January 2025 – Audio Version

“Walk, don’t run,” I whispered, my words dissolving into the crisp afternoon air as my heels tapped their restless rhythm against the cracked pavement. Ahead, a weathered 1920s farmhouse rose from the heart of the city, its darkened windows somber and watchful, like the weary, knowing eyes of an old sentinel. The house, steeped in quiet mystery, drew me in as my mind danced with questions of her past—who had built her, who had loved within her walls? What secrets did her bones keep?

A sharp inhale.

“Focus,” my Inner Goddess hissed, her voice dripping with the usual impatience. Curiosity could wait. There were far more compelling matters that demanded my attention. Was this quickening in my chest the thrill of anticipation? Or was it the flutter of nerves that so often tangled my thoughts when stepping into moments where the ordinary slipped away into something altogether…euphoric?

I smoothed an imaginary crease from my skirt with a gloved hand, a delicate, futile gesture to tame the reckless delight thrumming beneath my skin.

He stood waiting.

The Demigod.

He stood just inside the door, clad in a black button-down and complimentary dark dress slacks, his impressive frame still commanding but wearied, faint shadows hovering beneath his eyes. My brow knit as worry crept through my chest. Had he been eating enough? I knew sleep was an indulgence that was often denied to him. Yet something else lingered behind his gaze, a mystery hovering just beyond the veil. Perhaps, afterward of course, the Demigod would unburden his heart to me. Additionally, Bradley, the bestest of beasts with his soulful chocolate eyes, was achingly absent, far away in his new home. For now, it was only us—or so I presumed.

The door closed with a soft sigh.

Then came his kiss.

Confident.
Ardent.
Fierce in its unspoken longing.

When he drew back, a ghost of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, tempting but restrained. His eyes, dark and knowing, held mine as, without a word, he led me deeper into the dim interior, where shadows caressed crown moldings and the muted, somber light of winter pirouetted through the fractured hues of a stained glass window.

“The upstairs space is rented now,” he murmured, voice low, deliberate. A spark flickered behind his gaze.

“It’s an open office space. We’ll have to be quiet.”

A thrill, sharp and exquisite, raced down my spine. Of course! That explained the restraint, the carefully measured silence of his greeting, the fabric still stretched taut over his customarily nude body.

My Inner Goddess arched a brow, a scandalous gleam in her eye, her lips curving as she savored the challenge and temptation laid before us. I could be silent in our affair.

She rolled her eyes at my bold deception. In what world had my surrender ever been restrained? In what realm could my release be anything but a chaotic symphony of untamed fervor?

I tried—truly tried—to concentrate on his explanation, some remaining phrases, and, I’m sure, some great consequence. But my mind could not anchor itself to mere speech, not when his fingers were absentmindedly working buttons loose, his shirt slipping free, revealing the cut, sculpted god beneath.

Begging his patience, I stepped away for but a moment, retreating to the adjacent washroom—a brief disappearance that granted me my own task in privacy. Fleece-lined stockings—practical, elegant, and now utterly inconvenient—clung to me with maddening persistence. I wrestled them down with all the grace of a fish stranded on dry land, a struggle I would never admit aloud, much less in front of an Olympian.

When I emerged victorious and bare-legged with my ample leather skirt whispering about my calves, I found him reclined upon the bed. His body was an invitation carved in strength and sinew. His clothing abandoned, the lean planes of his body now free from restraint, he waited. His posture was casual, hands behind his head, but the intensity in his erection told a different story—one of hunger barely restrained. 

There was a sharp contrast between the softness of the unfamiliar bed beneath him and the raw, unyielding perfection of his form—a marble sculpture come to life, muscles carved with divine precision, a masterpiece of indomitability and sensuality. The calm rise and fall of his chest—steady, measured—was a rhythm I ached to disrupt, to drive into a tempest until he lay breathless and undone against me. My Inner Goddess bit her lip in carnal anticipation, resolved to watch him shatter—his composure crumbling beneath the slow seduction of my ministrations.

