Year of the Inner Goddess

November 2024 – Audio Version

There had been a fleeting mention of lunch, and with the afternoon sun casting its long, languid shadows, I resolved—rather than divest myself of layers—to make a splendid entrance befitting the autumnal splendor. Draped in understated sophistication—fitted knee-high boots that hugged each stride of my petite frame, a cream winter dress murmuring of cozy elegance—I embodied the very essence of quiet allure. Pleased with my efforts, I allowed myself the hope that it might leave a meaningful impression on the Demigod.

Having paid my dues to Bradley, I stood in the center of his living room, my Inner Goddess nearly swooning at the sight of the Demigod before me. Loose jeans hung low on his hips, teasingly revealing the hard-earned lines of his torso. His muscular legs, sculpted by years of soccer and forged through the discipline of boxing, were a work of art. My pulse quickened, each beat a drumroll to the anticipation stirring within me, my thoughts ablaze with the promise of the fire only he could ignite.

I insisted this time would be different. My voice was soft but firm as I declared that the focus would be entirely on him. The Demigod simply raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Is that so?’ before placing his hand in mine and permitting me to guide him toward his own bedroom.

With deliberate grace, the Demigod unfastened his jeans, the soft rasp of the zipper sending a shiver through my very core. My Inner Goddess fidgeted, a whimper of longing echoing within me as his movements drew my full attention.

The air between us was heavy with unspoken desire as I lowered myself to the unyielding maple floor. The cool wood pressed against my knees, grounding me as I knelt before him, my gaze lifted to meet his. His eyes burned with an intensity that held me captive, a silent command within their crystal depth that left me trembling and eager.

For a moment, there was only stillness—a charged pause where time seemed to halt, leaving just the two of us in this divine moment of surrender and power.

Bare before me, his body was sculpted perfection, a living masterpiece of strength and magnetism. His unwavering gaze locked with mine, igniting something deep, primal, and unmistakably feminine within me. Only half-clothed myself, my trembling fingers reached for him, drawn by the raw power he exuded.

His scent was intoxicating—a heady blend of sunlit air, wildflowers, and something elusive, uncivilized, that recalled an unspoken memory. As my hands encircled the proud evidence of his impulse, I caressed and marveled at the weight of his royal jewels, its heat, its power. My touch was reverent at first, soft strokes mapping the darkening, rigid length, committing him to memory. Tears threatened to spill as a pang of sadness welled within me, bittersweet and fleeting. I lingered at the moment, my gaze drinking him in, desperate to commit every inch of him within my Inner Goddess, holding on to something precious that I feared was slipping away forever. 

Yet, the intimate tension between us thickened, the air crackling with unspoken need. His divine presence was mine to worship, to savor, to claim. And claim him, I would—slowly, deliberately, until even a god was brought to his knees.

A quiet voice, soft as the rustling autumn leaves, whispered in the recesses of my mind: “This may be the last time.” The nation’s will, cold and unyielding, had been cast. To my grief, its ripples had already touched me on many fronts, but this—this final blow—landed with the force of a silent explosion, its echoes reverberating through the deepest chambers of my heart.

The realization stole my breath, a sharp ache blooming in my chest as treacherous tears welled up to blur my vision for the third time that day. The drive up had been a trial of restraint, my sorrow pressing against the fragile dam of composure with every mile. I bent my head with concrete determination as my tongue adored the bulging vein running the length of his shaft. I refused to let those tears fall. Not here. Not now. Not before him.

This moment, this fleeting breath of eternity, would not be tarnished by grief. The light of the dying sun spilled through the window, bathing his muscular silhouette in a golden glow that softened every sculpted edge and illuminated every line. How hard-hearted was Time in its merciless march, ever-changing, ever-shifting, slipping through my grasping fingers like smoke on the wind.

My Inner Goddess swore an oath of defiance. If this were to be the last, I would engrave him into my being: the curve of his lips, the warmth of his hand as it lingered on my head, and my sapphire curls cascading to my shoulders. I dared not look into his eyes; I did not want him to know the depths of the ache his leaving—700 miles away—was having on me. We were friends, after all. Life had been simple.

“Stay,” the word hovered unspoken on my tongue, heavy with all that was impossible. I swallowed it back, tasting the bitterness of restraint. How selfish I was! Instead, I braced myself, steeling my resolve as I redoubled my ministrations, drool pooling and dripping from my lip.

Fighting my body’s natural reflex, I opened my throat to the impossible invader until my nose brushed the soft curls of his loins. I worked with an urgency born of sorrow, lust, and instinct. Rebellious, my tears fell unchecked, their flow not solely born from the depth of my devotion. One petite hand gripped the thick base as my head bobbed faster and faster. My throat bulged with delicious tension, lips straining from their corners to accommodate his girth. 

