June 2025

Black ribbon coiled in reverent ritual, winding across my body like a whispered sin, its sacred lattice drawing daring paths over skin that had longed to be unveiled. Every loop was intention, every outline a vow. Over it all, I wore a soft, oversized cream sweater, a teasing contradiction, maternal and demure, cloaking debauchery in innocence. I clutched its fuzzy warmth like a secret, my Inner Goddess nearly panting with anticipation, my every breath a quivering countdown to revelation.

Secreted in his palace, Lust had already witnessed my bindings, his gaze molten, predatory, hungry in ways no mortal man could ever be. Rather than waiting to reveal my bondage to Lust and Desire together, I had wickedly chosen to tempt him with every silken thread that clung to my body like midnight ink. 

And now Desire had arrived. From the other room, his voice floated in, low, measured, stirring every nerve in my skin to wakefulness.

Biting my lip, I knelt in the middle of the plush bed like a tribute, breathless, anticipation humming with every thought. Then, slowly, like dusk falling from the sky, I let the sweater slip from my shoulders. Beneath it, sin was bound in satin paths and holy hunger.

Desire stood across the room, tacit, statuesque, spellbound. He did not move. He didn’t dare. His gaze clung to me, a slow drag of invisible fingers across flushed skin. I burned beneath it. My body tightened, nipples stiffening, every nerve lit up as though his stare alone could part me.

He wasn’t undressing me, he was studying, memorizing, committing the wanton arch of my breasts, the glisten between my thighs, to whatever hunger would come for him later.

My thighs pressed together on instinct, but too late. The proof of my arousal had already gathered, warm and unashamed. I didn’t bother to hide it. I gave the barest tilt to my hips instead, letting the soft light catch the glisten. Smug. Cruel. Let him watch. Let him ache. Let Desire suffer as Lust had, teased past reason, dragged to the edge of his own undoing, and left there, palpating, just out of reach.

To my left, Lust loomed close, raw, wild, his heat radiating unchecked through the air. He smelled of rich musk and temptation long denied. Desire, by contrast, was sculpted restraint, but I saw it: the tight clench of his jaw, the smolder behind his gaze.

 “Soon,” purred my Inner Goddess, “any second now.”

And between them, I glowed. My Inner Goddess rose to her full height, sovereign, unflinching, and bare beneath the moonlight that spilled through the window like milk and silver. My insecurities melted into the shadows. There was no shame in this temple. Only consecration.

The night air kissed my thighs, still damp with readiness. My back arched ever so slightly, an invitation, a dare. The scent of wax and salt and gods undone curled around us.

Let them worship. Let them hunger. I was not waiting. I was choosing.

I had been wicked with Lust. For what felt like an age, but was, perhaps, a single hour, I had circled him like a starved priestess, always near, never yielding. I had let him taste my tongue only to vanish again, laughing softly as his need grew savage. My body brushed against him in cruel promise, the ribboned bindings framing my curves like velvet invitations. I had dared him with every glance, begged him to betray his vows of restraint, to break his abstinence and fill the emptiness I so gloriously wore.

But I never let him in. Not fully. Not yet.

And now the price of my games was to be paid.

I was still kneeling, eyes locked on Desire, when from behind me, Lust’s hands found me. This time, there was no hesitation. They curved around my hips like iron and silk, dragging me back into the furnace of him. I let him. My Inner Goddess crowed at the primal initiation. I twisted and over my shoulder, I relinquished my breath, my mouth, covering his face with both hands as I kissed him with savage urgency, my lips wet with the promise of ruin.

Across the mattress, Desire waited. Coiled tension radiated from him like heat off summer stone. Controlled. Measured. But smoldering with something older than need.

I arched against Lust, letting my body fall open in offering, my breath shallow, stolen. I could feel Desire watching. Could feel Lust thrumming with the effort it took to not ravage me whole.

Then, still pressed to Lust, queenly in my authority, I crawled forward, hands stretching across the bed, prey turned predator. I reached for the other. For him. For the flame wrapped in stillness.