I stood there, my Inner Goddess all but drooling over the sight of him. I had stepped into the room, still glad in my retro elegance of a corduroy bodice, its form-fitted lines flowing seamlessly into the supple leather of my full skirt that swished merrily. He watched me with that knowing sharpness, his eyes brimming with promise. His hushed, rich voice slipped into the air between us.

“I have a proposition,” he murmured. “I always give. But this year…” He paused, a faint smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “… I am working on learning to receive.”

Receiving.

The word danced through my mind while my Inner Goddess practically swooned. My heart swelled—I loved being in this place, in this mindset where my cup was full, where the notion of being the giver didn’t drain me, where I wasn’t peering into the bottom of an empty barrel, trying to find where “more” could come from. No, I was so far from those days. And now, I had the chance to worship, to adore this living Adonis… It was more than my Inner Goddess could bear.

Feeling impish, I resolved to play the part of Temptation herself. I would keep my dress on. My virtue well-covered—for now. There would be time enough to relinquish it when I was ready.

I crawled toward him on the bed, my voluminous leather skirt rustling salaciously with every measured advance. The cool caress of the fabric skimmed his skin, teasing, as I draped myself over the formidable breadth of one leg. On his abdomen, his glory stirred, a subtle, eager twitch.

My hands, soft and knowing, explored everywhere but there. I pressed my lips to him—a kiss here, a taste there—following the sculpted path of muscle and heated flesh. His hands, masterfully idle, rested beneath his head, giving me the gift of his surrender. Sapphire waves tumbled about my face, teasing the salt-and-pepper curls on his torso, each touch a whisper, a prelude to pleasure.

My Inner Goddess yearned to take him fully, to claim the glistening masculinity that begged for my mouth. But I maintained the upper hand, and I reveled in my unexpected power. I would savor every moment for as long as it lasted. 

My lips found his neck, the pulse of his lifeblood beneath my kiss quickening. I smiled—so it began. I traced my way to his mouth, capturing him in a kiss both demanding and fleeting. I broke it before he could deepen it before his oak-strong arms could pull me flush against his broad chest.

As much as I longed to be enfolded, wrapped in his unrelenting vigor, I had barely begun giving.

I moved down his body, adoring the sharp, sculpted lines of his torso, my lips memorizing each chiseled curve and contour. His glory rested on his abdomen, stretching toward his navel, truly impressive in its magnificence. My hand, almost reverent, wrapped around his length, while my other palm cupped his heavy jewels, a gentle, possessive gesture.

I glanced up at him before lowering my gaze to his most intimate parts, the smoothness of his skin drawing me in, much like a forbidden fruit, tempting and sweet, beckoning to be savored. To be devoured. Slowly, I worked his length with purpose, my tongue sliding long, deliberate strokes, my mouth watering in anticipation.

I was denying my Inner Goddess with every second, just as much as the straining glory my hands were wrapped around while my tongue sampled and savored. I could feel the tension in him, the painful ache building beneath my touch, but I reveled in my reign. Pampering, slow licks followed, with a wide swirl of his mushroomed crown, each stroke of my tongue savoring the taste, the excess.

My throat expanded as I, at last, took him into its depth, the movement purposeful, consuming. The muscles of my windpipe flexed, narrowed, and broadened with each measured motion of my bobbing head. I could feel the brawn of him as I worked his sinful glory—each tightening, each shift beneath my hands and mouth, building into a thrilling, intoxicating cadence. It was a reminder of the power I held and the power he surrendered.

A vixenish thought flickered through my Inner Goddess. How long had it been for the Demigod? I wondered if I could take him to the very edge of his control, and tip him over it. Feeling roguish, I wrapped both hands around the darkening glory, my tongue tracing its flaring crown, and began a rhythmic, intensified stroking.

The Demigod groaned, his legs tense on either side of me, his body betraying his restraint. I added more of my moist tongue, flicking, teasing, relishing his length as my hands worked with practiced fierceness.

