Year of the Inner Goddess

December 2025 – Listen Here

At some point – time, having surrendered entirely, I became aware of the tableau surrounding me and was struck dumb with awe.

The bed was no longer furniture.

It had become a consecrated sprawl of flesh and dominion.

On the altar, the golden goddess reclined in radiant disarray; to her right, her dark-haired counterpart in divinity lay coiled and molten, beauty sharpened into velvet peril. I lay with them, our hair braided together in riotous excess – gold tangled with umber and sapphire, shadow threaded through light – an untamed corona as though the Fates themselves had grown drunk on indulgence and forsaken symmetry altogether.

Around us, the Olympians prowled.

Two had sunk to their knees with a hunger that stripped them of speech. Olympians reduced to instinct. Their shoulders flexed and shifted with animal patience, devotion made physical, their features lost to shadow and pale silk, swallowed by the hush between the twin goddesses’ thighs. They did not look outward. They had forgotten there was a world. Only the lilting moans spilling from consecrated lips held their attention, each sound a summons, each breath an invocation.

The third god lingered just beyond the rite of my petalled threshold. His power did not strain against him – it listened. Vast and unmistakable, it lay coiled in elegant readiness, a god entirely aware of what he withheld. His restraint was intentional, almost taunting in its equanimity, as though he savored the waiting as much as the promise itself.

He watched me openly, without hurry, without apology – breath slow, eyes intent, carrying the quiet certainty that he would have me… but only if I chose him. That knowledge alone made the air thicken. 

Even the heavens leaned in. Even the gods not present felt the weight of the inevitable.

My Inner Goddess raged beneath my skin, urging me forward inch by merciless inch. She had tormented me all day not with flirtation, not with coy anticipation, but with a colonel lust so surgical, so pitiless it had left me trembling beneath the thin lacquer of social etiquette. Every phallic suggestion, every accidental brush of form or thought, had been an assault I survived only by the most heroic application of forbearance.

Barely.

Only hours earlier had Jack and I been sequestered alone – his suitcase still sealed, his hand barely freed from its handle – when whatever remained of my propriety shattered outright. I launched myself at him, legs clamping around his hips, mouth seizing him with punishing urgency. My tongue pressed deep, greedy, as though I meant to etch my claim into him from the inside out. My hips surged without apology, grinding with an animal ferocity that startled even me.

Jack met me without pause or without breaking stride. Crushing embrace colliding with crushing embrace. Hunger for hunger. His hands dug into my flesh as though anchoring himself against the storm I had become, and clothing turned traitor-fabric transformed into an intolerable cage. 

I fell back onto the bed and tore myself free of my trousers, fingers already entreating for him as he shed shoes and pants. My Inner Goddess snarled, and I whined aloud at the purposeful delay of his shirt, begging him to leave it – impatient, ravenous to reach what strained toward me, granite-hard and bobbing with promise, so close to where I throbbed most helplessly.

He grinned.
Infuriating. Delicious.
And took his time anyway.

In moments, I would be grateful for his bare skin as my body absorbed the masculine heat radiating from him. 

When his bare chest finally pinned me to the mattress, something in me collapsed outright. I unraveled without dignity, without strategy, without the smallest pretense of restraint. No closeness sufficed. No depth quieted the ache. No pace answered the brutal, clawing insistence of my wanting.

Need overtook me with humiliating speed – hot, irrational, ungoverned – my Inner Goddess tearing free of decorum as though she had only ever tolerated it. I clutched at him shamelessly, nails biting into the broad, unyielding scripture of his shoulders, marking him in a frenzy of heat and reverence, desperate not to be abandoned to myself for even a breath. I was no longer composed, nor subtle, nor contained. I was undone – and could not have borne it any other way.

Jack had always been ready for me. Always. 

Our hungers aligned with a precision that bordered on dangerous. When he finally drove into me, it was not merely conquest he sought, but ignition – thrusting me beyond coherence, past language and into a place where thought dissolved into sensation and the universe narrowed to pulse and pressure and fire.

