November 2025 – Listen Here

I first encountered the Nightwalker beneath a moon swollen with indulgent light, the world still hazy with the afterglow of lustful celebration. Lanterns swayed like coquettes in the breeze, their dulcet radiance catching the sculpted line of his smile – steady, unhurried, almost surprisingly genuine. He stood tall and broad in his button-down, the kind of presence that felt grounded rather than showy, his easy manner making it unexpectedly simple to talk to him.

And my Inner Goddess… she arched a brow, intrigued, contemplating what mischief might flare should I linger within the shadow of his rather puissant company.

So when the next full moon began its slow ascent, I found myself pacing the chill tile of the Great Hall. Jack reclined across the settee in that indolent sprawl he wears like a crown, exuding a quiet, maddening nonchalance. He observed me with that half-smile he feigns as harmless, though it unravels me every time, his amusement glinting at each turn of my anxious circuit. My Inner Goddess tapped a theatrical nail against her temple, unimpressed; I muted her with a generous sip of bourbon.

The chilled stones chimed against the crystal glass – a refined, aristocratic sound that curled one corner of my mouth upward. I reminded myself how unexpectedly charming the Nightwalker had been that first night: that smooth embersoft glow, that shadow-mollient smile, the natural rapport.

In my pacing, I strained for the familiar heralds – the slow crush of tires on gravel, the resonating drum against the oak door. Impatience and nerves twisted inside me, each second drawing longer than the last. I blinked…and then… he stood there. Wreathed in obscura and draped in starless pall.

The Nightwalker filled the threshold like umbral incarnate – well built and muscular, draped in shadows as though they found comfort in him. Moonlight sketched along his silhouette, lending him an air of quiet mystery, yet his eyes – bright, kind, almost boyishly mischievous – melted some of my tension. No pressure. No presumption. There was merely the steady, companionable ease he carried with him, even wrapped in midnight.

Men like Jack and the Nightwalker carry an unfussed familiarity in their bones – that wordless recognition some men are born knowing. They seemed to bond almost instantly. Within minutes, they were trading stories, interrupting one another, laughing that deep, masculine laugh that rumbles through a room like welcome summer thunder.

And I… I slipped back into the background with my bourbon, content to watch, to listen, my shoulders and the knots in my belly loosening.

Their voices wove together in a rugged harmony – Jack’s exuberant baritone all bright, reckless enthusiasm, while the Nightwalker’s deeper timbre slid beneath it, smooth and barrel-rich as well-aged brandy. They could have gone on for hours, and I would have remained right where I was, sipping slowly, letting their laughter roll through me in slow, decadent waves.

I adored it – the way they tuned to each other like old friends, the way their natures settled over me like a well-worn coat. I breathed deep of bourbon’s alchemy: vanilla, honeyed grain, the most spectral whisper of orange. The day’s misery unfastened itself, slipping from me like discarded silk, allowing something slow, carnal, and wanting to unfurl within.

Time unthreaded around us, falling into loose, gleaming tendrils. My ribs began to ache from laughing at their absurd tales…that breathless little giggle that slyly reminded me just how effortlessly they disarmed me.

And then came that pivotal instant…that fragile, breath-held threshold between do or do not…when every nerve in me surged upward, cold and merciless as winter water. My thoughts collided in a fevered rush, demons shrieking old fears into the hollow of my ears. Jack looked maddeningly exhilarated, his face bright with that unguarded, boyish hunger he never attempts to disguise. Whiskey still seared through my chest, but doubt burrowed deeper, nibbling at my very marrow.

What if the Nightwalker agreed only out of courtesy? 

What if my body betrayed me yet again…exhaustion swallowing my edges, that elusive elation taunting me from just beyond reach like it had months before? 

What if I wasn’t his kind of desire, and my clumsy humanity snapped the delicate ease we’d managed to weave?

