November 2024 – Audio version
Bouncing on my double-buckle strap high heels, a blanket of giddiness wrapped around me as I stood once more on the cobblestones, gazing into the brilliantly lit windows of my gallery. The amber fall light was enchanting as it descended, dancing with the falling ruby leaves. Lilting music floated on the breeze, carrying the whine of highland bagpipes, the woody croon of a classical guitar, and the hum of a bass that cavorted one last time with the nearly dormant trees. Captivated by nature’s frolic, I grinned, tucking my hunter-green plaid scarf tighter around my neck and brushing my kid leather gloves down the front of my double-breasted mulberry pea coat as the chill nipped at my nose. Nature begged me to stay, to waltz in the leafy carnival.
But my Inner Goddess urged me to reach for the glass door, to embrace my salacious memories.
Tucking my hands deep into my pockets, I lingered one moment longer… the paintings would still be there. The Goddess of Fall had willfully delayed her arrival, and I wanted just one more second to bask in the enchantment of Opora.
Click, click, click… my heels echoed smartly on the marble flooring of the gallery. My Inner Goddess had finally won, but the charming laughter of wood nymphs still danced in my ears. It was never easy to escape the sultry fingers of enchanting goddesses.
And so, I paused before the newest addition to my gallery, the crimson flush creeping all the way up to my sapphire hairline as I gazed at the scene before me.
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Portrait One – Yin & Yang
The familiar round taijitu symbol—its coexisting black and white halves—seems innocuous within its thin black frame. But the longer I gazed, the two halves began to spin, swirling together, merging and separating in a fluid dance. From the center, an image slowly began to emerge, shifting and growing before my very eyes.
Yin and Yang are the epitome of duality in the universe, each waxing as the other wanes. Neither side holds dominance or superiority; both twirl in a profound philosophical accord—Yin, the embodiment of darkness, a nocturnal entity, she is receptive and intuitive. Yang, the embodiment of vibrant daylight, is assertive in his masculinity. It is a mesmerizing choreography, a dance of the feminine and masculine that permeates all spheres of our known existence.
Never was this more evident than the day I stepped over their threshold, experiencing both the Yang of daylight and the Yin of night—an immersion that utterly transformed my soul and my relationship with my Inner Goddess. The music of balance swept through me with such force that I could barely recount the experience. In the embrace of Yang, my delicate self was invigorated and adored, bathed in vibrant light. But it was beneath the cool, shadowed watch of Yin that I was reborn. In the stillness of the night, I felt a death of the self I once knew, only to emerge, refreshed and renewed, as though the darkness had stripped away all that no longer served me. Together, these forces wove my soul into a deeper, more profound peace and tranquility—a concord I had unknowingly yearned for.
In the peak of midday, Yang beckoned me into his domain. Light poured through every angle, spilling across the room in warm, golden waves while a cool breeze danced through the air, teasing my exposed skin. Cushions of every size filled the space, and upon them rested the Spirits—visions of transcendent beauty, each one radiating a unique, magnetic allure. The very air pulsed with confident charisma as the Spirits glided between and through each other. Their welcoming smiles soothed my nerves, and their laughter—diaphanous and playful—was like a gentle invitation, echoing with moans of pleasure that made the room feel alive. Shyly, I hung back, unsure how to approach or engage with these ethereal creatures of blithe and salacious delight, caught between awe and desire.
Even with my head slightly bowed and my gaze veiled by lowered lashes, I could not tear my eyes away from the spectacle around me. My breath hitched as the white magic swirled and danced, an ethereal harmony that held me spellbound. There was almost a visible shimmering symphony in perfect amity with the golden summer sun streaming through gossamer curtains.
Low, feminine moans rose like music, delicate and enchanting, caressing my timid ears. The ethereal Spirits delighted in each other with breathtaking grace. The winsome dining between fellow Spirits’ milky thighs or their vigorous ministrations were the very essence of elegance, even as nectar sparkled on their forearms or spread thighs. Their presence was so pure, so divinely exquisite, I felt unworthy, almost content to remain a quiet observer, afraid my presence might disturb the sanctity of their perfection.
However, the charming Spirits had no intention of letting me linger in their midst as a mere onlooker. Apparently, they had every intention of seducing me to their side. Noting my hesitancy and breaking from her companions, a Spirit with a mischievous twinkle in her eye stepped forward with a playful, determined step and beckoned me to lay next to her. I breathed a sigh of relief. I had been almost satisfied to watch, my fear of inadequacy the only thing cementing my feet.
I sank into the plump pouf, slipping a hand beneath my head to free the cascade of sapphire curls trapped beneath me, letting them spill like a shimmering waterfall behind. My fingers, unbidden, curled into tight fists, hovering just above my shoulders as nervous energy rippled through me—a physical betrayal of my inner unrest. It was hardly the most inviting posture, yet I couldn’t bring myself to unwind. I was willing to receive, yes—but to give? That was an entirely different story. These winsome spirits deserved excellence, and I wasn’t certain I could rise to meet them.
