I know you're 
tempted--it would be so much 
easier to agree and to give in to the darkness within you. You have to live with 
a lot of guilt, a whole 
lot. Your old self was much more bloodthirsty than you are now. It must hurt to 
remember--I don't 
think I can really understand how much. And no matter how many good deeds you've 
done, no matter 
how much you atone, you'll never forgive yourself. There are those who don't 
want to let you forget 
your warlord past, who don't want to let you forget your victims." 


Xena raised on eyebrow. "You make it sound so appealing," she said drily. 


"I can't let you make a decision without knowing all of it, Xena," he explained. 
"I'm going to have to tell 
you about Callisto." And he did. He told her about Cirra, about Perdicas, about 
Callisto's acquisition of 
godhood, about the revenge she extracted against Xena for over two terrifying, 
soul-shattering weeks. 
And he told her about Xena's recovery and the glimmerings of an understanding 
between her and 
Callisto. And he told her about how she had embarrassed and infuriated Ares with 
his help. 


Xena laughed, but pressed Hercules, "I turned down ambrosia? Huh. I don't know 
if I would turn down 
such an offer now. Think of what I could accomplish." 


Hercules looked down, as a pained look flashed across his face. "That *is* one 
of the ways you're 
different now." He looked up, frowning slightly as he sought for the right 
words. "You have a power, 
my lady. You can compel people to obey you. The Xena I know had that power too, 
but she always 
checked it. I think she worried that if she didn't, there would be no going 
back. Ares created a situation 
here where you would feel you had to bring all your personal power to bear. I 
have to give him credit; I 
never expected he could carry off something this big." 


"You're not making a convincing case for why I should go back to that time you 
describe. I hope you 
realize this. Good deeds and guilt are not exactly how I want to spend my time." 


Hercules impulsively took Xena's hand between his. She lifted one eyebrow, but 
did not otherwise react. 
"You're lonely, aren't you?" he asked. "You've let me get closer to you than any 
other slave. Maybe I 
offer you more of a challenge. Maybe it's because I can't hide my desire for you 
and what you do to 
me," he flushed, "and maybe it's because you sense the bond between us--our 
souls will always share a 
link. But I can never belong to you completely. I miss Iolaus, *my* Iolaus, so 
very much. And I can 
never be your life's companion. The true mate of your soul is Gabrielle. Think 
of her as she is now. And 
then try to imagine her full of life--a storyteller, an Amazon queen, someone 
who's willingly devoted 
her life to you--out of her own free will. Forgive my bluntness, but you have 
nothing here that 
compares with that." 


"What about Callisto?" Xena demanded abruptly. "You're asking me to sacrifice 
her, destroy her, 
condemn her to an eternity of suffering and madness." 


"I don't have an answer to that. I do have some small hope she may find some 
redemption some day--in 
the other time. But I can't argue that she's better off here." 


"Some of what you say does intrigue me," she said softly. "What you say about 
Gabrielle has a ring of 
truth to it--I don't know why. But you have to understand, as far as I know, 
*this* is my life here. 
This is what I know. What will you do if I decide to stay *here*?" 


"I would stay with you as long as you wanted me," he answered, his face drawn 
with pain. "I can't get 
Iolaus back--Ares' Iolaus is not the same man I love. And serving you is . . . 
fulfilling and intoxicating in 
ways I never imagined. I won't deny that. There's a part of me that *does* want 
this. But the rest of 
me will always be missing my real home." 


She nodded. "I appreciate your honesty, Hercules. I know you didn't have to tell 
me all of it, but you did 
anyway. You're a good man. All I can say is that I need time--time to think. I 
will talk to you more about 
this another time. But right now, you're still *mine*, and furthermore you're 
naked and in my bed. I 
intend to take advantage of the situation." 


Hercules bowed his head, a smile making its way across his face. "As you wish, 
my lady." 


She got up abruptly and pulled off her robe, tossing it across the room, then 
lay down on the bed, 
clasping her hands behind her neck in a consciously relaxed pose. "Make me feel 
good," she ordered. 
"You can use your hands and your mouth. If you please me, perhaps I'll do 
something for you." 


*Oh, I'll please you, Xena,* he thought to himself. *I *know* you.* What he said 
aloud was, "Yes, my 
lady." 


He bent to kiss her, one hand cupping her jaw. She met the pressure of his lips 
with a bruising 
roughness, as their mouths locked together, tasting and probing, and she laced 
her fingers snugly into 
his hair, lest he try to pull his head away. He stroked his way up and down her 
upper arm, just 
skimming her flesh with the curve of his hand, occasionally pausing to grip her 
arm firmly, giving her a 
small taste of his strength before resuming his gentle caresses. Hercules had 
learned long ago that 
lovers were inevitably enticed both by his strength and by his exquisite control 
of it, and he would 
mete out controlled doses of leashed power in a way that reminded his lovers he 
could readily shatter 
every bone in their bodies, but was instead devoting his exquisite physical 
control to their pleasure. 
Iolaus, in particular, went out of his way to provoke Hercules to use his power. 
With women, however, 
he was particularly cautious, but with Xena he didn't have to be. She craved 
sensation, and he knew 
that his light touches would be all the more maddening for her knowledge of the 
force that he was 
holding in check. Every time he tightened his grip, he heard the slightest 
intake of breath from the 
Conqueror. 
When Xena released her grip on his hair, he lifted her hand to his mouth. 
sliding her thumb inside and 
swirling his tongue around it and sucking it vigorously. Another faint gasp. 
When he moved on to her 
index finger, he let his free hand travel down her side, feathering along her 
ribs and stroking the curve 
of her hip. He released her finger, then licked his way up the next one before 
sucking it into his mouth. 
Xena smiled, saying in a sultry voice, "Slave boy, you almost make me wish I had 
a cock." His lips 
twitched slightly in an amused smile, but he didn't cease his attentions. After 
the last finger received 
this treatment, Xena pulled him back down for a kiss with an impatient growl. 


As he began placing kisses along her throat, she tipped her head back, giving 
him more access, as a 
shiver passed through her. "Are you remembering what I'm remembering?" he asked 
her. 


"My dream," she murmured. "You and the sword. I don't know what it was like when 
it actually 
happened, but after that dream, I always wake up wet. I guess I knew you weren't 
going to kill me--
good thing too, or you might not have survived your arrival here." 


Her throaty voice brushed along his nerves and sent an additional pulse of blood 
to his already rigid 
cock. "You were so defiant," he mused. "Your eyes were just blazing. I may have 
won that particular 
battle," he reflected as his fingers travelled across her abdomen, drawing wide 
circles, "but you had 
already won the war, to coin a phrase. I wanted you more than anything." 
Hercules pressed his lips to 
the hollow of her throat, twirled a circle there with his tongue, then traced a 
line up along her throat. 
"You were so dark, so angry, and I wanted to fall into your darkness. No one 
ever made me feel like 
that before." 


She grinned. "Well, now you've had your chance, slave boy." 


"Thank you, my lady, for letting me make the most of it." He gathered her 
breasts into his hands, which 
were rough and callused from the work he'd been doing. 


"I like that," she purred. "Personal slaves always have such soft hands." He 
caressed her breasts with 
long strokes of his fingertips, just barely grazing her nipples, which were 
already hard. He could feel 
the tension rising in her body, and she snapped "Harder!" through clenched 
teeth. His fingers dug deeply 
into the soft flesh, and Xena growled contentedly as he squeezed and stroked. 
Hercules captured her 
nipples between his thumb and forefinger and began to press them with a 
controlled and steadily 
increasing pressure. "You're good, slave boy!" she gasped, grabbing his upper 
arms and digging in her 
fingers hard. She shuddered in a quick orgasm. 


"You're looking awfully pleased with yourself," she noted, when she focused 
again on his face. 


"Pleased because I'm giving you pleasure, my lady." 


"Oh, and is that the *only* reason?" 


Hercules smiled, raising his eyebrows. "I love touching you," he said simply. 
"The way I can feel your 
strength coiled in your arms and your legs. The way your breasts fill my hands 
and your nipples harden 
under my fingers. Your taste on my tongue. I had such a short time to . . . 
memorize every detail. So, 
I'll admit I'm pleased for myself too." 


"I sup-pose I can allow that," she responded with an exaggerated reluctance and 
a grin. "Well, show me 
what else you can do, slave boy." Hercules lowered his head to her breast, 
drawing tight circles around 
her nipple with his powerful tongue, while his hand slid along the outside of 
one muscled thigh. He 
sucked the already sensitive nipple into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth, 
as his hand began exploring 
the slight swell of Xena's inner thigh, making her writhe with the featherlight 
touch of his rough 
fingertips along the sensitive skin. He then took in more of her breast, filling 
his mouth with the soft 
flesh and began a slow steady suckling, while his fingers found Xena's center. 
One finger travelled the 
slick path between her lips, moving languidly back and forth in rhythm with his 
mouth on her breast and 
just barely gliding over her clit on each pass. 


Xena's body was humming with tension again, but he felt her relax slightly when 
he spread her lips and 
began stroking her clit more puposefully. His touch was still flutteringly 
light, and Xena tensed again 
when it was clear it was going to stay that way for a while. He smiled to 
himself in gratification--he 
knew he could he keep her on the edge all day if he wanted to. "I. Should. Flog. 
You. For. Showing. Off. 
And for teasing me." He heard the dark rumble in her voice, and his cock 
quivered against her thigh. She 
laughed. "Oh, you liked that threat, did you? You *will* pay for this slave 
boy." 


After a while, his suckling increased in both pace and intensity, and he circled 
Xena's clit with an 
increasingly firm finger until she bucked in climax, and he released her breast 
from his mouth. Without 
a pause, he thrust three fingers forcefully inside her. "Yesss!" she hissed, 
rocking her hips to meet his 
thrusts. She howled as another orgasm rolled through her body, and Hercules 
marvelled at the power of 
the muscles clamping down on and convulsing around his fingers. 


"Care for another, my lady?" he asked insolently, his eyes glinting with 
pleasure. 


"Yes, damn it!" He pressed the heel of his hand against her clit and began to 
grind it firmly. She 
returned his pressure with her own pumping hips, until he carried her over the 
edge once more, her 
back arching and her muscles straining until she collapsed back, her breathing 
harsh. Hercules took the 
liberty of casually toying with her triangle of dark curls, combing them with 
his fingers while she came 
down off of her peak. 


