Year of the Inner Goddess

December 2025 – Audio Version

Champagne dazzles.

At first glance…through glass perilously thin and chilled…it glows with that impossible hue: molten gold kissed with pearl. A living thing. Minute constellations rise in disciplined disorder, ascending with quiet insistence, as though compelled by some private gravity. When I lean closer, the scent arrives before the sip…opulent, faintly yeasted, sugared with promise. 

The bubbles murmur beneath the nose, playful and conspiratorial. Then the taste…gliding effervescence unfurling across the tongue, dissolving into the throat with a luminous chill. Each burst leaves behind something ineffable: vitality, yes, but also reverence. As if every vanishing bead carried a fleck of enchantment and surrendered it only at the moment of its demise. 

I sip. 

I smile.
I do not know why.

Like champagne, the evening dazzled – and disappeared, leaving a warmth I could not name pooling through my body, my mind swimming in soft, golden vertigo. What followed did not unfold so much as sparkle and shiver: bursts of sensation, pressure and release, laughter snatched mid-breath, heat blooming unexpectedly against skin.

Each moment swelled, quivered, and broke, memory rising like bubbles along a golden stream, vanishing before it could be held. The night fizzed and shimmered into being…sumptuous, intoxicating…already melting even as it took shape.

The last Tuesday of the year glided in unseen, and I could almost sense the conspiratorial Fates, teasing their threads, tugging and twisting in quiet mischief, stirring the night like whispered champagne bubbles. Firelight pooled low in the Great Hall; shadows breathed along the walls. Jack and two couples languished on the expansive couch, the atmosphere soft, laughter spilling like gilded bubbles

Beneath my oversized onesie, red satin ribbons crossed my body in secret geometry…ritual lines, hidden sigils. Outwardly, I must have looked absurdly innocent: a small black bear, hood drawn up, ridiculous ears perched atop my head.

But beneath…ah.

Beneath lived something far more carnal.
Something knowing.
A succubus goddess coiled in impatience.

Memory does not proceed.
It rises and shimmers.

Pop. A laugh.
Fizz. The heat of the room.
Ripple.

And then…

Diana.

The Goddess wore sapphire so sheer it seemed more vow than garment, a color deep enough to bruise the air around her. Against her moon-pale skin, it became an argument…contrast sharpened to reverence. Dark curls spilled over one shoulder, whispering secrets not meant for mortal ears. She moved with the kind of certainty that makes power appear indulgent rather than forceful.

When her lower lip disappeared briefly between her teeth, it was not doubt.
It was appetite…held, not denied, restrained only for the savoring.

Her attention reached me before her hands did, a pressure felt rather than seen.
And when it did…

The night inhaled.

Her fingers found the zipper of my onesie.
Slowly.
Titrated.

The sound was small, indecently loud. She did not hurry. Her touch traced my abdomen as though confirming a map already memorized, sensation rising in tiny, treacherous bursts beneath her path. The cozy garment slid from my shoulders, candlelight spilling in to discover the red satin at my décolletage.

When she unfastened the bow, it felt precisely like the easing of a cork…soft resistance, then surrender. A release so gentle it felt ceremonial. I cannot recall the exact instant the matching bottom piece vanished. I only know they were gone, and I had not mourned them.

Pop. 

Pop.

Suddenly…contained no longer…I was gathered into her, the world tipping as though the glass itself had been raised. My legs found their place around her buxom hips without instruction, instinct drawing me closer as heat closed around us. The room narrowed to breath and pulse and the intimate authority of her mouth.

Her kiss did not ask.
It claimed.

It carried the fluency of something long-practiced, reverent in its certainty, as though she were reminding me of a language I had always spoken but rarely aloud. Passion swelled. There was music…or perhaps it was just us, our companions completely dissolved, momentarily forgotten. I thought…briefly, foolishly…that this must be the pinnacle. That nothing could eclipse this brilliance.

Beneath my skin, the night’s invisible champagne tickled and frosted, rising in tiny, irrepressible bursts.

My Inner Goddess stirred…low, carnal, insistent. Pressure bloomed in places I had not yet been listening, drawing a sound from me that startled even myself. My body answered before thought could intervene, arching, yielding, surrendering to sensation flaring and scattering across every nerve.