The Spirit’s perfectly manicured fingers settled firmly on my quivering knees. I was unaware of just how tightly they were clinging to each other until she deftly parted them, allowing her soft hands to glide down the inside of my thighs as they fell open. Mischief flickered seductively in her warm, chocolate eyes.
My breath came in faint gasps while every protestation of why the Spirit should not bless my pearl with her luscious lips raced to my mind. My Inner Goddess, far bolder than I, kept my lips sealed and sent memories of the succulent tongues that had worked their unmitigated magic on the apex of my pleasure. I froze, utterly spellbound, while my Inner Goddess willingly acquiesced to the intoxicating pull of the Spirit’s touch, her downy curls tickling my naked legs, sending waves of need rippling through me.
“It’s okay to receive,” my Inner Goddess reminded me as the Spirit’s exquisite tongue whispered like silken gossamer over my receptive slit. “If they did not want to, they wouldn’t.”
I felt like my Inner Goddess was oversimplifying the matter. What if…? And what about….? However, a tangible part of me craved the wanton attention. I selfishly needed the healing adoration of the encompassing Spirits. With a reluctant sigh, I surrendered, and my head fell back on the pudgy pillow.
The Spirit began her ardent adoration, her supple lips and lustrous tongue seeking my ripening pearl. The gentle brush of her bouncing curls, the warmth of her mouth—each touch sent shivers shooting down my spine, ruffling out my toes. I felt myself come undone, conceding piece by tender piece until the beautiful Spirit and her fellow sisters were all I knew as my hands clenched the coverlet. The brilliant world around me dissolved, melting into a haze of surreal oblivion. In that sweetness lingered the Spirits—radiant yet devilishly unrelenting—circling like butterflies, their adoration laced with iniquitous intent. Together, they took turns unraveling me, an orchestration of beauty and ruin, and I never wanted to leave their illustrious company.
Just beyond us, reposing on his lush Davenport, Yang sipped his mulled wine with a slow, deliberate motion, his lips curling into a wicked grin. There was an unmistakable gleam in his bright eyes, thoroughly pleased with the holy spectacle unfolding around him—knowing full well he was the architect of it all.
White seamlessly melted into black, the golden sun yielding gracefully to the silvery moon goddess as stars stirred to life, winking into shimmering existence. Each stood as a perfect embodiment of contrast—a harmonious union of opposites, an exquisite balance that felt both inevitable and utterly extraordinary.
The grass felt cold and damp beneath my bare feet, each blade distinct against my hypersensitive skin as I stood waiting in the near darkness. The warm summer breeze danced playfully around my legs, giggling as it tugged loose sapphire curls from my hastily arranged updo. My breath quickened once more, escaping in short, uneven bursts as a heady blend of anticipation, exhilaration, and the raw edge of barely restrained anxiety swirled within me.
An enclosure loomed in the shadows, a ten-foot wall rising before me. Once seen, its imposing presence was hard to ignore. In the center stretched a wide opening composed of a deep rectangle, its top arching into a smooth half-oval curve that caught the moon’s silvery glow. Winging on either side of the center palisade, twin walls rose, formidable and unmoving like sentries over the small gathering milling at the base. However, a narrow bed extending from the opening remained unseen, tucked safely within the embrace of the twin walls, protected and concealed from view.
It all appeared so inconspicuous, so innocent, until Yin’s Shadows stirred. Tall and swarthy, they guided me behind the nearest wall, assisting me to gently recline on the narrow bed, my hips and legs extending out through the opening for all to see. From the outside, calloused hands, surprisingly tender, clasped my ankles, fastening them to the soft leather cuffs dangling from the chains pinned halfway down the face of the panel. This left my legs suspended in a wide V on the outside of the main wall.
I could hardly breathe; the pressure and the suspense of the moment were thick in the air. The Shadows milled around the outside of the enclosure, their restless movements a silent promise of what was to come. A chill swept over me as the nighttime breeze caressed my exposed, delicate legs, my ankles suspended high above my head, every inch of skin hypersensitive to the lustful gaze of the onlookers.
Thoughts and fears flitted about my mind like frantic fireflies. Their dance within my mind was random and impossible to predict. Resonant vibrations hummed around me, a carnal craving deep within my gut ached to be satisfied, and a soft pulse seemed to echo from the very earth itself. My Inner Goddess stirred, filled with a bubbling excitement, ready to surrender completely to the mysterious presence of Yin.
Clothed in the fabric of the night and a vision of moonlight, in her eyes, Yin held the ancient secrets of forgotten worlds. In perfect harmony with the rhythms of the earth, she drew closer. Her powerful fingertips brushed gently over my eyelids, coaxing them shut, the last flicker of starlight fading from my vision. Yin, the Goddess of the Dark, required no words to be understood. Her very essence spoke a language all its own as she beckoned the swarthy Shadows on the other side of the wall to approach.
Craning my head up, I peeked between my aloft legs. Despite the flickering lights, the night was heavy, its inky thickness pressing in on me. The narrow opening obscured my view, cloaking the Shadows in a veil of darkness that seemed alive with mystery. I let my head fall back onto the cushioned table, the cool surface grounding me for a fleeting moment. Waiting… waiting for… I wasn’t quite sure what. A thrill coursed through me, crackling like summer lightning. My Inner Goddess was beside herself, practically vibrating with energy, her joy so immense and untethered that I half-feared she might burst into starlight, scattering fragments of her radiant exultation into the night.
