December 2025  – Audio Version

I felt myself a frost fairy that night, quick-footed, bright-eyed, and luminously unrepentant, skimming nimbly from constellation to constellation of familiar faces as the sky dimmed to indigo above Mount Olympus. The north wind, newly emboldened now that the sun had relinquished its throne on Olympus, nipped at my nose and worried the snowflake earrings trembling at my lobes. I did not resent it. The cold was my co-conspirator.

A plush, cloud-soft suit swaddled me from wrist to ankle, while beneath it satin and lace lay in intimate collusion with my skin, a hidden hearth of warmth and promise. I darted between winter’s bite and the shimmering breath of outdoor furnaces, laughing, sampling indulgences from groaning tables, my steps light with champagne mischief. Gaiety followed close at heel, witness to every flirtation and feint, while my Inner Goddess, already puckish, kept me fizzing with boldness, acutely aware of the sweetness veiled beneath the fleece.

As the evening matured, the Olympian pavilion grew sultry despite the season, and I found myself, quite naturally, and with no small satisfaction, shedding my outer softness. Fleece slid away, deliberately careless, revealing the fine tracery beneath. My hand closed around a chilled glass, amber fire sloshing in time with my stride as I resumed my wanderings, a winter sprite threading desire through the assembled gods.

It was then that the Shaman caught my eye.

Across the room, he lowered his chin, brows shading a knowing gleam, and beckoned with a single crooked finger, an invitation both insolent and devout. I bit my lip. Somewhere deep, my Inner Goddess laughed, delighted by the boldness and enchanted by the solicitation.

I drained the last of my fiery ambrosia for courage and crossed into his gravity, setting my palms upon shoulders broad as altar stone, regarding him from above with a composure that barely disguised my thrill. When I asked what he wished, he reclined back into the cushions, opening his posture fully, unguarded, eyes never leaving mine. When he spoke, it was low, meant only for my ears, and shockingly simple. 

“I want you to sit on my face.”

I blinked mutely. I felt myself bloom as I mouthed, “You do not have to do this.”

His brow quirked.

“I know,” he replied, voice a low reverberation. “That is precisely the point.”

The sound of it sent a silvered shiver along my calves, fire answering frost. Around us, torchlight flickered; there was no pretense of privacy. I was seen, absolutely, ravishingly so, and the knowledge unfurled in me like wings. To be desired so openly, here among such resplendent witnesses, sharpened my pleasure into something almost holy. Exhibition had never felt like shame; it was wicked worship, a benediction of want, a way of letting my delight drip into the gaze of the gods, offering myself like forbidden fruit, daring them to taste the fire, to crave every inch I gave so recklessly, so unabashedly.

I lingered deliberately, drawing the moment thin and bright, a frost fairy poised at the lip of indulgence, perfectly aware of my power. The pavilion glowed, fire gilding marble and skin alike, and I felt myself gleam in its regard, mischief incarnate, a winter sprite tempting the divine to hunger, and daring myself to be savored.

Hoping I was stirring desire as I moved, I crawled across the expanse of the great Shaman, my apex hovering just above his mouth, suspended between tease and surrender.

Fingers curled around the windowsill for balance, I drew a centering breath, letting my eyes linger briefly on Olympus beyond the glass, stars so close they seemed almost tangible, luring me to reach for them, before lowering myself with deliberate slowness. The garment I wore offered no snaps, no zippers to part; a restraint, yes, but one that only deepened the thrill, transforming every movement into a cloying, forbidden offering.

Thick fingers outlined the crease of my thighs, gliding over silk before slipping just beneath it, and a startled moan escaped me at the shock of my own readiness. I loved the deliberate defiance of it: pulling the fabric aside like drawing back a magical curtain, granting him access as though I were a sprite offering nectar to the divine.

The Shaman began with deliberate reverence, lips and tongue mapping me like a sacred text, each stroke coaxing lightning that sparked through me in arcs of fire and frost. He lingered at the sopping fulcrum of me, teasing with gentle swirls and feathered flicks, tasting the trembling sweetness that was offered so willingly. Every brush of warmth, every deliberate kiss, sent electric currents vibrating up my thighs and pooling in the hollow of my chest, and I sank my nails into the windowsill, grasping for purchase as the magnetic weight of him beneath me tethered me even as I hovered on the edge of abandon.