Suddenly, she caught him off guard, rolling him over onto his back and pinning 
him down. She straddled 
his abdomen, and latched on to both of his nipples, twisting and pulling them 
hard. "Let me see you clean 
off your hand," she ordered, her voice hard. He was almost breathless with the 
pain of her assault on 
his nipples, but concentrating, he brought his hand, still drenched with her 
juices, to his mouth and 
began carefully licking off his fingers with a quivering tongue, while she 
watched him with icily 
predatory eyes. 


When he finished, still relishing the taste that spread over his tongue, she 
bent to kiss him, fiercely 
plunging her tongue into his mouth. Then she pulled away, tossing her hair back 
over her shoulders. 
"Will you open yourself up to me completely, slave boy?" she panted. "Let me all 
the way in? Give me 
everything you have to give? I'm giving you a choice here because if you say 
yes, I *will* take 
everything you've got." 


Hercules hesitated for the barest of moments, then sat up, his own wide blue 
eyes studying Xena's, 
which glowed with a sapphire intensity. "Yes, Xena, my lady. Yes. Please. I 
freely offer myself to 
you." He shifted so that he was on his knees, then bowed his head all the way 
down. 


Xena passed her hand gently over the honey-colored locks, then said in a 
devastatingly soft and 
dangerous voice, "Over there. Hold on to that ring. It should be obvious that 
you had better not let go." 
He looked where she indicated at an iron ring at the end of a heavy chain 
suspended from the ceiling. 
Letting go of it wouldn't be the problem, he reflected, as he crossed the room. 
He'd have to be careful 
not to pull it out. 


Xena approached him, holding a black leather strap. She circled him, asking, 
"You want to please me, 
don't you, slave boy?" 


"Yes, my lady," he whispered. 


"Tell me, have you played like this before?" 


He nodded. "But I'm usually the one holding the strap." 


"All the better for me." The Conqueror grinned. "You wouldn't be any fun if this 
were easy for you." 
She stopped behind him, letting her hand trail down his spine and roam over his 
buttocks. "You have to 
be so careful, don't you?" she purred. "Always having to be mindful of your 
strength." He nodded, 
unable to find his voice, paralyzed like a mouse spellbound by a cobra. "You 
see," she continued. "I 
usually have that problem too, but right now, I don't need to worry about it." 
Her words were followed 
by a sharp crack of the strap across his ass. He was staggered by the force of 
the blow, and had to 
regain his balance, afraid of pulling down the ring he held onto. The pain 
flared across his skin, then 
exploded outward as the compressed flesh wrenched itself back into place. 
Another crack. He gasped 
sharply, reflecting to himself that Xena certainly wasn't holding back. Another 
blow, and the tension in 
his body began to melt away, as some kernel of resistance inside him began to 
loosen. With each searing 
stroke of the strap, he found himself consciously relaxing and breathing, 
letting himself sway with the 
force of the blows. He closed his eyes and surrendered to sensation, as the 
strap delineated stripes 
across his ass and down the back of his thighs. 


Suddenly he drew back sharply. Xena had moved around to the front of him and 
flicked the strap against 
a nipple, with perfect positioning. Then the other side, and he groaned loudly, 
his erection futilely 
clamoring for attention. After several more such blows, Xena turned away, 
returning with something 
shiny in her hand. He guessed immediately what it was--a pair of clamps 
connected with a chain. Both 
the clamps and the chain were heavier than the delicate pair she had used on 
Gabrielle the other night. 
"Do you know what these feel like?" 


"Yes, my lady, but never after such," he smiled wryly, "careful preparation. I'm 
guessing it will hurt 
quite a bit more than I'm used to." 


"You're guessing right, slave boy." Xena pinched each nipple sharply. "Do you 
know why I'm doing this 
to you?" 


"You enjoy it?" he asked tentatively. 


"Well, yes, of course, that's part of it," she answered dismissively. "I'm doing 
this because I feel the 
need to claim you, Hercules, reach inside you and make you mine from the inside 
out." A shadow 
crossed her face. "Maybe it's because I may have to let you go. I want you 
marked as mine in a way 
you'll never forget. And to get you where I want you to be, I need to open you 
up, break down barriers 
you don't even know you've raised against me." As she spoke, she stroked his 
chest gently, but 
possessively, touching his body with an assurance that it was hers to do with as 
she pleased. And when 
she finished, she carefully placed first one clamp and then the other on his 
nipples, while a searing bolt 
of mixed pleasure and pain shot from each nipple straight to his groin. 


A spasm of pain crossed his face, as his nipples burned and throbbed. Xena 
stroked his face, then ran a 
hand down his side and then a finger along his erection. The clamps had 
seemingly heightened all of 
Hercules' sensations, and his nerves tingled in the wake of her fingers. Then he 
felt a sharp flash along 
his cock from the tip of the strap. He groaned loudly and hung his head as a 
flush of humiliation flooded 
his cheeks. Another flickering blow on his aching member, and Xena reached 
around to grab a handful of 
hair and pull his head back. "Don't hide from me, slave boy," she commanded in a 
low and throaty tone 
that seemed to slip under his skin and intensify the pulsing in his nipples and 
cock and buttocks and 
thighs. His eyes were wide and vulnerable, his lips slighly parted as he tried 
to breathe through all the 
sensations assaulting him. "Don't you know how beautiful you are like this?" she 
asked, giving a sharp 
tug to the chain linking the clamps, sending a renewed shock of pain through his 
system. "Don't you 
know how much it pleases me to know you could stop me any time, but you submit 
to this--for me? 
Don't fight it; just let go. Let everything go." 


She moved behind him and swung the strap against his ass. As he staggered 
forward, the chain between 
his nipples swung wildly, sending stabbing pains through him. "Let go," she 
purred, and he widened his 
stance and relaxed, swaying with each crack of the strap against his ass and 
letting her take him 
wherever she needed him to go. He had certainly experienced worse pain in his 
life, but he felt as 
though Xena was flaying him open, leaving him with no defenses. The half-god, 
the hero, the son of Zeus 
were all stripped away, leaving only a pure essence of desire, surrender, and 
above all, a need to 
please this woman who had claimed his body and his soul. As blow after blow 
fell, his body was 
suffused with a quivering tension that begged for explosive release. It was 
similar to the tension he felt 
immediately before a fight, when only the solid connection of his fists or feet 
with flesh would help 
dispel it. He found himself craving the heavy thud of the strap, as if his body 
were reaching out for it. 
Xena immediately sensed the difference in how he was holding himself. "You want 
it now, don't you?" 
she demanded. 


"Yes, hard please," he gritted through clenched teeth. 


"My pleasure," returned the Conqueror, throwing more force into her swings of 
the strap, sending him 
spiralling higher and higher into a realm of pure sensation where the humming 
energy of his need 
sparked and crackled with the driving energy of Xena's relentless wielding of 
the strap, fusing them 
together and creating a sizzling exchange of electricity and power. 


After a final blow of the strap whistled through the air and exploded on his raw 
flesh, Xena snapped, 
"Down!" Hercules gratefully let go of the ring and dropped to his knees, looking 
up at his Conqueror 
through eyes blurred with tears. He kissed the strap she held to his lips, and 
then she guided him to his 
feet with a tug on the chain. "On the bed, on your back now!" she ordered. She 
smacked his inner thighs 
with the strap, insisting, "Wider, I want them wider." Her need was palpable, 
and Hercules willingly let 
himself be surrounded by and consumed in its heat. When he complied with her 
order, she casually 
tossed the strap across the room. "Use your hands to hold them there." Hercules 
slipped his hands 
under his thighs and held them wide apart, while Xena contemplated the sight 
before her. 


She got a vial of oil from her bedside table, settled herself between Hercules' 
legs, and began copiously 
anointing her hands. Hercules' eyes widened. Calmly, almost ignoring him, Xena 
continued stroking the 
oil along her long fingers, and the demigod couldn't help a small moan from 
escaping. Xena's lips 
twitched in a glimmer of a smile, then she began anointing him, spreading oil 
with her fingertip around 
the opening to his body. Her light touch teased the sensitive skin, and he found 
himself craving more. 
Suddenly, she slid two fingers inside him, and Hercules gulped in surprise. "You 
*have* been fucked 
before?" she asked casually, one eyebrow lifted. 


"Yes, of course, but never . . ." 


"By a woman," she finished. "Well, slave boy, this will be a new experience for 
you in more ways than 
one. Can you let me *all* the way in?" As she talked, she pulled her fingers 
out, poured more oil on 
them, and slid them back inside, thoroughly coating the narrow passage that she 
was claiming. 


In answer to her question, a dazed Hercules only answered emphatically, "Uh-
*huh*." 


"Good," she said briskly, adding a third finger, which he accomodated easily. 
"You looked pretty 
fascinated when I was doing this to Gabrielle. I'm guessing you imagined 
yourself on the other end." 


Hercules blinked. "Yeah, you're right. But I wasn't sure . . . " A small "oof!" 
cut off his sentence, when 
four fingers pushed inside him, beginning to spread him open and igniting a slow 
burn at his center. 


"Well," said Xena with an ironic smile, "even the son of Zeus can learn some new 
tricks." She stopped 
talking, focusing on what she was doing. More oil, and the four fingers probed 
and stretched him. 
Hercules consciously relaxed himself, and the fingers pushed in further. "*Good* 
boy," Xena 
murmured, sliding her fingers slowly in and out, finally adding her thumb, 
pushing her hand inside 
Hercules like a wedge. The burning sensation grew more intense as the 
Conqueror's hand slowly, 
inexorably, stretched him wide. He tensed up for a moment, as heat flooded 
through his legs, curling his 
toes. "Relax for me, slave boy," purred Xena in a low register, and Hercules 
complied, letting her in 
further. Xena paused, pouring an additional dollop of oil over her hand and said 
conversationally, "This 
is the widest part. Take a deep breath for me and let it go." 


Hercules inhaled deeply and slowly exhaled. As the breath flowed out of him, a 
sharp pain flared as he 
was stretched wider than he could have imagined possible and penetrated by 
Xena's hand, now curled 
into a fist, and buried in him up to the wrist. "Oh gods . . . " he gasped 
hoarsely. Her fist burned inside 
him, shooting molten streaks of pain along his legs and into his cock. Holding 
his legs apart as he was, 
he had never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, and so possessed. It was utterly 
exhilarating, and the pain 
began to transmute into a delirious pleasure. 


"I'm inside you. Right now, all of you belongs to *me*," said Xena quietly, her 
voice belying the blazing 
intensity of her eyes. 


"Yes, Xena," he agreed. 


"Ready?" she asked. 


