Year of the Inner Goddess

January 2026 – Audio Version – Listen Here

Jack.
The Woodsman.
The Demigod.
The Archangel and Seraphina.

Their names move through me like a rosary drawn too quickly through skittish fingers…each bead a spark, each invocation stealing another measure of breath. Heat coils low and primal, a conscious thing, while memory trails its velvet mouth down my spine.

Hephaestus.
Lord Ursus.
The Warrior.
Caius and Eos.

I shut my eyes, yielding to the onrush…the way sensation blooms across my pale skin, the way my pulse betrays me. Images seep inward, obscene and unrepentant, until even thought grows languid beneath their weight.

The Nightwalker.
And Iceman.

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Before the event could begin, there had been true, visceral dread. My stomach clenched itself into hard little knots, the soothing medicine frustratingly slow in its application, while nervous energy skittered beneath my skin like charged filaments. And yet, braided through the panic, something unmistakably wanton stirred. A bright, lubricious quickening that stippled my flesh as I moved among the swelling congregation of gathered gods, accompanied by two goddesses whose regard quickened my blood. 

The Great Hall was full. Gloriously so.
All my cherished companions gathered beneath one vaulted roof.

And then remembrance struck…why they were there, what was about to be gifted to me, and…and my lungs forgot their duty. My tongue grew faithless and dry. I felt suddenly vain, almost indecent in the enormity of my desiderium. A foolish, fluttering solution crossed my mind…perhaps we should simply watch a film?

My Inner Goddess bristled at the suggestion, glowering with offense…she who is never sated, who clawed and pleaded to be unleashed, to rise, to consume the night entirely. She would not be shuttered behind my ribs another heartbeat.

I recall hoarding my courage like a miser’s coin, breath thinning to a timid flutter as I weighed the smallest of trespasses. “Choose one.” I implored myself. “Anyone…a lingering kiss, perhaps.” A hand clasped and not released. “Begin…somewhere, anywhere!” 

The choice lay before me, abundant and undeniable, and still I faltered. I was meant to be Queen of the Night, yet I dallied like a diffident girl at the threshold, lingering in civility, drifting from one polite exchange to the next, swaddled in the safe and known. Meanwhile, my Inner Goddess stalked the length of her cage, a raptor denied the hunt, talons clicking softly as she circled, her impatience sharpening, ripening into something that pressed ravenous and clamorous against my mind.

And then…the Woodsman.

He crossed the distance without prelude, vast and incontrovertible, his arms closing beneath the sweep of my thighs as though the conclusion had long since been ordained. The world cantilevered; startled laughter broke from me as he lifted me and cast me over his shoulder…reminiscent of a victorious general bearing away the spoils of conquest.

No one stopped him, but I could feel 12 pairs of eyes glued to us.

I savored every instant. I softened without resistance, light-headed with it, my heart swollen with gratitude as he carried me onward, and the night…at last…opened its cavernous mouth.

There was no brutish fervor in the way he decisively held me over his shoulder…only unquestioned conviction. One immense hand traced the long vertebral ladder of my back, each rung acknowledged, until his palm cradled the nape of my neck and guided me down. Gently. Almost ceremonially upon the readied bed. As though he were laying something precious upon an altar he already knew by heart.

I knew then…without doubt…that the night would exceed the limits of mortal language.

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The narrow straps of my leather suit did not merely slide from my arms; they were dismissed entirely, drawn away in one decisive motion that left no remnant behind…not even the carefully chosen noir satin beneath. The filigree garment ceased to exist. There was no pause to mourn it. I might have protested…I had labored obsessively over every choice, every hidden detail…but the thought dissolved as quickly as it formed. I did not want delay. I did not want ceremony. I wanted the unimpeded descent into chthonic wanton ravishment.

The Woodsman understood.

Without a word, without announcement, he sank to his knees upon the barbered carpet, the sheer scale of him altered by the posture but no less commanding. His arms encircled my thighs, vast enough to make them feel suddenly slight, held as if they were made for his keeping. He bowed his head, breath blooming hot and intimate against the tender apex of me as he parted my thighs, a familiar presence returning after an absence.

And in that instant…before touch, before surrender completed itself…I felt the night tighten, attentive and expectant, as though even the stars had leaned closer to watch.

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I remember unspooling into that hour, lengthening across the bed as though my bones had forgotten their obligations. Laughter and low conversation from the Great Hall dwindled into insignificance, muffled and far away, eclipsed by the Woodsman’s patient fealty. I closed my eyes…not to escape, but to inhabit…to drink the moment down to its dregs.

His tongue glided along my pearl, pausing to drink in the dripping sweetness, swirling and circling, pressing as if tasting were a conquest. Each long, volitional lick left a glimmering trail, probing deeper, seeking, savoring every warm, succulent fold, devouring the flesh with a greedy hunger that made the candlelight draw to attention. His mouth and tongue lingered in the soft hollows, teasing, plunging, tracing paths that left the flesh slick, quivering beneath its familiarity. Each pause was a torment, each return a whisper of more to come, mapping every curve with fierce, unsparing intent. To watch, to feel even the smallest touch, was agonizing; the ache of want twisted through my chest, impossible to satisfy, release rising, rising… rising, a voracious conflagration that consumed reason itself.