I bit down on my knuckles to stifle the sound of it, but I burned anyway.

I burned like oil poured upon flame.
Like bone warming under votive attention.
Like something being devoured and reborn in the same breath.

Still…it was not enough.

The ache inside me refused appeasement, exquisite and tyrannical. A minute, rational corner of my mind warned me not to shatter myself too early. Not to selfishly lock Jack all for my own. The night ahead was long, salacious, and consecrated. All around us, Olympus and the Fay were assembling for one spectacular gathering. There would be reckoning yet.

I should have denied him.

I physically could not.

Each retreat was only half-hearted, and I would dissolve and find my legs draped over his shoulders, meeting his thrusts blow for blow. On all fours, hips lifted in wordless offering, shoulders buried into crisp, cold sheets that bore the violent poetry of our collision. I screamed until my voice grew raw.

Somehow – through sheer will or divine intervention – I tore myself free. I had duties… responsibilities demanded their due. On unsteady legs, I staggered away from him, hand raised in a shaky command to stay back and tempt me no further.

My Inner Goddess shrieked in protest as I left him there, my body trembling and unfinished, insisting to my Inner Goddess that this was only the overture to a grander symphony. It was cruel. Delicious. Maddening torture…for him, for me, for her.

And the hours fled with uncanny speed.

When I found myself between the goddesses, gratitude struck me sharp and sudden. I whispered thanks to old gods and newly crowned alike – for there had been moments earlier when this night hovered on the brink of impossibility.

Fasting foolishly.
Eating too hurriedly. 

A corset drawn seductively tight – iron strands cinched, amplifying ample hips begging to be ruined.

Under hypnotic lights and pulsing tempo, my body had rebelled, stomach roiling, dignity faltering, until desperation drove me to the unthinkable – petitioning a fellow god for medicine. That alone was proof of true distress; for me to stoop to such an admission was nothing short of sacrilege.

And yet there I was. Surrounded. Burning.

I was stretched upon the mattress between two goddesses: one luminous as poured dawn, all alabaster heat and silken authority; the other wrought of shadowed velvet, darkly radiant, her beauty sharpened by the depth of her all-seeing eyes.

They did not lie passive.

They reigned.

Two Olympians knelt before them, mouths buried in the sacred geometry of pale thighs and darkened curves, mouths working with devout precision. Their tongues did not hurry. They lingered, circled, withdrew – artisans of brinkmanship – bringing each goddess to the shimmering edge of distraction before drawing her back again. Beards glistened, mouths shone with their feast, breath thick and reverent as prayers made flesh.

My arms closed around a broad torso. My hips betrayed me – lifting, pleading.

The third god lowered over me at last – bare-chested, sun-warmed, lavender clinging to him, beneath it the quiet echo of disciplined heavens. The first thrust cleaved me open. Sound tore from me before I could restrain it – too loud, too honest. My Inner Goddess keened in sharp, ecstatic recognition. I clutched my mouth, trying to tamper and restrain my exultation. Our need swelled beyond measure, our hunger obscene in the presence of the holy goddesses. I felt the stain of it upon me – my want too ravenous, my longing too dark to pass unjudged. I stood there awed and wanting all the same, knowing I did not belong among such sanctity… and unable to turn away.

Euphoria moved through the room like a tide.

Arms and limbs arced and entwined in a narcotic cadence – bodies guided not by competition but salacious communion. The Olympians transitioned seamlessly between bodies, not seeking to outdo one another but to complete one another, each god a necessary movement in a larger design. Moans rose, overlapped, fractured – sound became incense as breath tangled with breath. Sheets collapsed into a snared cartography of want.

Feminine hands found me, tracing slow paths along my arms and ribs, over the swell of each breast and the hollow of my waist. Their softness unsettled me precisely because of its timing – because they amplified without competing, coaxing my body further open with every electric pass. While the god took me with carnal authority, those hands reminded my body of every nerve it possessed. I moaned helplessly at the contrast, disarmed not by a single sensation, but by how ravishingly they conspired.

