Aphrodite was sulking.
She - the literal the goddess of beauty - couldn't win a Styx-damned beauty contest! It was absurd. Oh sure, she'd won in the end - but only by bribing the judge! Paris simply hadn't been able to decide which of she, Hera and Athene was the most beautiful, and she knew his judgement was fair.
Seriously - what was the point of being the divine patron of love and beauty if she wasn't even the prettiest goddess on Olympus? It was unfair, and unreasonable, and, and... and probably even some other words too that she couldn't think of. Bitterly, she grabbed a cup of nectar and downed it, the sweet drink flowing smoothly down her throat. The sugary taste did something to counteract the bitterness in her belly, so she broke the habit of an immortal lifetime and had another cup. Normally she wouldn't dare - nectar, whilst unimaginably delicious, was also notoriously fattening - but today she couldn't care less. What was even the point of obsessing over her weight if even Hera was apparently just as beautiful as she was? What was the point of trying if she couldn't be the best?
She lay back on her bed, sighing wistfully as she took a gulp from the second cup of nectar. Before she knew it, the cup was empty and she was refilling it again from the jug - then she frowned. Why even bother with the cup? She tossed it aside irritably and grabbed the jug, pouring the sweet nectar straight down her throat. Who cared if it was indecorous? This was her house, this was her nectar, and she was upset. Why not treat herself?
The nectar slid silkily down her throat and into her belly, the delightful sweetness tantalising her tastebuds. She'd drunk nectar before, of course - every day of her immortal life, in fact - but somehow it tasted better today. She tipped the jug higher to increase the flow, chugging it as quickly as she could; still not quickly enough though as a fair quantity spilled out of her mouth, splashing down her bare chest and swelling stomach.
Before she knew it the jug was empty, and she flung it aside just to hear it smash. Her stomach was churning, unused to this quantity of rich liquid all at once, and looking down she saw that it was visibly swollen. She put a hand on it, groaning as she suddenly realised just how full she was. Drinking all that nectar had probably been a mistake, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She'd spent an eternity holding back, and now she was sick of it. Dieting could go to Hades - she was going to indulge, and nobody could stop her.
She slid off her bed and padded to her storeroom. Here, she knew, Hephaestus stored all sorts of delicacies - she only wanted one thing though. Bending down, she searched through the cases until she found what she was looking for; a two dozen cakes baked with ambrosia. She took them in her arms and returned to her bed, depositing them in a heap on the covers. Her husband had been saving these for a special occasion, but she hadn't so much as seen him in weeks, so busy he was with his incessant forging, so he wasn't likely to notice any time soon.
Without a delay she unwrapped one of the little cakes and shoved it whole into her mouth. Delicious! Truly delicious!
At once she grabbed another cake, then another, gulping them down impressive haste. Crumbs scattered her bedclothes and her body, sticking patchily to the nectar still on her belly and breasts as she continued to gulp down the cakes, ignoring the building discomfort in her gut, too lost in the divine taste to worry.
Before she knew it, all the cakes were gone. Her hand found nothing but bare wood inside the box, and she snapped out of her food-trance with a jerk - o-ouch! Shards of pain shot through her agonisingly full stomach, and she groaned as she collapsed into fetal position on the bed, clutching at her bloated gut with both hands. It was so swollen that she looked pregnant, filled with more than enough food to kill a mortal - fortunately for Aphrodite she was divine, and thus couldn't be killed - by overindulgence or anything else - and so she just fell promptly into a deep sleep, moaning aloud with discomfort every time her stomach grumbled and churned, yet unable to bring herself to regret her oversized feast.
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