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I recall the way presence multiplied. Hands began to wander my body…consuming, assured…skimming the long planes of my legs, coaxing my feet from their held tension, easing each curl and clutch into near limp languor. A thumb traced its knowing circuit along one arch, then the other, a practiced artistry that made my breath stutter and divided my attention. All the while, the Woodsman remained steadfast, absorbed, as though nothing else in the world merited his attention.

And then…gods, then.

I cannot say who was the author of it. I think I was too afraid, too ashamed of my titillation, to discern who had learned the secret of my surrender. How could I face him? All I knew was that my toes were lavished in someone’s mouth…not shyly, but as indulgence with an unabashed appetite. My saving grace: I had taken meticulous care with myself, preparing as Esther might have for such a night of veneration…and now, what a rare, decadent reward.

And the selfless god did not linger on one foot alone, but adored each individual toe of both feet in turn.

It was almost too much…the worship of my feet, the Woodsman at my core, and the evening had barely begun. I felt the slow fracturing of my composure, the tremor of shattering in my center. My vocal cords thrummed, taut and electric, and I bit hard into my knuckle to tether myself to the present, lest sensation carry me utterly away. The combined ministrations pressed me to the very precipice of incoherence.

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Before I could rise, before sight could intrude upon sensation, the bed dipped around me. Two more gods claimed me, one to either side, immense and inevitable. Their towering forms enclosed me, hands cupping, anchoring, while mouths traced daring, incursive paths over my breasts, tasting and igniting every cell they touched. I felt myself unravel, my substance softening, thinning, as though I might liquefy entirely. As though, with a single, stolen breath, I might dissolve utterly into stardust, leaving nothing but the fervent imprint of desire behind.

A tremor of frenzy coursed through me as cocks flanked either side. My hands moved as though possessed… seeking, finding, stroking their stiffening shafts, fondling, coaxing, savoring the vitrid lengths beneath my fingers. My mouth devoured the ebullience of each god, a ravenous, prowling greed seizing me, worshiping each gift laid bare before my hunger, utterly enthralled by the rigid, virile proof of their need as I tasted the slick bead of pleasure pearling at each tip. All the while, a sinful satisfaction surged through me… knowing they were as eager, as surrendered, as fully present as I in this torrid, elemental communion.

Warmth pooled beneath me, soaking the fleece beneath, as I absurdly arched into the ferocity of my release. The god at my apex had broken through my floodgates. My raw, ragged moans fanned the gods’ fire, each swelling, engorged, trapped in my stroking hands, eager lips, and cavernous throat. My Inner Goddess shuddered violently, wings unfurling like midnight banners, as we became a vessel, an instrument, a filthy playtoy, answering the summons to desecrate all that was good and holy. My body rang like a blasphemous hymn, an irresistible demonic invocation written in sweat and skin.

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God after god rotated around me, each asserting their place at my sanctuary…kneeling in homage between my legs, or along the bed at my side, lips sealed to a breast. My ankles locked around broad hips, daring them to drive deeper, until there was no distinction between plea and answer. My fingers tangled in thick locks; my nails bit into my palms to keep from plowing red lines across the expanse of the Demigod’s broad shoulders. I gripped cocks of tungsten as my body writhed and undulated, flowing in a cadence older than thought. One part of me, curious and watchful, tried to discern who was who, to assign names to devotion: the wandering tongue, the dripping mouth, the animal breath pressed to my cheek, the subtle signature of each god’s claim.

But my Inner Goddess burned and bled with want, heedless of recognition. She thirsted only to drink it in, to feel the fire spiral ever higher, to sense the raw, vehement ache within her sated, fed, and expanded…pulsing through every bone, every nerve, every suppressed sinew, a storm of dark, sacred thrall that could not be named, only felt.

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I did not hear the rustle or tear of foil, but I remember the moment the mood shifted…when my Inner Goddess exulted, sensing the hour of true ravishment had arrived. The instant my senses were seized. The first bulging head pressed against my quivering folds, sliding provocatively, wet and announcing its intent as it began to thrust inside me. Yet I carried on, hands and mouth animated by a will not my own, stroking, tasting, lavishing, as the fervent ache at my core bowed to the encroaching invasion.

The sensation was unbearable… every inch of me stretched, filled, displayed, pressed into the heart of the vast king‑size bed, encircled by the overwhelming weight of Olympus and the Fey. I clenched involuntarily as the god surged forward, helpless beneath the inexorable thrust of him, and a part of me dissolved into the maelstrom of his invasion. I could not have returned to mortal life after this; even thought seemed luxuriously useless.

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My hands wandered over the gods like devout acolytes, the great lengths of two still arrayed beside me, each taking dominion of my throat in turn, my nose buried against the swell, drinking in the shadowed, magnetic pulse of their loins. One seemed familiar…perhaps Jack…ironbound, shuddering beneath my clutch, and the other…perhaps the Demigod, straining, coiled with a need that mirrored my own. My heart stumbled at my undoing, the fevered swallowing of each celestial as they, in turn, left no fragment of me unpossessed.