His hands, massive, skilled, obsequious, curved around my waist, lifting, holding, tilting me with a confident precision that made my pulse quicken. He trailed his lips along the tender inner curves of my thighs, slow, insistent, worshipful, drawing soft, desperate moans from me that vibrated with equal parts shock and capitulation. Each lap of his tongue was a command, each suck a benediction, and I shivered with the palpable awareness that gods and goddesses might glimpse our communion.

My iridescent wings fluttered in time with the rhythm of his devotion, tiny tremors of delight spreading outward like the flicker of a spell. His lips mapped a path that nearly reached my knees, pausing, tasting, returning, a dance of patience and fervor that made my back curve, my knees flex, my breath catch in a symphony of yearning. Heat pooled deep, mingling with the thrill of becoming a exposition, and I let it wash over me, resigning to the worship with gratitude, with abandon, with the ambrosial, dizzying knowledge that my pleasure had become a spectacle and a gift all at once.

The Shaman smirked his welcome, a subtle, knowing curl of lips that promised more than words could hold, and with a smug tilt of his brow, inquired if I wished to reciprocate. Heavens, did my Inner Goddess grin, wicked, irrepressible, a creature of frost and mischief, as I allowed my body to descend along his length, movements sculpted and purposful, crafted not merely for him but for every daring eye that might linger.

My knees sank into the Turkish carpet, plush and yielding beneath me, and with a theatrical flourish, I freed the black hairband from my wrist, gathering my sapphire tresses into a single, commanding ponytail. The band snapped into place with ceremonial finality. Each lock gleamed like spun midnight frost, my body fully revealed: the outline of my throat, the audacious tilt of my cheek as his length filled my mouth, the slow, provocating flicks of my tongue, a spectacle wrought for those bold enough to witness it.

Balancing on my knees, calves flexed, toes pointed toward the glittering Olympus beyond the glass, I angled myself with mischievous precision. My right hand cradled his base, fingers tightening possessively, while my lips, warm, slick, and humming with anticipation, descended. Like a high priestess of indulgence, I etched the crown with languorous circles, teasing the ridge, pressing flat along the sensitive underside, drawing slow tremors that flickered through me like winter lightning. Each spiral, each gentle suck, elicited a responsive twine of heat from him, spiraling along my spine, setting my limbs into quivering worship.

I hummed softly, letting the vibration roll over my vocal cords, through my lips, deepening the spell, mingling with his gasps and the subtle catch of breath as his pride and desire coiled like serpents beneath me. A husky cry of my name sifted through the pavilion, his voice trembling with reverence and need, and I shivered, grounding myself only in the saccharine friction of his body beneath mine.

Then Jack appeared. I did not see him at first, yet I felt the heat of his nearness as keenly as a flame burnishing the air. My pulse leapt. His taut presence suffused me, a living current of desire wrapping around my own, and his cool hand sought my lace-clad curves, pressing just enough to ignite the smoldering blaze I had been cultivating. My Inner Goddess rippled with wicked delight. At last, a witness who truly understood the audacious, unashamed spectacle I offered and dared to caress the haughty slope of my proffered derriere.

I let my body become a deliberate, languid gyre of want and mischief. Lips brushed, teeth teased, fingers grazed iron and silk, eyes darted with roguish promise, hips swaying like a pendulum in a clandestine ritual. Each movement, each gasp, each tremor became a note in the symphony I conducted. Around me, Olympus seemed to lean closer, the marble glinting hotter, torchlight quivering, stars beyond the glass tilting toward my orbit. My head bobbed over his cock, my hands stroked, and the air itself thickened with the rhythm I set, an intimate cathedral of want and worship, bending the space to my presumptuous bravura.

After a time, I rose, letting my avarice and flirtations trace their own deliberate choreography. This goddess kissed with the faintest brush of lips, a lingering graze for that god, a waggish touch here, a sly glance there, each movement a note in the symphony of desire and irreverence I conducted. When my impish audacity reached its most insouciant pitch, I decided to trade my black satin lace for something far more risque.