Diana laughed softly against my skin, indulgent, delighted…not at me, but at the effortless ignition she had orchestrated. Around us, the night twinkled: moments rising, bursting, dissolving before they could be named, leaving me fluttering with gratitude and a joy so sharp it felt ruinous.

Just like champagne.

Pop.

Awareness snapped back, sharp as a pop of cork. I remained cradled, our breasts crushed in an intimate embrace, yet the world had shifted its arrangement without consulting me. Somewhere below, the Woodsman had scrambled onto the bed and lay patient, intent, every inch of him poised as though he were savoring the fall of something sacred. With an uplift of his head and the slow, purposeful stroke of his tongue, he found the exposed, shivering center of me, my legs still locked around Diana. Wild, sharp heat seared through me, and I gasped against Diana’s neck, my fingers tangling in her hair, clutching, needing, demanding proof that this was real.

Diana guided me with wicked consideration, angling and shifting my body so that every nerve, every shiver of skin became a conduit for her will. And he…oh, he devoured me. The Woodsman’s thick tongue traced liturgical, torturous paths, circling, dipping, stroking in rhythm with my quaking body. He tasted me as though memorizing my shape, mapping me with torrid devotion, worship pouring from each inexorable motion of his mouth. My thighs quaked, my arms wrapped around Diana, my hips quivering as he pressed, licked, pulled, a steady, consuming pressure that made my hold on Diana threaten to buckle.

His hands rose, heavy, authoritative, cupping, kneading, guiding me further into the heady tension Diana had orchestrated. He moved with reverence, yet with a hunger so acute it seared my awareness. Every flick of his tongue, every press of his palm, drew heat higher, threading through me in currents of fire and liquid ecstasy. My chest heaved, a cry ripped from me, raw and ragged, half warning, half surrender. 

“I will drown you entirely,” I breathed, and the words were truth and prophecy alike.

Diana’s lips brushed my ear, hot, conspiratorial. “Do it,” she growled, the simple words vibrating across the curve of my neck. “Drown him.” 

Her teeth grazed, her tongue traced, guiding me as he followed, every movement of his tongue a silent, worshipful obedience to her choreography. The Woodsman’s mouth and hands worked in concert: tongue stroking, lips pressing, fingers whispering, his gaze fixed as if to hold me in place while simultaneously letting me drift. Thought unraveled entirely; only sensation remained, wild, profane, unstoppable.

My head fell back, my voice a ragged symphony of breath and moan. Pleasure surged in ceaseless tides, spreading from the center of me to every trembling extremity. My body arched, quaked, submitting, and he followed every shiver, every gasp, worshiping me as though I were an axis of the universe. Every flick, every press, every reverent lick built me higher, until coherence dissolved entirely and only devotion, heat, and exultation remained.

Fizz.
Fizz.

And still…more bubbles rose, climbing, bursting, coaxing me ever higher, their tenacious, rapturous attentions pulling me into nirvana.

I vaguely became aware of Serafina the Archai’s lips tracing mine as I lay prone on the cool fleece of the bed. Her magnificent sable tendrils framed her face, angelic, perfect, a crown for her alabaster skin, brushing my cheek, whispering heat. Dark, mischievous eyes glittered like a hidden constellation between my thighs. The Archangel elevated his gaze from devouring me, hungry, branding; his dark beard glistening with my nectar, hands anchored firmly around my thighs, holding me as though I were both treasure and altar. He drank in the sight of my kiss with Serafina, eyes locked, memorizing every tremor, every gasp. 

I laughed breathless, my euphoria folding into theirs, body dissolving into the shared heat. The world disappeared…the room, the time, the fragile boundary between minds…and the Archanagel buried his face fully into my apex. My orgasm tore through me, merciless, leaving me quaking, and Serafina’s lips and hands traced every shiver, along my breastbone, across my heated flesh, chestnut strands gliding, whispering, teasing around me.

The night effervesced around me…countless champagne bubbles climbing, bursting, kissing my skin. I floated, buoyant, lost in their sparkling revelry.