I lifted my mouth, wordless, on my lips, a blooming request. Desire stepped forward at last, silent and sure. He bent low. His lips touched mine.

And oh, the veneration. The careful awe.

But reverence was never enough for me.

Something ancient stirred within, the beast beneath the stars, the sacred fire that had been denied too long. I moaned into his mouth, opening, beckoning, tasting him.

He tasted like campfire smoke and the edge of a winter forest, wild and earthy. His mouth opened in kind, his tongue meeting mine in a slow, burning seal. One of his broad, calloused hands slid into my sapphire curls and gathered them at the base of my neck. He tightened his grip.

And arched me into him.

Behind me, Lust’s fingers continued their exploration, each movement a study in restraint, brushing the alabaster skin revealed through the ribbons, his breath ragged now, composure finally slipping like water spilling from a quivering glass.

I purred into Desire’s mouth, fluttering between them.

But I was not quaking with fear.

I was shuddering with power. With hunger. With the exquisite ache of being desired by two gods who knew I would not shatter.

And then, I was there.

I was a radiant priestess, kneeling before gods I had summoned with sweat and intention, my body an altar of sin and sweetness.

Lust, ever the impatient fire, had already slipped the final veil from my aching slit, baring the sacred cleft of my longing to the candlelit room. My thighs quivered from the exquisite, unspeakable anticipation of rebirth.

It was then, between the crushing press of Desire’s searing mouth and the breathless silence between moans, that I felt him. Not a tongue, no teasing flick of heat, no clever swipe of breath. No.

What I felt was him.

The full, unrelenting crown of what I had tormented for an age, marble-hard and glistening with restraint. The granite shaft I had once licked and then cruelly abandoned pulsed now with divine vengeance, slicking itself upon the weeping slit of my readiness.

I gasped. My hips betrayed me, arching back in primal invitation. A silent plea. A scream waiting to be born.

And he answered.

Lust did not wait. He did not coax. He claimed.

With all the righteous fury I had so gloriously earned, he drove into me. In one brutal, perfect thrust, he split me open and filled me whole.

I shattered.

My forehead pressed into the soft sheets, cries muffled in cotton, my spine bowed in worship, my limbs quaking as rapture detonated beneath my skin.

My Inner Goddess screamed feral, exultant, reborn, her temple walls gripping him with sacred violence.

And still, he watched.

Desire stood above me, a crowned beast of controlled fire, his jaw firm, eyes sharp and unyielding. I turned toward him, chest heaving, lips parted. My fingers reached up, steady and sure, and wrapped themselves around the hard silk of his waiting flesh.

He was stone and power, and I, the acolyte, caressed him reverently with my thumb before guiding him home, into my mouth, into my breath, into the sacred dark of my waiting throat.

The world collapsed to three truths: Lust, Desire, and my holy unmaking.

Lust thrust into me with the brutality of a thunderclap, savage, relentless, divine. Desire filled my throat with measured possession, swelling against the heat of my tongue, silencing every shrieking prayer I might have spoken.

My breath fled. My thoughts scattered like petals. Desire’s hand returned to the nape of my neck, not to force, but to guide. My lips parted wider. My throat attempted to widen around him. My nose buried in the scent of his skin, spice, musk, and want.

They moved in tandem, two gods forged in the furnace of Aphrodite. Twin flames. Warring stars.

And I, a blessed vessel, burning sacrifice to Aphrodite, was made whole only in their power.

But I was never meant to be just a vessel. I was mistress of my own destiny. And so I rose, my great snowy wings about me.

With a gasp and a growl, I slid my lips from Desire’s thickened length, leaving behind a trail of breathless heat. I shoved backward against Lust’s infernal rhythm, twisting like a siren breaking her bonds, slipping him from my soaked core with a sudden, shuddering jerk forward.

And then, I offered again, but this time with my eyes to the heavens, spine resting in the comfort of the already rumpled pallet. My movements were no flight, but a deliberate, resplendent repositioning.