Bearded mouths brushed my jaw, my throat, my shoulder – scruff rasping like beasts. I slid my fingers through dense, dark hair, luxuriating in the weight of it, the heat of it, careful not to reveal how desperately I wanted more. I matched myself instead to the goddesses’ tones – their softened gazes, their parted mouths, the languid euphoria written into their faces – even as my Inner Goddess paced wildly, incandescent and ungovernable, teeth gnashing for her ruination. 

Release came in thundering wave after wave, overtaking me until thought dissolved entirely. I was unraveled, turned open by it – yet never abandoned, held fast even as the world broke and remade itself around me.

Another god’s hands closed around my waist and drew me to the edge of the bed, not roughly, but with dreadful certainty – as though he had already decided I would not be allowed to hide. He knew my secret. Not merely my want, but the place where my wanting curdled into shame. And still – he did not flinch.

He went to his knees as one might descend into worship. My breath caught – not with anticipation, but with mortification. This was entirely unnecessary. Not here. Not so fully revealed.

His mouth found me with unseemly devotion: slow at first, almost contemplative, as though learning me by taste alone. He traced the length of me in a way that felt wrong precisely because it was thorough, because it honored what I had learned to flinch from, what I so carefully refused to name. Heat flooded me, sharp and humiliating, but my flesh quivering, straining shamelessly for his tongue as though my body were confessing what my mouth never would. Each languid pass stripped something vital from me. I felt myself unravel – strand by thin strand.

My legs quaked upon his shoulders; my breath fractured in my throat. His hands slid beneath me, firm and undisciplined, lifting me just enough that the world tilted – and then he devoured me in earnest. From star to pearl he traced me, again and again, each ascent stealing my voice, each return wringing another helpless sound from my lungs. I came apart in spite of myself, shame cresting alongside pleasure until I could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

I burned. I melted. I soared.

I lived and died in repeating waves as he consumed me with his mouth, immutable now, unmerciful in his skill. My body betrayed me – shuddering, soaking, bowing itself into his keeping. I tried to retreat, instinct clawing for distance, dignity begging for mercy – but my Inner Goddess would not allow it. She seized control of my thighs, locked them over his ears, and held me fast.

Pinned.

Exposed.

And made to feel every lingering stroke.

My spine arched in a helpless plea as I was incinerated whole.

And then…

Through the storm roaring in my blood, through the ringing in my ears and the white-hot blur behind my eyes, familiarity crept in – slow, unmistakable – like a known hand slipping back into the dark.

Jack took me with unflinching certainty. He knew the rampage of my Inner Goddess and did not fear her. He welcomed her.

Folded over the bed’s edge – flat-footed, wrecked – my face pressed into yielding warmth as language dissolved into garbled sound. Above me, a goddess’s fingers traced my shoulder, my cheek – dark, knowing, and deliberate. She moved with the poise of midnight umbrous, her touch measured, possessive, a quiet command that steadied even as it incited.

Behind us, the bed shuddered beneath the cries of her fair-crowned counterpart – bright, breathless, a spill of candle-gold and unguarded delight. Her pleasure rang freely, sunlit and unabashed, tumbling from her in silken gasps that braided themselves shamelessly with my own. Where the dark-haired goddess held me in shadowed dominion, the golden one burned without restraint, and between them I was drawn open – caught between dusk and dawn, velvet and flame.

The air was thick with it – saturated, intoxicating – heavy enough to press against my skin like a held breath. Every surface seemed to shimmer with consequence.

Jack aligned himself behind me.THRUST

The impact shattered what little coherence I had left.

I was flung back into a realm of fire – nerves smoldering, soul spiraling – my Inner Goddess thrown wide, eyes rolled back as we were bathed in consuming flame. Sensation roared through me, unsparing and unforgiving, until thought itself burned away.