The Woodsman was there, a dark pulse at the center of the room, framed by the sense of ancient forest and crackling campfire. He had memorized every ridge, every hollow of my body, every secret curve, and he did not need tenderness…only ruthless, faultless devotion. I giggled helplessly as his hands wrapped around my hips and yanked me toward the precipice, each movement a challenge and a promise. One hand guided his oiled, thick cock, pressing, stroking, demanding surrender; the other dug into the soft flesh of my thigh, anchoring me, bending me entirely to him. Then he plunged into my sanctuary…not slow, but deep, ruinous, adamantine…and my body responded with triumphant, quaking abandon. Hips rose, chest surged, moans spilling, breath ragged, my cries mingling with the sway of his hands, the press of his mouth, the driving plunge of his thickening cock.

Wave after wave cascaded through me, each pulse a delicious reckoning of the Woodsman’s incomparable skill, each surge leaving me convulsing, undone, aching for the next thrust, the graze of teeth, tongue, palm, velvet hair. My Inner Goddess drank deeply of the decadence around me…the shifting naked bodies, the moans, the slap of flesh on flesh, the orchestration of desire in every glance, every touch.

Hands and mouths overlapped, tongues tracing, lips claiming, fingers curling, weaving silk and skin together into a tapestry of delirious sensation. Every gasp, every sigh, every pop and fizz of champagne rose around me like a litany, guiding me higher into seismic chaos. The night itself seemed complicit, dissolving every boundary, every restraint, leaving only heat, worship, and obdurate, apotheotic pleasure.

More champagne bubbles. Always more. Spiraling, fizzing, teasing, coaxing me higher into delirium.

I became aware of him only when a rough, predatory finger traced the length of my throat to the tip of my chin, sending a shock of heat curling through me. Eyes fluttered open, and there was Jack kneeling at my side, the mighty swell of his cock offered, insistent, radiant, begging for my worship. I hadn’t sensed him climb onto the bed…yet there he was, part of the living tide of six bodies shifting across the queen, the air itself pulsing, thick with heat and undulating delight.

A grin spread across my lips, tongue teasing the curve of my teeth as nectar poured freely from my hips. Jack plunged into the abyss of my throat, testing my limits while another cock filled my apex, moaning and gasping, shattering across me like rolling waves. All around me, kisses were traded like currency…hot, insistent, urgent…moving from lips to mouth to jaw, hands, hair, skin, intertwining in endless loops of desire. My body grew taut, spasmed, every nerve alight, every gasp folded into the next, overlapping, colliding, flowing.

Bubbles popped and sparkled in the candlelight, tiny, bright hymns to ecstasy, and the deities shifted their places in this living constellation of need. The Woodsman offered his sword with merciless rigor…hands kneading, gripping, guiding, body commanding. The Archangel buried himself between my thighs, cock tracing a quicksilver tattoo, riding the surges of my release like a dark, worshipful tide, dissolving every thought into liquid sensation. Serafina’s lips followed mine, brushing, claiming, warm hands trailing along my breasts, ribcage, abdomen, teasing every curve, her long locks whispering across shivering flesh.

Diana’s wicked tongue, teeth, fingers, palms…each movement entwining, weaving in dizzying, hieratic patterns…worked in perfect orchestration. Jack’s thighs pressed into mine, sheened and hot. The Archangel moved with patient devotion, plunging, pressing, worshipping, and the Woodsman drove me, ardent, pertinacious, demanding every shiver, every gasp, every fracture. Every hand, every mouth, every tongue, every cock, every curling tendril of hair, every slap of flesh on flesh merged, folded, collided, surged, rose, and fell in unbroken, continuous, hypnotic rhythm.

I was a nexus, a living, breathing map of devotion and desire, every wave cascading into the next, unfurling, coiling like glistering champagne spiraling to the rim. Bodies flowed beneath, around, over me…a rolling tide of worship and ecstasy, shimmering, streaming, relentless.

My hips arched, my breasts peaked, my voice tore free in ragged moans that became music, rhythm, litany. Every cry folded into the next, every shiver struck a chord, every press of cock, every flick of tongue, every whisper of saturnine strands composing a verse in the endless hymn of pleasure. Pop. Fizz. Another shiver, another chord.