The god between my legs drove with a devastating cadence, veined and remorseless, each intrusion rending fire through me, the indecent slapping of his weighty jewels transforming into a tempest that clawed through every nerve. My spine arched, my chest rose and fell in ragged waves, and a scream tore from me…raw, endless, primeval…shaking the bed, the air, the night itself. I could feel the press of him, the slick, greedy friction threatening to split me in two, while the storm inside me mounted with every collision, every punishing claim of our bodies.

The world narrowed to nothing but sensation: the slick glide of his skin against mine, the quiver of muscles beneath my hands, the thrum of heartbeats all around me. My toes curled, my nails dug into shoulders and sheets, and still I wailed, each cry a spark, each gasp a flare, as I was stretched and consumed to my very bones. I was incandescent, unraveling upon the brink of dissolution, gluttonous and entirely engulfed by the torrid fervor that wrapped around us like liquid fire.

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Not a single heartbeat passed without a magnetite cock in each grasp… one wet and demanding at my drooling mouth, another thrust deep into my sanctum. Jack, his hands ferrous and familiar, crushed me to him with a weight that made me shiver through every marrow; the Demigod followed, relentless, a wildfire coiling beneath my fingers as I traced the lines of his taut, indurate body, tasting, massaging, savoring the full proof of his virility. The Woodsman remained at my core, his thrusts a steeled current I could not resist, while Hephaestus leaned close, hot breath and teasing lips fanning the ache that never waned. The Warrior’s thumb settled at the fragile column of my neck with a pressure that flirted with peril, stealing my breath and holding me on the edge of panic. My pulse leapt wildly beneath it, frantic and yet pleading to be counted, to be known for the strength of my lifeforce. The thumb relented but only by a fraction, a kindness that returned air to me in tattered ribbons. I meant it when I begged for more. 

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Lord Ursus was there too, gripping my thighs, grounding me even as his ferrum cock drove deep and my juices gushed over the ruined bedding, and Caius’s fierce fingers found the pulse of me, dragging me to the edge of insanity with every merciless strike. I shattered beneath them all, collapsing into the dark, pulchritudinous oblivion their presence demanded.

The Nightwalker moved like living shadows, tendrils curling and slipping over my curves, teasing, probing, a dark, whispering caress that sent shivers racing across my sweat-slick skin, while I burned as hot as the sun from exertion and want. Iceman pressed close, his hands cool, an unexpected balm against the fever consuming me; he was a sinful relief that only stoked my wildfire inferno. 

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Without preamble, I curled in half, licked from my irrepressible Star to my sensitive Pearl, trying vainly to assure myself that all was well as the tongue at my Star twined and spiraled, tracing wet, ecstatic arcs around my unspeakable, slightly intruded depths. I could barely endure the unfettered invasion, even as it stole my breath, making my vision swim beneath the relentless, bestial assault. Again and again, in shifting positions, a god would bury his muzzle, tongue thickened, plunging between my derriere as I writhed, cheeks aflame with shame, yet never attempting escape.

I was at their mercy, moaning irrepressibly, my Inner Goddess drunk with a force that could not be stilled… a surrender as visceral and ungovernable as flame itself. Every taste, every press, every slick, greedy touch became a thrill I drank deep, my senses a living mosaic of adulation, lust, and indulgence, until the very bed seemed to tremble beneath the weight of gods and desire, until I became, unapologetically, an igneous nexus of power, hedonism, and astral fire.

__

Even through the roar of my own surrender, I caught them…the cries of goddesses, distant yet intimate, threading through the perfume of the night. Eos, her voice a sliver of silver from the Great Hall, lost in the pinnacle of her own sumptuous torment; Seraphina, poised on the divan in the corner, every curve and gasp displayed like a living jewel of indulgence. And I knew…felt with a wild, wicked thrill…that the gods in attendance…every virile, adamantine body surrounding me…were pursuing these goddesses’ pleasure with the same fervor, the same devoted worship they lavished upon me. 

Their moans, their thrusts, their ministrations mirrored and magnified the rhythm of my own fire, each act sending molten sparks racing through my veins. Every moment seeped into my soul; every gasp, every shiver, every celestial cry of these goddesses weaving into the tapestry of my own foundation. The bed, the Lodge, the very night became nothing more than a vessel for arcane rapture, a world built entirely of fire, flesh, and hedonistic engulfment.

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I rode the Woodsman with an ardent, desecrating rhythm, my hips pistoning in waves so hypnotic they nearly terrified me, each stroke chasing the next in a cataclysmic, ancient pursuit. His hands gripped my hips with steely force, as I poured myself over him, grinding, grinding, losing myself to the raging heat of our union. Then, with a roar that was half animal, half prayer, I lifted, rising like a phoenix reborn, wings of fire unfurling as I arched back into the inferno. My hands clawed at his thighs, digging into corded muscle. My thighs cinched with near-violent adhesion, fastening around him as if I might moor my body to the very eye of the storm. Each piston grew rougher, harsher, swifter…until I felt less woman than gathering tempest. 

My throat arched, my breastbone lifting toward the vast dark above, uncontained and thrumming in the sublime, occult ecstasy of our collision. I clung to the hour, unwilling to imagine dawn, unwilling to yield while the stars still shone and the night held fast around us.