Head resting over the edge of the plush mattress, hair cascading like a sapphire spill of midnight, I parted my thighs, shameless, majestic before Lust. I buried my face in the drenched, feral heat of Desire’s groin, inhaling the sacred scent of want.

“Take me again,” I moaned without words. “I will break for you. I will rise for you!”

And without pause, without mercy, the rhythm began anew.

 As if not a moment had passed.
As if I had always been there, right where I belonged.
As if I had always been this.

Desire’s hand found my throat, not with cruelty, but with reverent brutality. His fingers encircled the slender column like a jeweled collar, and the pressure deepened, not sudden, but inevitable. I should have flailed. I should have feared.

But instead, I soared.

My lungs, desperate, drew in no breath, yet something deeper stirred, something unfurling behind my ribs. It was not air that filled me, but wind. It was not suffocation I met, but ascension. The tether of my mortality strained beneath the press of his hand and the punishing cadence of Lust’s relentless thrusts. I was unraveling and rising.

How long I remained in that suspended rapture I cannot say. Time had unstitched itself. I was draped in silks and shadows, my limbs taut in my rebirth, exposed, crowned in sweat and triumph. And still, they moved me.

Desire’s firm hand found the back of my skull, his length a scepter of need against my tongue. He filled my mouth, a throne of flesh demanding worship. And oh, how I worshipped.

My tongue traced deliberate, torturous circles, teasing the palpitant aperture of his hunger. One hand clasped his base with shuddering fervency as the other clutched the sheets, a desperate tether to what little remained of my earthly self. He tasted of sanctified sin, of dark pine forests and smoldering altars, of ancient, holy fire.

And betwixt my thighs, Lust burned, a bear shackled too long, growling low and guttural in his release. He drove into me with a ferocity that bordered on delirium, each thrust a fevered ache, a rhythm so searing it threatened to unmake us both. His undoing quivered at the edge of every movement. But Lust, a High Lord of Aphrodite, was no mere beast of flesh. He was forged in restraint, tempered by centuries of indulgent denial.

And so, at the edge of his own exquisite collapse, he slowed, deliberate, trembling with withheld violence, sovereign over the feral thing he had become.

His thrusts lengthened, dragged, grinded, each stroke a torturous pilgrimage along my velvet walls. My moan cracked open in the dark, and I broke from Desire’s flesh with a cry, the taste of him still clinging to my tongue like husky incense.

Air returned to me in a flood, as if I had emerged from beneath the sea. I gasped, wrought open and raw, my body trembling with the echo of ecstasy.

And then, the gods traded places.

A shift in the cosmos. A reordering of the heavens.
And I was filled again.
This time by fire.

Desire, no longer composed, no longer patient, plunged into me with divine abandon. His hands seized my ankles, lifting them, bracing them upon his shoulders as he dragged me forward.I split around him, opening like forbidden scripture beneath a priest’s unyielding, devouring fingers.

The thrust shattered something in me, some last bastion of restraint. I cried out, from pain and release, from the unbearable fullness, the raw stretch of being taken not by a man, but by a force that wished to leave me marked, rewritten.

His body bore down, chest flush to my bent knees, breath hot and harsh against my calves. His hands gripped tighter, digging into the meat of my thighs as he pistoned harder, deeper, ruthlessly, desperately, as though he meant to bury something unspeakable inside me.

Each stroke was a blow to the soul, a carving of claim, a promise written in bruises and wetness and gasping, clawed need. I was nothing but flesh, spread and vulnerable and incandescent beneath him…and still he wanted more.

My scream snagged in my throat, gutted, unfinished, as Lust stepped to my head. He seized the moment, the breath, the space, thrusting his sword past my lips in a single, savage motion, burying himself in my tortured throat. My mouth wrapped around him in instinct and submission. It was a reclamation. I took him as he gave himself: without mercy.

I could smell him.
I could taste me.

The room was soaked in the scent of sanctified sin, thick with licentious need, incense burning in a forbidden temple, intoxicating and utterly unholy.