My Inner Goddess drank deeply…intoxicated by devotion, surrender, the saturated chaos, the unyielding, hypnotic crescendo.

I floated, soaring, quaking in a tidal wave of sensation so continuous, so unending, so impossibly intense that thought evaporated like steam from golden champagne. Only fire and silk, skin and teeth, tongue and cock, moan and breath remained, layering into a single, infinite, sacred loop, rolling, spiraling, erupting, carrying me higher, coaxing me ever higher, until the world dissolved into one uninterrupted, ecstatic, replete, fizzing symphony of surrender.

Bubbles popped. Bubbles fizzed. Always more.

Diana was everywhere at once. Fingers darted, pressed, massaged, teasing every hollow and curve, igniting fire along my nerves. Her moans poured through the room, saponaceous, vibrating, a siren song entwined with mine. She leaned over me at a perfect 45° angle, pendulous breasts swaying hypnotically, tilting with every lush, calculated shift. Her lips traced a scorching trail up my throat, claiming, licking, teasing…and then her hand clamped around my neck. Firm. Unyielding. Deliciously precise.

Air became a rare, precious commodity. My lungs burned, chest heaving in ragged gasps, each inhalation electrifying every fiber of me. The god slammed into me with unstoppable force, thick, hot, insistent, driving deep and relentless between my thighs. Every thrust pressed me closer to delirium, body colliding with body, chest to chest, hips grinding, an underswell of worship and domination that sent raw, shuddering waves of ecstasy spiraling through me. 

Diana held me on the edge…suffocating, constricting, narcotic…my orgasm spiraling higher, waves of rapture pulsing through me while breath was denied. Her hand gripped my throat, holding me at the edge of breath and madness, timing her release with fervid incisiveness. The god and Diana moved in tandem, orchestrating my ruin: one thrusting, one controlling, one moaning, one tightening, one raising me higher, one suspending me on the knife-edge of suffocation and pleasure.

I floated between their mastery, every nerve alight, every fiber vibrating, each gasp magnified by the clash of his hips and the seductive assurance of her hands. Jack’s thrusts became endless, rolling, overlapping with kisses, bites, and touches from the others around me. Serafina’s lips and hands braided through the chaos, igniting my flesh; the Archangel’s mouth and cock hovered at the edge of my reason as he claimed Serafina’s beautiful body; the Woodsman pressed and drove, insistent, skilled, calculated. Every touch collided with the last, each sensation folding into the next, unstoppable, a living, breathing tide of decadent, unbroken pleasure.

Then, at the perfect moment, she released me. Air rushed in, ragged, quivering, filling every shivering fiber, and nirvana tore through me, cascading in spirals, pulses, and shuddering waves. My hips arched, bosom glistening, eyes fluttered, my cries tangled with the moans, sighs, and gasps of every body pressed, sliding, claiming, worshiping around me. The room became a continuous, rolling, unbroken tide of sensation

My orgasms spiraled in continuous, converging waves, suffocated and elevated, pulsing and exploding through me, folding, rising, carrying me beyond coherence. Breath held again, this time restricted by the Woodsman, gasping, faltering, shaking, collapsing into release, buoyed again by another thrust, another press, another kiss. The slap of skin on skin echoed like a drumbeat through the room, lips traded like currency, tongues mapping, hands caressing, cocks plunging, cashmere brushing, moans and sighs layering into one unbroken hymn of worship and ecstasy.

Bubbles popped and fizzed around us, sparkling, punctuating every buckle, every gasp, every exquisite suspension and release. I was utterly consumed, utterly adored, utterly undone.

It then…was my turn to be bent over the side of the bed.

I was no longer lost…only unmoored. Not drunk in the mortal sense, but undone by the alchemy of the evening. My senses swam, intoxicated on heat and sound and touch, on the blasphemous, golden excess of it all. I could not name which god claimed me as I was folded forward at a helpless angle, my body offered, open, trembling…ripe, ready.

I shivered with wild, hysterical delight, a permanent, reckless grin stretching my mouth as pleasure jittered through me unchecked, fizzing like champagne at the tip of the tongue.

Then…

A sharp, resounding smack split the air.

