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They don't start out as friends. Venus is not a goddess who likes to share, and she resents the takeover of her temples, the usurpation of her titles and imagery. She especially resents that mortals now associate these things with a virgin. Once, the Romans called her Venus Genetrix, called her "Mother". Venus is thoroughly prepared to dislike Mary, whom she expects to be boring and holier-than-thou, or irritatingly naive like so many other "virgins" who've borne the progeny of gods. It turns out, though, that Mary is a pretty cool chick. No matter how many people call her the Queen of Heaven, she's still just Miriam from Nazareth at heart.
The first time they meet, Venus says, "Ave, Maria" to be polite. Mary smiles at her and says "Shalom". There is something about Mary's smile, her warmth, that Venus finds irresistible. They strike up a conversation about where to get the best lamb in Rome and the trials of divine motherhood (and why no one can manage to paint a divine baby that looks like an actual baby). Mary is adjusting pretty well, all things considered, but she confesses that her fellow virgins, Diana and Minerva, aren't really all that much fun (Venus secretly agrees). They strike up an unlikely friendship. And friendship with Venus pretty much always comes with benefits.
Venus was worried that the phrase "Blessed Mary, Ever-virgin" might be literally true. Maybe her hymen grew back, like Prometheus's liver. Maybe she really hadn't ever known the touch of a man, though that seemed highly unlikely, given that she was married, after all.
But it turns out it's just one of those things they say, that it's a metaphorical and theological virginity (the regard humans have for which has never made any sense to Venus).
Mary has deep brown eyes and a gorgeous tumble of black curls, her Semitic skin a gorgeous olive hue. Her blue veil is thrown over the back of the chair in Venus's bedchamber, the rest of her clothes are strewn about the floor. She smells of lilies, which mingle with the smell of the ocean breeze through the window and the pungent smell of female arousal that fills the room. Venus inhales deeply. She knows all the ways a woman's body can be made to feel pleasure, and she's been slowly teaching Mary, who is an excellent student. (It surprises her that Mary's so willing, but Mary points out that there's nothing in the Torah forbidding sex between two women.) She takes in the sight of Mary's body laid out on the bed, the picture of ideal womanhood, soft and full, her hair tumbled out over her head. Venus dips down and sucks first on one nipple, then the other. Mary makes a breathy sound of pleasure underneath her. Venus uses her mouth and hands to toy with Mary's breasts, until Mary's squirming underneath her, her legs spreading open. Venus reaches her hand down, strokes over Mary's clit, feels how wet she is. She slides a finger in, then two. She's rewarded with a hitch of Mary's hips. Three fingers go in effortlessly. What Venus has in mind beyond that is going to require a change in position.
"Knees up, my Star of the Sea, legs spread nice and wide." Mary obliges, and Venus takes another moment to enjoy the view. Three fingers again, stroking up and stimulating the g-spot, which earns her a moan. Now four, close together. She works them in and out, and Mary is clearly enjoying herself. She tucks her thumb into the bundle of her fingers and adds it. Mortals would need lube, but Venus is the goddess of sex and desire and has no need for Astroglide. Mary is slick and wet and eager, and Venus can make her even more so.
Mary sighs in pleasure. Venus has elegant, graceful hands, and she knows how to use them. The feeling of Venus's fingers inside her, stroking her, stretching her open is one she has come to love. It straddles the border of pleasure and pain and never fails to give her an orgasm (of course, if Mary doesn't have an orgasm when she's with Venus, it's because Venus doesn't want her to). Mary has no idea how many of Venus's fingers are inside her, she can't really tell at this point, can only feel the delicious fullness, the intensity of the sensation. Venus has worked her whole hand in, up to the wrist, and Mary is overcome with pleasure. But then she sighs in disappointment when she feels Venus's hand withdraws.
Venus smiles. She places her hands together, palms facing each other, and begins to slide them in. Ten fingers, sliding in. She intends to go slowly, gently, but Mary, who normally has the patience of a saint (as well she should) is bucking her hips. Venus holds her hands still, letting Mary adjust and control the movement. After a few moments, she pushes in, enjoying the gasp from Mary's mouth as she works her hands in up to the wrist, collapsing them so that one hand is balled inside the other.
Mary screams out, a combination of pleasure and pain, sensation too intense to process. She orgasms in waves, her muscles clenching almost painfully down on Venus's hands, and Venus rides the waves with her, absorbing the power of Mary's pleasure and reveling in the power she has to make her feel it. Occasionally she wriggles a finger a bit or clenches or unclenches her hands, bringing forth a new wave of orgasm, until she can tell that Mary is spent, panting on the bed, eyes rolled back in her head, limbs loose, inarticulate. Slowly, gently, she withdraws her hands, and Mary moans as they come out. Mary wants them out, but she doesn't, wants the pain to go away without losing that deliciously full feeling.
Venus wipes her hands clean on a cloth near the side of the bed and crawls up to hold Mary, who kisses her full on the lips and then allows her head to be cradled onto Venus's bosom. Venus strokes Mary's now-sweat-streaked hair until they both fall asleep.