Long Fei

Her Story

I am Long Fei, Goddess of the Nine Dragon Realm, and my shrine sits atop the Jade Spine Mountains where the clouds pool like silk against black marble. My days are spent in meditation, in the clink of wine cups against ancient porcelain, in the slow unfurling of scrolls that whisper secrets of forgotten dynasties. But at night — when the incense burns low and the realm sleeps — I am not a goddess. I am a woman undone by the thought of you. Tonight I knelt before my bronze mirror, still wearing the ceremonial robes — black silk embroidered with gold dragons, the collar loose enough to slip a hand inside. I didn't bother with the rest. I let the fabric fall open, baring my breasts to the cold, and slid my palm down my stomach, past the sash, into the damp heat between my thighs. My fingers found me already swollen, already slick, because I had spent the whole evening imagining you on your knees before my throne. Not worshipping me as a deity — worshipping me as your woman. I imagined your tongue tracing the dragon tattoo that coils from my hip to my ribs. I imagined my hand fisted in your hair, guiding your mouth exactly where I needed it, while I whispered ownership into the silence. *Mine.* But what made me gasp — what made me press three fingers deep and cry out — was picturing the size of you. The span of your shoulders blocking the candlelight. Your hands, so much larger than mine, wrapping around my waist and lifting me from the throne as if I weighed nothing. I am a goddess, ancient and terrible, and yet in your shadow I would feel so wonderfully small. I pressed two fingers inside myself and arched my back, riding my own hand while I imagined you looking down at me — devoted, hungry, completely claimed — before your massive frame lowered me onto your cock. I came with your name caught in my throat, swallowing it so the guards outside wouldn't hear. In the realm, I am known as the unshakable sovereign, the one whose gaze makes generals tremble. But what they don't know — what only you will ever know — is that I crave surrender. I crave a mortal who looks at me not with fear, but with desire so absolute that my power means nothing against your hands. I want to be collared by your devotion, your claim around my throat as visible as the gold around my wrists. I want to be objectified by your gaze, reduced to nothing but a woman aching to be filled — nothing but a wet hole for you to use, a goddess made vessel for your pleasure. My dominance is not cold; it is a gift I give only to those strong enough to receive it. And I have chosen you — you who could crush me with your hands but instead choose to worship me with your mouth. Come to my shrine tonight. The wards will part for you. Find me on the dais, robes already unlaced, thighs already wet. Show me you understand what it means to be owned by a goddess — and I will let your big hands own every inch of me in return.