November 2025

My right arm quavered beneath me, sinew afire, as pleasure cleaved through my frame, bright and terrible as an anthem turned inside out. The Warrior’s mouth devoured with absolute abandon, and I pressed my apex to his lips with the desperation of a soul seeking absolution through sin. My left hand encircled the base of his granite shaft, knuckles whitening as I sought his unmaking and an anchor against the tide that seized me. My throat bulged with his eminence, lips drawn tight so that my gasp, half hymn, half blasphemy, shattered soundlessly while every nerve came alive in riotous exaltation.

He held me fast, his palms vast and fingers splayed across my buttocks, as though he might brand his name into my skin. His ministrations, heat, breath, devotion, were a profane benediction. Beneath me, his tongue delved deeper, and the shudder it conjured seemed to rise not from my skin but from the marrow itself.

The faint curls of his chest brushed my abdomen, ghosting in feathered torment that splintered my resolve. I longed to touch him, to let my palms map his breadth, to sink into the warmth of his reverence, yet, my Inner Goddess was resolved to drive him to cataclysm first. As the moments stretched, my arms rippled with the effort of keeping myself aloft, every muscle taut between surrender and collapse.

The music from the gramophone pulsed faintly in the background, its rhythm urging the pace of my movement. I strove to maintain that seductive tempo, breath ragged, strength fraying at the edges. He was giving as fiercely as I, his mouth unrelenting, and I fought the urge to press back, to grind my hips, to smother him beneath the storm of my need. My body shook, suspended in that perilous borderland where ardor meets mercy, each breath a capitulation, each heartbeat a battle not to fall.

Gods moments earlier, we had been nothing but companions upon the couch, conversing in the harmless cadence of the everyday. He had been speaking of travel, of campaigns and small mundanities, his voice rich, unassuming, while the shadows pooled about us like conspirators. Then came that single, ruinous touch.

His fingers drifted over the fresh ink upon my thigh, reverent as though the design itself were a charm to be deciphered. The pad of his thumb traced outward, unhurried, until it grazed the tender curve that secrecy had long concealed. My breath faltered; his eyes darkened. Some primal recognition passed between us, warrior and witch, each aware, without a word, the sacred trespass had revealed precisely what the other desired.

I tilted my hip in answer, granting silent permission. The cream of my gown shifted higher with the motion, betraying the truth I had worn so wickedly: that beneath its prim folds, there was nothing: no lace, no silk, only a glistening invitation.

He exhaled a low growl, a sound that seemed to vibrate from his ribs to mine. His gaze drank the revelation like a man returned from famine. I had, earlier, debated adornment, thumbing through my abundant naughty options…but there was something unspeakably thrilling about choosing vulnerability over lace. To see that momentary flash in his eyes, the surprise, the hunger, the falter, was its own intoxication.

His hand ventured lower, tracing the muted arc of my inner thigh until he reached the molten pearl that waited for him there. His touch was unflinching, disciplined even in desecration. He pressed closer; our lips met, breath mingling, ripe with the taste of perilous possibilities. For one delirious instant, I almost laughed. This was madness! Here I was, panting and flushed in my own home, pressed to the chest of a soldier who wielded gentleness like a weapon. 

His fingers delved deeper, as if he sought the very seat of my reason itself. Perhaps it was that absurdity which thrilled me most, that beneath all the civility of our laughter, beneath the polished ease of conversation, we were creatures fashioned for ruin. And in that fragile heartbeat between discipline and abandon, he ceased to be merely my guest. He became the orchestrator of my undoing.

A low, whimpering moan escaped me as his fingers withdrew from my apex, and his lips descended in a judicious, worshipful trail down the hollow of my throat. My head fell back, spine arching, as his palms found the fullness of my breasts. His hands glided over the gentle planes of my abdomen, igniting every nerve with reverent intent, and I reveled in the transcendent dominion of his touch.

The fabric of my gown had gathered high about my neck; the autumn air kissed my bare skin, coaxing a shiver that curled my toes and quickened my pulse. His lips abandoned my throat to claim my breast with sinuous insistence. His mouth traced languid circles until the peak tightened beneath his breath. I arched, aching, wordless, torn between the desperate longing for his return to my craven pearl and the selfish craving for his lingering, worshipful delirium.

My fingers wandered over the midnight fabric of his shirt, feeling the quiet architecture of strength beneath, the gentle power folded into his frame. With leonine grace, he pressed a kiss to my sternum, then beneath the swell of my left breast, trailing down the expanse of my abdomen, over the curve of my hip, until his body descended ever lower. I bit my lip in simmering anticipation and slid backward on the couch, granting him room with eager complicity. 

