January 2025 – Audio Version

I have wandered through many carnivals in my time—the games, the lights, the throngs of faces, and the mingling perfumes of sugar and sweat that make your mouth water and send your pulse racing. Yet nothing could compare to the spectacle that unfolded that night. The magic of that place eclipsed all others, rendering them pale imitations, like gaslight shadows against the brilliance of a gilded marquee.

Rings spun through the air, their arcs glittering before they hugged their colorful cones with triumphant finality. Miniature sacks, heavy with sand, soared and tumbled, some defying gravity’s grasp only to land with the satisfying plop of success. Elsewhere, a sharp report punctuated the popping of balloons, the sound drawing cheers from the revelers. A gypsy queen, draped in a riot of silken scarves, dealt my fortune beneath her jewel-encrusted fingers. The wind played coy with her finery, sending bursts of sunlight through the bits of colored glass that adorned her sanctum, creating a kaleidoscope of patterns that danced like brilliant stars. Indeed, it was captivating and enchanting, but these charms were but a prelude to the indulgence that lay in the hours to come.

It was the forbidden delights beneath the grand red-and-white striped pavilion that captured me entirely. There was an invitation to abandon prudence and revel in the sensuous mysticism of it all.

A curious amusement awaited within, a tangle of limbs and laughter, a game of my childhood. At first glance, it seemed playful, innocent even—but as I stepped onto the dotted canvas and joined the merry entanglement, a strange and undeniable thrill coursed through me. The brush of skin against skin, the accidental press of a knee there and here, fingertips grazing my wrist—it all awakened something dormant. Bodies intertwined like vines as we contorted ourselves to the commands of the game master, laughter spilling like sparkling champagne to the beat of the music. Flushed cheeks rested against bare thighs, breaths mingled, and the heat of the moment transcended the shouts and applause of the onlookers gathered around us, their eyes reflecting the carnival’s strange, hypnotic arcana.

Even amidst the delightful entanglements of the game, I felt a giddy lightness—a euphoria that seemed to bubble up from somewhere deep within me. My cerulean tulle skirt fluttered around my upper thighs with every movement, tittering against my bare flesh, while the lace mesh of my attached blouse left me feeling both modestly attired and deliciously unveiled. The voluminous puff of my sleeves added a touch of whimsical elegance, perfectly satisfying my Victorian sensibilities.

And yet, there was one small mischief—a rebellious detail that refused to be tamed. The rounded tip of each breast had a knack for slipping through the delicate openings in the lace, an impish defiance that constantly demanded my attention. For a time, I was entirely preoccupied, delicately tugging at the fine silk strings, weaving and reweaving them to maintain a semblance of decorum. Foolish, perhaps, to any observer who might wonder at my constant adjustments, but it was a comfort—an anchor for nervous fingers as I navigated the evening’s wondrous delights.

As the night unfolded and the stars took their seats in the heavens, I found my bare feet carrying me lightly from one carnival wonder to the next, then retracing my steps to savor certain baroque pleasures once again. Everywhere they turned, my eyes feasted on the hedonistic. Every twist and turn seemed to whisper promises to my Inner Goddess, coaxing her to linger, to indulge in the spellbinding alchemy of the evening.

Joined by a circle of sultry goddesses, I returned to the Merry-Go-Round not once, not twice, but thrice, each visit a pilgrimage of decadent delight. The carved granite pole of the structure gleamed under the flickering carnival lights, sending my butterflies fluttering as my Inner Goddess reveled in the electric pulse of the moment. My hands gripped the polished pole, its surface elongating beneath my touch, awakening. 

When my lips met the warm, unyielding surface, I felt a flickering deep within—a thrilling echo of my Inner Goddess spreading her mighty wings. The language of worship spilled from my sister goddess and me as our twin tongues greeted the pole, each lap a word to a hymn of devotion, our lips demanding both surrender and power. To give, in this sacred ritual, to pour my energy outward, was a bit of a rarity—a reversal of the roles I so often found myself occupying. Yet it was exhilarating to see the response, the way the thick spire seemed almost alive under our attentions, as though it, too, was stirred by the fervor we bestowed.

Time twisted and spiraled around me, each moment a cascade of vibrant colors and lively melodies, wrapping the carnival’s phantasm around my senses. I nibbled delicately at candied confections, their sweetness dissolving on my tongue, and exchanged words with fellow revelers, shimmering like mirages in the carnival haze. Their gayety intertwined with the tinkling melodies of distant calliopes and the faint pops of bursting balloons. All around, the magic pulsed, alive and insistent, wrapping its gossamer tendrils around my mind.

But the Merry-Go-Round lingered in the periphery of my thoughts—a showman’s call I was curious to explore. My Inner Goddess, ever watchful, allowed me to wander a bit about the carnival, taking in the sights, though I knew she had plans of her own. With each passing moment, her resolve solidified while my heart raced with a riot of emotions—anticipation, anxiety, and wild felicity. 

And then, with a suddenness, she seized me. My Inner Goddess stood firm, her hands muffling the whispering doubts that rose in my throat. She imprisoned the unremitting fears, silencing every thought that dared suggest this particular Carousel might prefer another rider.