I screamed into the mattress, sound tearing free until my lungs were emptied of air, until my head throbbed with the desperate need to breathe. Still, he drove himself home, again and again, incessant, dominating depth with brutal certainty – each forceful union sending fresh sparks through already-raw nerves, until I existed only as heat and impact and need.

There was no refuge left.
Only fire.
Only motion.
Only him.

I took it all in – every destructive inch, every drowning wave – and still I held back. Terrified not of sensation, but of the depth of my need. This was not my sanctum to inundate. The carpet at my toes was an innocent bystander, untouched, undeserving.

Sensibility murmured of towels, of remedies, of small mercies – but the notion of leaving the room, of forfeiting even a single fractured cry from a goddess, one shudder, one fleeting flick of a god’s tongue, felt an unbearable loss. Too dear. Too costly.

So I withheld.

I tempered my blood.
I bridled the flood.

I locked my Inner Goddess behind clenched will, and she screamed – furious, feral, clawing at the bars of restraint. The denial made her savage. Yet I endured it, trembling beneath the weight of atavistic wrath.

For in the presence of such gods, such goddesses –
I was shy.
And awe held me silent.

Around me, the chaos softened. The room – so recently unruly with sound and motion – seemed to exhale, slowly, almost reverently, until I found myself drawn into stillness. I was gathered fully against the barrel-warm breadth of one of the gods, held without ceremony. My head rested in the natural hollow of his shoulder, that intimate cradle shaped by muscle and bone, my cheek pressed close enough to feel the steady assurance of his heartbeat thrumming beneath my skin.

One leg draped over his thigh without thought – neither claim nor invitation, simply familiarity.

My fingers wandered idly through the peppered curls on his chest, tracing warmth and texture, following the subtle rise and fall of his breath. Even my Inner Goddess accepted a moment’s reprieve, the urgency eased into something drowsy and curious as I watched the scene settling around me.

Nearby, Jack remained – his presence grounding the room, an anchor amid the hush – as the others eased into their own quiet aftermath, as though the night itself had folded its wings.

The goddesses lay luminescent and utterly bare upon the bed that would soon be mine for sleep. The thought of resting where they had lain – where their bodies still seemed to echo – was titillating enough to make my toes curl.

The sight sent a slow, decadent chill through me: arousal braided with awe. As though I had been admitted into something sacred – and, more wondrous still, permitted to remain. Their bodies, unguarded and luminous in repose, lent the space a hush that felt earned rather than imposed.

I remember thinking – dimly, sweetly – there had never been a more perfect assembly.

Moments, or hours later, curled against Jack’s chest at last, gathered close as though I were something precious, sleep settled over me. His arm held me with unthinking certainty, protective and warm, and I drifted into the unseen realm knowing – without question – that in that moment I was cherished beyond measure.

Morning came sooner than I wished.

The light was thin and pale, barely daring the room, but my Inner Goddess was already awake – and furious. She prowled restlessly at the edges of my mind, affronted by the restraint imposed upon her the night before, muttering darkly about being denied the freedom to hunt the shadowed corridors in search of further spoil into the wee hours of the morning.

I raised a mental brow at her petulance, reminding her – patiently – of the unbearable decadence we had already survived only hours earlier. Five bodies. A night drawn closed at half past one. A richness meant to be savored, not devoured raw.

She would not listen. She had no patience for reason. 

Jack slept beside me, heavy and unguarded, breath deep, his warmth a living thing beneath the covers. My Inner Goddess nipped her lower lip as her eyes prowled his body. We had license over his body. My Inner Goddess growled. Still lying on my back, I let my hand slip beneath the sheets. My fingertips traced the warm architecture of him: the elegant planes, the comforting heat of skin that nearly convinced me to surrender, to curl against his side and let sleep lull me while my hand rested over his heart until I remembered nothing more.

My Inner Goddess pinched me – mean and insistent.

There would be no more rest.

Her hand…my hand she had possessed…glided down the warm expanse of his abdomen; she did not pause.