Desire slowed his pace, catching his breath and luxuriating in my silken sanctuary. I lapped at Lust’s slit, tasting my own nectar mingled with his restraint, my tongue circling the promise of release. But there was no time.

Desire, rested and made wild by earlier homage, unleashed his power once more.

He drove into me with a force that shattered rhythm, no longer a tempo, but a seizure of flesh and fury, each thrust a violence so savage it felt like he was redrawing the blueprint of my very being. My body, a mere manuscript of bone and blood, was rewritten in the blunt, merciless language of him.

My nails scraped the bedding, fingers curling into fists of silk and desperation, shrieks torn from my throat like confessions forced beneath a burning sky. The sheets bunched beneath me, twisted and wet, soo wet. My mouth opened, my breath ragged, my soul thrashed raw beneath Desire’s relentless onslaught.

And above, just above, Lust lingered, thick and aching, his scent smothering, his heat hovering like a stormcloud ready to strike. I could feel him. I could feel me, scattered in pieces across the room, every nerve ending tuned to the crackling terror of release.

And I came undone.

But it was no gentle blooming.

It tore through me like shrapnel, like lightning splitting the earth.
Not sweet. Never soft.

It was ruin.
It was reckoning.
It was relief, primal and bare.

Pleasure ripped through me in furious waves, my nectar flooding from me in helpless surges, crashing against Desire with the force of a dam broken. It splashed against his thighs, his stomach, running slick between us, unashamed, unstoppable. All that I had withheld, all that I had saved for no one, no one, but now spilled. Spilled without apology.

And in that instant, eyes rolled back, thighs trembling, voice nothing but breath, I was not divine.

I was not holy.

I was unmade.
By my own desire.
By choice.

Ravaged? Yes.
Redefined? Utterly.
Still aching? Always.

And still they moved me, with that masterful, aching regard, worshipping and wrecking me until I was nothing but breathless desolation, sculpted by sacrilege.

Poured over the side of the bed, Lust drove into me without ceremony, without pause, splitting me open on the blunt altar of his need. My legs quaked, spread wide, heels lifted helplessly into the air as if some phantom corseted me upright from within, the force of his thrusts bending me like a reed in floodwater. I screamed into the bedding, a strangled sound that tore through clenched teeth and damp linen, the cry of a body that had long since stopped resisting its own destruction.

My slick nectar ran in shameless rivulets down my thighs, slicking my calves, weeping onto the rug in slow, obscene drips. The cool sting of air against the mess of me only heightened the inferno of his flesh slamming into mine, an agony of opposites: chilled and molten, wrecked and reaching, ravaged and desperate for more.

His rhythm was punishment and poetry, a cadence that shattered thought and reassembled it into nothing but need.

And I? I could only take it.

Mewling. Arching. Surrendering anew.

Lust unraveled.

His control shattered in waves, hips slamming into the backs of my thighs with unrelenting force. One hand fisted in my tangled sapphire locks, the other anchoring him as his breath came in broken gasps, brittle, ragged, desperate. His body trembled, ravaged by the need he could no longer contain, every thrust branding my skin, my buttocks reddening beneath his frenzy.

Until…until…he wordlessly screamed my name.

My Inner Goddess rose, wicked and victorious. Let him think he’d conquered. Let him believe he had taken me! But it was I who had claimed his release. I who brought him to the edge of sanity and tipped him into ruin.

(Granted, I’d been howling his name for hours, but that was beside the point.)

I had won.

His climax was mine, and time ticked on, a shadowy observer of the obscene.

I was on my back, hips draped over the edge of the mattress, knees bent so high they brushed my ears. My thighs parted by his grip, pinned wide by the hunger of his hold, as Lust plunged deep into the soft, soaked heat of me again. Every thrust punctuated by the wet, obscene chorus of our bodies colliding, the sound as filthy as it was divine.

And then, reversal. 

