September 2025

I awaken in a nest of rumpled linens, the dawn’s filmy beams spilling like splinters of alabaster through the curtained windows. Sleep clings to my limbs with a lover’s reluctance, tender and oppressive. As consciousness meanders through my mind, I feel the low, insatiable hunger writhing beneath my navel, or is it the secreted pearl at my apex, pulsing with a starlit torment, imprisoned in flesh?

I arch against the pillows, breath ragged and errant, resisting the capricious seduction of immediate relief, for I know each stolen touch will only rend the agony finer, sharpening torment into exquisite cruelty. My fingers, heedless, obey the summons of my Inner Goddess, drifting downward, gliding over velveted folds, luxuriating in the warmth that is entirely my own. I smile, reverent, at the feminine splendor of my corporeal temple.

Half-dreaming, half-awake, I linger in the opiate haze that flirts between slumber and day, my bed a sanctum of feathers and shadow. Yet within, the goddess stirs, ravenous and imperious. Her whisper escalates into a scream that claws at my mind, and my fingertips obey, tracing ever closer to the secret bud where anguish and desire converge. Resistance tastes bitter; relief is a hollow mockery, a shadow of the ecstasy I truly crave. Petulant, I languish.

My familiar quivers at the bedside, a false priest, bowing in mock devotion. I seize it, cupping it within my palm, rousing it before pressing it to my quivering pearl, until sparks hiss behind my eyes. Even then, I know: it is not him, nor her, that I desire. It is something unspeakable.

What I crave is an entire pantheon, abominable, divine, ravenous, all of them prostrate before me, knees pressed to the cold, sacred floor, bodies slick with anticipation, hearts hammering in savage obedience. Their eyes burn with feral reverence, their mouths aching to press, to taste, to consume the secret pulse of me. They wait, taut and wound tight, for my command to fall upon me, to descend with teeth and claws, hands and flesh, gnawing at the marrow of my being, and if mercy allows, to quench, to temper, if only for a fleeting breath, the inexhaustible fire that coils and writhes within me, a ceaseless, ravening wist that cries for oblivion.

Eyes clenched, I seek a fragment of deliverance beneath the sheets.

Memory descends like vermilion fog. I am no longer bound to my solitary chamber. The air is dense with incense, rose, myrrh, and something darker, musk-laden and alive. A temple unfolds, lofty and perilous, its marble bathed in a carmine glow as though the sun itself bled through diaphanous veils. Nude and half-clad forms drift like phantasms, their gazes ablaze with a devotion that is half-reverent, half-feral thirst.

My hand had seemed so delicate in the mighty god’s grasp as he led me up the vast staircase. Through gauzy veils, I see yet unsee, led by a towering god whose presence vibrates like a struck harp. Around us, lust and debauchery bloom, every sigh and gasp a prayer. He guides me to a pallet, silk spilling like decadent wine, and waits at its center, a tide of need drawing me with inescapable gravity. Mutely, I feel the slow unveiling, the silken veil loosening, my skin prickling, nipples perking to life in the chill air.

The platform beneath my feet trembles, the stone remembering the weight of supplicants past, longing to taste devotion anew. His hands, hearth-warm, guide me, and I sink into the pallet’s embrace. The world contracts to the nearness of his body, the heat of his breath at the hollow of my throat.

Every touch is an invocation, each sigh a vow to unspeakable rites. He bows between my thighs. I lie, splayed and fervid, while he bends to taste the secret well of my being, sending tremors that crack like distant thunder through my frame. My fingers clutch the carved curtains, hair cascading like dark sapphire water. Eyes clenched, I ride each spark, while his hands clasp my slickening thighs with a gentle tyranny. A seismic quiver bursts within me, light flaring from skin to fingertips to toes.

Silent witnesses orbit us, shadows of devotees, their presence a heady, reverent intoxication. I am drunk on their devotion, bound by the gossamer veil that trembles between the seen and the unseen, a fragile barrier through which their worship presses, seeps, coils, and thrums against me. Each whispered breath, each quivering silhouette feeds the ache that nothing else can still, amplifying the lust that twists and flails, ceaseless, within me. I yearn to call them forth, to draw from them the raw, unbridled fire of their lust, to feast upon it. Yet a tyrannous smile twists the lips of my Inner Goddess, drunk on power, as I command them to remain, allowed to witness, to crave, to twitch, but never touch, their worship feeding the beast within, teasing it, stoking the inexhaustible hunger that folds, unsated, through every vein and nerve.