I chose an almost painfully simple piece: wide strips of scarlet lace yoking between my legs, banded once around my waist, then over each shoulder. The color was a shocking divergence from my prior delicacy, bold and incendiary. Yet even this proved ephemeral. The garment refused to fit as it should; upright, the fabric drooped rather than clung, and I could not let it fail me. I relished the way fellow goddesses gathered, their presence confirming what I already suspected. The lace was too generous, better suited perhaps to the fierce golden goddess of the Sun.

I let the strips fall from my shoulders and stepped free, offering the garment with a flourish to the Sun goddess, letting it dangle from a single sparkling nail. She protested faintly, but her eyes glimmered at my offering, and I knew, against her alabaster skin and statuesque height, that it belonged to her. Freed of it, I was suddenly quite bare, my sapphire curls and swirling tattoos my only adornment. I inhaled sharply, but my Inner Goddess flounced her feathers, reveling fully in her element, keenly aware of every gaze upon me.

It was the perfect moment to reveal my fourth ensemble, one Jack could not have anticipated. From my bag, I drew the tiny white garment, stepping into it with a shim of hips, sliding my arms through delicate spaghetti straps. Sheer lace whispered over my breasts, while panels at the sides exposed the elegant, scrolling Art Nouveau tattoos etched along the outline of each breast. Silk flirted scandalously over my hips, a temptation as much for sight as for touch, and I could feel the power in every naughty sway.

I could not suppress a wicked smirk as I passed Jack, letting him see, letting him know. His eyes bulged; beneath the gry folds of his loungewear, his cock had already begun to stir. I wore my most innocent expression, angelic and untouchable, as he murmured, voice cracking with awe and want, “You brought that… I want to claim you and take it off of you.” His gaze roamed every exposed and concealed curve, devouring me, and I deliberately shifted my hips, letting the lace tease suggestively.

“Well,” I breathed, letting the words drip like honey and flame, “you’d better take me now before somebody else does.”

His breath hitched. Instantly, he guided me to a back pavilion, the hallway narrowing, amplifying every inch of proximity. My back collided with the wall as he crushed his weight against me. His mouth found mine, urgent and claiming, and I yielded just enough to taste the heat of him, letting his tongue brush mine with insistence. I felt his cock straining between us, and I smiled against his lips, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, but only briefly.

My fingers mapped slowly along his chest, over his arms, the outside of his thighs, but never where he most desired, never fully releasing him. Each glide, each pause, made him falter, made him groan, made him ache with frustrated lust.

I flattened my hands against his chest, pushing him back just slightly, letting him grind forward in tantalized need, letting the narrow walls amplify every sound: the hitch of breath, the drop of his Adam’s Apple at his throat, the subtle shift of weight as he strained toward me. I ran my hands along the delicate straps of my garment and adjusted the sheer lace with a casual, deliberate flourish. Each brush of silk and lace against my skin, each playful tilt of my body, was a lesson in control: I determined the pace, the release, the indulgence. Every motion measured, riveting, agonizing in its restraint.

When we finally reached an adjoining boudoir, I let him close the distance, every movement teasing. I leaned forward, offering him the warmth he had been pining for, letting my lips and breath brush against him just so. His flux hammered, breath ragged, every nerve a live wire of exquisite torment. And I smiled, a Fae fully attuned to the delicious power of delay, my body a gleaming, forbidden gift he would earn, one tantalizing, scintillating second at a time.

The adjoining boudoir was already alive with naked bodies, two couples writhing toward their own private Nirvana. Jack kept his possession on me, claiming me with an urgency that made my pulse spike and my breath catch. He parted the wet, trembling folds between my thighs, pants long discarded, and stood at the side of the bed, surveying me like prey fully exposed across the mattress.

A guttural moan ripped from me as he plunged in, testing me with the tip of his crown, torturing the inner gate that had already begun to clench and convulse around him. My back bowed, hips burrowing into him instinctively, craving the heat and hardness he offered. My fingers dug into his biceps, nails grazing, anchoring myself to him as he paused for a heartbeat and then two, letting my body stretch and quiver against him before he began to move, slow at first, then with ragged, feral rhythm, hips withdrawing and crashing forward, burying every inch of his hard cock, battering deeper, harder, faster.

