May 2025

For the third enchanted year, I surrendered myself once more to the jade and aquamarine depths, those gleaming, liquid cathedrals where the secret city of Atlantis slumbered, hidden beneath the waves, stitched from moonlight and salt. There, in the hush beneath the sea, the warrior-queen mermaids reigned in resplendent splendor, their beauty a radiant tapestry woven from coral spires and starlit pearls. Their laughter, when it reached my mortal ears, was a soft, cascading symphony that danced through the watery halls like chimes in a Caribbean sanctum.

My heart had been an excited tempest for months prior, an eager flutter beneath my ribcage, as I folded away my scandalous silks and scant, glistening gowns in readiness. And at last, the moment arrived. The sea’s cool embrace enfolded me like a baptismal cloak of shimmering liquid. I was reborn anew: refreshed, revived, a creature of water and whisper, drifting amongst the myths of feminine allure and ocean-born seduction.

Atlantis was a delicate, glimmering palace, an opaline sanctuary where peace unfurled like sunlight through a prism. The mermaids moved with languid, leonine grace, at once daring and dreamlike, weaving through one another’s presence with the fluent sensuality of Mediterranean currents. Their voices, soft syllables steeped in salt and sisterhood, wrapped around me like lullabies forgotten on land. Even their laughter was a dulcet reprieve from the mortal cry of responsibility, and it echoed beneath the pearlescent domes, and time dissolved into reverie. Here, I could finally exhale, weightless and wild, giggling over sacred silliness, the kind that means everything when one is free. My chest, unburdened, blossomed with breath, with belonging, as I floated amongst my boon companions in our hidden, silken world.

Yet even as my soul drank deeply of their enchantments, nourished by salt-kissed laughter and crystalline grace, something deeper stirred, a restless whisper threading through the stillness. My Inner Goddess rumbled like an undersea quake, sending tremors through my jeweled calm. Beneath the serenity that masked my face, she pulsed with a forbidden ache, for the sweet intoxication of the mermaids who danced and shimmered around me. A yearning that throbbed like tide against cliff, relentless and wild.

I felt her call, fierce and forlorn, but I was adrift. How to proceed? How to coax into motion the series of delicious, dangerous events that would lead toward the thing she craved?

She wanted more. So much more.

But how does one ask for what must not be spoken aloud? How could I ever voice such hunger when I had already been gifted everything – a royal invitation to Atlantis, bestowed by the Queen herself? How does one beg for nectar after being handed a banquet of seafoam and the treasure of sunken empires?

There were flirtations, of course, delicate as starshish lace: coy glances beneath heavy lashes, the gentle brush of warm, salt-slicked hands against mine, the “accidental” spilling of libations from between the swell of my shell bra. We spoke of confessions coiled in mermoss shadows, our fantasies wrapped in silken secrecy. My Inner Goddess, drenched in moonlight and brazenness, ached to uncoil fully, to stretch her limbs and be worshipped and worship in kind. But my mortal self, ever trembling with the weight of gratitude, would not risk shattering the enchantment, would not fracture the delicate magic over which the imperial mermaid goddess reigned. I would sooner drown in silence than disturb her shimmering dominion, vast and unbound by the limits of flesh-bound worlds.

The final evening lingers in my memory like a sun-warmed tide pool. There had been three glorious days, and now, my sides aching from delirious laughter, my belly sated with sweet, briny libations, my heart buoyed by communion, I should have known peace. But my Inner Goddess would not rest. Her gaze had fastened itself upon the center altar of the throne room, where a most curious apparatus stood in waiting. Thick, gleaming, coiled with silent promise, it seemed to hum with an almost sentient impatience, as if it knew the hunger it awakened. Each time her eyes returned to it, and they did, again and again, I felt her stir within me: restless, ravenous, aching to experience the mystery.

Though it called to me with its eerie invitation, my body remained demure, almost guarded. I had never experienced anything quite like it. True, its form, veined, rubbery, unyielding, was the exacting replica of some god haunting the sun-drenched shores above. But even as it shimmered with wet anticipation, a waiting facsimile of pleasure, my Inner Goddess longed for more than mere likeness. She craved the fire behind the form, the living heat of immortal muscle, the heavy press of celestial strength, the sacred weight of surrender beneath a god’s unbearable dominion.

