January 2026 – Audio Version

Powerful…if one insists on naming it…

That is the word that rises first to my mind as I slow enough to survey the wreckage of the last few hours…though it collapses the instant I give it voice. Powerful is too small for what I feel. Too mannered. What coils within me is neither strength nor prowess but something feral and coronated, a living sovereignty with teeth. It hunts. It conquers. And then it lingers, gleaming, amid the ruin with unrepentant satisfaction. Wings stirring faintly at my back, I stand crowned by the obscene pleasure of what I have done…and by the still-thrumming knowledge that I could do it again.

The weekend had stretched itself indolently before us, sunlight lingering like a voyeur, dragging its golden attention across skin while we lay on the couch, bodies still heavy with the debts of prior salacious nights. Rest taken out of need and claimed as a privilege, earned and luxuriated in. We were sated. We were decadent with it.

And then, inevitably, she stirred.

A glance. A minute recalibration of weight. That nearly imperceptible, imperial click…the instant something ancient settles into alignment and decides restraint is no longer worthy of consideration. My Inner Goddess did not negotiate. She did not stoop to ceremony.

She insisted. She commanded.

One breath later, I was astride Jack in his own bed…bare, unrepentant, coruscant with intent.

My vast snowy wings thundered open as though the space itself required conquest, framing us in unquestioned dominion. I took him with a force that startled even me, imposed my need, riding with a ruthless certainty that made him secondary to the command surging through my body. The rhythm was abrupt, unrelenting, driven by a voracious summons that answered no earthly logic. I drove myself downward again and again, imperium incarnate, thighs pistoning, until annihilation sang in my blood. My nails scored his chest, staking claim to the heat and unwavering strength of his stalwart body, while a sound tore from my throat…raw, wordless, primordial, older than language itself, utterly indifferent to restraint.

He filled me…monumental, claiming, relentless…thick veins bulging, his cock stretching me until the world itself blurred. Intensity mounted with brutal, exhilarating speed, a current I neither resisted nor contained, hurling me over the edge towards oblivion. I shattered around him, convulsing as if lightning had been forged in my own blood, my cries ancient and exultant. He instantly followed, undone not by effort but by the sheer profundity of what we had unleashed…what I had commanded.

Brief? Perhaps.
Annihilating? Undoubtedly.

The aftershocks forced him from me, leaving my apex hovering above his body, stunned, breathless, suspended in awe at my own colossality. And then…smirking, roguish…Jack performed the most exquisite blasphemy. Gripping himself, still iron-hard, he struck the swollen crown of his cock against my oversensitive pearl, over and over, the rhythm cruel and unerring. A rhythm that dared me to resist.

I came again, violently and gloriously, my nectar spilling without apology, flooding across his abdomen, streaming down his waist, soaking into the unprepared bed like an offering made in excess.

I laughed. I screamed. I clenched futilely, helpless before the cascade. And through it all, there was no shame…only awe. Awe at the abundance of me. At the way my body obeyed, answered, revered its own command.

When sensation finally loosened its grip, I half-laughed, bemoaning the mess…so much work to change the sheets, such a petty inconvenience for a reward of this magnitude. Unbothered, a trace of smugness in his voice, Jack only murmured about how exquisite it would feel to sink our naked bodies into the silk of fresh linen and the soft plume of lavender. We remade the bed together…my cheeks flushed, spine impossibly straight, satisfaction humming molten and low through my core while the television cast its indifferent, flickering light across the room.

When we settled again, warm and solid, inhaling the damp curls at the nape of my neck, he curved behind me, reverent as though my smaller form had always belonged precisely there. Time dilated…or dissolved entirely. My Inner Goddess did not sleep. She coiled, refulgent, luxuriating in the echo of her own power.

It took almost nothing.

A subtle roll of my hips was enough to feel him respond, darkly indulgent and eager. I exaggerated the movement then, slow and implacable, slipping my hand between my thighs so his cock could glide against my already slick folds. The contact alone tore a raw moan from me. One tilt of his hips and he pressed inside me, still spooning…but it was insufficient. Too shallow and restrained. Too polite.