He nodded. As her fist began to move, he groaned loudly between clenched teeth. 
He pulled his legs even 
wider apart, as she rocked her fist slowly inside him, then pulled it part of 
the way out and plunged it 
back in. He was drowning in sensation, groaning uncontrollably, when suddenly he 
felt first one, then 
the other clamp yanked off his nipples. He howled as the dammed up blood rushed 
into his nipples, 
bringing tears to his eyes. It was like a thick needle stabbing into him from 
inside, but Xena's fist 
driving into him quickly recaptured his attention. Then she slowed down to a 
deliberate pace, sending 
slow ripples of fire radiating out from his center. The sensation was the most 
exquisite he could 
remember and the most unbearable. He desperately wanted her never to stop, and 
he desperately 
wanted her to stop right *now*. A continuous, uncontrolled low growl emitted 
from his throat, and the 
muscles in his legs began to tremble and quiver with tension. 


"Look at me!" ordered Xena, and Hercules had to concentrate to get his eyes 
open. "You're completely in 
my hands," she purred. "I can take you anyhere I want you to go." Her voice 
seemed to be brushing 
over his already-raw nerves, and he whimpered, a little-boy sound he hadn't 
known was still in him. 
Xena's smile was devastating--she looked as she did in the full joy of battle. 
"Brace yourself, slave 
boy," she rumbled, and began fucking him harder and faster with each stroke, in 
a ferocious rhythm 
that overwhelmed him like a wall of fire. Her other hand, still slick with oil, 
enclosed his cock and 
began working it with rapid strokes. "Come for me now, slave boy," she murmured, 
and he roared as 
his climax crashed through him in shattering paroxysms, and a fountain of seed 
spilled over him and 
over Xena's hands, as she carefully withdrew her fist from inside him. Tears 
gathered in his eyes, and 
he felt wrenchingly empty. 


"I know," she said quietly. She had provided herself with a basin of water and a 
washcloth next to the 
bed, and quickly cleaned off her hands before moving to pull the weeping demigod 
onto her lap. Her 
fingers combed through his long hair, as she soothed him, then her hand strayed 
over his buttocks, 
examining the welts from the strap. "Thank you, Hercules," she finally said. 


"F-for wh-what?" 


"For the gift you've given me of yourself." 


"I-I should be th-thanking you," he stammered. 


"For what?" 


"For taking what I wanted to give you," he answered in a firmer voice. "For 
seeing something I wanted 
and needed before I ever knew I wanted and needed it. For letting me show you my 
love for you in a way 
I never could before." He managed a grin. "And for the most indescribably 
overwhelming fuck of my 
lifetime." Xena laughed, pulling him closer. Hercules reached across himself to 
touch Xena's initial on 
his arm, then looked up at her, his face achingly vulnerable. Xena bent to kiss 
him, her hair falling 
forward like a curtain around his face. As their lips locked together, and their 
tongues twined, he felt 
for the first time that she was kissing him as a lover, not as a piece of 
property. 


"Come with me," she said suddenly. "There's something I want to share with you." 
She leapt off the 
bed, and he followed somewhat more slowly. Xena pulled on her robe and rummaged 
in her wardrobe, 
finding an old cloak. "Put this on and follow me." 


As Hercules was obediently but wonderingly tying the sash, Xena went out onto 
her balcony and leapt 
over the balustrade, flipping in mid-air. Hercules shrugged and followed, 
resting one hand lightly on the 
balustrade and vaulting over it. He landed on his feet as silently as Xena had, 
and she beckoned him, one 
finger on her lips. She led him out of a gate in the castle walls that was 
concealed from the outside. He 
noticed that the gate opened without a sound and was obviously well-oiled. 


She led him to a nearby stream, tugging on his hand as she ran lightly along the 
path until they came to 
a pool crowned with a small waterfall. The moonlight silvered the water, which 
sparkled and flashed at 
the base of the waterfall, seeming to shatter the moonlight into glittery 
fragments. "This is where I go 
when I want to get away from being the Conqueror," explained Xena simply, and 
Hercules heard the 
longing that echoed under her voice. "I've never brought anyone else here. It 
probably wouldn't do for 
people to know that the Conqueror leaves her castle at night, unarmed and 
undefended. But I feel I can 
trust *you*." 


Without really thinking about it, Hercules knelt and kissed her hand. "Thank 
you, my lady. That means . . 
. a lot to me, more than I can say." 


"C'mon," said Xena, smiling, and tossing off her robe before she plunged in the 
water. Hercules tugged 
off the cloak and followed. The water was cold, and he surfaced, sputtering and 
shivering, until he 
spotted Xena, the moonlight glinting on her hair like jewels. She streaked 
toward him, diving between 
his legs and coming up behind him, to pull his arms behind his back. He kept 
them there compliantly, 
while she played with him, running one finger down his upper arm, from shoulder 
to elbow, mapping the 
topography of his muscles, caressing his broad back and shoulderblades, 
thoroughly tracing the welts 
on his buttocks, and flashing around in front of him to savor the feeling of 
wet, slippery skin stretched 
over taut pecs and abs. 


"May I use my hands?" he asked. 


Xena acted as if she was considering a moment, gave a tweak to a very sensitive 
nipple, and said, 
"Yes." Hercules slid his hands along her arms, pausing to kiss every finger tip. 
He cupped slippery 
breasts and stroked round, muscled buttocks, while Xena explored him the same 
way, both their hands 
roaming all over each other's bodies. Suddenly, Xena grabbed Hercules' wrist and 
pulled him after her 
toward the waterfall. The water showered them as they stood under it, and 
Hercules tossed his wet 
hair back over his shoulders, his entire face lighting up with a broad smile. He 
felt proprietary fingers 
gathering up his balls and gliding along the length of his cock. "I see there 
are advantages to being the 
son of Zeus," said Xena, smiling conspiratorially at him from under half-lidded 
eyes. 


"It is one aspect of my godly heritage I do appreciate," responded Hercules, 
with mock gravity. 


"Good, then let me appreciate it too. Don't be forgetting that your godly 
heritage, like everything else 
about you, belongs to *me*," Xena insisted. Hercules effortlessly lifted her up, 
lowering her onto his 
erect member, and she wrapped her flexible legs around his waist, and her arms 
around his neck. 
Hercules threw his head back in exultation, thrusting into Xena's molten heat, 
while the cold water 
streamed down their bodies and splashed around them. 


Xena wound her fingers into the demigod's hair, keeping his head pulled back, 
and her mouth sought out 
the pulse beating in his exposed throat, sucking on it in time to the throbbing 
of his veins and the urgent 
rhythm of his cock, which she matched, contracting around him and releasing with 
perfect muscular 
control. When she lifted her head, a bruise was purpling on his neck, and she 
growled, "Hold still now, 
slave boy! I want to use what's mine." Hercules complied, and Xena braced her 
hands firmly on his 
shoulders, digging her fingers in to maintain her grip, and began raising and 
lowering herself on his 
cock. Each time she pulled herself up, she drove downward fiercely, while 
Hercules concentrated on 
keeping his grip on her waist and on holding himself steady for his mistress. 
Suddenly, her body 
stiffened in his hands and her legs tightened around him as she came with a 
shuddering moan, her 
muscles convulsing around him. Hercules groaned through clenched teeth, fighting 
hard not to come, and 
she panted, "Go ahead!" A few determined upward strokes, and his climax surged 
through him, as he 
howled in harmony with the crashing water. 


Xena shifted her weight enough to send them both falling into the pool, and they 
floated for a while, 
cooling their heated blood, washing themselves and each other off, and kissing. 
They eventually climbed 
out of the water. Xena sat down, leaning against a tree and gestured for 
Hercules to join her. She pulled 
his head into her lap, and he gazed up at her, seemingly enraptured. She slipped 
her thumb into his 
mouth, and he sucked it dreamily, while she stroked his hair and drew light 
circles on his chest with 
her fingers. They remained there wordlessly for some time, until Xena said, 
quietly, "Perhaps it is I 
who should be asking what *you*'ve done to me, slave boy. But we should go back 
now." 


They returned to the castle, slipping silently in by Xena's concealed gate. 
"After you," said Hercules 
with a bow, and Xena launched herself into an aerial flip, landing on her 
balcony. Hercules jumped 
straight upward, following her. "Stay with me tonight," she said softly, but 
trying to keep an edge of 
command in her voice. 


"It would be my pleasure," answered Hercules, bowing his head in acknowledgment 
of the rare honor he 
had been granted. 


"Don't think it's such a privilege," she said drily, reestablishing some 
distance, "I don't sleep well, and 
I toss and turn a lot." 


"Tonight will be different," said the demigod assuredly, and he kept his word, 
lightly stroking the 
Conqueror's back until she relaxed and fell into a deep sleep. 
  
  


Chapter 9 
  
  


Hercules woke up to Xena's blue eyes gazing at him. When he began to stir, she 
said "Good morning, 
slave boy" in an amused tone and drew a line with her finger down his spine, 
then rested her hand 
casually and possessively on his buttocks. Her fingers lightly brushed his 
cleft, and she asked, "How do 
you feel?" 


"Overall, great. Down there, a little sore. But it was worth it. You've made me 
feel . . . wonderful, my 
lady. I only hope I've been able to please you." 


"You know you have," said Xena in a reassuring voice that sounded so much like 
*his* Xena it was hard 
to tell the difference. He looked at her closely, his head still resting on his 
folded arms, while she 
lightly caressed his back and buttocks. There was a barely perceptible softening 
to her features and a 
somewhat more noticeable modulation to her voice, which had thawed some of its 
former icy hardness. 


"I dreamed of Gabrielle," she said, changing the subject. "I was dead, or 
almost. I came back--for her. 
It was an . . . odd feeling. I never thought I'd cling to this life so 
tenaciously for another person. In my 
dream I saw something in those green eyes of hers I've never seen before--it was 
as if where she was 
was my *home*." 


Hercules nodded. "Yes, that happened--you were almost dead, but you fought your 
way back. And by 
the way, I see that in Iolaus' eyes too; even at the times I behaved completely 
thoughtlessly toward him 
and taken him for granted, if I took the time to look into his eyes, there was 
that something there. I 
knew he would always be there for me." 


"It's rare to find that," mused Xena. "And I haven't allowed myself the luxury 
of getting that attached 
to anyone, except perhaps Callisto. I destroyed her family, and I've tried my 
best to be family to her, 
the mother and older sister she lost. But I've avoided attachments ever since I 
lost my brothers and my 
mother to Caesar's armies. I need to be able to maintain my focus, my edge. I 
can't afford intimacy, and 
I can't afford grief." 


"I can't imagine living like that," said Hercules, a slight choke in his voice. 
He sat up to face Xena 
directly. "It is hard. In that other timeline, the one you dream of, anyone 
close to me becomes a target 
of Hera and Ares. I've lost . . . two wives to their jealousy, and my three 
children." 