At Jack’s illustrious invitation, we crossed the Great Hall into his bedroom – flickering lamplight stretching long, wavering shadows across the walls like watchful sentinels. I drew out my phone and fussed with the playlist, attempting – and failing – to coax the stubborn Bluetooth speaker into obedience. The room felt too quiet, too expectant, and I whispered a silent plea for the music to rise and mask the frantic rhythm pounding at my temples.

Behind me, Jack murmured something low to the Nightwalker – a subtle, reassuring encouragement, a suggestion that made my Inner Goddess drag her teeth over her lower lip in impish delight. I knelt on the bed, my gown puddled around me in pale, shimmering ripples. desperate to find the right soundtrack to soothe my rattled nerves and entice my Wicked Inner Goddess, smirking on her chaise.

And then… his lips…on my neck.

The Nightwalker brushed aside a single sapphire curl, his fingers so gentle it stole the breath from my lungs. That mindful touch sparked a bright, electric spasm that swept down my spine. My Inner Goddess unfurled her wings in a fierce rush, knowing full well this was the moment she had been starved for – the doorway to Elysian forgetting, the blessed hush where thought collapses and only sensation remains.

A helpless sound escaped me – an effusive, treacherous moan – as his mouth traced a slow, sacrosanct path across that tender place where neck meets shoulder. Instinct overruled misgivings; I leaned back into him without thought, drawn by the quiet heat of him, by the shadowy tendrils curling around the edges of his presence.

My Inner Goddess growled her approval, hungry for something netherlit and devastating, blooming wild and uncontained within me.

The caress of his shadows swept up around me as I leaned back into his embrace, and a helpless surge tore through me. For a breathless moment, I felt impossibly small inside that vast cloak of night – not diminished, but lifted, like starlight caught and held aloft. Music, Bluetooth, the stubborn phone… all of it fell away. I barely registered the device clattering carelessly onto the nightstand, too lost in the heady pull of penumbra and thunder behind me.

I turned toward him on weak knees, into the vast, consuming presence of him – a being sculpted from midnight, warm where the cold should bite, immovable where shadows thickened at his feet like faithful hounds. A helpless sound slipped from me as his massive arms enveloped me. Voidling and fire cinched around my ribs, drawing me inward with a pull that felt both inevitable and undeserved, urging me deeper into his ethos.

My Inner Goddess rose to her full, majestic height…no longer the quiet whisper tucked in the corners of my mind, but a terrible sovereign thing, a deity reborn in the cradle of moonlight and male adoration. The ache in my belly roared to life, demanding acknowledgment, claiming me entirely.

The Nightwalker’s mouth found mine, and the world narrowed to heat and darkness, the rush of breath stolen clean from my lungs. His kiss was devastating…first liturgical, then full, deepening with a hunger that thrummed through my bones.

His shadows answered him, blooming beneath my skin, brushing over my temple, gliding down the curve of my spine, skimming the hollow of my ribs in provocative, shivering arcs.

His hands – impossibly large, impossibly sure – traced my shape with a dulcitude that only magnified their gravitas.

The Nightwalker’s fingers fumbled briefly at the straps of my gown, and I obliged, letting the fabric slip from my shoulders and gather around my waist. His hands traced the length of my arms, and I felt his eyes shade to obsidian, stars glinting in their depths as he drank in my bare skin. I quaked at my vulnerability with this new deity, torn between trepidation and anticipation. My breasts bore intricate Art Nouveau tattoos that hid vivid scars, but more than that, they were a work I adored, a piece of myself I cherished. I scarcely breathed as I wondered if he would see them as beauty… or flaw.

Power rushed through the room in a ferine sigh, and whatever restraint clung to me cracked clean in half. His mouth seized the vulnerable swell of first one breast and then the other…lips and tongue hungry, reverent, ruinous…each kiss and lick a benediction, a demand, a vow that my earlier hesitations had been laughable things. My Inner Goddess rose as a storm crowned in moonlight, wickedness sparking behind her eyes, her smile sharp enough to cut. The furnace inside me roared in answer, licking up my ribs, begging to be fed.