A broad, warm tongue, brimming with guile and confidence, trailed a deliberate path from the pert V of my slit to the very hood of my shy pearl. A shiver rippled through me, unbidden, and a soft moan escaped before I could contain it. Yin chuckled low, a sound like velvet wrapped in iron, and with a subtle dip of her chin, she granted her Shadow silent permission to continue his worship at my exuberant apex. I was taken aback—adoration was not at all how I imagined my initiation into Yin’s court. I had expected hard, unrelenting fervor, but instead, luxurious kisses sent my heart racing, and my bosom rising in uneven breaths. Gods of Olympus!
The obscure Shadow’s tongue danced over my moist curtains, coaxing and teasing, seeking entrance beyond my slit with an unhurried mastery that left no doubt of his intention. My climax was nearly complete as his tongue ascended again. It was with devilish gallantry, swirling and seducing my pearl with a rhythm that both chased and commanded surrender. My body was no longer my own. My Inner Goddess unfurled her snowy wings, luminous and resplendent, and with a single powerful beat, they lifted us skyward. We soared, weightless, into the celestial court of the Moon Goddess, where her silvery attendants giggled at my ravaging.
Two dense fingers, wet with my nectar, glided into the tight confines of my sanctuary. Nimble as a dancer, the tips skated over my inner jewel, drawing a groan from deep within my core. Bound as a prisoner of Yin, I had no strength—or desire—to protest the relentless attentions of her Shadows. Their faceless forms mirrored my own unspoken wish: to abandon identity, to slip into anonymity. To not be myself.
In their presence, I craved invisibility granted by the looming wall and rich darkness. It was an astounding liberation that allowed me to simply be—to feel without inhibition, without fear. And so, with quiet, resolute surrender, I shed my mortal form, releasing all that tethered me to who I thought I was, to who I thought I should be.
With that mental decision in place, my dam burst in an unexpected rush of exuberance, coating the patient Shadows in glittering diamonds, soaking the thin cushion beneath me, and spraying the chest of the Shadow at my hips, his fingers a blinding whir within me. It felt like a rather impressive display—and for once… I didn’t care what happened or the extent of the mess my Inner Goddess created. Gods, what a wondrous feeling to let things unfold as they would. The fetters of fear and delicate sensibility drowned in the blackness of the sunless night.
Unseen, Shadow after Shadow took their turn at my altar. Their worship and devotion were boundless, their strength and virility unmatched. Their hands a blur, their thrusts volatile, threatening to unravel me from within. I felt no pain—only a desperate, insatiable need for their offerings, consumed by the power of their touch, begging for more.
With the Moon Goddess and her celestial entourage as my witnesses, Yin as my Mistress, and the Shadows as the architects of my dismantling, I yielded. The Milky Way shimmered above me, an endless canvas of stars—each one a silent testament to the unraveling of my being. As I lay there, stripped of my mortal constraints, I realized I was no longer just a body, no longer just myself. I was becoming something else, something greater, something woven into the very fabric of the universe.
The world seemed to pause, holding its breath. In that stillness, something deep within me shifted—a quiet, resolute peace replacing the normal chaos of my mind. My soul, once shattered, began to reform in ways I had never imagined. As my Inner Goddess became freer, unshackled by fear or expectation, I felt the energy of the stars surge through my veins, filling the hesitant, hollow spaces with radiant clarity. My mortal form trembled, my throat strained with screams, and I categorically drenched the narrow bed. With nothing to restrain it, my joy knew no bounds.
And so, with every fragment of me now aligned with the infinite, I embraced the perpetual cycle of death and rebirth at the hands and loins of my unseen masters—knowing that nothing, not even the most complete surrender, could ever return me to who I once was. I had transcended. I had become a truer, more powerful image of myself. My Inner Goddess and I, at last, united as one.
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Barely able to contain myself, I withdrew from the memory and returned to the serene walls and soft lighting the gallery. My legs felt like jelly, and a discernible dampness soaked my inner thighs. Tingles rippled from my sternum, over my collarbone, and down my arms, sparking, popping, and fizzling off the tips of my fingers. A familiar ache began to blossom within me, humming gently as the delicate petals unfurled in my abdomen—my Inner Goddess was awakening.
My clacking heels echoed, the only sound accompanying me. Yet, surrounded by my memories—framed in their square and oval borders—I didn’t feel alone. No, I felt…alive, proud, even a little smug at the extent of my gallery. I was rather tickled.
Rounding a corner, I spotted the frame I was looking for.
Hanging larger than life within the borders of a gilt-trimmed frame wrought from intricate ironwork stood the imperial figure of Hephestes.