"I'm so sorry, Hercules." 


He smiled wanly. "Thank you. I was almost tempted a few times to just leave 
things be in *this* 
timeline because I knew Iolaus was safe there in Ares' temple. But I can't live 
cut off from my feelings. 
It's probably selfish, but I haven't been able to forego relationships, and 
people I've loved have died for 
that. Yet, I'd still do what I can to put things back the way they were and get 
*my* Iolaus back. It's a 
terrible risk, but I know he's willing to take it. And it's worth it, Xena." 


"I would like to see the Gabrielle I dreamed of, the one you described to me," 
she said wistfully. "But I 
find myself reluctant to give you up." 


"I'm flattered, my lady," said Hercules with just a glimmer of a smile. "But you 
won't have to give me 
up. I'll always be your friend, I'll always care for you, and I'll always be 
there when you need me. 
You'll *always* be able to count on me. There's a part of me that will always be 
yours. I--I don't think 
I can describe what all this," his hand made a wide circle, "means to me. 
Serving you is a joy I couldn't 
have imagined possible--you've opened something so deep inside me that I'll 
never be the same. In a 
*good* way. You've taught me how to *give* myself, surrender myself in a way I 
wasn't capable of 
before." He paused "I could never be a coerced slave, but it's an honor to be 
your willing pet, my lady. 
But on the whole, *Xena*, I think I'd rather be your friend." 


"And a lovely pet you are, slave boy" said Xena with a mischievous smile, as she 
combed back 
Hercules' hair, and brushed a thumb across his cheek. "I could spend years 
exploring the resources of 
that body of yours, while your eyes plead for more." Then, more seriously, she 
added, "It's good to 
know that whatever happens, I'll have your loyalty and your friendship. You've 
taught me something 
too. I've come to respect you and to value the gift of your freely-offered 
devotion. It's made me realize 
what I've lost in having to be the Conqueror before all else. That look I saw in 
Gabrielle's eyes in my 
dream--I'd like to see that. I'd like to wake up to that every day, not to 
slaves and servants and 
soldiers who obey because they're in awe of or afraid of me. *You*'ve touched 
*me* in a way *I* 
wouldn't have thought possible, Hercules." 


"I hoped I would," he said softly, bending to kiss Xena's hand. 


"That's a big part of it, but not all," she said firmly, her face darkening. "I 
don't like the idea that Ares 
is manipulating me. That he would create this threat by Caesar just to have me 
where he wants me. I 
never wished to be a tool of a god." 


"He changed time so he could have you where he wanted you," noted Hercules. 


"Well," said Xena with determination, "he's just going to have to change it 
back. But first . . . " She 
pushed the demigod onto his back, bending to kiss him. They made love with a 
fierce urgency, their 
hands in constant motion over each others' bodies. Xena straddled Hercules, 
looking down at him, her 
hair falling about her face, and his hands travelled up and down her arms, then 
moved to her breasts, 
kneading them. Then he flipped her over onto her back, rolling with her. She 
reached for his mouth with 
hers, pulling him closer with strong hands on his back, her fingers roaming over 
firm muscles and 
tracing the healing lines from Hercules' flogging. 


He twined his fingers into her hair, deepening the kiss, then suddenly found 
himself on his back again. 
Xena took him deep inside her, and he gasped to feel his cock suddenly enclosed 
in pulsing heat. While he 
stroked Xena's muscled thigh, she leaned over to take one of his nipples between 
her teeth, worrying it 
sharply. When she released it, it was throbbing. She ran her hands rapidly over 
Hercules' chest and 
arms, as if snatching a last chance to impress their shapes and textures on her 
memory, then lowered 
herself down to his mouth. His hands moved along her back as she began rocking 
her hips against his. He 
responded eagerly, plunging into her depths, as they were both enveloped in heat 
and friction and a 
timeless rhythm that drove first Xena and then Hercules into a shattering 
climax. Hercules wrapped his 
arms around Xena, and their mouths again sought each other out in penetrating 
kisses. No matter how 
fiercely their lips locked together they couldn't quench the thirst they had for 
each other, but at the 
same time, as if by unspoken agreement, they reluctantly pulled apart. "We'd 
better go," said Xena, 
"before I change my mind." 


* * * 


A little while later, they were dressed and on horseback, riding toward Ares' 
temple. Hercules had a 
hard time keeping up with Xena, as she urged her horse forward, her long, black 
hair flying out behind 
her. Outside the temple, she jumped lightly off her horse, just as Hercules came 
riding up. She was the 
Conqueror again, radiating authority, power, and grim determination. Her eyes 
blazed with a cold fury, 
startling him with the piercing relentlessness of her gaze, a gaze that had 
struck him with awe the first 
moment he'd seen the Conqueror. 


She stalked up the steps of the temple, Hercules a step or two behind her. When 
she yanked open the 
heavy doors, Iolaus approached. Seeing who was there, he knelt, bowing his head, 
murmuring, "My lady 
Xena. How may I serve you?" 


"Look at me," she ordered. Iolaus gazed up at her with guileless blue eyes, 
while Xena took in the golden 
mane, the lean, sinewy build, the taut and tanned skin. "You could do so much 
better," she said ruefully, 
glancing back at Hercules, and noting the way he stared at Iolaus with eager 
desire and longing. 


"My lady?" 


"Never mind. Wait outside." 


"Yes, my lady," answered Iolaus and withdrew, closing the temple doors behind 
him. 


"ARES!" roared Hercules, his voice resounding through the temple. 


"You called?" said a voice, followed by the appearance of the god, leaning 
against a column, his arms 
folded across his chest. His pose was a study in casual unconcern, but his eyes 
shifted warily. 


"You know why we're here," said Xena abruptly. "I want you to put things back 
the way they were 
before you messed with the timeline." 


"Xe-na," cajoled Ares, "do you honestly believe the stories he's been telling 
you?" 


"Yes. I. Do. And you know he's been telling me the truth." The command voice was 
in full force, and 
even the god of war seemed taken aback. 


"What's wrong with you, Xena? You *want* to spend your life riding around the 
countryside with that 
goody-goody blonde, *helping* people? Think of your ambitions, your goals, the 
order and prosperity 
you bring to Greece." 


Xena's eyes narrowed. "What I'm thinking of is you *using* me. You had to resort 
to this," she waved 
her hand in an angry gesture, "trick because the person I really am would never 
do what you wanted." 


Hercules was trembling with impatience and tension. He suddenly strode over to 
Ares, grabbed his vest 
with two hands and hauled him forward. "Damn it, Ares! You have no choice about 
this. You *have* to 
do what she says. That's the bargain you struck with Zeus." 


Ares reached out one hand and shoved Hercules in the chest, sending him skidding 
backward across the 
temple. Hercules was about to leap to his feet, when Xena held up a hand, 
stopping him. Her expression 
was furious, and Hercules crumbled inside, but her voice was disarmingly soft. 
"You've done your part, 
Hercules. Stay out of this." 


She whirled back to Ares and said in a voice that was chillingly calm, "You're 
going to restore the 
original timeline. I don't want to hear any attempts to persuade me to stay. You 
can't come up with any 
arguments I haven't thought of myself. Ya got that?" 


"Oh, I *get* it!" snapped the god, sneering. "What I get is that you don't know 
what's good for you. I 
wash my hands of you, Conqueror. You can go back to your pathetic, do-gooding 
lifestyle and your 
blonde tagalong, and my useless half-brother will get his boy toy back." He 
turned to Hercules, "But, 
dear brother, you *will* remember all of this. You'll remember how your golden 
boy looked with my 
cock in his ass. You'll remember what a born slave you are. You'll remember 
every word and every 
touch from your owner here, and you will *miss* all of it!" 


"Fine," said Hercules flatly. "Tell me something I don't know." 


"I want you to leave us alone for a few minutes, Ares. I'll call you when I'm 
ready," said Xena with the 
assured tone of someone who was always obeyed. 


"Yes, my lady," snarled the god sarcastically, as he executed an exaggerated bow 
and flashed out of 
the temple. 


Hercules turned to Xena. "I'm sorry for interfering . . . " he began. 


Xena cut him off. "Hercules, stop. We don't have time for that. It's not 
important." She pointed to the 
floor, a half-smile emerging on her face. But her voice was stern. "Down." 


Hercules immediately dropped to one knee. He bowed his head in a gesture of 
respect and reverence, 
then looked up into her clear blue eyes. His voice trembled slightly as he said, 
"Belonging to you has 
been a privilege, my lady." 


"And don't you forget it, slave boy," she said, gracing him with a smile that 
was both conspiratorial 
and fond. 


"I-I th-thought at first you were so different from the Xena I knew. I only 
wanted to put things back the 
way they were," he explained hurriedly. "Then it became a challenge--I wanted to 
make you let me in, 
care for me in a way you didn't care for any of your other slaves." 


"You succeeded," she said, still smiling. "Don't forget what you've learned 
here, Hercules. If you 
remember it, your Iolaus will be even luckier than he already is." 


"Thank you--I'll try; he deserves it." Hercules paused. "I was trying so hard to 
prove myself to you. I 
don't know when it was I realized that what I wanted wasn't important. That what 
mattered to me was 
serving and pleasing you, and that it was *you* I was giving myself to. I love 
you, Xena." 


"I know," she said quietly. "Why do you think I listened to you?" She reached 
out and grasped a handful 
of his hair, pulling him forward as she bent down, claiming his mouth in a 
searing kiss. With one finger 
she traced her initial on his arm, while their lips and tongues strove to pour a 
lifetime's worth of 
desire and fulfillment into each other's mouths. When they parted, Xena helped 
Hercules to his feet and 
raised her eyebrows questioningly. He nodded, and she called out, "Ares! I'm 
ready." 


The god appeared, and began, "Did you two have a touching fare--" 


"Drop it!" snapped Xena. "Now do it!" 


"What-*ev*-er," said the god, "but I still think you're making a mistake." 


The temple tilted and spun, rippling around Hercules and Xena like a whirlpool. 
Hercules felt Xena's hand 
slide out of his, and blackness overcame him . . . 


* * * 


Xena reluctantly disengaged her arm from around a sleeping Gabrielle's waist. 
She glanced around their 
campsite, trying to identify the source of the sounds she heard. She let her 
eyes linger for a moment on 
the attractive form of her lover, then shook her gently. "Gabrielle, wake up. 
We've got company." 
Gabrielle reached for her staff, leaping to her feet a moment after Xena did. As 
the leader of a gang of 
armed bandits stepped into the clearing, his sword drawn, Xena reached for her 
chakram, a feral grin 
on her face. Yes, it was shaping up to be a good day. 