Salacious memories stirred like ink in water, curling in the corners of my mind: heat, breath, pressure, the deep-seated ache that came only from being truly taken. My Goddess moaned beneath my skin, aching for the wholeness of a god, not just the part cast in silicone. And yet… to accept this offering, this glittering surrogate of heavenly flesh, to allow release in this faraway realm beneath the sea, was it not, in itself, a kind of worship?

At the appointed hour, it was not lust, but sinful curiosity that drew me to the plush embrace of the creamy couch. I sank into it slowly, reverently, cautiously as though my body understood the gravity of what was to come. My spine arched instinctively against the cushions, breasts rising beneath the borrowed kiss of moonlight, while my tailfin lifted high, pressed soft and shimmering against the pale corners of the altar. A tableau of surrender. My body, pliant, yearning, was laid bare like tribute before the throne, beneath the watchful gaze of the regal queen upon her woven throne. All around her, the sworn goddess-mermaids of her court circled the altar in silent witness, their eyes alight with secrets I had not yet earned.

The Emerald Mermaid, keeper of the device, approached with a twinkle of mischief glinting in her onyx eyes, her every motion wrapped in the playful gravity of ritual. She was priestess and playmate both, and in her hands, the gleaming instrument became holy. With long, sure fingers, she oiled its length, her movements deliberate, purposeful, as though coaxing the inanimate deity to wake.

When she placed the waiting head at my glistening slit, first wetted by her own knowing touch, it was with exquisite care. I shifted my hips in offering, curious, cautious, my face a contortion of uncertain pleasure as I adjusted, exploring the angles of the intruder. There was a stretching, a filling of my deep void, yes, but not yet the wildfire my Inner Goddess craved. Only the silence of untouched flame, smoldering in anticipation.

Perched upon coral thrones all around me, the regal mermaids watched in cooing silence. I could feel their gaze, whimsical, their low voices like tinkling seashells. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks, and I dared not meet their eyes. But my Inner Goddess, ever the shameless siren, arched her spine beneath their inspection, reveling in the sacred attention. She might have even preened in the glow of their stares, her pulse thudding like a drumbeat in the deep.

Settling gracefully upon the coral beside me, the Emerald Mermaid’s delicate fingers danced along the dial as a master conductor might summon a symphony. The masculine imitation, thick, veined, unyielding, moved with a measured rhythm, in and out, in and out. The motion was exact, but it was a frigid thing, sterile beneath the shimmering domes of Atlantis, a mechanical pulse that failed to stoke the fire within.

I lay back in a position betraying memories of cold, clinical invasions, those doctoral chambers of the gynecologist’s domain threatening to undo the spell. Yet it was the Emerald Mermaid’s watchful presence, her luminous eyes tracing every subtle movement, that lent a strange erotic charge to the tableau.

With a hesitant voice, I confessed my null experience even as the device quickened its relentless, unchanging beat. It was just that the echo of tides never rose. Sensing my unrest, the clever Emerald Mermaid placed a bulbous-headed massager into my trembling palm. Perchance, its whispered vibrations would be a clandestine siren’s call, coaxing forth from the depths my slumbering release.

I pressed it gently, allowing the trembling cascade to ripple through me, delicate waves lapping at my shy pearl. At last, she stirred, a shy flicker, a soft tremor awakened amid the ceaseless rhythm. The Emerald Mermaid’s keen eyes bore witness to every involuntary shiver.

Her fingers moved with precision, fine-tuning the device pumping in and out, in and out, dialing the pleasure like Poseidon commanding the tides, summoning waves to crash on every shore of my body.

Eyes closed, I felt the delicate sweep of her nails, brushing aside the diaphanous lace that veiled my breast, unveiling the reluctant peak of my ambient flesh. A sharp, breathless gasp escaped me, not from chill, but from the illicit beauty of her touch. Her warmth traced the curve of my skin with a tender reverence, demanding nothing yet offering everything. My Inner Goddess wailed in wild abandon, a longing I dared not claim in my mortal guise.

