Alex lay entangled with Elysia on the ethereal bed, their bodies still humming from the aftershocks of their intense coupling. The white room pulsed softly around them, as if echoing the rhythm of their hearts. He wasn't done—not by a long shot. With a predatory grin, he rolled her onto her side, spooning against her from behind. His hand slid down her golden curves, cupping her breast and pinching the nipple until she gasped. "Ready for round two, goddess?" he murmured, his breath hot against her ear.
Elysia, her divine composure frayed but her desire reignited, arched back into him. "You mortal... your stamina is insatiable." But there was no resistance in her voice, only a sultry invitation. Alex's cock, still hard and slick from their previous release, pressed against her entrance. He teased her, rubbing the head along her folds, making her whimper. Then, with a dominant thrust, he entered her again, filling her completely. She moaned, her walls clenching around him like a vice of velvet and starlight.
He set a slower pace this time, savoring the control. One hand gripped her hip, guiding her movements, while the other roamed—tracing her clit, then sliding up to wrap around her throat gently, asserting his dominance without harm. Elysia's body responded eagerly, pushing back to meet his thrusts. The room shimmered with their energy, sparks of light dancing in the air as her divine essence amplified every sensation. Alex pounded into her with deliberate intensity, each stroke deep and claiming. "You love this, don't you? Being taken like a mortal woman."
"Yes... oh, stars, yes," she panted, her hand reaching back to tangle in his hair. He quickened his pace, the slap of their bodies echoing in the void. Sweat—or whatever divine equivalent—beaded on their skin, making them glisten. Alex flipped her onto her back again, hooking her legs over his shoulders to drive even deeper. Her breasts bounced with each powerful thrust, and he leaned down to suckle one, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Elysia's orgasms came in waves—first a shuddering climax that made her cry out, her pussy pulsing around him, then another as he rubbed her clit furiously.
Hours blurred in the timeless realm. Alex took her in every position his imagination conjured: her riding him reverse cowgirl, her ass grinding against his groin as she bounced; him standing, lifting her effortlessly to fuck her against the invisible wall; on all fours again, where he spanked her golden cheeks until they flushed a deeper hue. Each time, he dominated, commanding her pleasure, delaying his own releases to prolong the ecstasy. Elysia's moans filled the space, evolving from godly restraint to raw, animalistic cries. They paused only briefly to catch their breath, sharing heated kisses, before diving back in. His cock never flagged, fueled by the surreal energy of the afterlife. By the end, she was a quivering mess, her body marked with love bites, her hair disheveled, utterly submitted to his will.
But as Alex thrust into her one final time, building toward another peak, a thunderous boom shattered the serenity. The white room cracked like glass, veins of dark energy spiderwebbing through the light. Elysia froze beneath him, her eyes widening in terror. "No... it can't be..."
A towering figure materialized, dwarfing them both. She was the High Goddess, a being of immense power, her form a colossal silhouette of midnight blue and silver, with eyes like black holes that swallowed light. Her hair writhed like living shadows, and robes of cosmic fabric billowed around her. Wings spanned the infinite space, edged with razor-sharp stars. "Elysia!" her voice boomed, shaking the very fabric of the realm. "What depravity is this? You, a guardian of judgment, consorting with a sinful soul? You have defiled your sacred duty!"
Alex pulled out hastily, his arousal vanishing in the face of this overwhelming presence. Elysia scrambled to her knees, her gown reforming around her in tatters.
"Mother Goddess... I... he seduced me. It was a moment of weakness."
"Weakness?" The High Goddess's laugh was a gale-force wind, buffeting them.
"You are eternal! And this mortal worm dares to lay hands on divinity?" Her gaze locked onto Alex, and with a flick of her wrist, an invisible force yanked him into the air. He dangled helplessly, feet kicking futilely as a crushing pressure enveloped his throat. It wasn't hands suffocating him—it was the air itself, thickening into a noose of void. He gasped, his claws at his neck, veins bulging in his eyes. Panic surged; even in death, this felt like dying anew.
"You think your charms work on all, boy? You are nothing—a flea on the cosmos."