The room became a furnace of motion and scent. Skin glided against skin, muted gasps and half-heard moans drifting from the doorway, feeding the fire between us. Jack shifted, angling my head toward the open space, crawling over me with predatory intent, spreading my hips wide, bracing my ankles, and driving in with a desperation that made my body quake.

Each thrust was a shockwave: deeper, harder, ragged, a feral hymn of need. My nails scored his back, my voice breaking into ragged cries, moans, and gasps marking the savage collision of our bodies. My Inner Goddess unfurled, claws of desire, frost-laced wings flicking, relishing the effrontery of being seen, the transcendent oscillation between surrender and command.

Jack’s rhythm became cruel, intoxicating, alternating between punishing and tantalizing. He sank deep, then drew back, letting me clench and quake around him, every shudder, every gasp, every strangled breath sparking electricity through my spine, glimmering along my wings.

The eyes at the doorway stoked the fire further, the gods and goddesses lingering, drifting, their glances sharpening my awareness. Every arch, every nestle, every subtle shimmy became a vibrant act of control and provocation. I was both prey and priestess, a conduit of feral devotion, shimmering with the tension of want, abandon, and audacious demonstration.

I lingered on the edge, savoring the cruel beauty of withheld release. Every deliberate clench, every tightening around him, every stuttered breath and imperceptible push spoke volumes: begging for more without giving it, prolonging, commanding, enthralling, my body a liturgy of lust and impudent power.

Jack’s hands were merciless as he dragged me from the bed, flipping me so that my abdomen pressed to the silken expanse, feet braced against the lush carpet. The position left me open, exposed, my sanity held only by his grip and my own insistence on staying in tune. He penetrated without ceremony, the abrupt fullness stealing the air from my lungs and scattering my thoughts like ice shattered on marble.

I was aware, piercingly, of the room beyond us. Beside us, a god and goddess mirrored our pose, and the knowledge that my fingers tangled conspiratorially with the fair goddess sent a violent rush through me, sharp and disorienting. My senses blurred as Jack moved with abandon, his attention narrowed to the way my body answered him. There was nothing tentative in it, only appetite, unchecked, the kind that devours without apology. Sound dissolved into sensation; time thinned to friction and movement, leaving me unmoored, luminous, nearly undone.

Somewhere beyond me, a voice surfaced, the neighboring god murmuring an inquiry, offering to trade places. It brushed the periphery and slipped away. When I lifted my head at last, light-headed and blazing with sensation, the other couple had vanished entirely, swallowed by Olympus as though they had never been there at all.

I slipped back into the throng, lips still tasting of shared secrets, laughter brushing against me like silk ribbons in motion. The Guardian Gods drifted close, refilling my glass with that ember-bright ambrosia, their smiles knowing, indulgent. I felt buoyant, untethered, a streak of icefire threading through the immortal press, luminous and impossible to catch. 

Then there was the Sun Goddess pressing back against the pouf formally the throne of the Shaman. Her hands moved with certainty, parting the snowy fabric that dared to veil me, teasing the bare planes of me she revealed with effortless precision. I did not yield from submission; I yielded from fascination, from appetite, from the thrill of being thoroughly claimed in sensation alone. Every twist, every curve I tilted and bent under her touch only intensified her focus, her mouth exploring, teeth grazing, intense unexpected pain twisting with pleasure I was not sure I liked, until the edges of time blurred and the audience dissolved into a haze of shapes and muted gasps.

I became acutely aware of an indistinct god, lingering just at the edge of my altar, respectful yet insistent, so close I could feel the heat of his presence, but never crossing the threshold of contact. Nevertheless, his voice curled around me, silk-dark and insinuating, wrapping through the swirl of sensation that clung to my skin, threading through every nerve, inflaming my thoughts. Each word was a spark pressed directly to the hollow of me, pulling taut every curve, every hidden nerve, even as my limbs sagged beneath the exquisite weight of pleasure.