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Portrait Two – Hephestes
Individually, we sought reprieve from the cruel clutches of a Summer afternoon, finding solace indoors in the cool embrace of modern air conditioning. But more importantly, our wandering feet led us to a pavilion, where the companionship of our fellows awaited. Sitting at the edge of the pallet, I engaged in mild conversation while my Inner Goddess traced the contours of Hephestes’ bulging chest, framed by trunk-like arms thicker than my thighs. Calm as ever, the mighty god casually leaned against a pillar, charmingly unaware of the effect he was having on my Inner Goddess.
I attempted to sit coquettishly, lifting my bosom and flashing him a winning smile whenever our eyes met. My Inner Goddess, however, was another matter—pouting and growling at me in frustration. It seemed so easy in her mind. Stand up, walk over to him, tilt my chin to the heavens, lock eyes with his mahogany gaze, and simply ask him to join me. One, two, three, four. Four simple steps. And yet, I remained firmly rooted in my seat, watching my window of opportunity shrink with every passing second.
Just as hope was fading and my Inner Goddess simmered with displeasure, Hephestus—hips swaying with confident grace—strode toward me. I swear my heart stopped, then restarted with the thunderous rhythm of his every step. My Inner Goddess squeaked as he loomed above me. Even his shadow had a weight to it. His smile was everything, leaving me speechless, unable to form a single coherent thought, let alone comprehend the words spilling from his perfect lips.
With a knowing nod from me—half a guess, half reading his body language—Hephestus slid his imposing hands the length of my thighs, his thumbs pushing the hem of my scandalously short skirt up to my waist. The movement was fluid, silken, almost wanton in its effortless skill. My Inner Goddess bit her lip, eyes rolling back in erotic anticipation.
Hephaestus took his time, every movement deliberate, as his skilled hands roamed the expanse of my prone form. He traced the length of my legs with tender devotion, lingering with particular care upon my feet. His touch was sensual, his thick fingers exploring the high arch of one foot before his thumb smoothed over each rounded toe. A whisper of warmth followed—a delicate kiss graced the top of my foot—before he turned his attention to the other.
A soft sigh escaped my lips, unbidden, as his ministrations unraveled the knots of strain I hadn’t realized I held. Forget intimacy; this was transcendence—a glory that silenced the cacophony of my restless thoughts.
Guilt fluttered briefly at the edges of my mind. I had nothing to offer in return, taking everything Hephaestus offered without protestation. My languid Inner Goddess quelled such musings, her gaze regal and knowing. Our time to give will come, she assured.
His efforts left me pliant, utterly yielding, and when Hephaestus parted my legs with the reverence of one unveiling a sacred treasure, I offered no protest. His stately head bowed low, and as he descended to the source of my mounting fervor, I surrendered utterly to the sweet ecstasy he bestowed.
My growing fascination with being dined on was further bolstered by the incomparable Hephaestus. The blood of the giants belied his smooth grace and his faultless oral skills. My immediate cry of joy burst from my throat the moment his immense tongue swiped through the sensitive folds hidden from the world. After nearly a year, I had almost forgotten the artful eloquence of his touch. The sensation was divine—beyond words. My trembling hands gripped the unruly sheets beneath me, the fabric yielding to the fervor of my need. Yes, yes… this was what I had craved, what I had denied myself for far too long.
With each rambling twist of his tongue and the commanding pull of his lips, his unyielding arms kept my writhing form firmly in place. My release was boundless, a tempest rising within as wave after wave cascaded through me, leaving me adrift and helpless to Hephaestus’s mastery. And then—oh, Gods of Olympus—two formidable fingers joined the fray. A searing heat ignited as the pads of his fingers sought and caressed my inner jewel, drawing forth my pool of nectar. Merciful heavens, he found that sacred place with such unerring precision—how was that possible?
Blazing fire and oceanic waves waged a tempestuous war within me, their fervent clash rising to an unbearable crescendo until the warning bells in my head clamored in alarm. In a most unbecoming outburst, I shrieked, desperate for protection to be spread over the bedding. In moments, Hephaestus had loosened the floodgates, and all hell was about to be unleashed upon the unprepared pallet. There was a clamor of motion: scrambling feet, whispered commands, frenzied movement—half a dozen unseen hands adjusted me with def precision. I dared not open my eyes, scarcely containing the torrent of bliss threatening to ruin me. Whether gods or nymphs attended my form, I could not say; the boundary between divine and mortal dissolved in the rapture about to consume me.
Devilishly calm, Hephaestus stood like a master at his forge, unshaken by my panic. With deliberate precision, he wielded his focus like a hammer, his fingers striking at the fragile control I clung to, breaking down the defenses I had so desperately erected around my weakening gates.
Hephaestus intensified the pressure of his touch, his gaze fixed upon me as he began a rhythm like a blacksmith’s hammer striking iron, igniting my entire body in orgasmic flame. The floodgates within me opened wide, and I trembled beneath its force—a torrent of sensation pouring through me without restraint. I felt the hot rush of nectar spill from me in a frantic frenzy. Though droplets clung to his colossal chest, Hephaestus remained unwavering, his presence a constant as he deepened his touch.