A rough hand slid down the front of my décolletage, cupping a breast through the noir lace of my bralette. I wasn’t surprised. It was near impossible to maintain any semblance of modesty as I knelt between his thighs—after all, the Demigod had quite the view down my exposed bodice. His fingers flexed, drawing the neckline of my dress lower, below the slope of my bosom. Despite my initial misgivings about the less-than-exquisite garment—an older version I had neglected to replace in my haste out the door—it seemed to please him. His lust didn’t end there. Unsatisfied, he thrust his fingers between my porcelain skin and the delicate lace, his rough, calloused hands grazing my acute nipple. The sensation made me moan involuntarily, and I could feel the dampness stirring between my thighs.

What he didn’t know was that my delicate silk undergarments had been slyly discarded, along with my hosiery. I remained bare beneath, cloaked in my own quiet defiance, hidden from view yet firmly present in my rebellion. But I wasn’t done yet. There was still time, still a delicious edge to toy with.

Determined, I let my lips slip over the bulging crown of his glory with a satisfying pop. I could feel him thickening beneath my touch, and I worked faster, my fingers tightening as I urged him closer to the cusp. Perhaps, just perhaps, I would be victorious—claiming his release before I had even a single moment of bliss myself.

My Inner Goddess, perhaps too eager, began her celebratory dance a bit prematurely. She swirled in excitement, her glee bubbling over, certain that I had already claimed my victory as his breath came in short, labored breaths. Her triumphant laughter filled my mind, but I held my focus, unwilling to let the moment slip too soon, pouring my focus and sorcery into his magnificent glory.

His hand released my bosom, but it didn’t stray far. With a swift movement, he gripped under my arms and yanked me forward, pulling me into him. I sighed. I had lost that battle, but there was still a war to win. The voluminous fabric of my skirt rustled suggestively over his legs as I adjusted the flowing leather, teasing him with its soft caress. My inner thighs brushed over his waist, the smoothness of my skin dragging lightly across his, offering a whisper of the sensual delights that awaited him.

Drunk on my newfound power, I followed my instinct and straddled his hips, so broad were they that my knees barely grazed the plush comforter beneath us. My skirt pooled around him, hiding his nakedness as I lowered myself, my bare skin meeting his in an opulent, electrifying press. I groaned, lost in the combined warmth of our bodies, careful to avoid the dangerous tip, yet still losing myself momentarily in the pleasure of it all. 

I rocked gently, my hips grinding against his abdomen, staying far from the apex yet feeling the undeniable tension between us. I reveled in the heavy weight of his jewels pressing against my bare cheeks. My vantage above him underscored the authority I wielded in that fleeting moment—and the Demigod waiting for my next move.

Done with my doddling, and having endured a full fifteen or so minutes without mastery, the Demigod let out a predatory growl, the sound vibrating with a sense of impending doom. In a single fluid motion, he sat up and flipped me over, tongue devouring me without a second thought. I struggled to suppress a squeal of surprised pleasure, my rebellious body arching on the covers as his mouth claimed my intimate pearl. Above us, the creak of office chairs across the ancient hardwood floors reminded me of my sworn silence.

I chided him softly for his impatience, reminding him that he was supposed to be receiving. Lifting his head from my thighs, with a rueful chuckle, he pointed out that he’d lasted longer than usual.

I gave an amused smile, adjusting my skirt out of the way as my fingers curled into the fabric of the bedding, savoring the abrupt shift of power. Perhaps, later, there would be a moment to wrest the reins of authority from this impetuous Demigod. But for now, I reveled in the delicious unpredictability of his actions—wondering just how far he would push me before I could take back what was promised to me.

Gods of Olympus. It was unfair! His mouth worked furiously, his tongue orchestrating a maelstrom of sensation, igniting every nerve ending in its path. There were no constraints, no restrictions to his ministrations—he gave himself entirely to my destruction.

My hands pressed against my mouth, struggling to stifle the screams of climax that trembled on the edge of release, my pleasure escalating beyond any semblance of restraint. He hadn’t even granted me the courtesy of starting slow; instead, he dove in, desperate and unrelenting.