Between my thighs, the goddess continued her ministrations, deliberate and demanding, her hands and mouth igniting waves that left me trembling and breathless. My mind, however, danced along the dark ribbon of the other god’s words, intoxicated by their insinuation, suspended between the tangible ecstasy at my core and the electric suggestion that hovered, unseen but omnipresent. Time loosened its grip entirely; torchlight shimmered across bare flesh, the low hum of Olympians threading through the air like incense, blending into the living, shifting tide of desire that swirled around and through me.

When at last I was assisted upright, my body still trembled with aftershocks, legs soft as a newborn lamb, my head spinning from the violent sweetness that had taken me apart and remade me. The subtle heat of the god’s voice lingered in my mind, curling around me like a living smoke. I grinned even as I sought balance, and I knew, with every heightened nerve and every stolen glance, that the Olympians were fully present, their awareness threading through my skin, amplifying the hidden ache that had yet to find release, the exquisite hunger I had yet to voice aloud. 

The pulse of Olympus, its unyielding hunger, its shimmering tide of want, washed over me, but I felt none of its urgency. I reclined beside Jack, warm and steady, every inch of him a quiet anchor, and a serene delight hummed through me. His presence was a balm, a perfect counterpoint to the shimmer of sensation all around; he did not rush, did not demand, only existed, unwavering, his cool composure enfolding me in a cocoon of ease and satisfaction. My laughter danced lightly, a silver thread of mischief and joy, as I luxuriated in the softness of the moment.

The Sun goddess pressed near, radiant even in repose, her brilliance a vivid contrast to the gentle calm surrounding Jack and me. Then, unexpectedly, her voice cut through the serene haze. She spoke her want, plain and simply: a request that drew a sudden, thrilling spike of heat through me. She boldly wished her mouth upon my core, even as Jack claimed her. My Inner Goddess froze mid-flight, dazzled, while a ripple of astonishment and shock rolled across my skin. Jack’s gaze shifted, a spark of excitement in his steady calm, and my own breath caught so tightly I felt the sudden compression of my lungs, the delicious pinch of surprise and anticipation curling through me.

We secured a room; I sank into the pillows, limbs relaxed yet alert, a thrill thrumming quietly beneath my skin. Cerulean light spilled across the walls, bathing everything in a soft, liquid glow, shadows deepening in the corners and making the space feel suspended in time. She lowered herself to me, feline and deliberate, lips brushing along my skin, each movement a promise made without words. I exhaled, caught somewhere between disbelief and anticipation, my senses sharpened to the intimate choreography unfolding.

Jack knelt behind her, movements measured yet full of hunger restrained only by timing, even as the air between us thickened with shared awareness. I flaunted myself in small gestures, watching his gaze linger, letting him take in the sight I presented. My hand rose, one elegant nail tracing over the curve of my breast, a flourish meant to incite him, and I caught the subtle catch in his throat as he absorbed the gesture.

A vial of lubricant caught his attention. He applied it with precise care, first to his length and then over and through her inviting folds. When he moved to her, the head of him wetting her deepening folds, her breath hitched as she opened to him. It took a moment, her body yielding in its own tempo. Each moment was precious and drawn out, a slow claiming, her heat blooming beneath his attentions until she could no longer contain the delight coiling within her. Her noises filled the room, cries of relief that pressed against my skin, mingling with my own rising awareness of the heat coating my thighs.

It was a first, and I reveled in it, anchored in observation, responding in subtle ways, shifting, curling a finger here, letting my body lean into the scene there, letting her reactions dictate the rhythm for all of us.

Her voice cascaded over me, notes of pleasure rolling through the space like wild music. Eventually, she turned her attention to me. Teeth, tongue, and lips alternated between softness and almost vicious ministration, leaving me squealing and flushed. My gaze flitted between the curve of her body and Jack’s towering form, both of them shaping a choreography of raw, unrelenting desire that left me flushed and taut with my own unspoken craving.

An Olympian god, a figure only vaguely familiar, leaned closer at the edge of the unfolding tableau. With consent given and received, he eased himself into the scene, hand and voice punctuating the moment, brushing against the Sun Goddess lightly, his murmured encouragements threading into the ongoing cadence. His presence expanded the intensity, a fresh layer of sensation weaving through the existing current, teasing, tugging, amplifying every heartbeat and sigh in the room.

