To my eyes, the exalted assembly became a vague manifestation, shifting phantoms in Aphrodite’s heady mist. Amidst this, the air crackled with anticipation and frenetic energy, an unmistakable force that even the most formidable gods and goddesses could not ignore. Nude bodies undulated in unrivaled vibrancy and lust around me.Mou

The Jinn repeated the process, and my eyes rolled back into my head. Vision hooded, fingers curled, I succumbed to the ever-increasing flames burning their way through my body.

Already enveloped in the luxurious fabric of my climax, the feeling was amplified, matching the brilliance of the golden Summer sun. Abandoning all decorum, my throat reverberated with my answering cries.

Pain. Teeth bit the unsuspecting flesh of my inner thigh. I squeaked in surprise, my eyes flying open and down between my legs. At my jerking motion, the Dom glanced up, mouth still sealed to my inner flesh, daring me to pull away in rebellious protest.

Nails were furrowing her fair skin with agonizing indifference. The Queen writhed, shoulders teetering back and forth, hips rollicking at the delicious, inciting torture. The Knight nipped her flesh in punishment. She squeaked at the abrupt additional pain, but her body continued to beseech him for his oral adoration.

It was time. My Inner Goddess would not bear to wait another throbbing second. I tried to remain serene as I disrobed. My fingers shook as they hastily removed the lace pasted to my trembling body, divulging my true state and my lack of a tranquil demeanor.

Still, I roared with a fury that surprised even myself. Vulcan rotated between steady penetrating thrusts that blessed my inner gate to remaining motionless as he crooned encouragement.

There was nothing to hold him back; there were no fears, apprehension, or even caution. He understood me far too well for all that.

It has been six long, arduous weeks since I visited my gallery, and FIVE new portraits are dying to be unveiled. Each is a unique work of beauty. Some display clean lines, the figures sharp, and the details crisp. Others share a familiarity with the Impressionist style of Monet or Renoir.

“You smell so good.” His words were soft and romantic, with just a hint of a growl.