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In some unremembered position, I was just drifting down from a prepossessing wave when a sharp command cut through the haze: “Bite this.” My mind sputtered in confusion…protesting, resisting. I had held so many cherished, throbbing cocks in my mouth, so careful to sheath my teeth, never to harm, and now…here was this audacious demand. My body mechanically obeyed. To my surprise, I clenched my teeth around the cool juice of a strawberry, bursting like liquid relief across my tongue. I moaned for another reason altogether as I begrudgingly…oh, so begrudgingly…admitted that it was a much-needed indulgence.

For the next several hours, Caius appointed himself Steward of My Survival. Water and fruit arrived as a blessed relief, delivered with tyrannical absorption, regardless of my increasingly theatrical objections. I accused him of not being the boss of me; he accused me of ingratitude. How dare he?

Nevertheless, each “interruption” fueled my body, keeping me balanced on the knife’s edge between collapse and rapture… and though I would never admit it aloud, I had never felt so scrupulously tended, or so thoroughly overruled.

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Sometimes my cries rose so violently, so uncontrollably, that I pressed a hand to my lips in a desperate bid for silence. Yet every time, a rough, commanding hand… Warrior’s, Caius’s, Hephaestus’s… would tear it away, pinning the offensive limb to the mattress, growling, “Let it go!” 

And oh, how I wanted to…yet they could not fathom the truth: if I truly let myself unravel, surrendered to the disorienting hysteria coursing through my blood, I might not merely shatter the air with my unbridled cries…my body might convulse into a creature of impossible hunger, a tempest of slick, twitching limbs and gnashing teeth, half-human, half-night, scattering like molten starlight across the heavens, every pore soaked in want, a body drenched in need and unreasoned desire. How could they know? It was too much…I could not. And so I held back, barely, lest I reveal my true self and terrify the host of Olympians.

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Seraphina, the Arcani, reclined on the settee in the corner, barely visible beneath the devouring adoration of Olympus, her body radiant, every gasp and glimmer a declaration of queenly resignation. The Archangel, her Consort, eyes glittering like polished obsidian, leaned close and whispered his desire to take me as he beheld his queen. I felt a thrill so dark and lascivious that my Inner Goddess surged at the thought. Without pause, I hastened from the bed, planted my feet firmly on the carpet, and bent over the footboard, offering myself as a living vantage point, a conduit for him to feast on the sight of her in all her exalted, ravished glory.

It was magnificent. The sight… the power, the devotion, the unabashed worship of Seraphina, the Archangel’s thunderous pounding… all of it ignited a ferric blaze within me. There was no jealousy, no claim, only abnegation, a torrid communion of sensation and desire. Wave upon wave of fire consumed me as the Archangel thrust deeper, faster, each motion a hypnotic concordance that made my nails pierce the damp, rumpled bedding, my cries shrieking with majestic abandon into the mattress.

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I adored the wrenching inversion of it… the sharp pull that sent me reeling backward, hips raised, the world narrowed to the firm fist in my hair. My fallen sapphire locks gathered tight in a god’s grasp, and the sound that left me was small and helpless as he bent over my spine and growled, “Good girl” into the cusp of my ear, hauling my head back before driving his steel cock forward with a force that made the heavens tilt. Tears spilled unchecked from the corners of my eyes, silvering my temples. I could not lift a hand to brush them away, nor did I wish to. They felt like part of the rite.

Each impact of his stalwart body, of full-hung jewels slamming against my body, awakened the night’s signatures anew. My tender derriere throbbed where earlier palms had rung out their sharp, resounding attestations, where a hockey stick had cracked across my buttocks, then traced dazzling constellations flaring across my skin. My Inner Goddess watched it all with a bitten lip and shining gaze, recalling every flare of heat, every spark that had burst and vanished only to leave its barely managed afterglow behind. I cherished the trust threaded through it… the testing of threshold and appetite, the watching of color rise and deepen across my pale form, a vivid suffusion spreading like spilled carmine across alabaster.

There was no terror in it. The powers that circled me were fierce, boyish in their revelry perhaps, but never cruel. Boundaries held like iron law; a single word of refusal would have stilled every motion in an instant. Possessing that certainty, I leaned further into the exquisite brink, curious how far sensation might travel, how richly my skin might answer. Each mark read less as injury than as illuminated script… inscribed in heat, in memory… less a chastening than a testament that I could willingly enter the furnace and discover, within its glow, a fierce and exultant pleasure.

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I was torn apart, utterly and deliciously undone, taken by Hephaestus and the Nightwalker as if my body were a conduit for some dark, forbidden alchemy. The atmosphere thickened with heat and shadow, magic vibrating in every inch of the room, and their hands, mouths, and bodies worked me in tandem with a force that was almost catastrophic. I felt stretched to the edge of being, pulled in two directions at once, every nerve a live wire, every sinew palpitating under their implacable infatuation. My mind teetered on the brink…part of me screaming, part of me dissolving…while the whispered word Oreo flitted almost meaningless through the fog of my internal storm. 