I screamed, clutching the pillow to my face, muffling the cries that raged in an ungodly tumult. But as always, it was torn away by unseen hands, gentle yet insistent, and voices urged me, coaxing me to release, to surrender. “Let it out,” they whispered in ecstatic union. Let it out; I did until I collapsed vulnerable into the coverlet, nigh senseless as electricity pulsed through every nerve and vein.
It was only when my senses slowly returned that I realized Hephaestus had resumed his indulgence, his mouth and the gentle coaxing of his tongue sending me into a whirlwind of dizzying pleasure. The tremors surged once more, a wave that left me trembling, caught between euphoria and helpless laughter. I couldn’t help but laugh, the bliss too much, my body a quivering mess of euphoria and giddy, breathless giggles.
Hephaestus was far from finished with me. His commanding glory, thick and unyielding, breached my over-sensitive sanctuary, and the intoxication of it was undeniable. I was swept under in an oceanic tide of rapturous climax. The force of his thundering movements sent my delicate form inching up the bed, my head striking the unforgiving headboard. Without a pause in his relentless pursuit, Hephaestus, rooted like a pillar, yanked my entire form toward him with irresistible force. I crashed into destructive assault, my body arching into his hips and sinking onto his volatile strength, forcing me to yield at my very core. I writhed in the power of him, drowning in the experience as my mind spiraled into oblivion.
My ankles, unable to reach each other behind Hephestus’ thick ribcage, clung to his lumbar while my body arched precariously off the bed in the raging intensity of his bombardment. My Inner Goddess marveled at Hephestus’ strength and stamina as he bore the unusual position and maintained a destructive speed. My remaining weight rested on my shoulders and my head, the only parts of my body still in contact with the bed. Hephestus was ruthless, exacting every drop of pleasure from my levitating form.
When, at last, his relentless pace softened, a shimmering sheen enveloped our bodies. Mine was a result of the relentless wave of climaxes that still left my muscles visibly trembling, while Hephaestus, barely winded, remained an unshaken pillar of strength. I couldn’t help but wonder if the radiant sheen adorning his prodigious form was the trace of my own essence, mingling with the marks of his devotion and expenditure at my behest. Heavens, how had I come to be so blessed, so honored by gods of such virile power and unwavering grace?
“Let’s not wait so long in between.” He rumbled, his voice rich with warmth as he pulled me into the world’s greatest hug.
Feeling fragile and delicate after such an intense, shared experience, tears threatened to spill unwarranted. I nestled closer, accepting the shelter of his embrace, my head just reaching the steady beat of his sternum. I rested within the protective curve of his mighty arms, drawing in the scent of his strength, allowing his presence to ground me in the quiet aftermath of the bliss we had shared.
I tightened my hold on him, seeking reassurance, my knees still unsteady.
“We definitely shouldn’t wait this long again,” I murmured, my voice quiet but filled with a soft, anticipatory desire. My Inner Goddess, ever hopeful, beamed and fluttered her wings in silent expectation, already eager for the next time we would come together.
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I sighed, pulling myself from the haze of memory. Even in the cool air of the gallery, the warmth of Hephaestus’ embrace lingered, as though it had woven itself into my very skin. My inner child wondered how I might ask for another such embrace without seeming too eager or needy. Meanwhile, my Inner Goddess plotted, devising ways to coax his succulent lips back to our sweet offering. The gods of Olympus certainly knew how to indulge a mere mortal like me.
With a reluctant step away from the portrait, I drifted past images of the Demigod, the radiant smile of Diana, and Libra—each frame seemingly placed without purpose, yet a part of the gallery’s beautifully chaotic harmony. My eyes danced from one to the next, savoring the memories captured within. These were moments I would carry with me, gently tickling my old bones when the years had dulled my mind. I would pass into old age without regret, knowing I had lived fully, truly, and without restraint.
A final portrait awaited my approval, and my Inner Goddess could hardly suppress her eager curiosity. Tucked between larger, more imposing frames, a humble impressionist painting hung, quietly beckoning me nigh. Unlike the soft, ethereal hues of Monet, this one drew its inspiration from the very depths of night, woven with the vibrant dance of the rainbow. Deep, fluid obsidian stretched across the canvas, broken only by flickers of color—flecks of light as vivid as fireflies, their forms tantalizingly out of reach. Humanoid shapes lingered in the shadows, their outlines barely discernible, revealed only by the soft glow of a single, luminescent dot.
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Portrait Three – The Faceless
To this day, no other experience remains veiled in such shadow and mystery. Not from intoxicants or hallucinogens, but from the sheer, impossible enchantment of celestial goddesses, gods, royalty, and the Fey—each gathered in one place. Their combined energy wove a magic so potent that my Inner Goddess could do nothing but exist, bathed in their eternal light. Moments shift and swirl within my mind, with no clear order, no beginning, no end. Flashes of beings, glimpsed only in the briefest of seconds as I dared flicker my eyes open, linger just at the edge of my memory. The rest—only my body and the Fates truly recall—dissolves into a haze of delight, melting over me like frosting on a hot cinnamon roll, infusing my Inner Goddess with sensations that would last a lifetime.