At last, the summoned tides of bliss rolled through me in gentle waves, each crash real yet coyly muffled, my body’s form resisting excess to spare the watchful eyes, yet determined to yield to the sacred ritual of dual devotion.

I lay for but a fleeting moment and exhaled, gratitude flooding me for the climax witnessed by those unblinking eyes, as a soft blush bloomed like a searose across the delicate expanse of my chest. With trembling grace, I assisted in resetting the altar, then reclined, my limbs soft as moon-jelly, the faint afterglow settling like a silken caress upon my skin. Yet beneath the tender calm, a molten ember of greedy desire smoldered, unyielding, insistent.

From my lodging, I procured my own sacred device, about the size and width of my thumb; it was my familiar companion. Returning to my coral cushion, I draped a gauzy scarf about me, not to obscure, but to quiet the gesture. I longed to linger, to witness the unfolding rapture of my companions, yet I dared not make a spectacle of myself. To retreat entirely into the shadowed privacy of my grotto felt too cowardly, too final. So I remained, a hush at the edge of the sacred, my presence a quiet offering rather than a plea.

Would one of them come? Would they sense the shimmer beneath my stillness, the breathless pause between pulses? I did not beg. I waited, wrapped in veiled invitation, awaiting a ripple in the current that was not my own.

The other mermaids drifted dreamily in their seats, their gazes fixed upon the altar, seemingly unaware… or politely disinterested. My unhurried fingers found their path. I guided the device to the trembling axis of my being, pressing it close with a soft breath. A sigh caught low in my throat, the ache gathering like undeniable stormlight in my belly.

Around me, a few of the mermaids took turns experimenting with the device, just as I had. Their beautiful moans wove a hymn of pleasure, an echoing chorus that wrapped around my own quiet longing like dulse lace on skin. I bit back my own sounds, hushing the flame flickering within before it could rise into the grand cathedral of salt and silk.

When all who hungered had taken their turn, the Queen’s voice unfurled through the water like a ribbon of warm current. It coiled around the alabaster pillars of Atlantis, stroking their spines with ancient command, stirring silt and reverence alike. Her gleefulness echoed in the bones of the coral and the bellies of whales, unmistakable in its pull.

“Lay down upon the altar,” she purred, her voice a velvet ripple through the water, eyes gleaming like sunlit sapphires stirred by scandal. She knew exactly what she asked.

My teeth caught my bottom lip, was this the beginning of all I’d ached for? I was willing, aching to please, but hesitation coiled around my spine like anemone tendrils. How does one offer up the pleasure of an entire day before a throne of watching sirens?

There was no virile god to summon with a crooked finger, no mouth to draw down and drink of my nectar. Just me, exposed, trembling, caught between craving and coyness.

And still, my uncertainty held me captive, silent as the ocean’s deepest trench, until her naughty delight coaxed a daring quiver within me, promising that even in hesitation, indulgence awaited.

Spreading coralline satin over the altar, I lay down, my limbs carefully arranged, my body on display. The Queen’s gaze was wickedly delighted, sparkling as she clapped her hands like a child at a forbidden masquerade. My Queen, ever attuned to the nuances of my body’s surrender, had watched me before; she knew the way bliss could unravel me, thread by silken thread, until I was nothing but breath and beggary.

To my mingled relief and torment, she did not name who would touch me next, nor dictate what sacred act should unfold. The choice…oh gods, the consent…was left in my trembling hands.

Fiddlesticks.

Foolish, fluttering, and flayed by uncertainty, I hesitated beneath the intoxicating gaze of the court. Desire warred with restraint inside me, each pulse a clash of flame and foam. Still, obedient to the Queen’s unspoken dare, I returned to the trusted hum of my device. Pressing its familiar shape to my apex, I arched faintly as the shimmering ceiling of the court above reflected my trembling resolve. The ethereal glow of their watching eyes drew the heat from within me upward, beckoning my surrender with the elegance of a thousand tidal songs.

Then, a clear voice broke through the haze, gentle and sure as moonlight on still water:

“Would you like some assistance?”