* * * 


Hercules woke up slowly, his mind hazy with fragments of unusually vivid dreams. 
Suddenly, his head 
cleared, and a rush of memory crashed on him like a wave. As if afraid to look, 
he very carefully rolled 
over to take in the lean and golden-haired form of his lover lying beside him. 
"Iolaus," he murmured 
under his breath, "my Iolaus. Gods, I've missed you." He reached out to wake the 
hunter, but as he did 
he glanced at his own upper arm, now devoid of an initial that, after all, had 
never been carved into it 
with Xena's knife. Overcome with a flood of emotion that threatened to swamp 
him, Hercules got up 
very quietly and took himself several paces away. Joy at what he'd regained and 
sorrow at what he'd 
lost welled up inside him, mingling and flowing together so that he couldn't 
tell them apart. He sat down 
on a log, put his face in his hands, and wept. 
  
  


Epilog 
  
  


The God of War paced around his temple, fuming. He was genuinely astonished that 
the Conqueror had 
actually chosen to change things back, all on the word of his pathetic half-
brother. He certainly hadn't 
anticipated that the driven and single-minded warlord he had nurtured in that 
timeline would be so taken 
with the demigod. He had to admit to himself, ruefully but not without a touch 
of pride, that Xena could 
not be manipulated and controlled, no matter what situation he threw at her, no 
matter how carefully 
planned and geared toward her particular nature. There was some essential core 
to Xena that he could 
never reach, and it maddened him that the ones who could reach it were that 
insipid blonde, Gabrielle, 
and Hercules. 


Ares had more than once considered seriously using the blonde against Xena--
bending her to his will by 
threatening Gabrielle's life. But it wasn't worth the risk that Xena might kill 
herself to save Gabrielle, 
rather than comply with his demands--hadn't she been willing to sacrifice 
herself in her quest to free 
Prometheus, rather than let Hercules be killed? If Gabrielle's life were at 
stake, she would be even 
more determined. Ares sighed. Foiled again. Still, there was satisfaction to be 
derived from what he 
had done. He had an opportunity to play with his half-brother's pet, Iolaus, 
although the passive Iolaus 
of that timeline hadn't intrigued him nearly as much as the original one had. 
Nonetheless, fucking him 
while he knew Hercules had been watching had been enormously satisfying. And his 
knowledge of 
Hercules' heretofore undiscovered desire to be mastered was another 
satifisfaction. Hercules would 
ache and pine for the Conqueror's firm hand, no matter how happy he was to be 
reunited with his 
golden-haired boy toy. 


So, his plan hadn't been a complete wash--any time he could make his half-
brother suffer he felt a 
sense of accomplishment. But the Conqueror had been such a glorious achievement. 
Watching her in that 
battle against Caesar's forces had been truly . . . inspiring. Irritated, the 
God of War couldn't stop 
himself from tormenting himself further. With a morbid curiosity, Ares created a 
window with which 
he could look in on the warrior princess, but after a while, he found what he 
was watching to be just 
too sickening, and he decided his time could be better spent stirring up a war 
somewhere . . . 


* * * 


Xena and Gabrielle were bathing in a stream, and Xena was washing the bard's 
hair. But somehow, her 
hand kept snaking around to draw circles on Gabrielle's taut abdomen, or to 
slide up her ribs along her 
side, or to curve around a slippery breast. She released Gabrielle so she could 
duck under the water to 
rinse her hair, then pulled her back against her, her own hard nipples pressed 
against the bard's back. 
Xena leaned down to murmur throatily in Gabrielle's ear, "You belong to me, you 
know that, don't you?" 


"Yes, Xena!" gasped Gabrielle, responding both to the dark richness of Xena's 
voice and to the hands 
that were now cupping and caressing her breasts. 


"And never let it be said I don't take good care of what belongs to me," added 
the warrior, rolling 
Gabrielle's nipples between her fingers. 


"Oh, that feels good," sighed Gabrielle happily, "but are you sure you don't 
want me to do something for 
*you*?" 


"Part of taking care of what's mine is making her feel good," purred Xena, 
sending a little ripple of 
pleasure down the bard's spine. She shifted slightly to the side. One hand 
strayed downward to play 
with the reddish curls under water, while the other hand fondled Gabrielle's 
firm buttocks, dipping 
occasionally between her legs. "Tell me, is there anything you want, Gabrielle?" 


The bard blushed. "Can we . . . um . . . use our new toy?" 


Xena grinned. "Only if you go get it. I like to watch you." 


Gabrielle flushed again, and waded to the bank, climbing up and trotting over to 
where their gear was 
stashed. She came back with a phallus carved of wood and polished to a gleaming 
smoothness. "Come 
over here and lie down on this rock," said Xena, indicating a large flat sun-
warmed rock that extended 
out from the bank into the stream. "Scoot up, and let your legs dangle here," 
she continued, pressing 
Gabrielle's knees wide apart. Xena's fingers played along the inside of 
Gabrielle's thighs. "I like this, 
right here," commented the warrior, as she stroked the slight swell of the inner 
thigh just where it 
met the pelvis. It tickled, and Gabrielle squirmed slightly, and, grinning, Xena 
began tickling her thighs 
and the backs of her knees on purpose. 


When a laughing and writhing Gabrielle began to try to push Xena's hands away, 
Xena easily caught both 
of her wrists in one hand. "I *will* get back at you for this!" the bard 
threatened. 


"Sure you will." 


"I *will*!" she inadvertently shrieked, as Xena's tickling grew more purposeful. 


"I'm looking forward to it," drawled the warrior, but she stopped tickling 
Gabrielle, instead sliding two 
fingers inside her. "I guess you liked *that*" said Xena, lifting one eyebrow in 
amusement. "It looks 
like I won't have to send you to get the oil." 


She took the phallus, running its tip between Gabrielle's lower lips, and 
Gabrielle squirmed in 
frustration. "Please Xena," she asked. "Please, I want it inside me." 


"Well, since you ask so nicely," said the warrior coolly, positioning the 
phallus at the entrance to her 
lover's body and sliding it inside. 


"Uh-huh, like that," said Gabrielle decisively. 


Xena moved the phallus in and out with maddening deliberation, sliding it almost 
all the way out on each 
stroke and not providing quite enough friction or stimulation to let Gabrielle 
come. 


"Xe-na!" complained the aroused bard. 


"Will you never learn patience?" teased Xena. She pushed the phallus all the way 
in, holding it in place 
with one hand and lowered her mouth to Gabrielle's clit. At first she lightly 
flicked it with just the tip 
of her tongue before settling in with firmer, circular strokes. When she sucked 
it suddenly into her 
mouth, Gabrielle yelped, convulsing vigorously around the phallus that filled 
her. "Was that something 
along the lines of what you wanted, my love?" 


"Oh yes, Xena. I love you." 


"I love you, too," said the warrior, pulling herself up onto the rock beside 
Gabrielle and fastening her 
mouth onto her lover's for a long, long kiss. 


* * * 


After Hercules had finished relating his experiences in the other timeline, 
Iolaus just shook his head, 
saying first, "Whoa" and then "Shit." Then he added, "Um, Herc, why did you tell 
me? I mean, in some 
ways it never happened." 


"A couple of reasons. I didn't want you hearing about it from anyone else, 
namely Ares. And it . . . 
changed me in some ways." Hercules shrugged. "I didn't want to keep it from you, 
try to pretend 
everything was the same . . . when it isn't. For all his mistakes and 
misjudgments, Ares made sure of 
that." Iolaus nodded thoughtfully, and Hercules continued. "And I realized . . . 
again . . . how much I've . . 
. taken you for granted. I want you to be able to count on me. I didn't mean to 
hurt you, Iolaus. I wanted 
to get back to you so badly--and it was ripping me up to know you were with 
*him*, but I couldn't help 
. . ." 


"Herc, give me some credit," interjected Iolaus softly. "In a situation like 
that, do you think *I* 
wouldn't take advantage of it? It was Xena after all. I couldn't have resisted 
her . . . I almost envy you 
the experience. I probably would have eaten it up," he finished ruefully. 


"Really?" asked Hercules. "It was so hard for me." He reached behind himself, as 
if expecting to find 
whip marks there. 


"I imagine it would be," said Iolaus with a wry smile. 


"I realized something," mused the demigod. "I realized I've never given myself 
to you the way you've 
given yourself to me." 


Iolaus couldn't help snorting in derision. "This is supposed to be an insight, 
Herc?" 


"Look, Iolaus, I know I'm clueless. Maybe I have too much of my father in me. 
But I'm trying, damn it!" 


"I'm sorry, Herc. I know you are." 


"It was a hard lesson for me," noted Hercules seriously. "It was so hard to 
surrender myself to her 
will, but at the same time, it was something I *had* to do." 


"That's how it works, Herc," said Iolaus drily. "I guess you had to experience 
it for yourself to 
recognize it." 


Hercules turned to peer at Iolaus more closely. "Is that how it is for you, 
Iolaus?" 


Iolaus burst out laughing. "If your sister were here, she'd say 'Well, *du-uh*!' 
right about now. It's a 
good thing you're so pretty, Herc, or I'd have booted you out a long time ago. 
If Xena helped you figure 
some of this stuff out, more power to her." 


Hercules flushed. "I'm sorry, Iolaus, that I'm so thoughtless. I could try to 
blame it on what I inherited 
from my father, but by now I should have overcome that. I'm so sorry." 


"Hey," said Iolaus gently. "Clueless or not, you're the one I love more than 
anyone else in the world, 
Hercules. And I'm awfully glad you succeeded in restoring *this* timeline--I 
don't want to be with 
anyone but you, my love." He kissed Hercules softly on the lips. 


Hercules smiled wanly. "I'd do anything for you, Iolaus, you know that. I'm 
going to figure out a way to 
prove myself to you. But first, I need to make sure Xena's OK and back together 
with Gabrielle." 


"Well, then, let's go," said Iolaus, smiling and shaking his head as he followed 
Hercules. 


* * * 


After some travelling and some making of inquiries, Hercules and Iolaus found 
Xena and Gabrielle, 
apparently looking for *them*. "I believe rabbit stew is on the menu tonight. 
Care to join us for 
dinner?" asked Xena, gesturing to the small clearing where Gabrielle had been 
setting up sticks for a 
fire. Argo was placidly grazing nearby. 


"We'd be delighted," said Iolaus, looking forward to catching up on things with 
Gabrielle and perhaps 
commiserating about their respective relationships. "I'll help Gabrielle," he 
volunteered, knowing from 
experience that Xena preferred not to cook. 