Desire pressed his chest to mine, folding me beneath him, and in that crushing weight, I unraveled anew. Beneath his breadth and heat, I felt impossibly small. Petite. Feminine. As though my softness existed not to be conquered, but to be devastated by such magnitude. His size wasn’t dominant. It was gravity. And I trembled in its pull, every nerve alight with the ache of contrast: my yielding curves against his unrelenting form.

And somewhere in that chaos, in that storm of sensation and limbs, Desire, wordless and intense, cradled one petite foot in his strong, calloused hands, kneading the aching arch with understanding patience, each stroke tethering me back to breath. He rubbed gently at the cramped pain, slowly, his touch achingly tender amidst the carnage of pleasure, anchoring me to the mortal coil with fingers that knew both ecstasy and grace. His quiet made me ache. 

There were breaks, brief and glimmering…tart grapes, sharp cheese, the cool reprieve of breath before the fire roared in my veins anew. My body burned with visions, seductive, ravenous poses flickering behind my eyes like fever dreams. I tried one. Reaching for the water bottle, I upended it over my bosom, cool liquid sluicing down the curves of my overheated skin. It was not seductive, not truly. Not the way I had imagined.

No, it was absurd, laughter slipping from my lips, bright and startled at the shocking coldness. 

The moment was clumsy. Thoroughly human.

I made an attempt to seize back the reins of composure and failed gloriously. Almost innocent in its desperation.

Positioned on all fours again, Lust claimed me from behind and gloriously lost control for the second time. But I halted him before he could unsheath. The first time, he had withdrawn far too fast, an abrupt, graceless exit that left my Inner Goddess clawing at the void, robbed of the final indulgence. She had seethed in silence. This time, she demanded restitution.

Back arched, slick and still balanced on all fours, I held him at the brink, halting him not with force, but with the imperial decree of a woman who knew precisely what she required.

He pressed his heaving body over mine, broad chest to bowed spine, breath ragged. Then I tilted my lips to his inclined ear, my tone lacquered in wine-dark power, each word dragging lacquered claws down his spine, deliberate and exquisite. 

“You will not rush this,” I whispered, a queen dictating terms of her own divine undoing. “You will withdraw your sword slowly. You will watch what you’ve done, see your seed drip from me, slide down my thighs like the relic of your worship. You will witness me… and marvel.”

His breath snagged, rough, and uneven, his body taut, his mind fractured yet desperate to grasp the command.

With muscles aching to uncoil and mouth parched from exhaustion, he began to draw back, inch by agonizing inch. I remained poised, open, aflame, as his slow withdrawal pulled through the slick heat of me, every drawn-out moment stretched to its breaking point. His body was a battlefield, the war between raw instinct of spent weariness and reverent devotion tearing through his soul.

And when he slipped free, glorious and glistening, I did not flinch.

Instead, I looked back over my shoulder, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, a mortal vision carved from wanton devastation and command. “Now watch,” I whispered, and shifted my hips ever so slightly, just enough to let gravity and desecration take their course.

His seed spilled from me in slow, viscous sluices, down the swollen curtains of my delicate, the seams of my inner thighs, dripping and gleaming like an offering too sacred for words. His offering. My power.

He might have knelt.

Not in prayer, but in penance, breath like confession against my skin.

In that moment, it was not Lust who had conquered me.

It was I who had unmade the god.

The air conditioning had long given up. The room was a cathedral of heat and musk, the scent of bodies and skin thick as velvet on the tongue. I held a mouthful of cold water and beckoned Lust forward with a cocked finger and a wicked grin. When he leaned in, I parted my lips, bestowing him a sip, not from the glass, but from my mouth. He drank me in with a groan. I felt him stir, felt his need swell, hard and urgent, pressing against the moment like a question that only my body could answer.

And still, the moment pulsed, coiled, and threatened to burst from my fingertips.

I turned to Desire, his ever observant eyes molten and unreadable. “Lie back,” I murmured, my voice a low incantation wrapped in caramel grace.

And he did.