His arms wrapped around my thighs, his hands gripping his opposite wrist in a fireman’s hold, the locked loop resting on my abdomen, anchoring me in place like the lap bar of an amusement ride. There was no escape for my writhing body. His every movement was a force of nature, propelling me toward the inevitable, his relentless pursuit to make me scream. I couldn’t! I refused to ruin his reputation or, worse, alert the office workers upstairs, who might mistake my cries for distress and rush to my aid. The only danger here was that I might bite through my hand in a desperate attempt to suppress the screams of pure bliss bubbling up from within.

Breaking suddenly from his feast, the Demigod growled, “You know, I think you’re wearing entirely too many clothes.”

I blinked, dazed and still trembling from his actions, my breath coming in desperate, unladylike gasps. What?? Oh…yeah.

Sitting up, I made a half-hearted attempt to pull the fabric over my head, but with my ample bosom, there was no way it would come off without an unceremonious disrobing. I curled forward, mumbling about the zipper.

Kneeling in front of me, his deft fingers working the contraption, he began to speak, but my Inner Goddess was already entranced by the monolith bobbing before me. With a low moan, I surrendered to the distraction, my dress slipping down my shoulders as my lips milked his imposing glory. 

Pushing me backward, the Demigod gathered the layers of fabric, drawing them down my legs before he tossed them aside carelessly. The sight of it sent a jolt of heat through me, an unexpected surge of frenzy building as my gown disappeared over the side of the queenly bed.

Slowing the tempo, he lavished soft, fluttering licks over my pearl while his broad fingers slipped within, tracing over my responsive inner jewel. Violent shivers shot through me as my body responded instinctively to his touch, yearning to obey the commanding intoxication of his fingers.

Through clenched, gritted teeth, I murmured, “You know what that will make me do.”

A rakish smile tugged at his lips. “That’s why I have a towel, you’re just not on it yet.”

I cocked my head at my Inner Goddess, both of us keenly aware that our propensity for ruining even the most waterproof towels was nearly inevitable. Hmm, for our next rendezvous, we’d best make sure to pack our own. 

With a firm grip, he slid one hand under a buttock, lifting my hips, while the other tugged the fluffy cotton between us and the comforter. I shook my head, knowing there was no way it could withstand the pressure waiting within me. Perhaps I could hold it back, damming the inevitable and denying him the satisfaction, if only for a moment.

“Or,” my Inner Goddess whispered mischievously, “He’ll have to sleep with the reminder of our presence—and the folly of his fingers.”

I smirked, loving the idea but also knowing that for the sake of the rental, I’d withhold as much as possible. Besides, he already had trouble sleeping. There was no need to make it worse.

Yeah…it was worse than I intended. I couldn’t help but soak through, the evidence of my release soaking the pristine comforter beneath me. My throat burned, raw, and bruised from the screams I had been forced to stifle, each one clawing at my insides, begging to rise to the lazy clouds above. My cheeks flushed, a warm blush creeping over me, but the Demigod remained unfazed. He was an expert in reading my body, and his relentless tenacity refused to allow me to leave only partially sated.

Riding his majestic girth was a torture unto itself. The deepest of penetrations. My silent wails stoked the wicked grin on his handsome face as his hips arched to meet mine, aware of the annihilating effect it had on me. Every thrust, slow and ruinous, left me gasping as the inferno between us raged. I could feel the tension of the world unraveling as the moment stretched into the unknown of climactic bliss. 

I was lost in the wild intensity of it all, our bodies entwined, my form consumed by an overwhelming need. He gripped me, one hand tightening around my throat, the other seizing my arm, guiding me deeper, forcing me beyond any thought of stopping. The weight of the world, all its stress and frustration, melted away in his divine authority.

My mind spun as waves of orgasms crashed over me, the pressure falling and building all over again until it felt as though I might shatter. He knew exactly what he was doing, and my nectar gushed down his Adonis Belt. I began to apologize, but if he was unconcerned with the mess, who was I to worry? It felt as though he was pushing me to the very edge of myself, testing every limit I had.