In my first memory, I am reclined upon the bed, a goddess in my arms—or is it I in hers? Our kisses, soft and tentative, are laced with playful giggles, spun from the finest silk. My fingers drift through her onyx curls, tucking them gently behind her ear, and I feel her delicate fingertips tighten around my waist, causing my Inner Goddess to bite her lip. Time itself seems to dissolve, fading into mist of nevermore.
An elegant touch glides from my shoulder to my elbow, a whisper of sensation that stirs the air. Releasing, yet keeping the first goddess close, I half turn to my left. My lips are met by another goddess of unparalleled beauty, and she, in turn, kisses ME. I savor the softness of her lips, as her palm cradles the nape of my neck, steadying me. The first goddess has her lips pressed tenderly to one of my exposed breasts, and in that moment, I am undone. Something deep and unexpected blooms within me, an aching desire that unfurls in my Inner Goddess—an overwhelming yearning for this moment to stretch into eternity. She craves this softness, this lavish adoration. I am vaguely aware of gods and sentinels standing at ease around us—interest evident but respectful in their quiet guardianship, their watchful eyes honoring the sacredness of our shared rapture.
As a third goddess gently parts my willing legs, a curious plea rises from my Inner Goddess—silent, yet profound—begging the masculine to wait just a moment longer. The familiar ache pulses within my feminine core, ever yearning to be satisfied by a masculine touch. Yet, for now, it is softened, entranced by the sweet caress of the lips of three immortal goddesses. I arch into the goddess between my legs, the initial hesitation dissolving into quiet surrender, soothed by my Inner Goddess’s gentle reminder: dining is a shared pleasure, never one of coercion or obligation. Held between these noble goddesses, my demure legs uncrossed, yielding to the flow of desire and light.
The first velvety lap sent my Inner Goddess into a swirling frenzy, her wings fluttering against the starry night as my chest rose and fell in heavy anticipation. Drawn by the movement, the goddesses beside me lowered, their provocative lips against the swell of my ample breasts. Their breath, warm and sultry, stirred the very air, heightening the rapture of my impending release. Surrendering to their ardent kisses, their intoxicating fingers intent on my annihilation, I offered my heart and body to their attention, knowing that once they had claimed me, I would return their favor with equal devotion.
At some point, the misty veil shifted, and the gods joined us, but by then, I had already become a melting puddle of longing, a soul consumed by need. The goddesses had woven their enchantments, and my Inner Goddess stirred in a tempest of insatiable desire. My body hummed with hypersensitivity, vibrating with a palpable anticipation as the first sentinel approached—his identity forever a mystery. But what did matter? Whether familiar or unknown, I was cloaked in the protection of the goddesses and watched over by my ever-devoted Consort. My eyes glazed with a timeless hunger, and my body, as though no longer my own, relentlessly sought the peak of each new climax.
The sentinel’s hands glided down my thighs, his touch a whisper of heat as he positioned himself between my parted legs. A god approached. The tip of his glistening glory brushed the tender curve of my silent scream, and instinctively, my tongue reached out, eager to worship the straining magnificence before me, and I swirled the bulbous crown with delicate reverence. My Inner Goddess bit her lip at the second intrusion into my body, a surrender to the depth of the moment. My fingers wrapped around the very base of a familiar monolith, aching with desire for my touch. I knew this form, this one that was mine, longing for my attention. As a sentinel strove at the apex of need, my throat worshiped my Consort in quiet ecstasy. My Inner Goddess moaned with a happiness that could only be found in the midst of a carnal congregation.
As the sentinel (the same? A new one, perhaps?) thrust with relentless fury, feeding the hunger of my Inner Goddess, I fought to take every inch of my Consort into the willing embrace of my throat. My left hand grasped with expert precision, squeezing his tightening royal jewels. A low growl escaped from him, and my Inner Goddess smirked with quiet satisfaction. She adored knowing the desires that would bring him the greatest pleasure and cause his knees to falter. Taking one and receiving the other, my orgasms surged, unrelenting like endless waves crashing upon the shore with no end in sight.
“You were born for this,” my Inner Goddess whispered, her voice a soft, tantalizing murmur, as it had many times before.
And indeed, she was, as the gods and sentinels shifted their places with effortless grace. The taste of my nectar painted my lips, a subtle sweetness as I welcomed the keening insistence of the god at my head. His presence was a powerful force, overwhelming yet electrifying in its intensity. I moved with wanton anticipation, eager to mirror the pleasure he had so willingly given me. Every motion seeking to honor him in return, as he had honored me, the exchange as profound as breath itself.
I remember a pause—a brief, lingering moment. Refreshing water, cool and soothing, eased my raw throat, followed by the crisp, invigorating taste of fruit and melon that revived my body. My Inner Goddess, however, sought no such sustenance. She thrived on the boundless energy of the cosmos—on divine power, the embrace of darkness, starlight, and the swirling dance of color. Yet, despite all that, my Inner Goddess remained unfulfilled as I wandered the streets of Olympus.
