Year of the Inner Goddess

February 2024 – Audio Version

Lancelot was a quiet mystery. Years on the campaign had left him broad-shouldered with keen hawk-like eyes that observed everything but revealed little. Standing before him in the faint illumination cast by the evening lamps, The Rose trembled, feeling tiny, delicate, and exquisitely feminine. Clad only in her satin lace negligee, her core tingled, not precisely in apprehension but in elation and nervousness. 

After all, Lancelot was a Knight of the Round Table, and knowing her propensity for ineptitude, The Rose feared she would muddle everything up before their brief time together could begin. In the sun’s warmth and everyday situations, The Rose felt reasonably confident in her skill as an artful conversationalist, capable of articulation and declamation. Nevertheless, what was it about the strong, silent types that created a short in her brain and produced an embarrassing disconnect between her thought process and mouth. Their strapping ethos left her addled and fumbling like an incompetent schoolgirl in their presence.

“Don’t screw it up, don’t screw it up, don’t screw it up!” She silently whispered to herself. Sadly, the mantra seemed to manifest the exact opposite of The Rose’s desperate wish. 

“Is there anything you don’t like?” The Knight quietly whispered. 

His hands were in her hair, a thumb lightly caressing the base of her skull. His soft breath drifted down to swirl over her blushed cheeks and incite her. Her crimson petals tremored. 

“I don’t like black olives!” She quipped thoughtless. 

Even as she said it, The Rose grimaced at her faltering attempt to bring a bit of mirth to the situation and alleviate the pressure in her knotted stomach. Darn her abysmal lack of tact!

The Knight’s face was unreadable in its response: “What?”

Dear Gaea, The Rose had gone and botched everything! She sorely lacked poise and finesse for a rose, instead displaying disappointing traits of awkwardness and cloddishness. Had The Rose not learned her lesson the last time she attempted levity with a knight? Perhaps one day, she would grow into the sultry virtues she wretchedly hoped to cultivate. 

“Nothing,” she hastily whispered, averting her gaze.

Her complexion deepened in profound mortification. Than  kfully, good Knight pressed no further and continued his slow, thoughtful exploration of The Rose, his calloused hands running through her soft tendrils and down to the small of her back. A finger brushed one arched cheekbone, and The Rose felt her eyelids flutter closed as her breasts rose and fell under the delicate lace wound about her form. A smile graced her lips as Lancelot’s grizzled face tickled and enchanted the delicate swoop of her neck. The Knight’s movements were sedate and leisurely. The Rose held perfectly still, simply absorbing the honored attention as her trepidation ebbed.

For a breath, The Rose mistook Lancelot’s careful consideration as hesitant nervousness on the side of the Knight. The Rose moved closer until her body was tight against his solid form, seeking to reassure him of her curiosity and consent. Over his tunic, she traced the wide expanse of his broad back with her delicate fingernails, gradually slipping her dainty hands under the hem to capture the intimate warmth of his naked skin underneath. His hands continued their gentle exploration of her bountiful curves. The Rose rested her forehead on his breastbone, inhaling his rich musk. Lancelot smelled of amber wheat, sandalwood, and something obscure and intoxicating she could not quite place. 

Distinctly petite in comparison, The Rose lifted on tiptoe, relishing their contrasting size as she pressed her body against his stalwart frame, discovering against her thigh the magnificence straining behind the course material of his jeans. Mindlessly, The Rose tilted her head to the left as the Knight’s lips left faint prints on her bared flesh. She sighed at the wanton contact. 

Satisfied with his initial examination, Lancelot compelled the willing Rose onto the plush pallet situated behind them. Flush on the makeshift bed, The Rose lengthened her body, allowing the Knight to take in the full effect of the lacey garment and the satin bow barely concealing the swell of each heavy breast. Her breath caught under his piercing gaze as he silently observed the languid sight before him. Lancelot’s crystal eyes glittered in the pale Temple light. While she could not read every flickering thought, the Knight’s intentions were all too clear as he knelt on the edge of the pallet, massive hands gently parting her knees as he bowed before her. 

While others of the Order might have driven within her garden with brusk determination and brawn, the Knight was calculated in his courtly seduction of The Rose’s orgasm. One hand slid between the plush pallet and her hip to cup and fondled a rounded buttock while the other gently spread the folds of her petals, allowing his tongue infinite access until The Rose nearly wept her unbridled delight. Lancelot was unmistakably a perceptive student and connoisseur of the feminine form and drove The Rose into a state of perpetual bliss as his expert tongue swirled her opal pearl. It was sometime before The Rose was capable of conscious thought, and her faculties barely registered where she was or even who she was! 

As time went on, The Rose, through the thick fog of bursting orgasms, came to the realization that while decidedly ardent, Lancelot was restraining himself. When his rugged hand pressed against her moaning throat, it was ample enough to spike her orgasms and yet threaded with self-control. Through the contact, The Rose postulated the Knight was capable of so much more and was wildly curious to see the extent of the Knight’s training. Even the pinching of her nipple, the pain sparking like lightning bolts through her carnation areola and down her ample breast, verged on the edge of caution. The Knight’s rumbling growl in her ear vibrated with unspoken possibilities. The Rose trembled with yearning inquisitiveness. 

