August 2025

I reclined in my bath with the regal supremacy of Cleopatra herself, while steam unfurled about me like a court of ghostly courtiers, caressing each curve with languid, spectral fingers, as though the very air conspired in my worship. Pearls of froth cascaded down the slope of my sternum, their silken trails tickling as though a thousand unseen mouths pressed hushed tributes upon my flesh, each kiss a vow of secret adoration. A half nectarine/half plum, a crossbreed, contrived by some botanist’s sly machination, yielded its nectar against my teeth, rivulets running unchecked down my chin. I let it glisten, luxuriant, as though even gravity served my pleasure. I. Felt. Magnificent.

Yet beneath that languor, memory stirred, a serpent beneath the gleam. Each bubble against my skin resembled his mouth: tentative at first, then confident, charting the pale column of my throat, lingering as though memorizing me, before venturing lower with an unhurried hunger that sought dominion over every inch. I saw again how he loomed at my bedside, not merely a man but a sentinel wrought of breadth and warmth, his chest a living hearth radiating invitation. His kisses fell with ripe fullness, each press an entreaty, each brush a fleeting intoxication that lingered only long enough to set my skin aflame. And when his lips returned to mine, tongue exploratory, insistent, the weight of the world dissolved into breathless laughter. He swept me into his arms as though I weighed nothing, my thighs tightening about him, surrender masquerading as triumph. It was unnecessary. It was perfect.

Spread across the bed, I watched him finish undressing. Fingers worked at the button, and then the fabric fell away with decadent slowness. My breath stuttered, every nerve a taut string, anticipation thrumming through me like a bow drawn across violin wire. He moved with the quiet arrogance of a panther, aware of my hungry gaze.

When his mouth descended, it was not conquest but a piqued exploration, each pause weighted with curiosity. He lingered at my throat as though testing its pulse, then wandered lower, where the soft underside of my breast thrilled beneath the graze of his stubble, an abrasion that first teased, then gentled with sublime care. He took one peaked breast between his lips, tongue circling the tip with deliberate asperity before abandoning it for the other, until I wriggled, gasping, pleading without words for more. His breath was sweet, his tongue patient, each gesture building me like a storm not yet ready to break.

Lower still, he traveled, planting lavish kisses down my stomach until he reached the fragile skin of my inner thighs. There, he lingered like a sculptor contemplating marble, lips branding me in tender devastation. I trembled, not from climax but from the unbearable beauty of being female beneath his mouth. When at last his fingers parted me, it was with reverent austerity, baring my jeweled flesh to the humid air. His tongue circled lazily, tasting me as though he possessed all the hours of the night. My toes clawed the sheets, my hips rising of their own accord, until he quickened, merciless flick, flick, flick of tongue against my trembling center. I imploded behind clenched eyes, a private conflagration.

It was not thunder, but the exquisite voltage before it: the hush that presages lightning tearing the horizon. Pleasure prickled through me in crackling threads, each pore alight, my thighs clamping against his shoulders, my back arched primed like a bowstring loosed. I became delirious, scattered radiance, a glorious undoing that left no part of me intact.

Over and over, he summoned these sensations at my core, mouth devouring, unflagging in its energy, unapologetic in its devotion. His broad, focused tongue stroked and teased as though testing my boundaries, thick fingers daring me to yield, tracing, pressing, claiming, yet never conquering. I floated in velutinous stupor, eyelids heavy, my body slack with euphoria, every nerve alive, every pulse a whispered surrender. And yet, with each flick and press, I remembered: I was queen here, adored, even as danger licked the edges of my yielding. The heat of him, relentless and fierce between my thighs, set me trembling, claws curling into the sheets, my back arching with exquisite tension. It was perfection.

After a time, my Inner Goddess murmured that it was my turn to return the devotion. I blinked my bleary eyes, letting the storm of sensation ebb, and it took several long, baroque moments to gather the scattered fragments of myself, to corral the glittering shards of pleasure into a coherent, commanding whole. Every inch of me still thrummed with him, my pulse echoing the lingering perfume of the worship I had received, and now it was mine to offer in return, my turn to make a body shiver and gasp beneath my impish caress.

I guided him back against the pillows, fussing with them in an almost domestic ritual, caretaking disguised as control. Then I knelt between his strong thighs, and there he was, unveiled. Proud. Imposing. My lips curved into a smile as sapphire curls spilled over my cheeks, one hand curling possessively around his already glistening length. I grazed the crown with a kiss, a tease, before circling him with the slow, rogueish worship of my tongue. He groaned lightly, hips slightly shifting, yet I could sense the sculpted muscles quivering beneath my hands.

At that juncture, I loosened my jaw, taking him deeper, my throat yielding to his audacious boldness, and again my toes curled, not merely from the act, but from the intoxicating power of it: the way his body strained beneath me, the exquisite torment of holding him on the ineffable brink. At times, my hand stroked with wicked speed, but mostly I lingered, luxuriating in the palatial despotism of suspension. Each retreat, each pause, each sly shift of rhythm pulled ragged sounds from his chest, until I, too, shivered with the heady torment.

We hovered together at that shimmering edge, both aching, both undone, neither willing to let the night conclude, as though time itself might collapse before we would.

When the ache for more had unfurled itself to its fullest bloom, I found my voice at last, sensuous and daring. A smirk tugged at the corner of my lips as I whispered my desire: to sit astride him! Obedience was instant: a smirk twisting his lips, body bared and waiting, head nestled in the pillows, every muscle coiled with anticipation for what I would do next.