I was suspended between them, caught in the merciless tug of two colossal forms… one punishing, the other savagely thrusting… nearly cast from the bed. Yet even as I teetered on the edge of dissolution, I was upheld, cradled by invisible hands, shivering, splintering, and ravenous for more, desperate to be consumed by their dark, gravital fire. Every piercing stroke, every grinding thrust, every feral caress threatened to unthread my soul, shattering me into fractured starlight, a constellation of rapture scattered across the velvet abyss of night, utterly unmoored beneath their domination.

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Amid the fire and frenzy, there were moments of laughter, of ease, of shared, mischievous delight. I loved and thrived on every second. The three hours were not solemn, not restrained; there were glimmers of awkwardness, small stumbles, and yet they only heightened the perfection of the night. I cherished the way a clever remark would ripple through the congregation, sending my climax quivering and dissolving as I tried to laugh mid-wave, lifting my head to catch the gleam of twinkling eyes, the broad smiles of gods stroking their quenchsteel cocks even as humor rumbled from their barrel chests. I knew, in that perfect confluence of pleasure and joy, that nothing could ever surpass this night.

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Jack was there, My Love…his smile so white, so brilliant, it threatened to split his face entirely as he captured a scene or took me in his primacy. I reveled in the familiarity that bound us, the tether of our connection strengthening even as I was surrounded by the entirety of Olympus. Every unsworn ram of his throbbing cock into me sent a shiver of communion through us, each forge a confirmation that he loved night as fiercely as I did. And in that shared battery, in that mingling of joy, lust, and passion, every climax became sharper, more incendiary, each wave cresting higher, a torrid hymn to our mutual, insatiable hunger.

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I was ablaze, drenched in molten heat, craving Iceman’s ministrations, when, amid the chaos, a god… Caius?… appeared, bearing a whole icepack from his cooler. Hard as obsidian, it should have been a cruel shock to my opal skin, yet pressed to my abdomen, it became a ludic succor, a shock of frost that tore through the blaze within me. I laughed like a lunatic, delirious at how furiously inflamed I was, how the antidote permeated so beautifully, I nearly wept. But the night was far from done. One hand clutched the ice like a talisman, the other dug into the damp sheets as I rode the thundering, freezing-hot storm of sensation. I was a Snow Goddess set aflame, every shiver sharpening the fever of desire, every gasp and giggle another note in the torrid symphony of the night.

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Lord Ursus. We had always whispered of this moment, chuckling through the months, for the stars had never quite aligned. Now, sprawled beneath me, waiting, his body a formidable force of muscle, all else… timing, place, circumstance… became irrelevant. My Inner Goddess growled with feral intent, honored at last to participate in this sacred rite.

I straddled him, molding myself to the rigid proof of his cock, then adjusted, slipping him from me but never breaking contact. I maneuvered until his great, bulbous head peeked between our bodies, daring me to seize full control. Instinct seized me: my tumescent folds enfolding the underside of his adamant cock, the upper portion kneaded in my palm, as I pressed him against my apex, grinding and riding… curious, commanding, utterly regal in this prowess dominion.

Every motion drew a taut, delicious tension from him, muscles coiling, spine bowing, fingers clawing into my thighs as if to anchor himself while I pushed harder, faster, possessing him entirely. My pearl glided against the bulbous tip, our pleasures tangled, every nerve screaming, every sigh and shiver a hymn of mutual ecstasy.

And then, in a moment both violent and sublime, his cock became engorged and throbbed, the protection filled with the creamy testament of our conquest. His release strained the fragile barrier encasing him. The hazel of my eyes burned briefly to gold as I watched, held in a hush of awe. Our chests swelled and fell as we dragged in air, as though breaching the surface after a long descent. Within me, my Inner Goddess purred, exultant, savoring the rare alignment of our stars.

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I remember whispered suggestions of twin swords… an audacious notion I had rehearsed in secret for weeks, each practice igniting my Inner Goddess into a drumming, fevered anticipation. Feeling imperious, I allowed myself the experiment. Straddling one god, another poised behind me, the scene shimmered with electric tension. Yet after hours of exertion, bodies long entwined, the mechanics of so brazen an enterprise faltered. I hummed softly, eyes hooded, content. Nothing could diminish the night… There was perfection even in the attempt.

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A beguiling impulse stirred within me: perhaps, instead of courting twin blades at once, I might yield to a singular, clandestine undertaking. I rose just enough to offer the notion to the being still pinned beneath me, and the Archangel assented with a swift, breathless nod. Consent granted, I guided his monolith to brush my furthest theatre. Eyes closed, the night obligingly drew its invisible veil, sparing me my own blush as I descended… heart pounding, a furious roar in my ears… led by the cool, silken mercy of the lubricant and the heady knowledge that I was mistress of this moment, that the night itself waited for me, and for me alone.

The first inch brought a fleeting, incisive sting… a reminder of the uncharted frontier of the star I proffered. My breath caught at the searing pain, yet with each measured exhale, my tender flesh yielded, loosening and stretching to receive him, until I began to savor each thick, penetrating inch. Time dissolved… the Queen of the Night possessed eternity for her pleasure… and I exalted in the rarefied apotheosis of seating myself fully, finally encased around the Archangel’s rigid, sacred length. I had done it, and in a posture never before attempted. I paused, a sinner, a queen, letting a quivering sigh slip like incense from my lips. And when I was ready… when I chose, and for none other… I began to move.