Then, with a savage, effortless sweep, he lifted me. The world reeled. Being held…crushed to the hard, dense breadth of him…sent something fevered and delirious spiraling through my chest. Gods of Olympus, how did every male in creation seem to know this was the thing that undid me? Had the world whispered my secret up to the stars? My legs curled around him instinctively, my body trembling with a hunger that bordered on madness. Our mouths collided again, no longer kissing but devouring…heat on heat, breath on stolen breath, as though we were drowning each other beautifully.

Shadows answered him like loyal, unholy disciples. They surged up around me…feathery, eager, multiplicitous…stroking my rounded hips, gliding up my thighs, whispering along the curve of my spine. I felt them gather at my ribs, tugging me closer, drawing me into his darkness as though his vigor itself wanted a taste. His hands moved with punishing certainty… everywhere at once, everywhere I couldn’t anticipate…lifting, anchoring, claiming, each caress a brand that made my breath shatter in my throat. I was, featherlight in his grasp, breathless beneath the crush of duskwreath and heat.

And then, gods, just beneath the curve of my derriere, I felt the unmistakable awakening of him, a fierce, startling promise that made my Inner Goddess throw her head back in besotted triumph. Her wings snapped open in a blaze of rapture, every nerve in my form igniting, every trace of hesitation incinerated to ash. I was flame. I was hunger. I was captivated by his nocturne gravity.

Tender as the constellations orbiting above, he lay me back with a mastery that stole my breath, his breadth and width pressing into me, bending me, claiming me. His silhouette loomed like a living eclipse, ink-tide and fire coiled together, each line of him a promise crawling along my skin, igniting nerves I didn’t know could burn. Prowling fingers traced the curve of my hips, drifted along the hollow of my waist, lingered at the swell of my thighs, leaving a trail of embers in their wake. The Nightwalker moved down the length of my body. 

I could no longer tell if it was his touch or my own yearning that parted me – only that my Inner Goddess urged it, commanding, craving the exquisite surrender that hung just beyond the next heartbeat. And yet, even as his shadows slipped away, lingering like smoke along my skin, my gaze found Jack, drawn to a different, urgent heat – a hunger that throbbed in tandem with the experience of the Nightwalker, demanding to be fed, impossible to resist.

His shadows contracted around us, reacting and converging, clasping me in their dark embrace as though they knew exactly where I would fracture. Pleasure surged through me in living waves as his tongue discovered the hidden scriptures between my thighs, the sacred hooded treasure at my peak. A gasp escaped, ragged, as my flesh surged toward him with a need so fierce it verged on holy madness.

And then he was above me again, an eclipse made flesh, warmth and night and devastating weight descending like a benediction of night. His lips carved a smoldering path along my throat and jaw, returning to my mouth with a claim that tasted of surrender poured into wildfire. Around us, his shadows thickened, closing in like a silent congregation, their presence amplifying the ferine gravity of him.

His hand found my waist with deliberate, possessive certainty, guiding me into the pulse he wove around us, coaxing forth every trembling truth I had tried to bury in the marrow of my being. The shadows echoed his command, brushing against my skin like whispered urgings, drawing me deeper into his midnight dominion.

I yielded.
Entirely.
Unreservedly.

Allowing myself to fall into that dark, blissful hedonism he invoked so effortlessly…a plunge into abyss, flame, and the exquisite ruin the night promised.

And then his brawn lifted, abandoning me to a cooling void…until his mouth returned, his tongue lapping at my apex, sin-slick and avaricious, tracing and exploring with a tenderness that made my back arch instinctively, like the last cilium of daylight being siphoned into the encroaching abyss. His hands moved with a sorcerous exactitude, tracing the contours of my waist as they melted into my thighs as one might delineate a forbidden glyph, each contact augural, almost sanctifying, a priest of shadows charting the living sigils of my form. 