Her fingers found him – soft, full, impossibly generous even at ease – and she cupped and explored with reverent curiosity, marveling at the weight that nearly overfilled my palms. I whispered caution to her, urging patience, gentleness, a gradual waking – but she strained against me like a wild steed held too long at the gate.

She wanted to climb him.
To take.
To feel him split me open all at once. She gnashed her teeth. 

Fear flickered – of my own violence, of the hunger that rose too fast – but love restrained her. Love for Jack. Love was a leash. We softened our touch, coaxing him awake beneath our hands, and it took only seconds before I felt him stir – lengthening, pressing against my arm as he shifted beneath me.

The growl inside me turned feral.

Only then did my fingers close fully around him. Only then did I relinquish control. My grip tightened, triumphant, as he swelled and filled my hand, desire sharpening not into rage, but into pure, annihilating focus.

I moved like a starving creature upon willing prey.

Gods, I was panting. 

One leg swung over him, my hand guiding him unerringly to the ache that had not dimmed with dawn. I impaled myself in a single, ruthless motion – seeking the pain, the stretch, the perfect agony that blooms instantly into euphoria. It surged through me like a storm breaking, clouds boiling up from my core and crashing across my chest as I threw my head back, nails biting cruelly into his bare skin.

The cry tore from me – relief, blessing, recognition.

I rode him as though survival depended upon it, chasing an ache that refused extinction, body demanding more with every pulse. Jack met me without hesitation – stride for stride – letting me grind and take until his patience snapped. Then his arm locked around my waist, pulling me flush against him, the other hand fixing me by the back of my neck, fingers threaded at my nape as he growled and took command. His hips rocked into me, and I let him.

Still, it was not enough.

Somehow, he knew.

I was flipped, folded onto all fours, hands braced as the barrage began again – each thrust met, doubled, answered. Pain flared, piercing and exquisite. I screamed into the pillow, fists clenched, shoulders heaving as he drove into depths that left me gasping, rearranged, and undone. My hips arched back instinctively, lifting myself to meet him fully, heart-shaped defiance pressed hard against his strength.

His cry answered mine – raw, undying. Together, we burst into eternal flames. Him pulsing within me and I convulsing around him. 

I collapsed afterward, trembling, face damp, breath ragged, body slick and pulsing as I lay stunned in the aftermath. Time returned slowly. When it did, Jack gathered me close, and I crawled to him without thought, nestling into the hollow that already knew me – one leg draped over his thigh, our mingled scent thick and intimate.

The morning was quiet.
Just us.

And yet my pulse would not still.

Even as his body softened beneath my caress, my Inner Goddess refused abdication. My hips began to move again – slow, insistent – fingers wandering from the plane of his chest down the familiar lines of his abdomen, into the crease that always undid me. I cradled him once more, breath shallow as my thumb traced teasing promises over him, still slick with the proof of us.

The madness returned in full.

My hand quickened. My breath fractured. And as though nothing had passed between us at all, I lifted myself above him, wings spread wide in conquest, and claimed him once more – plunging down upon the iron truth of him, swollen and merciless, my body aching and ravenous as I took what I had no right to still demand. I rocked and ground above him, chasing something that felt perilously close to transcendence. Jack met me, hard and adamant, stretching me anew, filling me to a depth that pulled a whimper from my throat before I could stop it.

I did not pause to consider the magnitude of the moment. That scarcely thirty minutes could have passed, that he was iron-hard again, his energy inexhaustible – these truths flickered and vanished, suffocated by sensation. He split me open with unyielding certainty, and I broke with him, my cries spilling freely as my fingers bit into the sculpted strength of his arms, clinging as though he were the only solid thing left in the world.

I screamed – once, and then again – until sound itself became sensation, until there was nothing left but the furious rhythm of need and the undeniable fact of him beneath me.