Each languorous, measured oscillation of my hips and thighs reverberated through my being, every shiver a private homage to the imprudent goddess I had become. I rolled and ground with studied curiosity, guided by the lascivious tutelage of my Inner Goddess, choosing to lose myself entirely to the rite, indifferent to the murmurs and half-formed questions drifting through the chamber. An impudent grin curved my lips, a joy that belonged solely to the night, solely to me.

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I lifted my head, sipping the water I had been commanded to take, letting it ribbon down my throat like ravenspire silver. My gaze found the great Hephaestus, seated upon the bench just beyond the bed. My Inner Goddess bit her lip, a sinuous notion unfurling.

My fingers found the edge of a thick fleece blanket, slipping it from the bed and onto the floor. I drew it between his knees with a teasing flourish. I knelt before him, gazing up at him with wide hazel eyes. My hands traveled from his knees to the taut planes of his thighs, inquiring… sweetly, audaciously… whether he might object to my attention.

His answering consent, paired with a barrel laugh, rolled through the Great Hall like thunder, and I knew I had chosen well. I savored the mischief of it, slipping a rubber band from my wrist to gather my sapphire strands into a high, commanding tail. Then I bowed my head, tongue tasting, appraising, as it traced the growing promise of him. My movements quickened, no longer patient, drawing a palpable solidity from him… my mouth moving faster, surer… until his body could no longer disguise its answering force.

After some time, I sat back on my heels and haughtily licked my lips. Before I could fully catch my breath, I was whirled around, impaled on Hephaestus’s lap, and pinned from the front by the Nightwalker sitting on the bed’s edge. My Inner Goddess smiled… a slow, feral curl of the mouth. “Oh… so this is the game,” she crooned, slithering and pleased. “Very well. Let them learn the cost of catching a succubus.”

I wrapped my hand and lips around him as though he had no choice, devouring him with a hunger that swallowed every thought, every shred of hesitation. I released myself utterly, claiming the shadows that had always lived in me, demanding fealty from the twin Olympians.

The crown of the Nightwalker pressed into the deepest reaches of my throat, my vocal cords kneading the sensitive apex with audacious, ferociously precise motion that struck him like a thunderclap, shattering every sinew and toppling the poise he had carried with Olympian authority. His body shuddered violently, quaking like molten magma on the verge of eruption, a raw gasp clawing from his throat as his eyes rolled back until only white remained. Every nerve, every muscle, every shadowed fiber convulsed within the confines of my mouth… a god undone in a most unexpected manner.

I slowed just enough to tease, letting him draw a ragged, riven breath, and then pounced again, repeating my diabolical ministrations with a feral, unforgiving rhythm. Kneading, devouring, kneading again…the apex of him pushed into the deepest reaches of my throat, each motion shaking him to his very core. Tremors, stammers, choked gasps…every sound a hymn to awe, terror, and rapture. “What witchcraft…what sorcery…” he stammered, his disbelief raw, palpable.

My Inner Goddess crowed, lips etched in scandalous triumph. A witch, they thought. Perhaps, but more in truth, a succubus ascendant, feeding upon the breadth of her power, her dominion, her heady, narcotic command.

But my actions bore consequences. I was hoisted onto the bed, lifted like a sacrificial lamb… legs held high by Hephaestus, crossed at the ankles, my body arched into an offering of living surrender. The Nightwalker took his place at my head, and I guided his length to my keening lips, each motion a silent, scandalous oblation. Pinned between twin titans, stripped of pretense, I reveled in every shivering second.

They began with measured restraint, exploring the limits of my body, and I ventured a furtive, daring movement, holding my breath as I tested whether they could feel the wanton pulse of my need. Hephaestus rolled his massive hips, moving in and out, fervid and untamed, while I swallowed Nightwalker’s substantial cock…but instead of tending the underside with my tongue as expected, I forced my tongue outward, the cool air teasing the tip, flicking it back and forth above my chin, tracing the upper length of his cock. The effect was immediate. Not only could the gods see it…they were undone. Madness flickered across their eyes; desire bled into something feral, raw, as if Olympus itself shivered at the sight of my actions.

What followed… no, what erupted…was beyond description. Feral. Carnal. Divine. The twin gods thundered through me, each thrust a bolt of pyric wrath, and I shattered. I came with a force that seemed to tear the very fabric of the universe, so violently, so utterly, that something within me cracked open, revealing a fragment of something mysterious and unformed, teetering at the brink of being birthed. I hovered there…on the razor’s edge of some unfathomable change, a shadow of something more, something ancient and untethered. Panic flitted through my mind; I could feel the pull of it, vast, almost sentient, whispering that if I surrendered fully, I would cease to be merely mortal.

My body jerked beneath the raw, elemental yearning crashing through me, and yet, somehow, I held back. I withdrew, barely whole, and the question lingered: what had I been on the cusp of becoming? Had I glimpsed the abyss of shadows within me? I remained, for now, a fragile wisp at the mercy of titans, wrung yet unclaimed by the infinite darkness that had brushed so close.