But it was not enough – my desire, unhinged and demanding, roared through me like some ravaging beast finally slipped from its chains. My Inner Goddess would not be held at bay. I tilted my head back, throat exposed, catching sight of Jack just beyond the veil of sight. His grin widened the moment our eyes met, a crescent of knowing, as he lingered at the periphery, recording, teasing, drawing on the untenable tether that hummed between us. My fingers reached for him before thought could intervene…yearning, calling, as though some magnetic pulse bound our bodies across time and space. I sought to close the distance, to pull him into my orbit, clawing at the band of his pants with an astral ache, impatient…insistent for the monolith I knew waited for me.

And then there was Jack looming from the boundaries like a storm-forged titan, his cock gleaming with a brutal, ascendant power that made my breath seize in my chest. My vision blurred, my head tilting further back, and there on his tip, I tasted something perilously close to Nirvana itself.

Jack claimed my expanding throat with terrifying ease, all command, all masculine gravity, turning my world inside out as though he could tilt the axis of my body with a single look. Heat tore through me in a rebellious rush, instinct rising like a primordial creature awakening from the deep. Every part of me answered him without permission, drawn toward that overwhelming force as though by gothic decree, as I took every inch of him into my throat.

And the Nightwalker, gods, he matched Jack’s intensity with something penumbra and abyss-forged. His shadows crawled up my skin in profane adoration, moving with a sentience that felt wrong and right in the same fractured breath, coaxing awake the slow stretch of a forgotten, ossuary-born power beneath my ribs.

Then… it struck.

A bolt, a jolt, a convulsion of sensation so direful it felt like a star dying behind my sternum. A pulse of raw, unfiltered life…god-born, void-kissed…ripped straight through me.

I was caught between them, locked in an antideluvian vise of masculine force; Jack’s sheer physical command above me, the Nightwalker’s murkbound gravitas rising from below…two colossal presences pulling at me like rival deities fighting for a single soul.

Lightning surged through my nerves, merciless, incandescent, pinning me in place, rooting me between them with a profane gravity that stole all movement, all thought, all sense of the mortal world.

The moment they switched, reality seemed to lurch, as though the axis of the room bent to accommodate their shift.

The Nightwalker took my head in Jack’s stead, his grip possessive, inhumanly steady, guiding me with a command that felt ritualistic, almost liturgical in its accuracy. My fingers wrapped around the bulging lines of him – smooth skin over honed, terrible potency, thighs like obsidian pillars carved to worship no mortal god. He swelled against my tongue, lengthening with an eldritch inevitability, as though responding to some ancient summons within my throat. I took him with slow, dragging devotion, each stroke and flick of my tongue a succubus offering.

Meanwhile, my Inner Goddess arched in feral approval when Jack didn’t waste a single breath…simply anchored himself between my trembling legs with the certainty of a man who knew the ritual by heart. He didn’t bow his head toward the place glistening with the remnants of the Nightwalker’s ministrations.

No.

Jack knew me too well. Knew exactly what part of me hungered for sustenance… what throbbed with need, what begged to be answered with raw, unflinching force. The knowledge in his eyes was damning. The preciseness of it…lethal.

My Inner Goddess howled her delight beneath that masculine, instinct-born understanding – feral, crazed, as though he had read every secret I thought I’d hidden in the marrow of my bones.

Jack plunged into my sanctuary with a sudden, rending violence…a knife-edge thrust that made my breath fracture, my body melt and clench at once. A sound escaped me, half-plea, half-benediction. I kept one hand fisted around the Nightwalker’s sarsen, willing my nails not to mar the flawless, iron-forged expanse of his body. My soul cried out as I worshiped one deity while being overtaken by another, my divided reverence a sin in every pantheon.

Nirvana didn’t merely crash over me this time…it detonated.

A berserk, blinding cataclysm tore through me, my screams devoured by the Nightwalker’s unyielding grip and Jack’s relentless, ruinous drive. His crown slammed against that pillowed jewel inside me, sending a live-wire jolt up my spine, a shock so phosphorescent it felt like star-fire splitting bone.