Triumphant, my Inner Goddess, urged me onward. My tongue swirled and adored, each bob of my head deliberate and intoxicating. It was an exquisite position, and he was entirely mine to command. The Demigod’s groan resonated, deep and unrestrained, the tension in his frame caught in a precarious balance between surrender and the primal pull to dominate. 

I blinked against the tears, their crystalline paths trailing down my cheeks, betraying the emotions I sought to restrain. My vanity whispered concern–had my mascara smudged? The label claimed waterproof, yet I doubted its resilience to endure the sorcery of the Demigod. 

I recalled the ethereal heroines on screen, their darkened lashes glittering coquettishly with unshed tears and their eyes brimming with melancholy and longing. I yearned for their effortless poise, their beauty undimmed by heartache. I doubted I presented as ethereal or doe-eyed; my nasal breath came in ragged gasps, each one a frantic attempt to fill my lungs during my brief withdrawals from his granite. Nevertheless, the imperial Demigod loomed over me, his sole focus on my earnest fascination. 

Tears continued to flow down my cheeks. 

Gratefully, he did not see them for what they truly were. 

“That’s enough of that,” the Demigod growled through a clenched jaw, his tone a command that brooked no argument. My breath hitched as his powerful hands slid beneath my arms, hoisting me to my feet. His strength was both terrifying and thrilling! My Inner Goddess dissolved into a languid puddle at his feet.

Before I could voice my protest that I was in control, he captured my lips in a rough and consuming kiss, claiming every ounce of my focus. My obstinate resolve faltered, but my body yielded to him as I melted into the crushing embrace, my knees threatening to give way beneath the force of it all. I clung to the moment, allowing my Inner Goddess this last indulgence. 

“It’s time to free you from this,” he murmured, his voice a low vibrating hum.

With deliberate precision, he reached for my hem, and in one fluid motion, the Demigod lifted my gown up and over my head with a whoosh. With careless grace, he discarded it into the shadows. My porcelain skin shivered both from the cool air meeting my bare skin and the intensity of his wolfish gaze. His eyes flowed over me like molten amber, languid and lascivious, tracing every curve with an intensity that felt both reverent and utterly unholy. 

“Now, that’s much better,” he murmured, his voice sparking the already-charged air. 

Though the bed waited a mere three feet away, I found myself aloft, my legs instinctively wrapped around his bare waist. Our bodies compressed as the heat between us simmered, igniting the room with palpable anticipation. 

From his resting place on the padded doggy bed, Bradley stirred, rising with the languidness of a weary old man. Silently, he padded out of the bedroom with an air of resigned dignity. A faint smile touched my lips–I would be sure to give him extra love before I left.

My Inner Goddess could not help but giggle in the Demigod’s arms, bemused by the ridiculous necessity of being carried such a short distance. Three feet felt ludicrous–yet it was everything to me! The Demigod took his time, savoring each step as he closed the distance to his prepared bed. Slowly, almost reverently, he lowered me onto the soft mattress, our breaths slow and heavy. 

Only then did I realize the Demigod had little intention of surrendering control to me. His head and fingers moved with purpose, quickly seeking the warmth between my thighs. His touch was already intoxicating, sending waves of passion through me, jumbling my thoughts, and making it impossible to form a single coherent thought, let alone string two words together.

“Wait—no, yes… oh God,” I gasped, the words unable to slip from my lips, but there was something—something—I needed to say. 

Yet, his fingers were already tracing delicate circles along my hooded pearl, one hand cupping a succulent breast with tender authority, teasing a response from my hardening nipple. My thoughts scattered like autumn leaves in a breeze. The Demigod needed to wait… I needed to tell him something important.

Persistent, I pinched my knees together, lifting my head from the mattress. I had to tell him—I must!

Finally, noting the insistence in my tone, the Demigod slowed–never fully pausing–his sharp gaze lifted to meet my hazel eyes. It was clear: whatever I had to say, I had better say it quickly! Instead of hesitating, he glanced up with an expectant gaze, his eyes warning me that whatever I had to say had best be brief.

My intimate inconvenience had arrived a day early. Mother Nature was cruel and callous in her timing. My Inner Goddess buried her face in her hands, mortified by the situation. To make matters worse, here I was, a grown and capable woman, fumbling to communicate my position in the simplest of words. 

“I’ve started my cycle,” I confessed barely above a whisper. My Inner Goddess felt the weight of my admission. How we proceeded would be up to the Demigod.

My cheeks burned with the fire of embarrassment as I struggled to find a delicate way to explain there was a unique device in place—one that would, should, allow us to continue our affair despite the inconvenient interruption. I drew in a deep breath, attempting to blink away the shame that clouded my thoughts.