My Inner Goddess froze, becoming utterly, deliciously still, and I opened one eye to glimpse the vision beside me. Floating just beyond reach was a lithe, ethereal mermaid, her long caramel hair drifting like sun-warmed kelp in a gentle tide. Her skin gleamed with the soft glow of moonlit pearls, every curve a sculpted promise, every movement a hypnotic dance with the currents. Her eyes, twin whirlpools warmed by tide and time, held the ocean’s oldest secrets, sparkling with mischief and the kind of fire that begged to be drowned in. A goddess… offering… to me?

“Yes!”

Too loud, too eager, too mortal! The word escaped me in a gasp that echoed off the coral spires. Embarrassed by the depth of my need, my blush bloomed like a reef rose in full crimson. I nodded, trembling, trusting her, barely trusting myself.

She settled at the short edge of the altar with the grace of a whispered tide, her fingers reverent as they traced my slickening slit. She didn’t rush. No, her entry was a slow, sacred unsealing, like prying apart the lips of a bashful clam, each motion soaked in tenderness. Her rhythm was oceanic, almost like a storm’s caress, unrelenting yet delicate, curling and receding, shaping me from the inside like waves carving a love letter into the sand.

Heartbeat.
Pulse.
Throb.

And then…nothing existed but the reverence of her hand, and the aching bloom of my surrender.

The release that followed splintered me, scattering my soul like sea-glass across the glittering ocean floor. I arched, trembling, utterly undone by the sacred tide that surged through my every fiber.

Spent, I collapsed upon the silken altar, lips parted, limbs loose as a languid current. Above me, the mermaid rose, radiant, a goddess crowned in light and salt. Faint, shimmering tendrils of luminescence clung to her like devoted attendants, eager to fulfill her every whim. Her large eyes, dark pools of wicked delight, held mine with fierce intent. Slowly, deliberately, she traced her tongue along her fingers, savoring the taste of my release, a blasphemous, decadent communion whispered between flesh and sea.

My mouth fell open in surprise, and she took it as an invitation, sliding those wicked fingers over my tongue, obeying her silent command to lick. And then…she kissed me. 

I felt the ties of my mortal being begin to loosen, time slipping through my fingers like grains of luminous sand. The Moon Goddess traced silver trails across the celestial vault, her quiet light spilling into the intimate grotto where I lingered, hungry for more, yet lips sealed in trembling restraint.

Moonbeams danced upon the walls as a mermaid appeared, her coral-handled flogger entwined with swaying tendrils of seaweed. She rose with commanding grace, demonstrating her exquisite skill upon a sister of the court. My skin shivered beneath the sight, an ache kindling deep within. Surprising even my Inner Goddess, I summoned the courage to voice my desire…a bold, selfish plea trembling on my lips.

Bent low, I became once more an offering laid bare: shoulders sloping delicately to my narrow waist, hips and tail shimmering with a rainbow of sapphire and jade scales, glistening beneath the sacred glow of Atlantis.

Whack. Then another. Whack. Whack. The suede seaweed whispered its honed percussion across my skin, igniting a slow-burning fire along every inch of my bare flesh. My shoulders, back, hips, and tail. Again. And again.

The strikes sang louder, fiercer, yet no true pain marred the melody. The flogger, woven from tender, youthful seaweed, was crafted for sensation, not suffering. Its sound was a tantalizing slither around my senses, weaving an intoxicating spell.

Yet wielded with expert grace, the mermaid roused every trembling inch of me. I undulated, my head rolling side to side like molten silk, sliding serpentine across the waves of pleasure. Exotic caresses traced my form, coaxing muffled moans deep from the wellspring of my soul.

I hovered on the edge of trance, my breath slowing to the measured rhythm of the waves beyond. Each strike, each glide, became a whispered mantra, a sort of passage into a realm more profound. The ache began to stir, that ancient, feral hunger for cruelty woven with tenderness. For punishment, draped in devotion. For the sting of fear met with unshakable trust, pain offered like a sacred prayer.