Desire lay back in silence, his body stretched before me like a provocation…waiting for my hands, my lips, my will. I curled over one long leg with aching deference, my bare skin slick against the carved marble of his thigh. The throb of my heated apex pressed just above his knee as I straddled him.

I lingered, deliberate as dusk. My fingertips ghosted along his length, featherlight, but with no intention of tickling. No. This was a study in anticipation. A quiet gift. My attention solely focused on him. I dipped my head, nuzzling along the silken heat of him with slow, devastating attunement. My breath fanned over him in warm currents, teasing the brink with every pass. One heartbeat. Then another. The pause between was its own kind of torment. 

And then I took him into my mouth, gently, but with starved intent, slow, hungry, every inch a surrender. I wanted him to erupt. To shatter. My lips stretched wide, my jaw ached with the fullness of him, but I didn’t relent. I sucked, I choked, I swallowed him down with ruthless precision, a priestess at her altar, consecrating sin.

My gaze never wavered. I wanted to watch him unravel. I searched for the flicker, the tremor, the split in his armor. My eyes fluttered shut in concentration, letting my sight fall away so I could simply feel. What made a god fall? My tongue hunted for it, coaxed and teased with dark expertise. Every gasp he emitted would be a secret revealed, every shudder a truth dragged from him by my mouth, my hunger, my will. I was earnest. Seeking the key. The switch. The hidden faultline that would split him open beneath me, onto me.

My hands were tender things, gliding over his abdomen, sliding over the swollen swell of his pectorals. Then I crawled over him, my bare skin slick and warm against his, ravenous need swirling like invisible ribbons binding me in sacred fire. I poured my lithe form over him, catching his lips, devouring them with a hunger that sought to scorch and consume. Lust reclined against the headboard, his bronzed chest gleaming with sweat, eyes smoldering with pleasure at the sight, filling me with a delicious ache.

I rose on numb knees, eyes moving between them both, fingers tracing Desire’s form as I plotted my next move, yet it was Desire who claimed the moment. His thick fingers first brushed the apex at the height of my thighs, teasing with a tenderness that was anything but crude, an exquisite caress, both gentle and probing, awakening every nerve beneath his touch.

His fingertips deepened and quickened, attuned to every tremble of my surrender. The pad of his fingers pressed into me with a fierce, deliberate curiosity, like a scholar of flesh, stealing the breath straight from my lungs. And then, at the height of it, my climax broke loose, wild and uncontrollable, nectar spraying hot and shameless across the thigh I still straddled.

I struggled to remain upright as the decadent room spun in the climactic aftermath. I opened my mouth to apologize, but he silenced me with nothing more than a slow shake of his head and a touch that said, “I want this.”

And still, his fingers moved, slower now, devastating in their precision, stroking that perfect place until my body seized again. My back arched, my hips lifted to meet him, grinding on his hand, and I sobbed into the twilight, my throat warbling a song torn from the stars themselves, until I was no more.

But then…I was molten, spilled open between them, possessed once more in turns, devoured whole. One plunged deep, the other filled my mouth, and I bore it all, greedy and spread, my thighs parted in aching invitation. Their fingers curled inside me with ruthless grace, stroking the tender jewel of my core with a precision that bordered on exquisite cruelty. Their envious lengths took their turns, stiff and merciless, plunging in a rhythm that blurred thought and shattered breath.

Desire’s discipline branded my vulnerable buttocks in a measured cadence while I gorged on Lust’s glorious length, his salt and skin flooding my senses. Each smack of palm to flesh landed like punctuation. My cheeks bulged, my throat opened wide, wet and desperate, choking on Lust’s sheer size, tears streaming from the corners of my eyes.

The bed was a battlefield of soaked sheets and twisted limbs, the air cloying with our depravity, thick with the scent of everything I had given and received. I was drenched, inside, beneath, between, bathed in bewitchment, unrepentant and brazen in my downfall. Bathed in the sheen of capitulation, mascara smudged, hair a tousled halo of chaos, I felt like a queen in my dishevelment.