With a tenderness that burned hotter than any fervor, he nestled between my thighs, his tongue a delicate, daring pilgrim. I yielded, eyes closing, as he began his slow, sacred exploration of every hidden and holy curve. Each pass over my hooded pearl, each languid flick and drift lower, drew my hips forward, pleading for him to savor me entirely: every tremor, every gasp, every shadowed concession. My legs parted another inch, need curling through me like a burning flame. I was a vessel, a cathedral, and he its unrelenting priest.

When his fingers joined the ritual, precise and mercilessly sure, I buried my face in the pillow, a strangled cry torn from somewhere deep and ancient. I palpitated at the precipice of ecstasy, clutching the fabric as though it could tether me to earth. His mouth claimed my sacredness with ferocious grace, tongue and fingers driving in barbarous rhythm, until the walls around me dissolved, and I was nothing but quivering, unrestrained surrender.

At last, he lifted his head, one hand glistening and streaked, and a flush crept across my cheeks at the undeniable proof of my fractured body. Every ounce of self I had summoned to restrain myself had been tested, the walls of my floodgates splintering, threatening to undo me again and again. His lips curved with that slow, knowing smile, as if he could read what my lips could not confess. The blanket beneath my bare skin had offered no shield against the torrent I had struggled to contain, not for want of his skill, but, most crucially, for fear of ruining my couch.

With swift, practiced grace, he guided me to my bedroom, our footsteps muffled by the thick hemp runner. Garments fell in a chaotic cascade, and my Inner Goddess mirrored every flicker of my mounting impatience. My fingers itched to draw him closer, to meld warmth with warmth, weight with weight, to feel him press fully against me in a communion that left nothing withheld.

My Inner Goddess prowled, feral in her need, teeth and claws of longing barely restrained, nearly dragging him atop me even as he paused to take measured precautions. I wrapped my legs about him; the faintest brush of his crown at my gates ignited sparks that danced along every nerve, threatening to consume me utterly. In this torrid suspension, a measured, ineffable patience lingered in his movements, the swipe of his crown along my outer folds, the press inward, the stilted breath at my tightness, unraveling every thread of restraint I had clung to as if it were the very last tether to reason.

My body arched toward him, a willing, quaking vessel. In that suspended heartbeat, the world shrank to the friction of our flesh, the heady scent of haze and sweat, the inexorable certainty of him threading through me. Hilted at last, he lingered, granting a fleeting reprieve, and in that suspended stillness, I ached all the more, craving the raw, magnetic assault, drawing in a full, shuddering breath, uncertain when I would be granted the luxury of air again.

And then we collided, bodies meeting in a feral cadence, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the hush of the room like a private drum. Heat pooled between us, thick and unrelenting, the imposing bulk of him within me setting every nerve alight. My breath broke into ragged gasps, each one a stolen fragment of control. Every motion was a declaration, a push and pull of possession and relinquishment, of need and untamed ferocity.

Without a word, without even a whisper of guidance, we shifted as one, instinctively rotating, aligning in a rhythm older than thought. I settled atop him, scarcely pausing to drink in the formidable expanse beneath me, nails curling into fists against the steady rise and fall of his chest. My hips moved before thought could catch up, reckless and pistoning, driving, grinding, chasing the lightning that erupted with every friction. The chaos of my body sent sparks cascading through my nerves, and in the immediacy of being astride him, my senses contracted to a singular truth: him within me, taut and iron-willed, a living current coursing through every fiber of my being.

In a heartbeat of suspended recklessness, I stilled above him, panting, glistening in the wake of my own triumph. His low encouragement, curious yet commanding, urged me to shift, to turn. A fleeting protest rose in my throat, caught somewhere between modesty and want. Ever self-conscious in such a position, I yielded to my whim of Inner Goddess, who guided my limbs with searing authority until I reversed and perched on all fours above him, lips and tongue poised to a hairsbreadth from his yearning length.

So there I was, my arms trembling, splintering under the strain of my weight, muscles fraying at the edges as I strove to give as fiercely as I received, resisting the unholy urge to thrust into his face, hips betraying me with the pleasure he so ruthlessly conjured. He lay beneath me, body rigid, willing me to abandon myself to the vicious affliction of his tongue, lapping, flicking, tracing, experimenting each movement designed to unravel me completely, to make me teeter on the edge of all control and plunge willingly into the forbidden chaos he conjured.

I parted my lips, wet and pliant, and engulfed him, letting the tip press deep, teasing the back of my throat. My tongue twisted and traced along his glossy curve with succubus-like wickedness, tasting, coaxing, drawing out every bead of sweetness. I reared back, a sharp pop as he left my mouth, only to claim him again, dragging my tongue along his glassy shaft as my Inner Goddess moaned, heedless of the shuddering coil of my apex. The slick heat clung and bubbled, a sticky, sumptuous torment that made each lick a quiet transgression, each pause a decadent indulgence. Every second stretched taut with want, every motion a fevered ballet of lips, sheathed teeth, and flickering tongue.