In an unguarded moment, as the burst of fireworks faded, a particularly forceful thrust wrenched through me. I gasped, certain his colossal glory had momentarily protruded through my abdomen. My body whimpered in pain, but my Inner Goddess? She practically screamed, “Again! Do it again!” as she quivered visibly with unbearable craving. The room blurred as I sank deeper into the moment, savoring every second.

My body swore the Demigod would pay for that. With a swift move, I gripped his wrists, binding them above his head, asserting my control in mock restraint. It was a laughable situation. The Demigod had over seven stones on me, not to mention his imposing height. Yet, his chuckle only bolstered my resolve, and I set my hips into a blinding syncopation of subjugation. My body was vindictive as I made him feel my regency against his imperial stature. 

But, as always, he could not let it be. With a swift roll, we were tangled together, and suddenly, it was he who was master again. He straddled my rib cage, dripping warm oil over my breasts, his touch languid and filled with sensual finesse. Setting the bottle aside, his hands cupped the rounded mounds of my flesh, each squeeze a reminder of his delight in them, his glory nestled in the valley betwixt. His hips began to piston faster and faster. My tongue caught his tip, flicking his slit with every forward thrust. His growls filled the otherwise quiet room, and for a moment, I thought he might be mine entirely. But ordering me to cradle my bosom, one hand snaked around the crest of his hip, his oiled fingers slipping between my folds, igniting a ferocious tug-of-war. My lips wrapped around him, my face moving in time with his loins. Each of us attempting to make the other crumble, pushing, pulling, as our bodies undulated in an endless battle for supremacy and pleasure.

His celestial body pressed firmly against mine, his presence a force of nature as he moved heaven and earth to make me scream. The room ignited with heat, or perhaps it was just me, feeling every inch of him. Darn these Southerners and their heaters, cranked up on a perfect 45° day. The sweat of our shared exertion dampened the curls on my forehead, sticking to my skin as we moved in perfect synchronization, the air alive with our shared passion.

Shortly—or perhaps hours later—I found myself dragged to the edge of the bed, his Olympian form looming over me. 

“Do you know what’s great about this new bed?” he growled, his voice thick with intent. “It’s just the right height for this.” 

Then came the blinding blitz of pain and joy as he ripped into my wanton sanctuary. His hands gripped my ankles, lifting my legs high in the air, spread wide in a perfect V. My body trembled, fighting to contain everything inside me, my suppressed screams threatening to escape and expose us. I couldn’t even gasp for breath. 

Above, the office chairs shifted, oblivious and blissfully unaware of how perilously close I was to betraying my presence.

“It should be your turn,” I barely managed to rasp, caught in the unfathomable tirade. But he silenced me with an infernal grin.

“In just a moment.” Gods, despite his Herculean efforts, his breath remained barely altered. Meanwhile, I was reduced to a mewling puddle, my senses dissolving, vision swimming, and my pulse racing, spiraling out of my grasp.

“Right now,” he purred, “I’d rather feel your shaking legs against my chest.” 

With that, he lowered his entire torso onto me, pressing the backs of my thighs against his chest. His salt-and-pepper curls brushed against my calves as he bent me like a pretzel, adjusting until he found the perfect angle. The surge of ecstasy at the ever-deepening bombardment made my eyes roll back. And as his tip reached the unreachable, I could feel the blue vein in my forehead throb with the effort to concentrate, fighting to maintain my quiet decorum. It was nearly a losing battle, only my respect for the Demigod cementing my lips. 

Flipped me onto all fours, my weight pressing heavily on my knees and elbows, I could scarcely grasp the madness of it all. The muffled sounds from the office above, paired with my forced silence, tugged me deeper within, drawing my focus entirely onto my body and the pulse of my Inner Goddess. Every sensation was magnified a thousandfold, each ripple of feeling infused with a forbidden energy that only heightened my climax, making my resolve to remain silent even more impossible. I could feel it all—the delicate tremor of every nerve, the strain of my muscles, and the teasing brush of his breath against my neck, each sensation laced with an exquisite, almost unbearable rapture as my Inner Goddess ascended into the heavens.