Xena glanced at Hercules and jerked her head sideways. "I need to talk to you. 
Let's take a walk." 


Hercules nodded and followed her out of the clearing. 


"What's up?" asked Xena tersely. 


"What do you mean?" he asked. "I . . . just wanted to make sure you two were OK. 
Checking in with 
you." 


"That's very thoughtful, Hercules," said Xena with a wry smile, "but that's not 
what I'm talking about. 
You're looking at me differently, and when I suggested we take a walk, you 
tensed up. Even now, you're 
holding yourself differently." 


"You're very observant," noted Hercules drily, avoiding answering her questions. 


"I'd be dead by now if I wasn't," she responded. "Something's going on. I've 
been having some *very* 
vivid dreams about things I know never happened. They don't seem like Strife's 
work, but they're so 
much clearer than regular dreams. And you're in them." 


"I see," said Hercules quietly, trying to digest this information. "And were 
they . . . good dreams?" 


Xena flashed a brilliant smile. "Yeah, actually. Very good. You look relieved, 
Hercules." 


"Do I? So . . . um . . . what were they about?" 


"Welll," drawled Xena. "I seemed to be a warlord, but this time I seemed to have 
conquered all of 
Greece. I knew somehow that I was fighting Caesar. Most of the dreams involved 
you though. I'll be 
blunt. I seemed to be having my way with you," she concluded, her eyes dancing 
with amusement. 


Hercules flushed. "I didn't think you'd . . . " he began. "Shit. All of that did 
happen . . . in another 
timeline. Ares did it--it was his way of getting you back the way he wanted you-
-and giving me a hard 
time at the same time. Fortunately, I . . . persuaded you to ask to have *this* 
time restored." 


"That meddling coward!" snapped Xena. "How in Hades did he manage to pull that 
off, anyway?" 


"Hera helped him." 


Xena raised her eyebrows and shook her head in exasperation. "Tell me more." 


"Do I have to?" asked Hercules softly, dropping his eyes. 


"I'd appreciate it," said Xena seriously. "Have a seat?" She gestured to a 
fallen tree. 


Hercules sighed and sat down next to Xena. "Zeus forced one concession out of 
them. If *you* asked to 
have things put back the way they were, they had to do it. Ares wanted me there, 
seeing you as a 
warlord again--you were known as the Conqueror in fact. And he had made Iolaus 
*his*." 


"Of course he did," snapped Xena, shaking her head with disgust. 


"I knew I had to gain your confidence," continued Hercules, "so I could tell you 
about the way things 
were supposed to be. 'Dite suggested I let myself be captured as a . . . slave. 
And I did." He paused, and 
a mere flicker of a smile crossed his face. "I seem to have met with your 
approval." 


"So you were my slave . . . " mused Xena. "I can definitely see some 
possibilities there. I'm only sorry 
Ares didn't leave *me* with memories of the whole thing. I want to hear all 
about it." 


"Xena!" protested Hercules, embarrassed. 


"Please?" asked Xena, "I want to know what Ares was up to, and, frankly, I want 
to know what you and 
I were up to. I'd like to know what I'm missing." She took his hand in one of 
hers, lightly stroking the 
back with her fingers. "Trust me, Hercules?" 


She smiled, and a flash of exasperated resignation crossed Hercules' face. 
"Fine," he said tightly. "I'll 
tell you." 


" . . . and it was hard," he concluded some time later, jumping up and beginning 
to pace, avoiding Xena's 
eyes. "You represented everything that I fight against, and I just lost my will 
in yours." 


"Really," said Xena, fighting the smile that seemed determined to quirk her lips 
and rising gracefully to 
her feet. "Why do you suppose that is?" 


"There was something about you . . . there," said Hercules. "A kind of presence 
that no one could resist. 
You . . . overwhelmed me." He shrugged and glanced away. 


"Did I, now?" said Xena with an amused smile. "How so?" 


"You had this . . . ability," explained the demigod, "a way of getting everyone 
around you to do exactly 
what you wanted, when you wanted. I couldn't have disobeyed you if I wanted to." 


"I see," said Xena drily, "Was it something like this?" She turned away for a 
moment, then whirled 
around to face Hercules. Her eyes burned with cold fire, and her body seemed to 
radiate energy, 
determination, authority, and purpose. In a devastatingly quiet voice she said, 
"On your knees, boy!" 
Each word was weighted and modulated for maximum effect, and Hercules felt an 
almost-involuntary 
reflex twitch his legs, as his body immediately responded to an irresistable 
impulse to kneel. But he 
stopped himself, staring at Xena with his jaw slightly dropped. For that moment 
she *was* the 
Conqueror, and she had just unleashed the full force of her power on him. 


"Yeah," he said slowly. "It was something like that. Can you just *do* that any 
time?" 


The commanding atttitude melted, and Xena burst out laughing. "Yes, Hercules, as 
a matter of fact, I 
can, but I don't do it very often. And you're one of the very, very few people 
I've seen who could 
withstand it. See, it wasn't *me* *making* you obey--you're going to have live 
with the fact that you 
did it of your own free will." 


Hercules sat down again, putting his face in his hands. Xena joined him, pulling 
his hands away from his 
face and making him look at her. "Why are you so embarrassed by it?" she asked. 
"By your accounts, 
which the dreams I've been having confirm, you offered me a rare and wonderful 
gift. Even though it 
wasn't me as I am now, I feel honored." 


"I don't know if I can explain it," began the demigod. "At the time it felt like 
the . . . right thing to do. 
Like it was the only thing to do. I wanted to please you more than anything. 
But--the things you did to 
me, the things I submitted to--willingly--that's just not how I see myself, 
Xena. Looking back I wonder 
how I could have done those things." 


He had picked up a stick and was drawing it in restless pattern in the dirt. "Do 
you look down on Iolaus 
for giving himself to you?" Xena asked abruptly. 


"Gods, no. He's beautiful when he does. But he almost always puts up a fight. I 
made no resistance at 
all." 


Xena shook her head in mild exasperation. "Iolaus puts up a fight because he 
likes to be overpowered. 
You *can't* be overpowered--by a mortal anyway. For you to surrender yourself 
like that, when all 
along you didn't *have* to obey me, took strength, Hercules. And a real 
generosity of spirit. Face it, 
my friend, as much as you want to master, you want to be mastered as well. Don't 
lock away what I 
helped you open up. Think of what *your* submission would mean to Iolaus." 


"You're right," he mused, "I know I don't open myself up to him the way he does 
to me. There's so much 
more I could be giving him. I've always just used my strength to assume the 
upper hand--that always 
felt safe to me, and I never had to be vulnerable the way he did." 


"Uh-*huh*," agreed Xena emphatically. "You're not the only one." 


"Oh, really?" responded Hercules. "Care to elaborate?" 


"Nope. This isn't about *me*," she answered curtly. Then she turned to him, her 
face softened, and 
raised his hand to her lips. "Thank you for trusting me enough tell me about it, 
Hercules. Means a lot to 
me. I only wish I'd been there to experience it for myself . . . " She paused. 
"C'mon," she said, punching 
him in the arm and suddenly changing the subject, "we still have some time 
before they'll get that stew 
ready. Let's do some sparring--I could use the workout." 


Hercules got up and grinned. "Admit it, Xena. You just want a legitimate excuse 
to leave your marks on 
me." 


* * * 


That night Hercules wrapped himself around Iolaus with a fierce intensity. From 
his perspective, it had 
been many days since he had made love to him, and he wanted to reclaim every 
part of Iolaus' body as 
his. With his fingers and lips and teeth and tongue, he coaxed all of Iolaus' 
nerves awake, playing along 
his throat, over his chest, across his back, down his arms, up his legs, and 
around his nipples and cock. 
Iolaus' groans of arousal and pleasure were only muffled by the squeaks and 
sighs and moans coming 
from the bedroll on the other side of the fire, punctuated by the low purr of 
Xena's voice. 


Afterward, as they lay in sweaty proximity, Hercules still stroking Iolaus' body 
in grateful awe for 
what he'd been given, he said, "Iolaus, my love, I wish I could offer myself to 
you the way you offer 
yourself to me. That you trust me with all of you, your body, your soul, is a 
miracle--I wish I could 
open myself to you in the same way." 


"I know Herc," said the hunter softly. "Most of the time there's nowhere else 
I'd rather be than under 
*your* control. But there are times when I'd like to be the one in charge. And 
maybe it's my own 
limitation, but I can't ever forget that you can always just turn things around 
and take over." 


"Damn, I do that a lot, don't I?" mused Hercules. 


"Yeah, you do. You're a lousy bottom, Herc, but I love you anyway." 


"Wait!" exclaimed the demigod, his face lighting up with a broad smile. "I have 
an idea! I'll have to be 
gone for about a day, but I think it'll be worth it." 


"Sure, Herc. I'll be waiting for you." 


"I love you, Iolaus." 


"Love you too, Herc," murmured Iolaus sleepily. 


The next morning they took their leave from a fresh and alert Xena and a groggy 
Gabrielle, who really 
would have preferred to sleep longer. After bidding farewell to Iolaus, Xena 
rested a hand on Hercules' 
arm, saying "Take care of yourself, Hercules." Their eyes locked, and a 
reaffirmation of the deep bond 
of their love and friendship passed between them. Gabrielle and Iolaus hugged 
good-bye, and the women 
headed down the road together, leading Argo. Iolaus struck off for home, and 
Hercules went to complete 
his errand. 


* * * 


Iolaus had been meditatively contemplating the sunset and wondering what 
Hercules was up to; when it 
got dark, he wandered inside. After lighting candles, he sat down to read a 
couple of scrolls Gabrielle 
had copied for him. He flung the scroll aside when he heard the unmistakable 
sounds of Hercules' 
entrance into the forge. The demigod stepped into the bedroom, carrying a 
leather pouch that emitted a 
clanking noise. "Look!" he exclaimed, without bothering to greet Iolaus. He 
pulled a set of chains and 
cuffs out of the pouch. 


"Herc?" asked Iolaus, puzzled. 


Hercules wrapped the ends of one of the chain around his hands and tried to pull 
it apart. He strained and 
grimaced, his muscles flexing and swelling in that way that Iolaus never failed 
to find arousing, but the 
links of the chain didn't budge. Hercules beamed proudly, his eyes shining. "I 
can't break these, Iolaus! I 
had Hephaestus make them strong enough. He complained about it too." 


Iolaus grinned. "Did you tell him what they were for?" 


"Naw. Let him speculate." 


Iolaus was finally taking in the significance of Hercules' errand. "You can't 
break those, and you're 
going to let me put them on you?" 