The Warrior flexed beneath me, a low groan rumbling through his chest as his length darkened and stiffened, every muscle taut with the same electric rhythm that ignited my own body. My fingers gripped his base, lips seeking, needing, drawing him closer as if my mere touch could summon the coiled force within. Nevertheless, I writhed and shivered, a delicious frenzy of surrender and command, and he met me blow for blow, refusing to be bested.

And when my limbs could carry me no longer, when every nerve convulsed and every muscle quaked, our bodies, hot, slick with the residue of our fever, collapsed together, a tangled heap of shared lambent heat and spent desire. We lay chests heaving, the air thick with our mingled scent, caught in the indelible residue of indulgence. My Inner Goddess shimmered with the unspoken thrill of what we had wrought, yet even in that exhilaration, a tender serenity settled over us.

Fingers trailed through the curling hair of his chest, tracing the sculpted planes beneath my touch, one leg draped over his thigh. In that languid embrace, we simply existed, bound by warmth and proximity. Words came slowly, breathy and soft, threaded with laughter, the quiet communion of lives intersecting, the intimate exchange of small triumphs, whispered confessions, and trivial frustrations. Though our bodies remained flushed and glistening, neither of us shifted, neither dared disturb the spell of closeness. Around us, the room cooled, and our pulses settled into a quiet, shared rhythm, attuned only to the moment we inhabited together.

Just when I believed the moment had spent its fire, he rose onto an elbow, sliding down the bed with exacting intent. At first, I imagined he might simply refresh himself, a quiet closure to our fevered interlude. Yet the instant he reached the foot of the bed, his hands found my knees, parting my legs, head lowering with devilish precision, and that fleeting reprieve vanished, replaced by a delicious quiver of apprehension. A part of me longed to protest, to suggest I should freshen, or that he need not resume, but before a word could form, his tongue claimed me once more.

One irresistible lick, and every nerve ignited anew. My fingers clawed into the damp sheets, knees arching toward the ceiling, toes curling as I dissolved utterly to the Warrior’s will. Time dissolved; the world contracted to the taut, glistening tension of our bodies, the rise and fall of breath, the meticulous worship of tongue and teeth exploring every curve, every ripple of my flesh. His fingers probed the edges of my gates with patient insistence, noting the subtle difference in my body, not from any fault or lack of skill, but from the brief dehydration of my own flesh. He coaxed, attuned to each shiver, each involuntary sigh, before returning to the sacred, methodical adoration of his mouth.

The sensation was a symphony of restraint and release: every lick, every press of his skilled tongue sending tremors through me; every brief hesitation stoking the fire higher. And then came the lingering respite, the hush of afterglow, broken only by the crisp tear of foil. My Inner Goddess clapped in gleeful anticipation, and the Warrior returned with renewed vigor, his cock bulbous and unyielding, prowling over my body with formidable mastery. I wrapped my arms about him, ready, needy for the first cataclysmic thrust, but he lingered, arching his hips, grazing my folds, wetting himself upon my glistening nectar, coaxed from desire and calculation alike.

When his crown met my inner jewel with methodical precision, my moans transcended mere sweetness; they were guttural, primal, a growling roar of surrender and demand. My eyes rolled back as every sliver of my body synchronized with the rise and fall of his thrusts. Each advance, each subtle retreat, became a fernsunder duel: he pressed forward, I clenched around him; he yielded, I seized anew, a slow, torrid succession of giving and taking.

The room throbbed with the heat of our collision, every inch of me alive with friction, every nerve alight with sparks that chased one another down my spine. My body arched and bucked, pressing, clamping, chasing the next wave of velvet rapture and brimstone throes, the swell beneath me rising with each deliberate strike. And when the crescendo finally crashed over us, it was not distant or ethereal, it tore through us, leaving muscles trembling, breaths ragged, skin glistening, and our bodies locked together in the raw, fevered aftermath of an assault as beautiful as it was consuming.

It felt exquisite simply to be, to drift in the warmth and languid lightness of the aftermath, letting it wash over me as the stars blinked like conspirators above. Had I been alone, I might have wept at the uncontainable pleasure, yet here, with him, I treasured it as a precious secret, each shiver and sigh a gem I could savor in solitude and shared memory alike. When he finally rose to go, I felt buoyant, effervescent, like the finest champagne spilling over the edges of restraint, my Inner Goddess tickled, my heart racing with giddy gratitude for the rare, attuned mastery of a lover who knew every inch of my dislease.

And as the door closed with a soft, final click, a fervescence lingered, thick as velvet in the air, merely the opening act, the first teasing note in a weekend steeped in salacious indulgence. Each moment yet to come promised to draw me deeper into the intoxicating spell of simply being alive, a private, pulsing dance of desire that had only just begun. I nestled back into the embrace of fresh sheets, a sacrilegious shiver curling along my spine, knowing with rarefied certainty that the symphony of my mania was far from its final, breathless crescendo…

Until next time, XO, Elsie