Heat blossomed like liquid fire, immediate and sharp enough to make me gasp and groan in pure, unrestrained delight. My hips writhed, squirmed, pressing back, greedy, insatiable, begging for more. Diana obliged. Her hand followed with precision, striking again, each blow punctuated by the moans that threaded through me like offered prayers. She reveled in my pleasure, feeding it, amplifying it, bending every nerve, every gasp, every shiver to her will.

Again.

And again.

I rested my forehead against the mattress, breath shuddering, spine arching instinctively to meet each blow. Between the strikes…between the sharp punctuation of pain…I felt fingers tease, my hooded pearl already brimming and swollen. The touch was knowing, unhurried, cruel in its measured devastation. I couldn’t tell whose fingers they were…male or female, goddess or god, Diana or the Woodsman or Serafina…and it didn’t matter.

Identity dissolved. Only sensation remained.

Anxiety unraveled like thorns being clipped away, tension bleeding out with every strike.

Smack.
Smack.
Smack.

Time warped. Stretched. Stuttered. My thoughts scattered like sparks, my head light and dizzy as pleasure pooled and overflowed. I felt the probing crown of a cock press at my soaked fold, nudging, testing, reverent and impatient all at once. My legs parted willingly, eagerly, welcoming the thick intrusion…

…but the rain of spankings did not cease.

They shifted only slightly, accommodating the god behind me. The Woodsman, I thought dimly. His presence was unmistakable: solid, feral, inevitable. His hand joined the symphony…striking, gripping, claiming…and then his body slammed forward.

The impact of his hips clashing against my already red, burning flesh sent a fresh jolt of pain screaming through me…sharp, elysian, devastating…and I sobbed into the mattress as pleasure detonated and blurred into one throbbing luminance force. I gasped, choked, and growled. I pushed back into him shamelessly, greedily, groaning like some feral forest creature in heat, needing more, always more. 

Diana did not abandon me. Wet smacks and thrusts mixed, echoing across the bed, the room, the air around us. My chest heaved, sapphire hair sticking to sweat-slick temples, lips parting to cry out with ragged moans, growls, and sharp inhalations, my body a riot of sensation.

The sting sang, sharp and cruel, and beneath it, my suculent, pulsing core welcomed the intrusion, demanding and testing my limits. The contrast was rhapsodic. And still, I drove back into the chaos, growling, gasping, crying out in surrender, craving the next collision, the next sting, the next wave of ungovernable, feral, ambrosial ecstasy. My Inner Goddess, keened in astonished joy…because this was what she had been starving for. Not softness. Not restraint. But this: the holy sting, the resounding pain that snapped something deep inside me into alignment.

I was being lavished beyond mortal comprehension.

I was undone.
I was shattered.
And I could not…would not…get enough.

Champagne bubbles fizzed, rising, bursting, sparkling in the candlelit haze, echoing the thrumming still racing through me.

Then I was hoisted, straightened, pulled upright, and Diana’s cool, lithe body wrapped around me from behind. Her skin pressed against mine, soothing the fire still singing across my flesh, her presence grounding yet vertiginous. I melted back into her, arms slack, senses overwhelmed, heart thudding in the delicious pause between chaos and control.

And then…she moved.

One hand cupped my breast, warm and steady, teasing, claiming. The other gripped my throat once more, deliberate, unyielding, beautiful in its cruelty. My breath hitched, sharp and shallow, and I froze, suspended between surrender and sensation, utterly at her mercy. My knees unsteady, hips canted, body quivering, every nerve alight, every inch alive.

Through the haze of pleasure, I glimpsed the others, each a living note in this decadent symphony. Jack and the Archangel flanked Serafina at opposite ends, their bodies pressing, thrusting, kissing, worshiping in a tempo that folded seamlessly with Diana’s control of me. The Archangel’s dark eyes flickered toward mine for a fleeting instant, measuring, memorizing, while Jack’s hands, warm and insistent, guided. I felt their presence as much as Diana’s grip, threads of devotion and ecstasy weaving through my consciousness.

Somewhere in the periphery, I thought I saw the Woodsman, sipping water, steady and patient, a dark pulse in the background of this chaotic perfection. Even that simple, mundane act…the slow raise of the glass, the slant of his head…seemed charged, as though every movement belonged to the same living organism of sensation surrounding me.