“No, no, no,” I whispered internally. It was useless; my body became a marionette in her absolute control as she guided my steps toward the evening’s prime entertainment. There were only two possible outcomes—the Merry-Go-Round would accept me, or it would decline, and there would be no hard feelings. Before I could muster a coherent defense, my Inner Goddess turned my mind to spun sugar, all light and dissolving sweetness, and I found myself standing before the Ride. My question trembled on my lips, the rapid thrum of my heartbeat echoing too loudly in my ears. There was no room for hesitation now. 

The Merry-Go-Round seemed enthusiastically receptive, but a ritual was required first—to prepare, to awaken, to enflame. Kneeling between the two stalwart seats, my Inner Goddess quirked her lips in sly anticipation. Brushing my sapphire curls over one shoulder, I moistened my lips and lowered them to the pole’s rounded, gleaming head, the heated iron reactive in my grasp. A trace of another goddess lingered—a heady perfume, a testament to the magnificence of her own revelry and Merry-Go-Round’s prowess. 

With both hands wrapped firmly around the immense pole, I devoted myself to the task, employing a myriad of techniques in pursuit of its satisfaction. Stroke by measured stroke, the response became undeniable—slick and thickening with pride, stretching upward as though to pierce the striped heavens above. My Inner Goddess chirped at the display, her wings rippling in triumph.

An audience had gathered, including the Carnival’s Ringmaster, her brilliant red and yellow coat casting an aura of unparalleled power and magnificent authority. Her glittering eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the Merry-Go-Round as though it were an extension of her own will. This was her Ride, the crown jewel of her domain, and she watched it with a keen, unblinking gaze—commanding, observing, witnessing it all.

My Inner Goddess, once again, hushed the stirrings of nervousness, her giddy hands firmly adjusting the stanchion, guiding my body into place as I straddled my seat. Carefully, I lowered myself into position, feeling the stretch and expansion of my form as my body welcomed the sensation. The fullness of the column pressed within me, its solid, unwavering presence almost staggering. As the Ride began its gentle thrusting, I felt the world blur and fade, leaving only the spellbinding carousel and the rhythm of our shared adventure. 

My nails bit into my thigh as the first wave of ecstasy surged within me, a delightful contrast to the steady thrusting of the ride. My Inner Goddess panted, mirroring the sensations that rippled through me, her hands tightening with the initial rush. I was bound to my Inner Goddess and the Ride was bound to the Ringmaster, an endless cycle of control, power, and surrender.

The calculated bombardment of sensations struck as the Ride began its heady ascent, and with each moment, the climatic waves of bliss grew stronger. Euphoria—like fireworks exploding inside my vision—sent tremors of rapture through me, the pace quickening, my breath catching in rhythmic gasps. The heavy bulbous pressure against my inner jewel made me cry out in elation, my body thrumming with the frenzied energy of life itself.

As the Ride gradually slowed, my senses returned, though I remained slightly disoriented from the heady experience. A rich voice whispered through my sapphire curls, “Do you know what’s the thing about just one?”

I shook my head, still enveloped in the lingering mist of pleasure, too lost in the experience to formulate a proper response.

“It leaves you wanting more,” he replied with a knowing smile, his words stirring a gasp from my Inner Goddess. She nodded emphatically, her hands clenching in surprise. The Ride’s hold on me tightened, and with a sharp jolt, it pulled me once more into its exhilarating motion. My palms slammed against the wall in front of me, anchoring me as my body bounced with each movement, my cries of pure delirium filling the tent.

My body, no longer my own, capitulated to the Ride’s fervent speed. His strong hands gripped my hips, holding me steady yet keeping me in place until my sight was stolen and there was no more breath left in my lungs. It was with flushed cheeks and a playful giggle that I eventually dismounted, my Inner Goddess alive, immensely grateful, and drunk on the very essence of our existence.

By some twist of the Fates, and the enticing bewitchment of the Gypsy Queen, I found myself entranced on a raised pallet, drawn to the intoxicating pull of feminine power and majesty. My panic and uncertainty were swiftly stifled as my Inner Goddess surrendered to the rich, vibrant ethos of the Gypsy’s allure. Her kisses, full and ardent, ignited a fire within me as her tongue ventured deep into the recesses of my mouth. Her long fingers intertwined with my sapphire curls, possessively claiming them, while her full-length enveloped me in a sensation unlike any other. My Queen joined us, her raven curls bouncing with infectious happiness, mirroring the joy in my own.

The Ringmaster, too, joined the erotic dance. The bed became our stage, our bodies swaying in time to the sensual waltz, our deliberate press of passion against the sheets. The Ringmaster’s whispered request to embrace me stole the color from my face. That she, of all people, would want to kiss one such as me… I quickly regained my composure as the warmth of her zealous embrace flooded through me. 