Without breaking contact, he rose and flipped me smoothly onto my stomach, hands clamping with unwavering firmness at my waist. He did not wait. He drove into me from above, and my feminine regancy surged all at once…majestic, merciless, elemental…until I felt utterly unstoppable. Release tore through me again, my back arching, muscles trembling, as I lifted my buttocks to meet every slamming thrust, consuming everything he offered with the atavistic hunger of a queen claiming her dominion.

We shattered together, passion flaring like stars torn open across the heavens…glorious, blinding, all-consuming. When it ended, I smirked, chest heaving, breath a precious commodity in the wake of our storm. He had intended slowness, reverence, drawn-out savoring…but prelapsarian need recognizes no agenda. My Inner Goddess compelled his shattering a second time, and she crowed her triumph, proclaiming from the highest rooftops her ascendancy and hegemony, teasing him breathlessly that I would be the death of him yet.

He only laughed, nuzzling the nape of my neck, inhaling my perfume as if each breath were a surrender, pressing me back against his chest as though my form had been molded precisely for him.

Sleep came in halting fragments.

In the dark hours, restless and bright-eyed, I refused to glance at the clock, cursing my wakefulness in pouty, petulant anger. In aching desperation for sleep, I reached for my vibrator…often my salvation, my enticer of dreams. Settling into my pillow, thighs spread, I let forbidden fantasies drift unchecked until tension snapped, sparks flooding me, leaving me gasping, slick proof warm and insistent between my thighs.

Still…not enough.

Power thrummed. Power summoned.

So I reached for him again. My hand glided across his body with craven selfishness, cupping, stroking, rousing him from sleep as though it were my right, my prerogative. He responded instantly, heavy in my palm, rolling toward me with unquestioning submission as slumber surrendered entirely to the inevitability of my need.

I threw a leg over his hip, guiding him to my apex, drawing him through the dripping remnants of my own molten pleasure before impaling myself to the hilt with savage vengeance. A growl ripped from my throat, raw and triumphant, echoing in the quiet room as my eyes rolled back and stars flickered behind my lids. I knew I would not last. I did not want to.

I wanted ruin.

I turned…or he flipped me, seamless, desperate…and he followed without hesitation, rolling and tucking me beneath him. His arms became unyielding pillars, his body driving into mine as my face pressed into the pillows, my sounds unshaped, uncontained, a hymn to the feral gods, to the gilded primacy thrumming through my veins. Every nerve burned, every muscle sang, every shudder a declaration: I was sovereign, unstoppable, glorious in my own magnificent, unrepentant profusion.

I had summoned this. He answered without question, penetrating my need with exacting, relentless strength, and together we moved as a single, driving, unconquerable force. One hand anchored my spine, nearly cracking it; the palm of the other pinned my head, holding me with adamantine pressure, and something dark, sacred, untamed sparked between us. I was being taken not by accident, not by mercy, but because I had commanded it…my will undeniable, my body sovereign.

When it ended…devastating, shuddering, exquisite…my throat was raw, the sheets a riot and damp with proof of my immoderation…and I felt more virile, more radiant, more untouchable than ever before.

The clock was a cruel mistress, my alarm an unmerciful taskmaster, and there was no time for hearts to settle or tune to one another. Despite my rather vocal grumbling, I glowed with queenly satisfaction, nearly pirouetting through my morning rituals.

Dressing afterward, heels clicking against the floor, magnetism still hummed low and steady in my core. Three times in a handful of hours, I had taken a man near god and brought him, in every sense, to his knees…and yet he had met each of my demands with an obelisk of wrought iron. I grinned, lips parting, tongue brushing over them…crowned, commanding, uncontained, sententiously savoring the victory I had carved.

Driving away in the dark, the last star still burning overhead, I ground into the seat, the ache consuming me nearly to distraction…a delicious echoing reminder of my body grinding over Jack’s angular hips. Later, at my desk, need slithered and susurrated, and I locked my legs, muscles taut, resisting the sibilant hiss of my Inner Goddess. Still, a provocative curve played across my lips…queenly, exhilarated, entirely satisfied. I luxuriated in the thought, curious and gleeful, wondering what the year ahead might hold if my Inner Goddess and I remained so exquisitely aligned.

Until next time, XO. Elsie