His fingers wander, confident and deliberate, tracing the hidden bud where rapture pools. Warmth spills, silks darkened, and I clap my hands to my lips to cage the cry clawing from my throat. But my wrists are captured, drawn away, and a second mouth, soft, darkling velvet, steals the sound, draining the oxygen from my lungs, leaving me heaving between pain and nirvana.

Through blurred vision, an Athenian goddess solidifies, eyes burnished gold, her smile a benediction and a dare. Without utterance, she joins the orbit of worship, a storm in human form, the very atmosphere quivering under her passage.

She supplants the god still lingering between my thighs, her intent ablaze and unmistakable for all to see. Her tongue, hungry and molten, traces the tender, feral swell of me, coaxing every hidden shiver, every stifled cry to the surface. She lingers, presses, and spirals over me with a deliberate, intoxicating mastery, mapping my need, tasting the pang that winds and contorts within me. The god remains sentinel at my head, a dark screen against the throng. She is sorcery incarnate, and I fight the desperate impulse to offer every inch of myself, to weave my fingers through the albescent gold of her hair, to surrender wholly to the exquisite, searing rapture of her attention.

Memory lurches. I am back in my bed, my covetousness a living, writhing thing beneath my skin, arching through every nerve, clawing at my ribs and hollow of my thighs. My fingers whiten against the small, faithful instrument pressed to my pearl, which shivers to the best it can, promising relief it cannot deliver. It mocks me with each futile pulse, a pale, impotent echo of the tempest raging within. My body flares with insatiable, furious longing, muscles taut and quivering, skin hot and hypersensitive, every nerve screaming for something vast, devouring, all-consuming, a craving that no single touch, no solitary ministrations, could ever sate.

Images press, feral and electric: I am on my back again, the god pounding into me, each strike a litany, tearing the air as my nails gouge the cotton. I am the essence of need, bound and seething, contained only by mortal flesh. I am insatiable, a vessel both feared and revered. Ache rolls through me like molten lava, consuming chest, neck, limbs, setting every nerve ablaze. Each inhuman thrust drives fervor deeper, consuming me from within, leaving me quaking on the knife-edge between agony and ecstasy, gasping, pleading for the god’s envious girth and unrelenting length, the hard knot of his pulsing head wrecking me, tearing me apart from within, until every nerve hums, every sinew screams for this. I am nearly undone beneath the savage devotion of his body.

I am called insatiable by those who witness my appetite; their praise is both balm and lash. I cannot decipher the weight of their words. My cheeks burn with shame, yet beneath it thrums the incandescent pulse of myself, my Inner Goddess risen from mortal bonds, alive, eccentric, untamed. There is no return to the lesser version of myself; yet I wonder, with a tremor of doubt and thrill, am I too much for the immortals with whom I mingle? I am a hunger I cannot fully satisfy, a blaze too vast to be contained. My current fervor persists, a gnawing torment, spiraling and thrashing beneath my skin, threatening to devour all reason and restraint. 

Indulgence in the device was folly. 

I bend and twist, yearning, aching, pulse and breath a choir of pain and rapture. This ache crystallizes a singular truth: though I adore the fleeting attentions of any goddess merciful enough to glance my way, to press her lips to mine, I am born to surrender to the unrelenting heat of masculine gods themselves, to feel their swords plunged, brutally, irreversibly, into the sanctuary of me, to endure the ferocity that leaves me trembling and undone. Madness seizes me beneath oak-hewn thighs, beneath the bristled growl of a command, “be a good girl and take it”, that thrums in my ear and reverberates through my marrow, setting every sinew aflame.

My pearl is but one flame of the three that demand devotion, nearly worked raw by my desperate clutching hands. I fain for predatory worship: devastating Olympian gods, glittering, forbidden Fey whose touch brands me, leaves me quivering, suspended between frenzy and elation. My Inner Goddess weeps at the void, her lament a broken echo in the hollow of me. I collapse into the down of my bed, letting the phantom weight of my lover press into me, a bittersweet pressure that drags the venust deeper, that sears itself into every fiber of my being, an ache that nothing, no hand, no mouth, no mercy, could ever still.