With liquid grace, I lifted myself, each motion almost sovereign, the queen upon her chosen altar. One lithe leg swung over him, and I poised at his waist with every lofty intention of descending with gradual, cruel majesty. Yet my traitorous body refused such stately restraint. My greedy Inner Goddess seized the reins in an unrepentant surge, and I sank upon him, impaling myself with reckless urgency.

His broad crown breached my tender gate in a sudden, glorious invasion, wrenching a cry from my lips, half-startled, half-delirious, that dissolved into a shivering gasp of rapture. Not with teasing coyness, but with ruthless inevitability, I took him wholly, engulfing his thick magnificence, my body quivering and yielding to the inexorable dominion of him, seized and remade by the sheer assertion of his presence.

The breadth of his chest rose beneath me like a living rampart, muscles coiling and flexing as he braced himself. One vast hand cupped my hip, the other sliding to the column of my throat, not to choke, but to steady, to anchor me with an unyielding beam of strength as I writhed above him. My palms clutched the slender edge of the carved headboard, knuckles whitening, arms trembling with sardonic tension as I circled, arched, and angled my hips over him, tracing the secret axes that made my body hum and sing with reckless abandon.

Each motion pressed me deeper into him, and I felt the sanguine tension of his thighs beneath mine, corded, taut, straining to meet my every descent with precise, relentless insistence. His abdomen flexed beneath my belly, each contraction a frictioned caress, each upward thrust of his hips a jolt of boiling thunder. Gasping through the tremors of my own eruptions, I draped myself across his chest, breasts grazing his hungry lips, his stubble rasping me both raw and tender in the same exquisite breath. His groans, deep, guttural, reverberant, shook through me like the quivering strings of a cello, setting every nerve ablaze, leaving me weak and sensitive.

The demanding pulse within me throbbed with ungovernable virulence. My rhythm quickened, then faltered, dissolving into ragged, gasping bursts that left my chest quivering. He shifted beneath me with ruthless precision, angling his hips until the pressure was exquisite torment, until I cried aloud, my inner sanctum convulsing in violent, molten waves, rending me open in a flood that drenched us both. My body shuddered in surrender until I could bear it no longer, collapsing against his chest, his heartbeat hammering like a war-drum beneath my cheek. Breathless laughter escaped me, tinged with apology for the tide cooling between us.

Then realization struck, midway through my own unraveling, I had clenched too fiercely, a selfish, inadvertent cruelty. Possessed by rapture, I had risen above him, my body gushing and ungoverned, spilling without thought or mercy, even as he slipped from me, denied his completion. Guilt seared through me.

I furrowed my brow, resituating myself with firm resolve. The rhythm resumed, slower, careful, guided by restraint. Yet he would not be tempered. His hips surged with feral insistence, his pace quickening into a blur of strength and hunger. One hand clamped at my waist, pressing me down upon the adamantine column of him, I seized the headboard until the wood groaned, thumping into the wall from our motion. His thighs drove upward in unrelenting cadence, each thrust a brutal benediction that blurred pain into rapture, until we were no longer two, but one ravenous being, writhing, desperate, and undone.

My cries rose higher, fingernails clawing the wood as his angle deepened, grinding, dragging me into the abyss. Wave after wave consumed me, drowning me, and still I begged myself, hold, hold, for him. And then it came: his chest heaving beneath me, his breath seizing, his neck straining as release ravaged him. His hips bucked upward, iron thighs quaking, his hands branding my flesh as though to keep me tethered. His undoing shattered me utterly, and my own climax erupted in cruel sympathy, clenching, convulsing, flooding, until I screamed until my very soul broke upon the tide.

At last, we collapsed, my cheek pressed to his damp chest, the rise and fall of his breath guiding my own. His hand lingered at the small of my back, thumb stroking idly, while my thighs still quivered astride his hips, reluctant to part. The room swam with the scent of salt, sweat, and nectar, the very air thick with us, as though the world beyond had ceased to exist.

We laughed then, softly, foolishly, trading half-formed words that would dissolve with the starlight. The air was still warm with us, though already cooling, our bodies easing back into themselves. For those few minutes, nothing was asked, nothing was promised, only the easy solace of two companions, spent and bare, rediscovering friendship in the hush that follows fire. And then, almost before it settled, he rose to go, gallant, ever mindful of the boundaries of my time.

At the threshold, he lingered, broad shoulders framed in the half-light. Then he bent, catching my chin between his fingers, and pressed his mouth to mine. It was not desperate, not pleading, merely a final seal, a low ember of promise, a kiss that tasted of salt and nectar and all that we had surrendered in a single night. I let it linger, then released him with a blushing smile and a murmured promise for next time, sending him into the dark with nothing but the taste of me upon his lips.

And that’s how I came to recline in my bath, mistress of my own dominion. Steam coiled upward like gossamer wraiths, froth gleaming against my skin like pearls scattered by a careless god. I plucked another bite of fruit, its juice glistening down my chin, and let it linger on my tongue, savoring the tart richness. An imperious Cleopatra in my solitude, reveling in her freedom, savoring her choices, delighting in every triumph.

The water cradled me, my lashes fluttering closed, memory coiling sweet and venomous beneath the bubbles. My Inner Goddess still thrummed with the ache for the immortal, yet my mind desired nothing else. Not him, not any god. Only this languor, this secret triumph, this delicious exhaustion. My toes curled beneath the water in silent anticipation of the week ahead, breathtaking, inevitable, as I drifted on the edge of sleep, every inch of me still alive with stolen ecstasy.

I. Felt. Magnificent.

Until next time, XO. Elsie