Tears pricked my eyes, stinging, mixing with sweat and the orrate aftershocks still pooling between my thighs. I did not resist. I could not. I was utterly, achingly, breathtakingly at her mercy…held, possessed, adored, and guided.

Every gasp, every shiver, every infinitesimal tilt of my body was an offering. At the same time, the room pulsed around me…moans, slaps of skin, whispered commands, dewy bodies colliding, tongues and lips tracing, hands kneading…threads of sensation threading through the tableau like molten gold. Diana’s absolute mastery held me at the center, but the other currents, the presence of Jack, the Archangel, even the faint, knowing patience of the Woodsman, enriched, amplified, and expanded every nerve, every tremor.

Invisible champagne bubbles popped all around me, rising and fizzing, scenting the air with gold and musk, an electric opiate.

Jack lay beneath me, his back pressed into the mattress, his hands guiding, urging, steadying me as I rode him, rolling and grinding, toes curling, fingers digging into the sculpted planes of his torso. Every piston of my hips pressed me deeper against him, every angle teasing, pressing, aching, sparking fire through my core. My eyes rolled back, breath stuttering, body trembling in cataclysmic surrender.

Diana whispered in my ear, velvet and command, daring me to stretch further, to lean into the impossible, heightening every nerve, every pulse. My Inner Goddess clenched, not in fear, but in elation, every coil of tension and anticipation dissolving as pleasure surged and folded into itself. Was tonight the night to sip fully from such a forbidden, shimmering fantasy?

Behind me, the Woodsman pressed close, his firm hands mapping me, guiding my wriggling, giddy body, seeking access to my sanctuary. He and Jack tried…oh, they tried…to enter me at once, but my core clenched unpredictably, writhing at the riot of it all…my delight too bright, too giddy for precise alignment. Their simultaneous intrusion teased impossibly, every push, every press, every thrust colliding against my resistance, yet setting my nerves alight with exquisite, scandalous tension.

We shifted, adjusted, tried again…Jack guiding, Woodsman pressing, Diana orchestrating…my giddiness sending everything spinning, chaotic, perfect. The Fates themselves might have murmured, “not tonight,” yet their whispered denial only teased, only fanned the fire. The dual intrusions pressed and pulsed, auric, relentless, forbidden, leaving me intoxicated by the audacious heat of it all. And in that suspended, impossible moment, I knew the night had merely hinted, promising we would sip fully from this forbidden, shimmering fantasy again.

And then I was leaning against Jack, chest rising and falling with his, toes curling into the mattress, momentarily spent but euphoric. I relaxed into him, head tilting back slightly, and watched the scene around me unfold…the Archangel and Serafina, Diana and the Woodsman, bodies intertwining, moans, gasps, whispered commands, the candlelight dancing across shimmering skin. My body tingled with aftershocks, every nerve alive, but I let myself simply be, savoring the perfection of the room, the chaos, the shared devotion, the reckless, intoxicating convergence of souls.

Pop. Fizzle. Sparkle.

Serafina lay prostrate on the bed, limbs relaxed, body gleaming in the soft candlelight. The Woodsman knelt over her, one knee on either side of her thighs, hands sliding over her back in long, firm, undulating strokes, coaxing tension into release. I moved quickly for the end table, retrieving the coconut oil…cold, firm, slightly lumpy in my hand, yet as I rubbed it between my palms, warmth blossomed, softening, spreading. With Serafina’s consent, I passed some to Diana and the Woodsman, anticipation humming in the air like an electric current.

Diana leaned close, delicate fingers attending to Serafina’s petite feet, kneading, massaging, tracing arches and tendons with careful reverence. The Woodsman’s hands never ceased their rhythm, his hardened cock resting at the curve of her spine, pressing lightly, an insistent, tethered pulse across the smooth skin of her buttocks. My own hands followed the contours of her arm, massaging her shoulder, bicep, forearm, fingertips, every movement echoing the harmony of touch around me.