Even the Goddess of Beauty graced us, her hair a soft cascade, glowing with the faint blush of morning dawn. Aphrodite was a sensual vision of divine allure, her every movement amplifying the magic that wrapped around us all. Her skin shimmered with a milky glow, and her presence drew the very light closer, intensifying the already salacious atmosphere. Her faintest touch, was the caress of silk, deepening the enchantment. Her perfect breasts at my lips, nearly stealing my breath and leaving my Inner Goddess in awe, speechless at the beauty of her divinity.

All around me, goddesses undulated, their forms entwined in the indulgent celebration of each other’s company. Soft whispers of laughter and throaty moans of pleasure echoed in the air, blending with the music of the carnival as they moved together—fluid, sensuous, and unashamed in their hedonistic revelry. Their bodies glistened with a sheen of satisfaction, each touch a reverent act, each kiss a sacred promise. The air around them seemed to hum with the electricity of shared joy, a symphony of passion and devotion.

Ringing the pallet, the Sentinels stood like statues, their masculine forms casting long shadows as they watched over us. Their eyes, dark and hungry, were mesmerized by the spectacle, but their staunch position remained unyielding. They were guardians, not participants—not yet, anyway. There was an undeniable tension in the air, as if they, too, longed to be drawn into the magic but respected the space of the goddesses’ sacred bacchanalia.

Overwhelmed and mystified, I withdrew to the edge of the pallet, my back against the footboard, drinking in the scene before me—the flickering lantern light casting soft halos around the goddesses, highlighting their beauty, their strength, their unmitigated indulgence in each other. Their perfection was almost too much for me to bear. I felt like an intruder, a silent observer, afraid to breathe lest I break the fragile spell of this holy scene.

My Inner Goddess craved more, though the ache for masculine presence pulsed beneath the surface, unbearable in its intensity. Yet, how could I move? I could barely tear my eyes away from the scene of goddesses devouring one another, their faces exquisite as they kissed, touched, and adored with a ferocity that made my heart race. The recipients’ expressions—flushed, lips parted, gasping—spoke of a wild, consuming vehemence. 

My nervousness was a quiet thing, a thief that stole my voice and blurred my vision. All I could do was watch, utterly spellbound. Occasionally, the gaze of my Inner Goddess flickered sideways to the Sentinels, their presence a constant pull in my peripheral, unsure when and how to extend a shy invitation.

A strapping Sentinel was invited to join Aphrodite, and the Queen followed, taking her place beneath the fair Olympian. I struggled to keep my jaw from falling as the scene around me unraveled, stupefying and enrapturing, blurring the line between reality and absolute transcendence. Eventually, I slipped away from it all, unsure if I had missed an opportunity with a stalwart sentinel but too shy and awkward to request their attendance. Instead, I merrily found solace in the sugary confections that beckoned to my tastebuds.

Lights, sounds, and fantasy continued to consume me, enveloping my every thought as moans and mirth bubbled around me. Eventually, my Inner Goddess was drawn into the siren call of the fair goddesses, and my body once more swaddled in their hypnotic presence. Their glittering eyes captivated me, tying my words to my tongue and leaving me breathless in their wake.

And then, in one unguarded moment, the Strong Man appeared at my side. Without hesitation, he swept me into his arms, flinging me over his shoulder with ease. Unrestrained laughter tumbled from my lips, a mix of shock, surprise, and delight. “Help me!” I cried in playful exaggeration, gesturing wildly toward the audience for their merriment as the Strong Man strode away with me as his prisoner. My Inner Goddess, however, couldn’t resist teasing the throng, sending a mischievous invitation for them to join us. Thoroughly pleased with himself, the Strong Man bore me away to a shadowed corner of the striped tent.

The Strong Man found me an eager captive, his grip firm as he positioned himself between my thighs. Without waiting for a spoken invitation, he thrust his dominance between the slick curtains of my sanctuary, pushing me to the edge as my cries to gods I did not believe in echoed through the tent. The silky black négligée I now wore, with its splash of gold threads, had offered no resistance as he laid claim to my body. A childlike giddiness pulsed within me, even as lust surged through every vein. 

Eventually, my body glistening, my sapphire hair a tangled cascade beyond redemption, I returned to the heart of the tent. My eyes, glazed with both wonder and delirium, and my pulse beat erratically with wanton aftershocks. The night had been lit in decadence, orchestrated so flawlessly by the Ringmaster herself. The carnival had unfolded its secrets like a finely woven tapestry, and I stood, a mere thread in its intricate design.

My grateful heart beat happily, swollen with the night’s excesses. I sighed, almost unwilling to surrender. Though a quiet weariness was beginning to settle in my bones, my Inner Goddess remained unsatisfied, restless, a yearning echoing through her soul, beckoning me to reclaim my Consort before Morpheus’ insistent embrace dragged me into a restful oblivion.

Bidding farewell to the assembly of glittering figures, the cold winter air tugged at my senses, forcing me to fasten my coat against the biting chill. I could only shake my head, bemused by my Inner Goddess’ insatiable cravings. Her thirst, her longing—would they ever be quenched?

“Not in this lifetime,” she purred, her voice thick with prophecy, as if teasing a faraway promise only she could understand.

Until next time, XO. Elsie