My hand spasmed; I couldn’t hold the Nightwalker anymore. My lips tore free of him, keening as Jack drove deeper still, chasing the tremor ripping through me, both men vying – not gently, not kindly, but with divine, implacable purpose…for the soul that quivered between them.

He felt it…of course he did.

My Jack, ever preternaturally attuned to the tremor in my breath, the quake in my bones, the way my body begins to shudder when it’s seconds from splintering…drew back just enough to let the moment swell into something apocalyptic, just enough to let the moment peak inside me like a dying star.

Then he struck.

Withdrawing, he wrapped his hand around his cock, and the head of it hammered my sanctuary with a cruel metronomic certainty – each impact a blasphemous imprimatur, as though he were branding me with the glyph of a pitiless deity.

That was all it took.

My floodgates did not merely open – they were obliterated under the force of it. I erupted, violently, helplessly, a detonation of raw pleasure that ripped straight through my core. A torrent of glittering nectar tore free in a luminescent deluge, cascading over all three of us like the spillage of some desecrated chalice.

A scream wrenched itself from my throat…ragged, star-scorched…as I convulsed, quaking and undone, drenched in the cataclysm of my own ecstatic undoing, shattered by the ethereal maelstrom of release.

My Inner Goddess shuddered in sheer rapture, her wings flaring wide like a seraph rendered in obsidian light, as though she recognized the ritual apparatus in my nocturne of consecration, a chthonic liturgy in which the Nightwalker and Jack poured their otherworldly veneration into each demonic, devastating arc of contact, as if I were the axis upon which some ancient, unnameable rite now turned. Caught in their gravity, in their eldritch choreography, every sensation was coaxed from its deepest oubliettes, summoning awareness up through the iron tang of old tension until I shook between their fingertips like a captive star.

I hovered there, suspended in their twin dominions, unable to resist, unable to escape,
unable to do anything but endure the virial, exquisite rapture of being held between two titanic gods bent on unmaking me.

The Nightwalker took me again…not with gentleness, but with that colossal magnitude that made my body feel small, pliant, barely able to shape myself around him. His form eclipsed me, monstrous in silhouette, a cathedral of flesh and shadow, and my legs trembled trying to curve around him, failing, trembling again, helpless against his immensity and driving assault.

He moved me as though I were nothing but breath and pulse in his hands – twisting, turning, lifting, folding – a relentless litany of shapes and angles, each one tearing a new sound from my throat, each one unraveling another piece of my composure.

By the time I knelt onto all fours – fingers splayed, knees blistering, thighs singing with volcanic fire – I felt transformed into something more than a woman: an arcane creature, a chthonic emissary willingly arranged upon a pagan altar, offered in ecstatic devotion to an imperious masculine force that I was born to please – and be pleased by.

The Nightwalker stood at the edge of the bed – vast, immovable, iron-muscled, the shadows wreathing him like a coronation of night. I felt him gather himself, felt the air tighten, felt the firmament’s tension swell as if the entire room held its breath…watching…waiting…

I knelt before him, my heartbeat a frantic orison, willing whatever was left of my heart and soul into the crescendo unraveling inside him. His greatness loomed above me, thighs like tempered iron, compact, impervious, each subtle shift radiating a power that felt older than sin and twice as hungry. And I licked my lips.

I descended upon him like a witch answering the howl of her own forbidden conjuration – my lips sealing around his cock with ravenous, spell-drunk hunger. My breath mingled with the phantom heat that pulsed beneath his sculpted flesh, my body bending in instinctive obeisance to the creature looming above me.

My tongue mapped him in slow, spiraling circles first, savoring the strange, electric essence beginning to lacquer my mouth. I parted wider, welcoming him with zeal, thriving in my own ministrations…drunk on the power clinging to me – viscous, thrumming, wrong in a way that thrilled every dark part of me. He tasted like sin carved from the timbers of the night, thick with the echo of things no mortal tongue should know.