With each searing thrust, we dared not shake the bed nor let it squeak—yet each assaulting charge was piercing, severe, and transfixing. How was one meant to remain mute in such unholy moments? 

I rose, my palms sinking into the plush mattress, my torso arching upward, my hourglass waist gracefully curving as I moved. The weight of my body shifted, and I surrendered to the slow, pulsating rhythm of our bodies colliding silently with a rushing force that seemed to echo in the very air. With each sinful thrust, I could feel the soft jiggle and sway of my derriere, the responsive movement from him so tangible it nearly stole my breath. A flush of embarrassment colored my cheeks at the lack of firmness, but my Inner Goddess, ever unruly, reveled in the delicious gratification of it all. There was an undeniable magic in knowing that, even with the betrayals of my body, I might still be performing a show worthy of the Demigod’s lustful gaze.

A raspy voice sliced through my musings. “OK, your turn.” 

I could feel my Inner Goddess’ triumphant grin unfurling, her confidence radiating as her wings fluttered. It was time to weave her enchantment, to put her tools to the test. As the protective barrier was whisked away, I knelt between his long legs, my initial touch reverent, fingertips brushing over his swollen form. His jewels were already drawn tight, a telltale sign of his mounting need—God, he was teetering on the brink. A surge of delight coursed through me, realizing how close he had been to succumbing to our turbulent union.   

My tongue swirled around the throbbing head, savoring its unexpected sweetness, mingling with the protection’s lingering bitterness. My hands gripped the unyielding glory, my hold steady at first, but soon I increased the pace, both hands wrapped around him, my adoration a pistoning sequence of devotion, pouring my very soul into the gliding progression.

Occasionally, droplets of saliva slipped from my ruby lips, a natural lubricant for my rapid dedication. Before long, his body tensed, rigid as railroad tracks, every muscle and nerve drawn to a sharp, aching attention. His taut glory thickened, swollen with strain, until the glistening convex crown projected its release in creamy bursts that ran in hot rivulets over my worshipful fingers. Cautiously, I remained in tune with his body. Gradually, I slowed my ministrations, matching the oscillation of his labored breath, until he lay utterly spent, exhausted upon the damp covers. The satisfaction I felt was palpable, my Inner Goddess victorious.

“You’re right,” he whispered, his chest still rising and falling with heavy breaths, “it’s hard to be quiet.” I chuckled softly, my eyes wide in silent agreement, though I refrained from pointing out that I had endured much longer than he.

My Inner Goddess soared, intoxicated by the thrill of reconnecting with the Demigod. Even after all these years, every moment with him felt like a tantalizing adventure—each encounter a new experience, pushing my limits yet revitalizing me in ways I had never imagined. My heart was truly tickled. 

The rest of our time unfolded in casual caresses and soft conversations, touching on family matters and the state of the world in the quiet peace of the darkening bedroom.

Though fully dressed, I still endeavored to tempt the immortal. I positioned my body with deliberate poise, each movement calculated. As he dressed, his watchful gaze lingered, almost salacious, following my every shift. I balanced my petite ankle boot on the wooden footboard, tying the laces with a slow, teasing grace. As I allowed the yards of material in my skirt to fall away, the scandalous length of my thigh was revealed bound in its risque stocking, my face a mask of innocent oblivion as I knotted each lace with care.

There was a delicious thrill in knowing that our affair had gone unnoticed, the upstairs workers blissfully unaware of the liaison unfolding below their very feet. I felt absurdly empowered, as though I had become the very incarnation of Aphrodite herself, each movement a studied indulgence in the supple ease of my own feminine allure. A sigh escaped me, and I shook my head with a wry smile. My Inner Goddess had clearly bewitched my thoughts.

With my cherry red coat snugly fastened by the ebony buttons at my waist and a dignified assurance in the click of my heels, I made my way to my waiting conveyance. His last passionate embrace left a lingering trace on my bruised lips, a reminder that the Demigod had not forgotten me—and that one day, he would return. 

Until next time, XO. Elsie