"Yes, Iolaus," said Hercules, turning serious. He sank to his knees in front of 
his lover and pulled 
something off his belt. "Here are the keys. They're yours. Keep them where you 
like--I don't have to 
know where they are. I do trust you, and now I can prove it." 


Iolaus accepted the keys, his eyes wide. Hercules had never knelt quite so 
gracefully before. His whole 
posture radiated both willing submission and a calm pride, as he tossed his hair 
back, and clasped his 
hands behind his back. "You *have* changed," he murmured. 


"I-I've learned to give up . . . control," explained the demigod. "It wasn't 
easy. I love you Iolaus--and I 
want to give myself to you in a way I've never been able to before. Take me, use 
me, whatever you 
like. All that I have is yours." Iolaus gazed at the guileless blue eyes that 
were looking up at him. They 
were deep and clear, unclouded by Hercules' usual cares and unmasked by the 
demigod's usual assertion 
of dominance. 


A radiant grin flashed across Iolaus' face. "I accept your offer, Herc. Now get 
those clothes off so I can 
try out these new toys of ours." Iolaus pulled off his own clothes as well. "Now 
show me you mean it, 
Herc. Show me you want it." 


Hercules dropped to his knees in front of Iolaus, bending to place a reverent 
kiss on the head of Iolaus' 
cock. He looked up, the deep pools of his blue eyes concealing nothing. "May I?" 
he asked softly. 


Iolaus felt a rush of emotion flood his heart, drain his lungs, and swell his 
cock. Hercules almost always 
just took what he wanted from the blond hunter--asking, in such a respectful 
way, to pleasure him was 
something new. "Yes, you may," said Iolaus, once he could restore a modicum of 
firmness to his voice. 


Iolaus was always grateful when Hercules went down on him--the demigod's lips 
and tongue were as 
strong as the rest of him and capable of exerting a firm pressure that 
overwhelmed Iolaus with 
pleasure. But this time was different. Hercules was taking his time, carefully 
prolonging Iolaus' 
pleasure with meticulous attention. His tongue forged a trail up the underside 
of Iolaus' cock, swirled 
around the head, then returned to the same path over and over again. Iolaus 
trembled with arousal. 
When Hercules began sweeping over Iolaus' balls with his tongue, exploring them 
with a touch that was 
just firm enough, Iolaus grabbed two handfuls of Hercules' hair for support. 
Hercules smiled slightly to 
himself around the testicle that filled his mouth, and raised up his hands to 
support Iolaus' hips without 
missing a beat, his teeth lightly grazing the sensitive flesh. Finally, he 
enclosed Iolaus' cock with his 
mouth in one smooth movement. His head moved as he slid a hot wet channel along 
that engorged 
member, almost releasing it before inhaling the whole of it again, his lips 
forming a tight O and his 
tongue wrapping itself around as much of the silky wet flesh as it could. When 
Iolaus began to moan 
louder and louder, Hercules sucked all the harder, and suddenly Iolaus thrust 
hard into his lover's 
mouth, pouring a hot stream of his essence down Hercules' receptive throat. 


Iolaus swayed, but Hercules retained his firm grasp on his hips. When his 
breathing had steadied, Iolaus 
said, "You've convinced me you want it Herc. On the bed, on your back, now!" 
Hercules obeyed, his 
eyes widening slightly. He had so naturally assumed the upper hand, and Iolaus 
had always been so 
intoxicated by his strength, that he hadn't really considered that Iolaus might 
also crave to be in 
charge. Whenever they did switch roles, Hercules could never submit for long--he 
invariably used his 
far greater strength to reassert his position. Now, he was truly placing himself 
in Iolaus' hands for the 
first time, and they both knew it. Whistling cheerfully, Iolaus arranged 
Hercules to his liking with the 
restraints Hephaestus had forged. He locked Hercules' wrists to the head of the 
bed, then pushed the 
demigod's legs wide apart, pressing so they bent slightly at the knee. The cuffs 
closed around Hercules' 
ankles with a satisfying snick, and Iolaus locked a short length of chain to the 
bed frame on either side, 
forcing Hercules to remain spread wide open and accessible. 


"Try and get loose," ordered Iolaus tersely. 


Hercules strained at his restraints, but to no avail. "I can't," he whispered. 


"How does that make you feel?" asked the hunter, surveying his bound prey with a 
smile. 


"Um . . . scared . . . and safe at the same time. I . . . trust you, Iolaus." 


"Yes, you must," murmured Iolaus softly, as the magnitude of what Hercules was 
offering him began to 
sink in. For the son of Zeus to place himself in a situation where his strength 
could not free him--
particularly after the disaster of his short marriage to Serena--was to accept a 
vulnerability that cut 
to the very core of his sense of himself. "You're beautiful, Herc." Iolaus 
grinned, "you look good enough 
to eat, but I have other plans for you." 


Iolaus sat on the bed, his head cocked slightly to the side. "You know 
something, Herc," he mused. "All 
these years and years I've known you, and I've never had the opportunity to 
discover whether you're 
ticklish. Somehow it wasn't worth a broken bone to find out." 


"Well . . . I'm not," asserted Hercules firmly. 


"Like Hades, you aren't!" exclaimed Iolaus, before putting his theory to the 
test. His quick hands 
fluttered furiously over the demigod's body, diving under his arms, skittering 
down his sides, and 
making passes at the backs of his knees and the soles of his feet. Hercules 
squirmed and struggled, 
desperately trying and failing to escape Iolaus' tormenting fingertips, and he 
shook with helpless 
laughter. He didn't think anyone had tickled him since he was a young child, 
when Iphicles had tried and 
had found himself flung across the yard for his pains. It was awful, and he 
hated it, and he wanted 
Iolaus to STOP, but his helplessness sent a flood of delirious warmth down all 
his veins, all converging 
on his cock. When Iolaus did stop, and Hercules was gasping for breath, the 
cuffs felt secure around his 
wrists and ankles and he gazed up at Iolaus with a look of pure worship. 


"You can do anything, anything you want with me," he whispered urgently. 


"I know," said Iolaus, "and I intend to." He emphasized his words by laying a 
hand on Hercules' throat, 
pressing lightly and stroking along it with his thumb, while Hercules' swallowed 
against the pressure of 
his hand. Not moving his hand Iolaus covered Hercules' mouth with his own, and 
Hercules strained 
upward to admit his lover's tongue further inside. Breaking the kiss, Iolaus 
began exploring Hercules' 
body with a leisure that was new to his experience. He sucked an earlobe into 
his mouth, nibbling on it 
carefully, while one hand mapped the contours of biceps swelling into slightly 
more prominent definition 
from the position in which Hercules' arms were bound. Hercules exhaled a slow, 
shuddering breath. 
Iolaus' deliberate attentions began slowly igniting his body a part at a time. 
The lips and teeth teasing 
his earlobe were maddening; he craved a rougher touch, but there was nothing he 
could do about it. 
Iolaus, for his own part, was relishing the firmness of the bulging muscles 
under his fingers. He moved 
his attentions to Hercules' throat, licking a path up from his collarbone, 
almost to his chin, stopping to 
close his teeth on the demigod's Adam's apple and moving back down to trace 
circles in the tempting 
hollow with his tongue. 


Iolaus shifted, allowing his tongue and fingers to roam all over Hercules' chest 
and abdomen, sweeping 
along the cords of muscles, circling the swell of pectorals, ever approaching, 
but never touching the 
yearning nipples, and sending the demigod into a spasm of wriggling with a 
teasing probe of the navel. 
He was relentlessly methodical. Every rib had to be defined with a brush of the 
fingers; it seemed 
every curl of the covering of dark hair had to be twirled on a tongue or wound 
around a fingertip. "Io-
laus . . . " Hercules breathed, half-ecstatic and half-tormented by the hyper-
awareness that the hunter 
was bringing to seemingly every finger's breadth of his body. 


Iolaus sat up, a teasing grin on his face. He began pulling and twisting 
Hercules' nipples, again with an 
infuriating deliberateness, and said, "Ah, Herc, you tease me like this all the 
time, not letting me come 
until I'm practically, if not actually, in tears with frustration. Well, I'm 
giving you a taste of your own 
medicine with an added twist, as you'll find out soon enough. Remember the few 
times I tried to do this 
to you before, Herc? What happened when you got frustrated?" 


"I flipped you over on your knees and fucked you," admitted the demigod, half-
arrogantly and half-
sheepishly. 


"Well, you can't do that now, can you? How you like *them* apples?" 


"A . . . lot," Hercules answered with a lift of his eyebrows and a 
conspiratorial smile at his tormentor. 


"Good," said Iolaus decisively, "because you won't be getting any relief any 
time soon." As he spoke he 
continued to pinch and twist Hercules' nipples, until they were tingling and 
throbbing with sensitivity. 
He moved down and began meditatively flicking Hercules' cock with his finger, 
musing aloud, "Now 
*what* should I do with *this*?" His finger lightly grazed Hercules' anus, 
moving in teasingly light 
circles, while his tongue danced along Hercules' cock, its swirling, dipping, 
and travelling punctuated by 
the occasional nip of the teeth. 


Then Iolaus did something Hercules didn't expect. He unlocked his hands from 
their cuffs. "You want to 
prove yourself to me, Herc?" he asked. 


"Uh-*huh*," said the demigod firmly, his eyes wide. 


"Well you're going to offer yourself up to me in a way you never have before. 
And you're going to do 
everything I say." 


"Yes, Iolaus," said Hercules happily, his eyes shining with anticipation and an 
edge of nervousness. 
What *did* Iolaus have in mind? 


"You're not the only one who's been shopping for toys. In fact you can thank 
Xena for the tip." Iolaus 
unwrapped a nondescript looking parcel that had been shoved in a corner of the 
room, pulling out a 
large, smooth, carved phallus with a convenient handle for gripping. 


"I'll have to thank Xena all right," said Hercules in a tone that suggested Xena 
might not appreciate the 
means of being thanked. "What do you intend to do with that?" 


"Oh, it's not what *I'm* going to do with it, Herc. It's what *you're* going to 
do, my love. I don't just 
want to see you bringing yourself off; I want to see you making love to 
yourself--for *me*." Iolaus 
fetched a vial of oil and settled himself, cross-legged, between Hercules' 
thighs. "Your hands are free, 
Herc," he continued, his voice husky with urgency. "You could probably get me to 
get you out of those 
ankle cuffs. Are you going to assert yourself, or are you going to give up 
control to me? We both know 
it's up to you." 


"I'm all yours, Iolaus," said Hercules softly. 