Every thrust struck like a hammer of calcined iron, every conflicting motion driving me past delirium, past anything temporal, until I wavered on the brink of annihilation. My form became a conduit of elemental ferocity, alive in ways I had never known, quaking beneath the thunder of their mastery, drenched in the dark, magnificent, god-forged inebriation that consumed all sense of self.

Their movements quickened, violent and merciless, roaring with rampaging, godlike urgency that shook the bed, the floor, the very ethos. The Great Hall quivered beneath the cadence, and for a heartbeat, it seemed the universe itself held its breath, suspended in awe at the carnage of desire. Nightwalker drew back, merciless, a predator in full frenzy, stroking with blinding speed until his eruption spilled across my face in molten torrents streaming into my eyes, down my cheeks, bubbling up my nose…a baptism of divine, overwhelming power.

__

The night pressed on, steeped in intent and magic. Jack lingered at the precipice of himself as I knelt on all fours before him, my lips an unspoken vow, my purpose unmistakable. Again and again I felt his fracture…his breath breaking, his restraint thinning to spun glass…and each time, at the instant of collapse, I retreated, letting him slip from my mouth and fall away. A bead of drool caught the light at the corner of my lip. A lover’s malice. A delicious, sadistic deprivation. The sound wrenched from him at that denial fed something ravenous in me, even as I drew my tongue along my lips, even as the Woodsman surged behind, a brutal meter, forcing my body back into Jack’s Adonis belt…each vindictive impact a reminder of what I controlled and what I refused to grant.

I was not naïve to my design, nor to its consequences. I knew the spectacle of my body under the Woodsman’s assault…the way I was driven, shunted, made a fresh provocation…was itself an instrument of torment. And true to instinct, Jack’s resolve toppled into action. He switched places with the Woodsman with a ferocity that silenced all dissent, each punishing advance no longer a request but a decree, every motion branded with all I had stolen from him moments before. The reckoning of my teasing arrived in a single, fell convergence when Jack emptied himself entirely, driven past restraint, my body seizing and clenching around him, ensuring every drop was mine.

__

It was a decadent torment to witness the devotion unfolding around me…to see Serafina adored in every posture, every offering, as though she had descended fully into her seraphic nature. She was venerated without hesitation, without restraint, her body a living icon of surrender and command. Beside me, the Demigod lay splintering, his composure slowly unthreaded beneath Eos’ ministrations, her hands moving with blinding intent, an instrument of unerring purpose. Her brow drew tight in sacred concentration, as though she were conducting something holy and ruinous, and I watched him succumb…not abruptly, but coruscating …his divinity giving way beneath her clutches, the air itself thickening with the weight of worship and inevitable disintegration.

__

There was a moment of fragile peace, and I lay sprawled across the bed, limbs heavy and loose, my body suspended in a rare hush, when the Woodsman sidled behind me, carrying an unexpected agenda. I heard the quiet slick of oil, the meticulous friction of his hands working together like a vow of patience. His palms traced my back in a reverent pilgrimage…gliding, coaxing breath from hidden hollows I hadn’t known were captive. The pleasure forced sounds from me before I could temper them, breathy moans, and when he stilled, concern flickering that he might overwhelm me, I tilted my face just enough to assure him it was nothing of the sort. It was simply knots of tension melting beneath his touch.

But my Inner Goddess, sadistic and selfish, would not suffer neglect. She demanded acknowledgment. I arched against the Woodsman…just so…tilting my hips with insolent intent, offering him the barest imprint of me without surrendering fully. His hardness had pressed along the line of my derriere for long moments already…close enough to promise, far enough to torment…yet my Inner Goddess grew impatient.

Keenly aware of the heat of eyes upon us, I wriggled, subtle, provocative…inclining, shifting, letting him taste anticipation without ever granting it outright. I drew back at the very edge, a playful cruelty made flesh…temptation and trap entwined…daring him to lose himself, to slip into me, because I was there, poised, untouchable. So daringly close.

I wondered, volitionally, how long he could endure it.

Even as his fingers continued their lethargic ministrations, it was I who finally caved, allowing the shift until I was utterly filled and stretched, anchored by that claiming weight, while my unruly delight flared, peerlessly unchecked, under the heat of every watching gaze.

__

I slipped into the Great Hall, nibbling at fruits and delicacies, though only for a fleeting moment of aloneness. An arm coiled around my hip, fingers tracing my hooded pearl with shameless precision. Caius’ touch ensnared me before I even realized what was happening…bold, reckless fingers, seeking my secret cushion with audacious intent. I bent in half over the edge of the oak table, arms barely supporting me, and my body betrayed me, pouring a rush of nectar down my legs, spattering across the polished tiles, my cry ringing through the Great Hall in climactic release.

Heat flared to my cheeks… not from pleasure alone, but from the scandalous exposure: so flagrantly close to the table, the fruits gleaming innocently beside me, the polished tiles slick with my nectar. I shook my head, cheeks burning, caught between thrill and mortification, every droplet of my release magnified by the knowing vulnerability of being so naked, so unguarded, so flagrantly alive in the open space of the Great Hall.