Surreptitiously, I slipped back into the pavilion, the toy hidden discreetly within my palm as I rejoined the lovers, absorbed in the intensity of their shared passion. Their rhythm, a seamless dance of lustful desire, consumed me. The vibration upon my pearl nearly overwhelmed my already-sensitized jewel, forcing me to draw the device back and refocus on the scene of breathtaking beauty unfolding beside me. With awe, I observed the gods’ zeal, the shattering of the goddesses, and the palpable magic that saturated the air. The pavilion itself seemed to hum with an energy that transcended the ordinary—this night was unlike any other. Invisible hands, perhaps the Fates or something greater, guided every movement, shaping the moment in ways beyond my mortal comprehension.
A god’s touch caressed my forearm, my fingers digging into my knee as the vibrations built, my orgasm unfurling like a delicate bloom. I nearly forgot the device I had returned to my pearl. His coarse finger traced the curve of my calf, down to my ankle, and I moaned, urging, begging him closer.
Firm lips pressed against my neck, guarded teeth nipping at my throat. The sensation of whiskers brushing over my skin, fanning over my already blooming flower, was nothing short of ineffable. How something so simple, such a tender touch in a vulnerable spot, could ignite such an overwhelming release—I could not say, but it did. I cried out in a chorus of uncontainable delight and profound gratitude, my wails an offering to an unknown God.
A third god took his place, then a fourth, each more determined than the last to surpass the previous. My body twisted and contorted, yielding to their pleasure and my own undoing. I reveled in the exquisite loss of control, savoring the unusual sensation. There was no fear when I dared to meet their gazes, silently begging for more. The first touch, unburdened by awkwardness, ignited a fire. Tonight was a feast of carnal intoxication, and I reveled in its every indulgence, my Inner Goddess’s desires running wild. Occasionally, cool water was pressed to my lips, but more often, a granite monolith demanded its place, and my heart, ever eager, leaped to obey every commanding request.
Masculine hips surged into me, while feminine hands traced my skin with soft reverence, and my mind was too far lost in the moment to question their identities. In such moments of vulnerability, the night felt too sacred to tarnish with self-doubt. Silken locks of a goddess flowed down my inner thighs, cascading over my abdomen, as a queen and a faceless god silently exchanged places in the shadows.
By all that was sacred, her skill drove my Inner Goddess to the edge of madness. The hypnotic silk of her hair, cascading like midnight threads, tangled with the unimaginable sensations she conjured as her mouth and tongue moved with unmatched expertise. She knew exactly where to seek out my hidden pearl, where the delicate nerves pulsed just left of center, and with a gentle intensity and vibrant energy, she tipped my world, each moment becoming more celestial than the last.
Captivated, it felt as though my very atoms unraveled, my essence scattering into the vast ether. Pressing the flat of my palm to my mouth, I bit down on the pad of my index finger, desperate to silence the torrent of cries that threatened to flood the sacred stillness of the pavilion. In an instant, a firm, masculine fist grasped my wrist while delicate feminine fingers traced my lips, coaxing the cries to finally break free.
“Let it go,” they demanded, their voices blending into an irresistible command.
But it was too much! I was too much. Too loud, too… embarrassing—until the queen herself buried her face deep between my legs, her skilled tongue demanding entrance to my most intimate sanctuary, claiming it for her own.
My resistance crumbled beneath their insistence. Both my wrists were held firmly against the damp bedding. I could only surrender, yielding to their demand for obedience. I was theirs, a willing offering to the ecstasy they so effortlessly wove.
Having drawn out every last drop of my essence, the queen’s ministrations gradually slowed, her final touch a Shocking nibble on my left fold. Still gasping for air, my eyes fluttered open, catching the glimmer of her knowing smile.
Having drawn out every last trace of my essence, the queen’s ministrations slowly tapered off, her final touch a sharp, teasing nibble at my left fold. Gasping at the sharp salutation, my eyes flicked open, capturing the glimmer of her knowing smile.
“I wanted to make sure you knew it was me,” she purred lecherously with a soft giggle.
Gods above! My head fell back onto the pillow as disbelief mingled with unspeakable gratitude for my unthinkable fortune. Truly, this was a night to eclipse all others.
Water and fruit found their way to my lips without my ever rising from the pallet. Each sip, each bite, revived me, their cool sweetness grounding me in a body that felt both flushed and alive. Quickened and renewed in ways words could scarcely capture, my soul teetered on the edge of weeping with gratitude. Yet, my Inner Goddess, insatiable and emboldened, yearned to summon the rapt attention of the Olympians still lingering near me. Their divine energy danced on the periphery, a temptation too alluring for her to resist, beckoning her with its radiant promise.
I reclined on the pallet, content to let my gaze wander over the vibrant tapestry of gods and goddesses mingling around me. The hum of divine energy lingered, mingling with the intoxicating scent of ambrosia. My reverie was broken when an imperial goddess, radiant and commanding, beckoned to me with a mere flick of her wrist. She stood poised at the edge of the mattress, her presence breathtaking in its authority. Before her, her consort lay prone, a living masterpiece of divine musculature, his form an offering to her magnificence.
“You should climb on and ride him,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. Her words were not a suggestion—they were a command.