Then I was turned, folded, pressed face down at the foot of the bed, hands gripping my waist as he drove into me again and again. My Inner Goddess smirked at the position we found ourselves once again. Driven flat on the ruined mattress, Jack drove until his crown wildly rearranged my insides, caught between his iron and the plush of the mattress. It was weird and wild and perfect and slightly uncomfortable. The walls rang with sound – my voice breaking, lightning tearing through every nerve – as he lasted far longer than sense allowed.

Somewhere through the haze, I heard him murmur uncertainty. He would not find release a second time. 

My Inner Goddess took it as provocation.

With each thrust, I bowed my back to an obscene angle, arching deeper into him, drawing him farther still until agony ripened into perfection – until his control fractured into a second, broken song. His grip clenched at my ribs as he used me, my body a ruinous instrument of his undoing, and with a feral cry, he shattered. The sound tore through the room, inflaming my Inner Goddess as his body seized and convulsed, spent utterly, again, by the edge of dawn.

My Inner Goddess howled her victory.

We collapsed again – wobbling, breathless – bodies melting into one another as heat slowly bled away and breath began to regulate. Our voices dropped to murmurs. We spoke of the night before in hushed disbelief, retracing moments with languid fingers and soft laughter, marveling at the excess of morning as though it were a shared hallucination.

I was there.
I was present.
I was happy – curled against My Love.

And yet… not entirely.

My Inner Goddess paced and paced. 

Even as Jack’s warmth steadied me, I could feel the ache still coiled in my belly – raw, insistent, unsated. It tugged at my attention, violent in its refusal to be reasoned with. She was not sated, not glowing or playful. She had become an abyss – ancient, roaring, unsatisfied – howling like some primordial beast denied its due.

The need was visceral – not an idea, not a craving, but a living thing lodged low in my body, gnawing.

It bordered on pain.

I felt her cry within me: a low, feral lament that coiled through my belly and down my thighs, heavy and insistent, an ache so dense it felt almost gravitational, as though my very bones were being drawn inward toward some dark, inevitable center.

I could not let Jack see it – not all of it. Not the gulf yawning open beneath my composure.

So I turned away, rolling onto my side, presenting him only my back, my spine curving as I faced the wall. I tucked myself into the cradle of his body as he followed instinctively, his warmth closing around me, one arm slung over my waist in atavistic possession. He spooned me close, fitting himself to me as though we had been carved in tandem.

Only then did I feel the full measure of him – his breadth, his density, the unyielding calm of his strength. I loved the way my smaller frame vanished against him, the way I could disappear into his solidity. I sank deeper, breathing him in, letting his scent – sleep-warm, faintly salt, unmistakably him – settle over me like a benediction.

For a heartbeat, I almost believed I could rest.

My Inner Goddess scoffed and rolled her eyes.

She tipped my hips back into the curve of his pelvis, just barely – an experiment. A whisper of contact. A question posed not in words but in pressure.

Jack answered at once.

His arm tightened, anchoring my torso as his hips rolled forward and then relaxed as he snuggled closer, his face buried in the tangle of my sapphire hair. But the contact had been unmistakable. Intentional. My Inner Goddess bit her lip and pressed again, more boldly this time, flexing back into him with calculated need.

Would he play with us?

He did.

Again, he answered – this time with a deeper press, a subtle grind that drew a breath from me before I could stop it. Heat bloomed between my thighs, immediate and treacherous.

That was all the invitation she required.

My hand slid between my legs, fingers already trembling as they sought him, found him. I lifted my top leg just enough to open myself, to draw him closer, then sealed him there, locking us together in that intimate, devastating alignment. My hips began to move – slow, erotic strokes back and forth – working the narrow seam between us, drawing him along my folds already slick with the decadent residue of what we had survived earlier.

A sound broke from me as I felt him answer – his weight swelling, heat sharpening, hardening again with a terrible, searing inevitability.

My fingers resumed their pleading work, stroking, coaxing, kneading with reverent desperation whenever his crown nudged between my thighs, stealing friction, stealing sensation wherever I could. Each movement drew him further into me, bound us tighter. I groaned when his forehead dipped to rest against my shoulder blade, his breath turning hot and uneven against my skin, his rhythm falling into perfect, devastating synchrony with mine.

