Mars plan for sex

Male, cursed race. Yes, the immortal Olympians too: villains and cowards, always ready to vent their frustrations on us women, and their stupidity too. It's true, I've never been a faithful wife; sometimes I not even knew who the father of my children was: too much promiscuity in my sex life. But from here to humiliate me inside the metal grid it takes. He, Mars, the terrible Mars, the male god par excellence, he escaped from the shackles firmly shaped by my betrayed husband and instead of protecting me with his impressive body by mockery looks but also by envy and lust of the other gods, he left me alone and naked shivering on the cold iron fabric that marked my lovely skin. If I were to say the great satisfaction of those terrible moments of shame, it was when all the divine audience was under the grid and, male and female, looked eager my pussy and my ass. I decided to stand still: groped to hide my graces would have been useless. Indeed, I spread with my hands the labia of the vagina and, tightening the muscles, I squeezed the abundant amount of sperm with which Mars had flooded me on the red and horny faces of the voyeur gods. Under the filaments of that sticky rain, the males stopped masturbating; females, like bitches, began to lick around.
It was my revenge. From the iron spider net that imprisoned me, I had tied to a sperm net those who had taken cruel of me.