I inhaled sharply, my heart fluttering like a bird caught in a spiderweb. The god before me had long captivated my attention, though a mix of reverence and paralyzing hesitation had always kept me from approaching him. Towering in stature, formidable, and exuding a commanding presence, he carried a shadowed intensity in his gaze—a twinkle sometimes dimmed by the haunting specter of battle and the weight of horrors only a god of war could endure. Too timid to voice my intrigue, I had admired him from afar, my respect for the sanctity of his bonds tethering me to silence. Yet, we both noted a mutual fascination that neither of us had acted upon.
Surely, I thought, this god—so lofty and beyond reach—was never meant to be the object of a mortal’s affection. Yet here I was, the focus of divine intent, trembling at the crossroads of desire and reverence.
My jaw slackened as I watched the impervious goddess sheath her mighty lord’s straining magnificence with practiced ease. Her movements, both poised and deliberate, were laced with a quiet power and an intimacy that left me breathless. Once satisfied, she turned her penetrating gaze upon me, a hand curling at the small of my back, urging me closer. Hesitant yet filled with an eager urgency, I positioned myself, lowering carefully onto the unfamiliar length, my heart thundering in my chest. This was uncharted territory, each subtle shift and adjustment a delicate dance of awe, mixed with a fierce resolve not to falter.
Slowly, I rose and fell, experimenting with the rhythm, each movement unfurling a new layer of sensation, unlocking depths I had not known. The goddess, her gaze filled with quiet satisfaction, bestowed upon her lord a searing kiss—an unspoken declaration of their fiery bond—before gliding away, her attention already drifting to the next indulgence.
Left to my own devices, I looked down at the mighty god beneath me, my hands resting lightly against his broad, rippled abdomen. The sight was almost otherworldly—my small hands, with scarlet-tipped fingers, stark against his pale, formidable expanse. His immense hands curled around my waist, their reach so vast that I dared to imagine the tips of his fingers might meet, had he willed it. The contrast between his raw strength and my own fragile form was utterly intoxicating, a perfect balance of power and submission.
His hands gripped firmly beneath my ribcage, lifting me until only the faintest whisper of his crown lingered within me. Then, with deliberate power, he reversed the motion—pressing down on my hips and driving me back onto his full, unyielding form. The force of it shattered hesitation, caution, and every thought except one: more. My body arched as pleasure detonated, curling me inward, the release sweeping over me like molten light.
Obeying his silent command—or perhaps the insistent pull of my Inner Goddess—I sought my ecstasy with renewed fervor. His unyielding hands guided me at times, steadying my rhythm, while at others, they rested upon my thighs, granting me dominion over his blessed form. I moved with wild abandon, sparks of light dancing behind my closed eyes, fireworks igniting deep within me until all that remained was a wondrous, blissful darkness.
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I took a deep breath, stepping back from the audacious painting, my pulse quickening as my breath caught in my chest. My knees wobbled, the weight of the moment leaving me dizzy, compelling me to sink onto the edge of the plush bench that stretched luxuriously down the gallery.
So much of my life had been locked away, hidden in the shadows of restraint and hesitation, bound by the chains of religion that kept me from experiencing the fullness of life. The rules, the guilt, the constant pressure to conform—each had clipped my wings before I could ever learn to fly. While others around me lived countless lifetimes, their experiences etched in time, I had remained bound, silent, lost in the margins.
But these memories… these were mine. All mine. I had never imagined I could create such a gallery, to fill it with moments that belonged to no one but me—moments I could revisit at will, whenever my heart desired. I reclined, arms pillowed behind me, as the warmth of the room enveloped me like a lover’s embrace. Blushing, I marveled at the sights before me, feeling a thrilling sense of freedom as though the weight of my past had finally been shed.
Taking a slow, deliberate breath, I allowed my gaze to linger on the images—each frame a piece of my soul, each canvas a reflection of hidden desires and whispered fantasies. Queen of all I survey, I thought to myself.
A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of my lips as my Inner Goddess, ever the instigator, whispered conspiratorially, “How naughty would it be?”
Her words dripped like honey in my ear, tempting and coaxing, sending delicious shivers down my spine.
“What if… what if a man were kneeling between your thighs right now, his lips tracing the delicate curves of your body with a hunger that mirrored your own?”
The thought stopped my breath, my legs instinctively parting ever so slightly of their own accord as the space between desire and reality began to blur into an intoxicating fantasy.
“Mmm… exactly,” she murmured, her awareness keen as she sensed my reaction, the subtle shift of my hips, and flooded my mind with sensations—like the teasing brush of a velvet tongue, probing, seeking my blushing pearl.
“Yes,” she urged, “just like that, right here in the middle of your gallery. Surrounded by every decadent, depraved moment—imagine what a masterpiece this would add.”
I pressed my knees together, a shiver coursing through me with each fleeting experience. My Inner Goddess, emboldened by the moment, whispered in flirtatious tones, “I’d rather like that… with the new year just around the corner. Who knows,” she mused, her gaze sweeping the museum with knowing intensity, “we might need to expand the gallery.”
Until next time… XO. Elsie
Year of the Inner Goddess 