Never in my life had I allowed a man—or a god—to approach the very apex of my soul during this week of intimate inconvenience. Yet, here I was, silently pleading for just one more time. I was unwilling to forgo the pleasure I knew he could draw from me, a joy too sweet to be left untouched. A ravaging my Inner Goddess craved even if we excluded any oral attention.

Rather than reply, the Demigod gripped my thighs with a commanding fervor, parting them in a way that sent shockwaves cascading through me. His mouth claimed the space between with an intensity that spoke of devotion as if determined to prove that no intimacy, no obstacle, could ever be deemed an inconvenience. The reluctant part of my brain wondered if there was a subtle shift in his worship—slight differences in sensation. Were they merely figments of my hesitant imagination?

Yet, the Demigod persisted, his tongue and lips working with an unwavering devotion, as though he sought to prove his point beyond the realm of possibility. My climaxes surged, explosive and unrelenting, threatening to tear me apart from the inside.

But even at the height of my shattering, a quiet fear gripped me—the fear of releasing the flood the Demigod so skillfully stirred within me. I braced myself, instinctively attempting to hold back the crimson tide, certain it would slip past the device I had so carefully placed, forever marking this moment upon my soul.

As if sensing my unusual hesitation, the Demigod, with fierce intent, slipped two fingers within me. The motion was silken yet assertive, a velvet command that left me trembling under its unyielding intensity. His touch on my inner jewel, like a siren’s call, beckoned me toward release. All too familiar with my body, he knew exactly what awaited and was eager to see the fruit of his efforts if I dared to relinquish my inhibitions. I battled between the swirling cosmos of pleasure and the weight of my own hesitation, torn between the bliss he offered and the intimate inconvenience of my gender.

Yet my mind was stronger than his will, and though my body trembled beneath his touch, my fingers gripping the robin’s egg-blue sheets with bone-white intensity, my teeth clenched around the softness of a pillow, I could not let go. My nectar would not come. I could not face the impending shame.

My orgasms, however, were an entirely different story!

The Demigod fought me, his fingers moving with blinding speed, deftly shifting positions as bending my body to his will, commanding my floodgates to release, demanding their submission. Yet, is there anything truly stronger than the will of a determined woman?

The glorious side effect of his persistence was that it sent my orgasm soaring to heights I had never imagined. I bucked and arched, my screams filling the air, drowning out the sweet sounds that drifted from the corner desk. Waves of passion surged down my arms, my very core splintering, bursting with light as the Demigod pressed on—unyielding, relentless, and devoted to my every unraveling.

Thrumming with the aftershocks of ecstasy and so lost to my surroundings, it took a moment to comprehend that the thickness now probing my throbbing slit was not the thick fingers I had expected but something far better. With an aggressive yank, the Demigod hauled my entire form to the very edge of the bed. A glint of visceral hunger flashed in my eyes at his militancy, and I tilted my hips in impatient greeting.

My ankles locked around his taut buttocks, the rise of his firm thighs pushing him ever deeper into the heart of my need. As my body adjusted, I could feel the slivers of pain, radiant and raw, as my tissue stretched to accommodate his intrusion. My Inner Goddess whined, desperate for her destruction, yearning to take flight and leave the weight of the world behind us—if only for a fleeting moment.

Thrust. A low groan escaped and slipped my bruised lips. Thrust. My grip tightened against the bedding, my breath coming in quick, shallow bursts. Thrust, thrust, thrust. I cried out, neck reared and eyes clenched, teetering at the veil of ecstasy, my wings unfurled as the mighty crescendo of my release gathered, potent and inevitable.

And then, the feeling was extinguished—snuffed out in an instant—by his complete withdrawal! The void was jarring, leaving me adrift as my climax evaporated. I raised my head in silent query, my gaze searching his face for an answer to this maddening pause.

“Hey, umm…” he looked down. “I think that thing you’re using–tore the protection.”

I blanched at the sight, the heat turning my cheeks crimson. It was undeniable. The protection was no longer slick against his monolith. The thin plastic was torn here and there in long strips. Two choices lay before me: succumb to my self-consciousness and flee the house in a fit of abject mortification (my Inner Goddess rolled her eyes—how fear conjures the most absurd ideas!), or gather my composure, laugh, apologize, and excuse myself to attend to the offending oval disk.

To my credit, I somehow chose the latter. I made swift work of it in the adjacent room, pausing just long enough to assess the state of my reflection. My mascara, thank heavens, had held its ground, though my eyes appeared a touch watery, and there was a faint touch of smeared lipstick to betray the intensity of our union. I hastily blotted and corrected, tousling my hair, ready to reenter the fray.