The Sun Goddess paused, palms clamped around my waist, cheek resting on my abdomen, trembling in bliss. My hands wove through her hair, tightening my grip at the nape of her neck, the fingers of my other hand brushing her temple as I tell her to come, to sink into her bliss. She shuddered, climaxing in twin, violent crescendos, Jack’s hips a pistoning blur behind her, and my thighs dampened at the sheer audacity of our shared indulgence. 

When she collapsed beside me, trembling and radiant, I felt a shiver of delight curl through me. Barely had a moment passed before my admiration flared anew, her appetite unabashed, her desire for the new god expressed with devastating clarity. He responded, sinking between her thighs with eager alacrity, while Jack pressed his heat against my folds, lips claiming, hands mapping, and his need straining between us.

I wanted him desperately, but my arm lay trapped beneath the other couple, my body folded against the narrow bed, exquisitely exposed, utterly immobile. My tender core burned from the unusual ministrations that had left me raw, a landscape of tenderest sensation, and the thought of his rough domination made my sanctuary shrink back. In a rare moment of daring, I implored Jack to use his tongue, urging him to attend me with his mouth, to soothe the aftermath of their ministrations, to reclaim what had been teased and frayed.

His gaze widened, a flicker of surprise meeting the rarity of my request, and then he leaned in. Warm, deliberate, his mouth followed my softest contours, coaxing, unraveling, drawing a tremble from deep inside me that had nowhere to go but upward, spilling through every limb, every nerve, until I was suspended in a delirium of sensation that was entirely, wholly mine.

Then, a flicker of movement, Amphictionesi, her decadent curls framing a mischievous grin, teeth grazing, eyes glinting like mischievous stars. She lingered just long enough to leave a spark, a signature of her presence, before disappearing as quickly as she arrived.

At last, able to shift even slightly, my temple soothed by his attention, I drew Jack into me, guiding his swollen crown, my body opening fully to his insistence. Together, we rocked, pounded, waved in symphonic, cataclysmic rhythm, waves of ecstasy shattering through me until my throat and core were raw with release. My Inner Goddess soared, untethered, glittering like a nova in the stratosphere of sensation. Nearby, the god and the Sun Goddess found their own heights, a private cadence of pleasure intertwining with ours, the room thrumming with a tide of shared, unspoken abandon.

Partially sated, heaving lightly in the dim, cerulean haze, four of us grinning with unguarded delight, still tasting the resonance of everything that had passed. Slowly, we refreshed, cooling washcloths against the remnants of our own heat, and rejoined the throng, hearts still simmering with remembered sparks.

Around us, the stars marched across the deep night sky, tracing their silver mistress above, casting a gentle, reverent glow over Olympus. I held a glass of champagne in one hand, a glittering noise maker in the other, Jack at my side, his presence steady and solid. The warmth of his happiness brushed through me so tangibly, so vividly, that I felt I might not even need the tether between us, its bond still there, yes, but almost redundant in the glow of this shared, unspoken joy.

Tick… tick… tick… the old year slipped away like sand through my fingers, and then, inevitably, impossibly, the new one bloomed. The gods roared, laughter and celebration crashing over us in waves of shimmering sound, yet beneath it all, a serene current of wonder and satisfaction drifted through me, soft and unshakable. I cupped Jack’s jaw, pressing every fragment of myself, every gleaming spark of delight, into a slow, lingering kiss. Though Olympus remained jubilant, some part of the world seemed to pause, to hold us in its pulse.

I sipped champagne, letting the riot of Olympus wash over me, shimmering smiles, flashing eyes, the swirl of voices, the laughter and clink of crystal, and exhaled, long and steady, letting every leftover flutter of giddiness drift away. I still felt like a Frost Fairy, playful and coy, yet now her mischief harmonized with a deeper joy, a melody of contentment that sang through my bones. My body hummed quietly with the afterglow, giddy yet serene, heavy-limbed in the best kind of satisfaction. I rested against Jack, feeling the tether pulse softly between us, a thread strengthened by the palpable delight in his gaze, his presence, his quiet happiness that seemed to ripple outward, wrapping me in warmth without ceremony.

The new year had arrived, and I welcomed it fully, arms open, heart luminous, every thought and nerve alight with gentle, lingering wonder.

Until next time, XO. Elsie