My Inner Goddess remained a whirling dervish, and she sent impossible possibilities flashing in my mind. Determined, seizing the moment, I twisted from all fours, tousled and gleaming, and pressed my body against Lust’s, forcing him into a kneeling-seated position in the middle of the bed. I climbed into his lap, straddling him like a woman possessed, trying to guide him into me with a wicked smirk and kisses that were all teeth and fury. My lips tore at his, revengeful and wild, eager to ride him into redemption, but my aching thighs betrayed me, and I found I could barely support myself. I shimmied, twisted, hunted for the angle, but no matter how I writhed, my body refused the madcap position. With a gasp and a graceless slip, I slid from his lap in admitted defeat.

For a breathless moment, silence. Then laughter. Loud, unrestrained, golden.

“My mind says I can, but my body is screaming ‘oh hell no!’” I gasped, collapsing onto my back in a fit of giggles.

“Thank god,” Lust groaned, head tipped back, breath ragged as he unfolded himself from his kneeling position, stretching his toes. “My legs were about to mutiny.” Even he, beast of excess, sculpted for my pleasure, had momentarily reached some invisible mortal brink, and his laughter mingled with mine.

And how I laughed, breathless, wild, for far too long. My soul rejoiced in the reckless abandon. Even in failure, there was joy. Absurdity, even. Oh, what sweet, ridiculous moments my heart would cherish forever.

For that suspended moment, the world slowed its breath. I lay back, flushed and jubilant.

My Inner Goddess far from sated, shameless, relentless, reaching for the toy nestled above the headboard. My hand slid down, lowering until the rhythmic hum of the vibrator kissed my pearl. My thighs parted once more, but this time, for me. I would be the summoner of my own indulgence, the architect of my own ascent, while the males lay in witnessful recovery, one at the foot, one at the head of the sopping bed.

I felt the breath of movement, and then Desire hovered above me, eyes sharp and all-consuming, bending his great head to my bosom until his lips fastened to my right breast. His tongue traced sacred circles, teasing, worshipping with the solemnity of a knight on a hallowed quest. He remained there, steadfast, as my need swelled beneath his ministrations.

His fingers began their whispered dance, tiny circles, delicate strokes, wetting himself on my slickness, a slow seduction so subtle I almost missed when he slipped inside me. Precise, knuckle-deep, curling and stretching, he coaxed from the depths of my core a wild, primal song, raw and unyielding.

Lust joined him, mouth warm and demanding on my left breast, licking and suckling with maddening, deliberate slowness. Their tongues danced twin devotions, weaving a sacred liturgy of pleasure. Their fingers, mindful and knowing, pinched my nipples, not cruel, but coaxing, drawing that exquisite ache up from the depths, a slow-burning fire I would carry with me into the morrow. Every movement, every brush of fabric against those tender, wanton nubs would remind me of this night’s sacrament.

Time dilated. It stretched and folded, suspended between heartbeats. Lust’s hands glided over my body, tracing every curve and divot as if memorizing a holy scripture. His touch promised full-body worship, an unyielding consecration of flesh and pledged ardor. My hips twitched in surrender, my fingers clawed helplessly at the bedding, and I was going to be undone, fractured, rebuilt, and shattered again; their ministrations would wring from me a confession of exquisite torment and rapture.

And when I came, it was hesitant at first, as though my body begged the moment to linger, reluctant to part from the gods who held me at each breast, leaving me trembling with the exquisite ache of solitude. The flood inside me rose slowly and insidiously, a gathering storm that shattered violently in a ruthless, unforgiving crash. A ragged sob tore from my throat, swiftly swallowed by a guttural, savage shriek, wild, primal, and utterly unchained. My fingers clawed blindly at the world, seeking purchase on shadows and air, desperate for something real to hold, wildly reaching for something to anchor me, to tether me to the world.