“There are many things in this life to apologize for, Elsie.” The Dom said on my return. “And this is not one of those things.” My toes curled at the sound, his low growl slipping into my ears like a forbidden promise, the heat it ignited spreading through me like wildfire.

Tears sprung to my eyes (stupid girl emotions). It was my favorite of his sayings, the one that never failed to soothe my embarrassment and place the world back into perspective. But now, the thought struck with cruel clarity: would this be the last time I heard it? The last time I tiptoed across his maple floor, my breath hitching at the sight of him sprawled upon the bed, hands casually behind his head, his form and stiff obelisk demanding reverence?

Angrily, my Inner Goddess banished the thought with surging frustration, refusing to let my unstable sentients poison the moment. Scrambling onto the bed, I reached for him, determined to seize the present. My lusty steed, teemed with coiled speed and limitless endurance, waited, and my ripe Inner Goddess was more than ready to ride him, aching to test the bounds of his strength and my own desire. 

Lost in our frantic rhythm, we shed the mortal world beneath us, our focus narrowing to nothing but each other. The cool winter sun streamed through, its pale rays catching our reflection in sharp relief—a fleeting masterpiece outlined in light and shadow.

In her infinite kindness, Aphrodite sanctified the bower with a delicate touch. With a mere flick of her hand, the room was cloaked in a shimmering veil, transforming into a sanctuary—a sacred space for a final farewell to a friend, a lover, and an unwavering confidant. Not a word passed between us as the veil held fast, shielding us from the world beyond.

Exhausted ecstasy enveloped us in its tender embrace, and a triumphant sheen lingered on his skin, a quiet testament to his release. The veil began its dissolve, and the room sharpened, its ethereal glow dimming as if reluctant to let us go. He lay limp on the bed, a sculpture of mortal divinity beneath my hands. I had lavished every inch of him with reverence, my fingers weaving a symphony of devotion and skill, unraveling tension from his corded muscles. The lavender oils slicked his skin, gleaming under the gentle light. Every stroke of my hands had been an act of worship.

Thoroughly undone, body and mind laid bare, he rested in sublime peace. My Inner Goddess, satisfied with her artistry, reveled in the triumph of having left him utterly tranquil.

A lighthearted exchange rose between us, his laughter a melody that cheered my heart and wove a brief illusion—that all would remain as it was, forever untouched by time’s cruel hand. But then, as so often happens with fate, the spell was broken. His casual mention of a departure, of packing and moving, pierced the moment’s fragile joy. My tender heart betrayed me, and tears welled unbidden, falling as silent witnesses to the impending loss I could scarcely bear to name in his presence.

“Hey there,” he murmured, his voice laced with tender concern. “What is this all about?”

My Inner Goddess felt beyond foolish. Of course, he didn’t know—how could he? Ours had been a casual friendship. And yet, as he drew me to his bare, chiseled chest, delicately scented with lavender massage oil, the tears fell heavier still. I made no pretense of hiding them, surrendering to the asylum of his embrace. I nestled into him, sobbing as if the heavens themselves were collapsing.

This Demigod had been a steadfast companion, even an occasional anchor in my life. Now, a new chapter awaited him on some distant horizon. And though I longed to celebrate his bright and budding future, I clung to the present with a selfish heart, tethered by these stupid tears and an ache that should not have pierced deeper than words could express.

He held me close, his arms a fortress against my storm, our legs entwined as our bodies clung together, my weight pressing heavily over his. Tender kisses brushed my forehead, soft as whispers, while his fingertips wove through my hair, soothing the jagged cracks that ran deep within me. I stayed there, cradled in his embrace until every tear was spent. Each drop mingled with the oil on his chest—a final offering, unspoken yet profoundly understood—as the veil of our shared moment slowly fell, leaving behind only the echoes of what once was.

I know he spoke words of consolation, thoughtful assurances reminding me that, should he visit, I would not be forgotten. His voice was a balm, reaching me even as I snuffled and struggled to regain composure, determined to restore a more respectable equilibrium. Hastily, I dried my eyes, flicked my hair, and shook off the weight of my emotions. With quiet resolve and deliberate effort, I steadied myself. We would not part on such a dour note!

As we dressed, our conversation drifted back to a light, almost playful tone. I double-knotted my winter wedges with deliberate care, the simple task grounding me in a moment I was reluctant to leave. A final, affectionate pat for Bradley, his wagging tail blissfully unaware of the weight in the air. Then, a hug—long, lingering, and tender—a kiss that tasted of spring’s last promise.

With a smile that didn’t quite meet my eyes and a laugh, I prayed sounded genuine, I descended the steps, slipping into my car before the truth could fully settle.

That was it. No fanfare, no confetti. Only the setting sun, silent and knowing, bearing solemn witness to my quiet farewell.

Until…well…next time. XO, Elsie