I murmured rebukes, dabbing with a towel, trying to restore some semblance of decorum, and the Iceman fetched a second cloth with formal efficiency. Yet the very act of bending, attempting to tidy the mess, seemed to signal something else entirely…an unspoken invitation, a challenge of sorts. Captured once more by the surrounding gods, my body yielded again, the sequence repeated, only half the mess contained, only half my protests sincere. My cheeks flamed, mingling with illicit giggles. The scent of fruit, the slick heat of my own skin, the sharp brush of eyes on me…it was intoxicating, chaotic, and utterly consuming.

__

I cannot say precisely when the evening ebbed into its soft pause. The lights flickered like hesitant fireflies, voices softened into easy conversation, and my heart swelled for reasons that had little to do with impropriety. The Great Hall…so sheltered, so incandescent…felt like a sanctuary. Bodies lounged, still carrying the memory of indulgence, laughter spilling freely, and I drank it all in, warmth and heat mingling in a tide unlike any I had known. My Inner Goddess hovered somewhere above, euphoric, ravenous, yet even she basked in the knowledge that my friends, even those meeting for the first time, were safe, celebrated, and seen, their presence a reflection of the hedonistic pulse still humming through the walls, brushing against vulnerable skin. For a heartbeat, I floated among them, letting the residual brush of hands and the sharp glances of their eyes press against me, tasting the echoes, before slipping back into the quiet of the boudoir.

__

I caught sight of myself in a mirror. I scarcely knew the woman who stared back… cheeks fever-bright, lips swollen, kohl smudged, hair unpinned and riotous about my shoulders. I looked a scandal, a ruin…yet I felt strangely resplendent, like some battle-wrought queen returned from the front, flushed, disordered, crowned in victory. My Inner Goddess, wings half-unfurled and simmering nefariously, had led me here, sibilating and tugging me into the hands, attentions, and cocks of ten gods, now susurrating with satisfaction at the havoc we had wrought. We had been claimed, tested, pressed to our limits… and still, somehow, stood magnificently proud.

I turned my attention to the room around me. My low chuckle at the bedchamber’s disarray was witnessed only by the shadows. Fitted layers were twisted, waterproof coverings undone, half-filled water bottles, clothing, and lubricant scattered… a chaotic testament to abandon and appetite. My skin still tingled with the lingering ache of their ministrations, and I let my fingers drift across the rumpled folds, savoring the memories inked into cotton.  I could only smile like a fool… tired in body perhaps, yet utterly, perversely happy.

Jack found me then, stepping quietly into the dim candlelight, arms curling around me with that unshakable weight. A sacred kiss pressed to my brow, and I nestled into him, surrendering to the solace of his presence. His cheek rested atop my head, his breath steadying, inhaling me as I exhaled into him. Even as lingering guests murmured beyond the doorway, he whispered that he would be the perfect host, and I did not argue…my body still thrummed with memory, my Inner Goddess twitching with debauched sin at the thought of being so adored. The fresh sheets beneath me offered a soft, decadent contrast to the fire still simmering in my muscles, and the low hum of conversation from the Great Hall became a lullaby, thick with lingering lust and satisfaction.

The Iceman appeared to whisper good night, his words a murmur I could barely decipher, so close I was to sleep. Jack chided him for lingering too long, and I laughed quietly, my body still trembling with the night’s excess. Yet even as I settled beneath the fresh, decadent sheets, I could feel the echo of every god’s presence…

Jack’s scent lingered like smoke, the Woodsman’s smoldering fervor spilling nectar down my thighs, Hephaestus and the Nightwalker’s thunderous claim driving me to the brink, the Demigod’s relentless thrusts ravaging my inner gate, each strike a sweet, exquisite agony. Caius’ knuckles dripped, slick with the proof of my surrender, the fervor he had drawn from me.

The Archangel and our unspoken descent, I had never dared, with my cheeks aflame while my Inner Goddess smirked. Stars themselves seemed to bend for Lord Ursus and the fervent shared zealotry. The Warrior’s hand fisted my hair, cock filling my throat until my eyes watered, lungs crying for mercy. The Iceman’s cold hands traced my heated skin, every nerve alight with sharp, exquisite contrast.

All ten had left their indelible marks… tattooed signatures exalted, enthroned within me. My flesh bore the night’s testimony: burnished, awakened, thrumming with memory, proof of thresholds trespassed, of appetite crowned, of surrender not given but taken in reverence. Every mark, every heat-stung impression, every lingering scent became a relic of the chaos my Inner Goddess had orchestrated… and of the black‑ribbon fealty I had answered.

To think, the year had only just begun. I hummed as I found myself enthroned – a chalice of my own delight, gloriously spent, sacrilegiously remade. Ruined, perhaps… yet sanctified in the ruin. Mouth stained with blaspheme, my Inner Goddess remained unrepentant and ravenous, already turning her back on the altar of the ordinary, lips parted in a prayer that was no prayer at all, crawling on her knees, white feathers dragging the cold stone, summoning another night forged in sin and velvet. I had no answer for her, nor any desire to deny her.

Somewhere between shadow and candlelight, between sighs and low laughter drifting from the Great Hall, I yielded to Morpheus and the comfort of my downy pillow… carrying the warmth, the triumph, and the afterglow of that intoxicating, unforgettable night…leaving them, and me, wrecked and grinning like a fool.

Until next time, XO. Elsie