Nevertheless, making good on all his careful wooing, the god slipped his fingers between the silk and fabric of her crimson lingerie, the velvety caress of his touch gliding against the bare, silken skin of her thighs. All around her, the bed seemed to hum with the pulse of life, a rhythm that resonated through…

I was a courtesan of the evening, a woman who knew no doubt or hesitation. With every art of pleasure at my command, I was sought after by the most esteemed of lords and ladies alike.

My porcelain skin shivered both from the cool air meeting my bare skin and the intensity of his wolfish gaze. His eyes flowed over me like molten amber, languid and lascivious, tracing every curve with an intensity that felt both reverent and utterly unholy. 

His tongue, lips, and fingers moved with a precision that defied reason, making micro-adjustments before my body even knew to ask for them. I melted beneath his touch, dissolving like spun sugar in the heat of his attention, only to shatter spectacularly when twin fingers slipped inside.

The flat of one massive palm pinned the bone of my apex to the bed as the fingers of the Demigod’s left glided inward with purpose. He knew exactly what he was seeking. The “come hither” motion sang a siren’s melody to my already crumbling defenses.

Even as I write this, the ache to be so utterly filled—one hand grasping a thick glory, another thrusting deep within my throat, while the third sought dominance at the very apex of my soul—cannot be understated. The burning need to return to such a holy union has me dragging my nails down the walls,…

I am reclined upon the bed, a goddess in my arms—or is it I in hers? Our kisses, soft and tentative, are laced with playful giggles, spun from the finest silk. My fingers drift through her onyx curls, tucking them gently behind her ear, and I feel her delicate fingertips tighten around my waist, causing…

As the gods mercilessly tugged at the threads of my being, my Inner Goddess remained tenacious and defiant before the mighty deities. With uncompromising determination and a wicked smirk on her lip, she challenged them, beckoning for the release…

Rollicking against the mossy knoll like mad hatters, the Nymph began to scream as the Satyr’s prodigious girth orchestrated a climax of such magnitude she feared her already shattering body would be forever altered, unsated by god or mortal.