But Desire’s fingers, unyielding and merciless, pounded deep within me, each stroke a savage hymn of conquest, his knuckles bruising the tender flesh as they sought to claim every fracturing pulse. I convulsed, shuddered, shattered beneath their hold, splintering into a thousand drenched fragments, scattered across their palms and devouring mouths, utterly undone.

They did not relent. Their hands plunged mercilessly, dragging wildfire through every nerve ending. My body writhed violently, muscles taut and spasming as waves of searing heat crashed over me hot, desperate, raw. My breath caught in ragged gasps, throat constricting, heart hammering like a wild beast caged beneath my ribs. Sweat slicked my skin, mingling with tears I could no longer hold back. I was trembling on the edge of collapse, every inch aflame, every nerve screaming, undone utterly by the cruel worship of their touch. The world narrowed to the pounding of Desire’s hand, the pull of Lust’s lips on my pinkened nipple, the slick, overwhelming ache curling deep inside me, tearing me apart and putting me back together again in gasps and shudders.

As the last wave withdrew, leaving me achingly emptied and exquisitely bare, I curled into Lust’s chest with a breathless smile. My Inner Goddess, feline and sovereign, stirred with quiet satisfaction, a low, knowing hum beneath my skin.

Somehow, I found myself prone, my cheek pressed to the linens, limbs languid with satisfaction. Desire moved behind me with a sensual hush, his hands cool and reverent as he began to knead the tension from my spine. With the barest murmur, he requested a bit of oil. I heard the soft pop of the bottle, then felt the molten press of his palms begin their slow, luxurious glide along my back. 

He shifted, straddling my thighs, his heavy arousal resting at the cleft of my backside, a dark, silent promise nestled into the curve of me. It was sinful in its perfection, almost cruel in its tease. I was meant to relax, and yet… my Inner Goddess writhed beneath him, grinding back, purring for more even as each muscle melted into release.

His touch was artful, each motion deliberate, meditative, as though coaxing some wild thing into sleep. He banked the fire along my nerves with patience and mastery, lulling me with rhythm and reverence. Lust lit the massage candle, the scent blooming rich and slow, amber, sandalwood, and something unplaceably carnal. The room swelled with it. And when Desire lifted his hands, Lust poured droplets of their searing liquid onto my flesh.

My brow furrowed, not so much from the burning pain, but from memory. A ghost of tenderness stirred, something once intimate, now half-lost to time. I had known this sensation before. And my Inner Goddess stirred, restless, ravenous. Had we…missed this?

True, I had mentioned the play candles once or twice, let slip that they waited quietly in a drawer. But something had held me back, a hush of grief, a thread of longing, as though I’d been waiting. Waiting for a soul who no longer walked this earth, a presence who once dripped molten wax onto my bare skin, each drop burning away worry, coaxing surrender from flame.

Was I ready now to offer myself again to that kiss of heat?

Yes.

Next time, I promised, a whisper curled in the back of my mind like rising smoke.

The wax. I need it.

Desire’s hands roamed with tireless grace, my shoulders, my ribs, my waist, even the gentle swell of my buttocks. Each stroke unspooled me further. I could have drifted into dreams, would have surrendered to Morpheus entirely, had not some lingering hostess decorum kept me tethered, eyes heavy, lips parted in wonder.

And then… our evening drew to its gentle close. Garments were plucked from scattered corners of the room, laughter woven between the final touches of modesty. Farewells were offered to Desire, his departure marked with a lingering kiss, his journey blessed by the wet echo of my lips against his cheek.

At last, I slid into bed beside Lust, his body curling tight against mine, muscles taut and warm, breath slow and steady as Morpheus was finally allowed his dominion.

The next morning, I slipped free from the tangle of fresh, sweet sheets with a triumphant smile, leaving Lust cocooned in dreams and the sweet wreckage of the night. Before I went, I leaned down and growled low in his ear,

 “I’m not sorry about all the laundry you have to do today.”

Sleepily, the corner of his mouth curled. His voice, gravel-laced and half-dreaming, murmured back,

 “Me either.”

Until next time, XO. Elise