I worshipped him in widening arcs, breath siphoned through my nose as my throat opened and contracted in ritual protest, then surrendered. Though my lips remained sealed to his girth, drool streaked my chin like consecrated ichor. My throat spasmed again – half gag, half spell – before I forced it to yield to the lengthening, increasingly inhuman heft of the Nightwalker.

My Inner Goddess rose in me, spine straightening like a sorceress at her altar, taking dominion with feral, ruthless precision. Seraphic might poured through me like cold fire.

I moved with a rising fury – a storm-witch in the throes of dark rite, a huntress unmaking a creature of night with nothing but the devotion of her mouth and the greedy pyroclastic rush through her veins. Shadows split and writhed around us in ecstatic frenzy, their tendrils writhing along my shoulders, threading through my hair, stroking the edges of my jaw as though begging permission to join the feast. Every motion I made summoned them deeper, their whispering hunger echoing the monstrous tension that trembled beneath his skin, threatening to shatter the mortal shape he pretended to wear.

Every movement of my lips drew another ripple from beneath his skin, another monstrous shudder fighting to cleave through his restraint. The tension gathering inside him was ominous – like he was straining to contain centuries of hunger in a body too small, too mortal, too breakable.

And I – witch, devourer, stormborn supplicant – did not slow.

I deepened.

I demanded.

I unmade.

The world narrowed to a trembling point of light…then erupted into a molten glow that filled my skull.The Nightwalker’s rapture broke like a star dying…an annihilating brilliance, an unmaking so violent it sent the shadows into a frenzy, thrashing like wounded specters as the very air trembled with unholy resonance.

The force of it washed through me, coating my throat and dribbling down the corners of my mouth. My body faltered beneath the magnitude of it, arms buckling, vision swimming in and out of a dimming halo. My throat burned with the length and girth of both males and the terrible sanctity of the moment – with the impossible weight of a god pouring the last shudder of its cosmic fervor into the mortal realm. My senses spiraled, my pulse scattered, my thoughts dissolved into bright, collapsing fragments.

I remained there, stilled in the raw, shuddering afterglow, lungs clawing for breath. And then…Except for the gasping, guttural drag of his breath, there was silence.

A silence heavy enough to feel like worship.
A silence that seemed to press its palm over the entire room.
A silence in which even the stars dared not glitter.

Time – caught in some fey web – resumed all at once.

Jack laughed first, a low, incredulous sound that cracked the last filament of tension; I followed, breathless, weak, grinning like a sinner blessed. The Nightwalker’s immense frame softened, his chest still heaving as he stepped back. His shadows peeled back one by one – no longer ominous, but almost playful in their retreat, like ribbons unspooling after a storm. 

We dressed languidly in the glow of it all, soaked in that delirious, end-of-the-world hush that follows a night too vast to name. Someone fetched water. We drifted back into the Great Hall, each of us taking quiet moments to calm the fractured thunder of our pulses.

When the Nightwalker stepped toward the door, there were embraces, one last impassioned kiss, and a ripple of laughter…thick with the breathless understanding that we had wrought and savored a night fit to make the stars themselves blush.

He paused once in the lamplight, offering us a single, beaming nod… and then he was gone. Not with a shudder of the air this time, but with the quiet finality of a man leaving a room of friends…a communion already etched into the chronicle of the night.

I nestled into the bed, limbs aching, breath thin and uneven. My Inner Goddess was incandescent – beyond incredulous – with joy rippling through every part of me. I purred as Jack drew close, the two of us sinking into the familiar ritual of our bodies folding together like the pages of a well-loved tome. And as sleep coiled its fingers around me, the first strands of my chronicle – half prophecy, half confession – began weaving themselves through my thoughts.

A story born of shadows.
A story born of gods.
A story born of the void.

And I drifted under, claimed at last by the quiet.

Until next time, XO. Elsie