Iolaus flashed a grin. "Good. Well. Let me get you started." He applied oil to 
the phallus in a brisk and 
businesslike manner, then coated two of his fingers and slid them inside 
Hercules, working to lubricate 
and stretch the tight passage. Then he withdrew his fingers and pressed the tip 
of the phallus to the 
opening to Hercules' body. 


"You can go ahead," Hercules whispered. 


With care, Iolaus pushed the phallus inside Hercules' ass, watching it slowly 
disappear inside his lover's 
body. "It's all yours now," he said casually, gesturing toward Hercules' right 
hand. "But don't even 
imagine you're allowed to come." 


"Wouldn't dream of it," said Hercules, closing his hand around the handle. He 
flushed. Iolaus had latched 
on to his vulnerabilities as effectively as Xena had. To touch himself, pleasure 
himself like this with 
Iolaus' bright eyes watching his every move and response was deeply thrilling 
and unnerving at the 
same time. It had been easier to submit to the Conqueror. This was Iolaus, and 
Hercules had had a lot 
invested in his position as the dominant partner, the one with the vastly 
superior strength who could 
effortlessly and efficiently bend Iolaus to his will. Now his physical strength 
was irrelevant; all he 
could do was offer himself up to Iolaus with the strength of his willingness to 
surrender, to be the 
vulnerable one. 


"Go slow," said Iolaus, trying not to let his astonishment at Hercules' 
willingness to comply reveal 
itself. "I want to see every finger's breadth of that cock as it slides out of 
you and back in again." 


"Yes, Iolaus," murmured Hercules, shifting himself to allow himself greater ease 
of access. He could 
feel himself yielding under his lover's hungry scrutiny, and the intensity of 
Iolaus' blue-eyed gaze told 
him that he was making an impression. As ordered, he began fucking himself 
slowly with the phallus, 
both flushing in humiliation and glorying in his exposure. Each deliberate 
stroke ignited a slow burn 
inside him, and each withdrawal of the phallus left him aching with need. His 
cock was hard with desire, 
and he wanted to make that slow burn inside him flame out with hard, fast, 
battering strokes, but he 
had to control the impulses that were making their way down his body in waves. 
He adjusted his grip on 
the handle of the phallus, feeling himself press himself open with the rounded 
head, feeling it widen a 
fiery channel inside him, nudging his prostate in a way that sent waves of 
pleasure radiating throughout 
his body, and then sliding out again, making him grit his teeth with 
frustration. And again, and again, 
and again, the same tortuous slow path of mounting arousal and frustration. 


As Hercules' breathing quickened, and a fresh sheen of sweat glistened on his 
body, Iolaus said 
abruptly. "Enough of that." He took the handle in his own hand, buried the 
phallus deep inside Hercules, 
and held it there. "I want to see you touching your chest and your belly--really 
touching them, like a 
lover. I want you to offer all of that glorious musculature to my eyes--and see 
for yourself what all 
the fuss is about," concluded Iolaus with a wry smile. 


Hercules complied, placing his hands flat on his belly, fingers splayed, then 
drew them inward slowly, 
tracing the ridges of his own muscles. He explored his chest and abdomen in a 
way he hadn't since he 
was a teenager, peering anxiously into a mirror and scrutinizing, with his eyes 
and hands, whatever he 
might have to offer a future lover and hoping it would pass inspection. He felt 
both peaceful and aroused 
in a way that was quite new to him, as the phallus inside him seemed to throb 
and burn, sending 
pulsations to his ever-hungrier cock. But at the same time, he felt a calm 
certainty that he was giving 
Iolaus pleasure *and* giving him a gift that would strengthen the bond between 
them in an entirely new 
way. And besides that, it just felt good--his own warm hands gliding over his 
sweat-slick flesh. He was 
the last person in the world to peacock over his own physique, but forced to 
explore it, he had to admit 
that his own muscles felt pretty good under his fingers, firm, and knotted, and 
humming with reined-in 
power and strength. 


Iolaus seemed to have stopped breathing, so transfixed was he by the sight 
before him. Speaking as if in 
a trance, he finally said, "Now your nipples. Play with them." 


Hercules took in his own breath slightly, as his fingers closed on his own 
nipples, already sensitive 
from Iolaus' earlier rough treatment. At first, he circled them tightly with one 
finger each, then began 
rolling them between his thumb and forefinger on each hand. If Iolaus had been 
hoping to make him even 
more aroused, this was having the desired effect. A fork of lightning seemed to 
flash from each nipple 
to his cock. "Do that thing you do to me--where you increase the pressure," 
demanded Iolaus, his voice 
rough and eager. "I want to see you hurt yourself." 


*Can I?* thought Hercules to himself. He pinched each nipple with a steadily 
increasing pressure, but 
noticed that Iolaus' free hand, as of its own volition, had strayed to his own 
chest and was roaming 
there restlessly. Hercules' question was soon answered--yes, he could hurt 
himself. His nipples pulsed 
and burned, and he groaned loudly, wondering if continued pressure would set his 
nipples literally on 
fire. Jittery ripples of tension were rocketing through his arms and stomach and 
legs. He wanted to 
come so badly he was shaking, but that desire was secondary to pleasing Iolaus. 


A long moan of desire and pain escaped his throat, and Iolaus mercifully said, 
"Stop. Here, coat your 
hands." Iolaus handed him the vial of oil, and Hercules still breathless from 
the delicious throbbing in his 
nipples, quickly obeyed. "Take your time," noted Iolaus. "I'm enjoying watching 
you--I can't tell you 
how much. Touch your balls first. I'll tell you when to move on." Hercules' 
fingers strayed over his 
balls as Iolaus had ordered. He weighed them and examined their roundness with 
his fingers, then began 
a slow massage, pressing just hard enough to send twinges of sensation into his 
cock. He panted and 
gasped; each flash of sensation set him on fire, building the pressure within 
him inexorably. 


*I can't stand this,* he thought to himself. *I have to come. I have to get 
those cuffs off my ankles and 
get out of this ridiculous position.* The muscles in his legs were beginning to 
twitch and jump from 
being held apart for so long, and Hercules was tossing his head restlessly on 
the pillow, irritated by the 
rivulets of sweat that were soaking it and running in ticklish, wavering lines 
down his body. *No,* he 
corrected himself. *I'm doing this for Iolaus. I'm doing this because I have to 
give myself to him.* 
Again, he consciously yielded, and again, Iolaus saw it. Hercules' body 
perceptibly relaxed, and he 
looked Iolaus steadily in the eye, as if saying, "Look what I'm doing for you. 
Know that I would do 
anything for you." But there was also just the faintest dangerous gleam of 
planned revenge. 


Iolaus apparently saw and understood it all, for he nodded in understanding and 
smiled. He and Hercules 
always did communicate better without words. "OK," he said, his voice tight with 
awe and lust. "Your 
cock. But slowly. Just make a circle of your thumb and forefinger." Hercules did 
as he was told, sliding 
the circle up and down his aching, needy member. The long-desired contact made 
him shudder with 
delirium, but he maintained the steady pace Iolaus seemed to want. His anus was 
contracting on the 
phallus inside him, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold out. Maybe 
if he tried thinking 
about the Hydra . . . or Graegus. No, he was giving his mind and soul up to 
Iolaus too--he would stay 
here in the present and exercise all the self-control Iolaus required of him. 


"I-I've always been . . . yours," he gasped. "I just didn't . . . understand." 


"I know," said Iolaus. He leaned over to kiss Hercules hard, one hand still 
holding the phallus inside him. 
"Give me your hand," he ordered. Hercules held it out, still looking Iolaus 
steadily in the eye. Iolaus 
poured a dollop of oil onto Hercules' palm and said, "OK, Herc, go for it. Come 
for me." 


"All . . . for . . . you!" grunted Hercules as he grasped his cock and began 
milking it with all the vigor he 
could stand. At the same time, Iolaus began fucking him with the phallus, and he 
was assaulted by 
cascades of sensation, burning him, flaying him, stripping him raw, and turning 
him inside out. "I-O-
LAUS!" he howled, his hips thrusting furiously, and his hand pumping the seed 
out of his engorged and 
throbbing cock as it splashed his stomach and chest. His chest heaved, as he 
gulped for air, and tears 
spilled from his eyes, and he didn't notice Iolaus unlocking the cuffs on his 
ankles. 


Iolaus scooped a handful of semen off his lover's body and said, "On your hands 
and knees, Herc, NOW!" 


Hercules flipped himself over before he even consciously registered the words. 
As the waves of red 
began to clear from his vision, he glanced back to see Iolaus spreading his own 
cock with semen. A 
moment later, he felt Iolaus inside him, taking him, fucking him, claiming him, 
hands gripping his hips 
with a painful urgency. Iolaus drove into him brutally, and Hercules flung his 
hips back, meeting each 
thrust with equal strength. They rocked together in a violent rhythm until 
Iolaus flung his head back and 
yelled, and Hercules felt himself flooded with his lover's seed. 


Now Iolaus was in tears as well, murmuring how beautiful Hercules was when he 
surrendered himself, 
and how much he loved him, and Hercules was reciprocating the sentiment, saying, 
"I'm yours Iolaus, 


as much as you are mine." 
* * * 


Later, bathing together in a nearby stream, by moonlight, Iolaus pulled Hercules 
close for a kiss and 
said, "The cuffs were a lovely idea, Herc, and I intend to make use of them--
you're heartstoppingly 
stunning in chains, my love--but we really didn't need them, did we?" 


"No," said Hercules with a warm smile. "I never realized what I was missing--and 
what I was holding 
back from you, Iolaus. I've learned . . . a lot." 


"Well, I owe the Conqueror a debt of gratitude," said Iolaus with a merry grin. 


"Yes, we both do," murmured Hercules. Then he turned to Iolaus, and swept him up 
out of the water and 
into his arms. "Just don't get *too* used to being on top, my love. I used . . . 
to be afraid that if I 
really surrendered, I wouldn't be able to find my power again. But I'm pretty 
sure that isn't the case." 


"Maybe, Herc, we should find out," said Iolaus softly, yielding his body to the 
strong arms that held 
him . . . 


Hercules woke up the next the next morning, smiling at the sight of the tousled 
blond head of his 
sleeping lover and at his memories of the night before. He glanced upward and 
said quietly, "You didn't 
win, Ares. Not only do I have Iolaus back," he stroked the golden curls with a 
possessive confidence, 
"but Xena is back where she belongs, with *her* Gabrielle, and you've given me 
the opportunity to 
learn some lessons I'll honor the rest of my life. I never thought I'd say this, 
brother, but . . . thank 
you." 


The End.