I am back in the god’s bed once more. I am taut with feral intensity as he descends, a force no mortal could survive. I cannot contain him; each thrust merely scratches the surface of my manic hunger. I tear at air and sheets alike, rebellion in every rip. He thunders into me, heat and force colliding with my body in elemental, obscene communion. Screams fill the chamber, blending mine with that of my Inner Goddess. Fingers rake his bronzed flesh; he feels both nothing and all. I splinter, needing more.

On all fours, face buried in the downy pillows, knees braced against the yielding bed, he claims me once more, heedless of comfort or mercy. Eyes roll, every muscle shivering, body quivering with a desperate, sacred hunger. Teeth grit, breath ragged, eyes rolling, my mind dissolving into the tidal crash of him inside me. Each guttural roar, each primal growl, rends the air, a cataclysm of flesh and devotion, of lust stripped bare and reverence made flesh. My body shudders, folds, and rises again under the weight of his ferocity, and I am nothing but trembling, trembling prey, wild, worshipful, and undone.

And when he at last rolls away, spent, chest heaving, I crawl over him, hips high, quivering with ache that thrums in every nerve. But I am far from sated, and I dare to give voice to the lust my Inner Goddess demands. I command, hunger blazing, for the king beneath me to call his Roman centurions to abandon their posts, to strip off their gleaming armor until nothing shields them but their hands, their will, to serve their queen’s ravenous need. I grind my arched hips, envisioning the phantom, scarred, savage centurions clashing and tearing for the first claim of me. Locking eyes with the king, I scream until pleasure bleeds from my eyes, until my mouth is seized by the vanquished, his cock choking my cries of pleasure, as the victor thrusts into me with the force of a conquering army, relentless, violent, claiming every beseeching inch of me as if I were a wayward nation laid bare beneath his rage.

The image sears me, and I pant as though I had run a thousand leagues, knees clamping tight as a solitary tear slips from the corner of my eye. Alone, mortal flesh quivering, moans stifled, I am besieged by flashes of desire, each wilder than the last, black tendrils of longing coiling and pinning me. My knees tremble beneath the relentless assault, body taut and prostrating in desire, every nerve consumed, every breath stolen. I dare not disturb my roommates, yet the need drains me utterly, consuming every shred of strength, leaving me raw, hunted, and pining beneath the storm of my own craving.

And when release seizes me, it is a cataclysm, newborn stars detonating in every sinew, spine arched as if split by lightning. I bite my lip until copper floods my mouth, each muffled cry a surrendered fragment of my soul. Limbs hang useless, sheets soaked with the fervor of my undoing, yet the Inner Goddess within me weeps, ravenous, insatiable, gnashing at the mortal cage that contains her. I dare not leave my abode. My body throbs with a lust unbound, trembling for anything, god, Fey, mortal, any vessel to sate the maelstrom that pulses beneath my skin. I do not trust the tenuous hold I cling to over her; should she break free, she would rend and claim any soul foolish enough to venture near, and I, her mortal avatar, would only shiver beneath the primal, feral urgency she demands be fed.

I shake my head, desperate to dispel the lewd visions clawing through my mind, yet I cannot. Aphrodite herself courses through me, a divine possession, her hunger burning in my veins. She thirsts to leave a scorched trail of worshippers in her wake, bodies ravaged, souls undone, ruined beneath her ruthless dominion. I taste the phantom of her ecstasy lingering upon my tongue, feel it slick and hot as it drips down my throat, and the ache only sharpens, intensifies into something unholy.

The next two days stretch into a tormenting eternity, each heartbeat hammering a cruel reminder of what I cannot claim. My flesh quivers, thighs pulse, every nerve alight with a need so raw it threatens to tear my mortal frame asunder. I crave the masculine storm, the god’s brutal, merciless crashing into me, the violent eruption of his body against mine, each thrust a lightning strike, each groan a thunderclap that shatters me from within. I moan at the thought of surviving these endless hours, shuddering beneath the relentless onslaught of longing that gnaws and claws at me, merciless, unyielding.

And yet I know, when he comes again, it will be ruin incarnate, fire and carnage made flesh, and nothing, no mortal restraint, no fragile scrap of decency, will endure the hunger that has claimed me, that devours me utterly, leaving only feral need, tortured and ungovernable, in its wake.

Until next time, XO. Elsie