The imposing Knight sat back on his heels, looking down at her, his face glistening with his recent dessert. He was just considering her limp, gasping form as she lay on the disheveled bedding. Her body electrified and recovering from the pleasure of his mouth, seemed to vibrate under his stare as it reoriented itself from the breathtaking, orgasmic journey. Lancelot had proved himself to be a discerning and knowledgeable lover, and she felt safe under his care. At the same time, The Rose was genuinely curious about what conquering talents lay concealed beneath his stoic features. Before that evening, The Knight was an unfamiliar, yet The Rose was unafraid and a tad restless to explore all the intrepid Knight had to offer her. 

The Rose was grateful for the opportunity to slow her pulse and also a bit unsure how to proceed. Lancelot had taken care to leave The Rose feeling spoiled and shaky under his ministration. Was it her turn to initiate? Was the Knight satisfied with their dalliance and ready to return to his Queen? Patiently, The Rose waited, her form ephorically amenable to Lancelot’s wishes. 

“I don’t know what to do with you,” he said at last. His words ended in a deep, growling base note.

“What do you want to do with me?” The Rose whispered, hoping her words were coquettish and conveyed her alacrity.

The only response she received was a reverberating growl as he decisively rounded over her prone form, pausing to plant tender whispering kisses that flitted over her collarbone and bosom. Aroused once more, Lancelot fanned the fever already burning through her tiny veins. Her eyes rolled back, and her spine formed an arch under him at the intent embrace. 

When the Knight slid his protected sword within her ripe petals, The Rose gasped and cried out in climactic triumph, her fingers gripping the sturdy bulk of his stout biceps for support. The Knight’s muscular body, brawny arms, and oak-like thighs dwarfed the tiny Rose impaled underneath him. The contrasting proportions only inflamed her desire as his volatile thrusts gained momentum and penetrated her sacred sanctuary while his nomadic hands claimed dominion over her abundant tresses. 

Like him, Lancelot’s penetration was resolute and licentious, his glory thick and forceful. Somewhat girthier than The Rose was accustomed to receiving, her mind gaily spiraled into the heavens, her physical form lost in an endless loop of crashing orgasmic waves. The Rose barely noticed the weight of his robust chest bearing down, becoming a welcome anchor as she clung to him. The Rose attempted to stifle her raucous exclamations, but it was pointless. Lancelot was a Knight and, evidently, a master of the Art of Seduction, and her shrill, impassioned cries rang throughout the Temple. 

Intrinsically, the Knight allowed the dainty Rose to catch her breath as his whiskered lips circumspectfully traveled to breathe and dimple her neck, her collarbone, and even down her cleavage. Still willingly imprisoned beneath him, her bosom heaved chaotically as The Rose valiantly sought to steady her pulse. One hand dripping with domination yet guarded in its movements, the Knight turned The Rose’s chin to point over her right shoulder, claiming the newly exposed neck for himself as he brushed away an errant tendril clinging to her damp neck. Lancelot repeated the process on each side more than once, with just enough force to imply who was in control. The Rose adored the governing, placidly obeying as her blood roared in her ears at the manipulation. 

Satisfied with the whimpering puddle, now sunk into the pallet. The Knight withdrew, instructing The Rose onto her hands and knees. Her face obscured, The Rose gave a pert little smile, knowing the wide V of her négligée provided not only a tantalizing view of her derrière but also immediate access to her swollen, moist slit. The Knight soon eviscerated all feelings of smug satisfaction, surprising The Rose for a second time that night. 

As expected, auster palms clapped on either side of her hips with a resounding smack. However, rather than the warm firmness of his Adonis belt pressing against her rounded cheeks, Lancelot’s hot breath eddied over her exposure, raising goosebumps along the flesh of her derriere. The Rose cocked an eyebrow; what was the mysterious Knight about? To The Rose’s horror, a soft probing tip flicked and tickled where it not be! The Rose took a sharp inhale at the realization. She struggled to angle her hips away from the Knight’s wandering tongue, attempting to guide him southward towards her eager, moist petals and away from her unmentionable. The Knight was not so quickly dissuaded. Fingertips bit into her bare hips, adjusting them higher for his pleasure at her unspeakable.  

Mother Gaea! What was she to do?! Should she submit and allow herself the unbridled experience? Or pursue proper decorum and strive to divert the Knight’s greedy concentration a third time? The Rose made one last fruitless attempt before succumbing to the prodding muscle and the delight suffusing her body. Her groan deepened as unexplainable pleasure washed over her. Mesmerized, The Rose utterly conceded to the Knight, face crumpling into the linens as she moaned her extraordinary release into the cotton fibers. 

A baritone rumbled through her euphoria. She froze as Lancelot’s rich voice whispered in her ear, “Those things you thought I did for you?” He paused, thunder rumbling from his chest. “I did them for me, not you!”

Gods of Olympus! The Knight may as well have growled, “Good, girl.” So similar was the effect on The Rose: eyes rolling back, her feminine void aching for dominion, fingers white as they gripped the rumpled sheets, breath issuing in frantic gasps, and knees so weak and barely able to sustain her all-fours position. Before The Rose could devise an appropriate response, the Knight’s demanding prominence invaded her slick petals, resuming his dominating volley until her buttocks burned a deep burgundy from the tactical attack. Yet, The Rose cried for more, enduring every punishing thrust! Reaching around, the Knight gripped her chin, tilting The Rose’s focus over her left shoulder to look at him. Lancelot’s lips hovered at her ear, his masculinity boiling the cells of her life force until it surged uncontrollably beneath her skin. 

“The things I do to you, I do for me!”

Until next time, XO. Elsie