Then his hand slid up – sure, exacting – and closed around my breast.

The sensation ripped through me.

I cried out as his fingers tightened, thumb brushing with deliberate cruelty, and my body arched back into him without consent, without restraint. I undulated in stunned disbelief, caught between awe and surrender, scarcely able to comprehend what my body was demanding – what he so willingly gave.

When I could endure the teasing no longer, restraint simply failed. I reached for him without dignity, without pretense, driven by a needlepoint need that stripped me of all gentility. Two fingers traced the heated underside of him, slow and reverent, and the contact alone shattered me – my head tipping back, breath breaking, the sheer fact of him too much to bear with composure intact.

There was nothing coy left in me. Nothing selective. I wanted him, wanted any answering presence, wanted relief with a ferocity that frightened me.

With the slightest guiding pressure, I drew his cock upward, shifted my hips, and took him into myself. The moment he filled me was brutal in its finality. Space vanished. Choice vanished. It felt like being closed around – claimed by consequence rather than decision – our bodies locked together so completely there was no separating where I ended, and the ache began. His grip tightened, reflexive and unthinking, as though he felt how close to the edge I already was.

The sound that tore from me was not pretty. It was raw, stripped of civility, dragged up from the deepest place of my hunger. Relief and ache and rapture collided in it – proof that I had been driven past reason, past restraint, into a wanting so naked it no longer cared who witnessed it.

For a third time, he rose – unrelenting, magnificent.

My Inner Goddess wept in awe.

With inexhaustible strength, he rolled me onto my abdomen, asserting his strength and need for the third time as language broke apart on my tongue. My face vanished into pillows, curses spilling free, toes cramping, body shuddering under the force of my undoing. I do not know how long it lasted. The rising sun itself seemed to pause – gaping in silent witness.

At last, winded and shaking, Jack withdrew, his voice thick and husky as he insisted – gently – that water and food were now a necessity.

I lay unmoving, lungs dragging air back into my body, vision blurred as gravity slowly reclaimed me. When sensation returned, I checked inward – seeking my Inner Goddess.

She was still there.

Not sprawled in sated languor.
Not smiling.

She looked at me with pleading eyes.

The ache remained.
Violent.
Unresolved.

I buried my face against the cooling sheets, frustration clawing through me. When I joked aloud – lightly, teasingly – about seeing if anyone else might wish to join us, my tone was playful… but the truth beneath it was naked. Somehow, reality returned to focus. The immortals of the Fay and of Olympus had surely earned their rest, their bodies and spirits spent in ways mortals could scarcely comprehend. And who was I to ask for more? What arrogance it was – what trembling, audacious folly – for a rumpled mortal to imagine she might presume further upon the eternal, to mistake their generosity for entitlement, their indulgence for obligation.

My Inner Goddess crumpled.

I crawled to the shower, hoping heat and solitude might temper the fire raging beyond reason.

It did not.

Duty called. Lists awaited. Responsibilities demanded their toll.

Even hours later, when alone in my sanctuary, I found no peace. My Inner Goddess gnawed and raged, desperate for further ruin. I sequestered myself, the small, faithful hum of a toy offering its best attempt at mercy. I writhed – legs shaking – until the stars burst behind my eyes and waited for the ache to dissipate. 

Still – not enough. My fists struck the floor in helpless fury as I lay there, overcome, breath ragged, my thighs slick with the remnants of my release. 

The fear did not come from what I had done, but from what refused to be sated. From the realization that the hunger was not receding – it was widening, opening into something cavernous and inexorable, something that did not recognize limits or mercy.

What was becoming of me?

The question hovered, unanswered.
The ache did not.

It stayed – hot, pulsing, sovereign – unrepentant in its persistence, unfinished by design.

My Inner Goddess crawled to her chaise and wept. 

Until next time, XO. Elsie