A hallowed union of flesh and implement, soul and surrender. Memories shimmered like tide pools beneath moonlight…subspace, where I ceased to be mere flesh, becoming instead an echo, an essence, an offering. Pain was the key that unbound the mortal coil, rendering my spirit visible only by the hands that claimed me.

Sadness stirred, the yearning of a treasure lost, a hunger that could not be fed in this moment. My Inner Goddess ached for searing pain, for that trembling brink where fear of losing control danced with absolute surrender. 

But not now. Not here.

I buried that unwept grief beneath the gates of my heart, deep in the untold chambers, for in Atlantis, I was wholly alive, giddy…enchanted. I had no need to bare my soul in pain, I simply floated, a living psalm in the water’s embrace, each strike a ripple of caress, each hush a hymn, as pleasure curled around me like the trailing veil of a jellyfish…soft, luminescent, and unhurried.

I let the mermaid’s flogger write liturgies across the temple of my back until my porcelain skin bloomed beneath each sanctified stroke. And still, even in my floating musings, I worried sweetly for her – the ache in her arms, the steadiness of her grip, whether she would tire… whether another wished to step in and feel the rhythm carry her onward.

Rising in quiet gratitude, I slipped into my turquoise teddy, the fabric gliding over my curves like a sigh made visible. Its soft layers fluttered with the grace of sea cucumbers, ruffles cascading just below my waist, teasing the tender swell of my skin with every breath. It clung and billowed in turn, an intimate ripple against my heated flesh.

Returning to my coral cushion, I folded my tail close, scales glistening like polished gemstones in the moonlit hush. I basked in the tender war within: skin still singing from the mermaid’s sacred touch, while the ocean’s eternal chill curled around me like a lover’s exhale, reverent and solemn. 

And so it was. Our time bent and curled around itself, returning to those deviant conversations that slipped into the undercurrents, sinking like sighs into the secret hollows beneath language. Not the tame, sunlit kind whispered over teacups, but a dark, glistening bond born of shared surrender…of bruised tails pressed to temple floors, of gasps traded like holy relics, of glances and knowing fingers. The kind of sisterhood that is carved in flesh and sealed in salat beneath the waves. The kind that does not fade, only deepens…tide after tide.

By morning, the young light of day glistened across the grand columns and statues of Atlantis. Around me, some mermaids slumbered in shadowed alcoves, while others drifted, bright and breezy, carried by the hush of a new tide. My heart, however, was leaden. All too soon, my time in Atlantis had drawn to a reluctant close.

As I mounted my seahorse steed and ascended, inch by shimmering inch, toward the sunlit mortal world above, a disappointed tempest stirred within. My Inner Goddess seethed in silence, her hurricane eyes gleaming with reproach. She had entrusted me with the cultivation of her most sacred pleasures…to lure the bewitching denizens of Atlantis to my bed, to my arms, to the sultry curve of my lips. Nevertheless, I had left the halls of her desire uncourted, uncorrupted.

In the cold light of that unspoken judgment, she withdrew. For days, she would remain distant, frost-tipped empress retreating to her icy dominion. Though I walked ashore on mortal land, I felt adrift, rudderless in her absence, caught in a tide of what might have been.

When she at last deigned to speak, her voice fell like dusk over the sea, elegant, chilled, and edged with reprimand.

“Perhaps, next time… you will dare to invite a mermaid to join you. To claim you beneath the tides.”

I exhaled, low and trembling, as I returned to my landbound dwelling. I was a fragile vessel, rocking between waves of unspent longing and the slow sting of unoffered invitation that had frozen on my lips. Not yet the resolute, radiant queen I ached to become.

If there were ever to be a next time, a royal summons to revel with Olympian goddesses or frolic amongst the mermaids, I could not risk incurring such divine displeasure again. For I felt her storm gathering still, a tempest poised just beyond the horizon of my soul, waiting, watching, to judge the mettle of my surrender. 

Yet, I did not flinch, for within her stern insistence lay the promise of my true flourishing…a fierce grace poised to ignite every flicker of my dormant fire.

“Next time… next time,” I whispered into the quiet, willing a soothing calm to cascade over my ruffled Inner Goddess like a gentle tide. “Next time…”

Until next time, XO. Elsie