Together, we became a wave, a choreography of sensation. The Woodsman found his tempo, hands undulating, synchronized with the ebb and flow of her small, shivering gasps. I drifted around her other side, massaging, caressing, feeling the give of her muscles, the subtle pulse of blood and heat beneath her skin. Every stroke, every touch, every pressure point was an offering, and in the midst of it all, I marveled…Serafina’s willowy body, supple and yielding, the perfect vessel for our combined devotion.

The Archangel beamed, pride radiating as he leaned in, tracing a finger along the small of her back, joining the dance of worship, before retreating to watch with reverent satisfaction. Jack reclined at the head of the bed, regal and unshaken, surveying the scene like a king enthroned, gold light catching the planes of his face, candlelight flickering across the shimmer of skin and the glinting sweat of exertion.

The invisible champagne shimmered around me, fizzing along the edges of perception, rising and bursting in golden threads I could feel but not touch. Every stroke, every knead, every whispered breath overlapped in a hypnotic rhythm…the room itself alive, a living, breathing organism of desire, touch, and shared, ensnaring reverence. And yet, my Inner Goddess, wings unfurled, decadent and greedy as the void itself, was not ready to surrender. Neither, it seemed, was the Woodsman.

He took me in hand, powerful, unrelenting, guiding, slamming into me with a rhythm that split me open and set every nerve alight. My body bowed, toes curling, breath ragged, heart hammering…I was undone and exultant all at once. Every anxious thought I had harbored hours earlier vanished like smoke in the wind; I was intoxicated on the moment, on the magic of the deities around me, on the lavish, excessive chaos of our communion. My eyes drank them in, every movement, every curve, every flash of skin a marvel of fevered beauty.

I surrendered completely to the Woodsman, body pressed into his, the tender flesh of my sanctuary stretched and brimming with the impossibility as I rode him. His hand gripped my throat, steady and unhesitant, and I felt my face flush, breath caught, gasps turning into a scream as his pulse surged into me. The bed beneath us was damp and groaning, echoing the slap and press of flesh, the slick glide of desire.

He knew exactly when to withdraw and when to strike. His mighty cock withdrawn, smacking, pounding against my hooded pearl, each stroke sending torrents of nectar spilling, flooding, cascading beneath me before plunging into my depths once more. My resolve faltered. My balance failed. Every nerve flared, exquisite and punishing, the moment stretching on, endless, a continuous eruption of sensation.

And then Serafina joined, the angelic soft counterpoint to the ferocity surrounding me. Her magnificent sable hair, softer than thistle down, traced along my body, brushing my cheeks, coiling around my breasts, sliding down my abdomen, a contradiction of gentleness against the brutal, insistent thrusts of the Woodsman. Each gossamer caress was a kiss, an angelic whisper of devotion, sending shivers through me, blending with the sharp, delicious pain, the ecstatic, unyielding pressure.

My body melted into the warmth and intensity around me, quaking, teetering between pleasure and awe, undone by the sheer, luring perfection of the moment. The mingling of pounding, slapping flesh and the feather-light brush of angelic hair, the scent of champagne and sweat, the heat of bodies pressed together…everything became one infinite, gilded wave, and I wanted only to dissolve into it, weak at the beauty, the rapture, the ascendant surrender of it all.

Bubbles popped and fizzed one last time.

The evening eased into its perfect, lingering conclusion… no jarring snap, no cold-water shock of reality. It faded like the last drop of champagne, suspended at the rim of the crystal, fauve gold shimmering in the light, waiting for the tongue to claim it. So too did this night fade: the final drop of ecstasy pooling warm and slow, bodies still entwined, fingers tracing one last, deliberate path across skin, each touch a soft, reverent echo of the chaos that had come before. Clothes slipped back on reluctantly, a whisper against the heat of the room, a fleeting concession to the sudden chill, yet incapable of severing the spell.

Even now, hours later, I feel it…the lingering pulse of skin against skin, the hum of laughter, the faint taste of sweetness and musk in the air. My body remembers every brush, every sigh, every shimmer of warmth, and my smile refuses to fade. The magic of the evening, the opaline reverence, the golden, sparkling surrender, all of it pulses still, a secret tide beneath my ribs.

It was the perfect farewell to a year of wonder, a night of unrestrained desire and sacred indulgence, a final, intoxicating toast to everything extraordinary. 

Until next time, XO. Elsie