Elysia pleaded, "Please, spare him! It was my fault."
The High Goddess ignored her, tightening the ethereal grip. Alex's vision blurred, spots dancing before him as oxygen fled.
"For your crimes, Elysia, you shall be punished. Stripped of your powers, cast into the abyssal forges to labor until your essence is purified." With another gesture, chains of light erupted from the floor, binding Elysia. She screamed as they dragged her downward, the white room parting to reveal a yawning pit of fire and shadow. "Reflect on your folly, daughter."
As Elysia vanished into the depths, the High Goddess turned back to Alex, loosening her hold just enough for him to rasp in air.
"And you, sinner. Death was too merciful. You crave women? Lust? I curse you to a life devoid of them. You shall be reborn in a world of hardship, in a world of pure malice and evil. No female touch, no temptation—only toil and isolation. Suffer the consequences of your hubris."
Alex tried to protest, but a vortex swirled beneath him—a sucking whirlpool of colors and void. The High Goddess hurled him downward with contemptuous ease. "Begone!" The pull was irresistible, dragging him into the maelstrom. His body twisted, senses overwhelmed by rushing winds and kaleidoscopic lights. It felt like being torn apart and reformed, every atom screaming.
Then, abruptly, it stopped.
Alex— no, he sensed a shift, a new identity imprinting on his soul—opened his eyes. The world was dim, lit by flickering torchlight in a crude hut of thatch and mud. The air smelled of earth, smoke, and sweat. Before him loomed a bearded man, burly and weathered, with a mane of gray-streaked hair and eyes like chipped flint. He wore rough hides and furs, a necklace of bones clinking as he leaned in.
"Jorka," the man rumbled, his voice gravelly with authority.
"My son awakens. The spirits have blessed us with another strong arm for the clan."
Jorka? The name settled on him like a heavy cloak. This was Sorang, head of Clan Soranghi, a tribe of hardy warriors and hunters in a harsh, unforgiving land. Jorka blinked, his infant body—wait, no, time compressed in his mind. The curse had flung him into infancy, but awareness accelerated his perception. Days blurred into weeks, months into years, as if the High Goddess's magic fast-forwarded his growth while imprinting the world's truths.
The world was called Terrak, a mundane realm devoid of magic or special powers.
Survival depended on strength, cunning, and the clan's rigid traditions.
And women? None in sight.
The village—more a sprawling encampment of log cabins and tents deep in the woods—was exclusively male. Boys roughhoused under the watchful eyes of elders, men hunted in packs, forging weapons from stone and iron scavenged from ancient ruins. Laughter was coarse, stories around campfires, tales of hunts and battles, but always laced with an underlying longing.
As Jorka grew—his body hardening from chores like chopping wood, tanning hides, and sparring with wooden spears—he pieced together the clan's lore from Sorang's gruff teachings and the elders' fireside chants. Clan Soranghi adhered to an ancient pact, born from a long-forgotten war that had scarred the land. Women dwelled in a secluded enclave, hidden in mist-shrouded valleys miles away, guarded by natural barriers and taboos. They lived in matriarchal harmony, tending gardens, weaving, and raising daughters. Men roamed the forests, hunting, forging, and protecting the borders from rival clans or beasts.
The separation was absolute, enforced by tradition and necessity—to prevent overpopulation, preserve resources, and maintain purity of bloodlines, or so the elders claimed. But once every twelve years, during the Great Convergence under the twin moons' alignment, the men journeyed to the women's enclave. It was a ritual of breeding: couplings arranged by elders, passionate but fleeting, to ensure the clan's continuation. After, they parted. If a child was male, messengers brought him to the fathers at age five, to be raised in the ways of the wild. Females stayed with mothers, learning the secrets of the hearth.
Jorka, now a strapping youth of eighteen (though Alex's soul remembered his twenties), felt the curse's bite keenly. The village teemed with men—bearded hunters, scarred warriors, boisterous lads—but no soft curves, no feminine laughter. Camaraderie filled the days: wrestling matches that left bruises, hunts for elk and boar that tested endurance, feasts of roasted meat and fermented berries. But nights were lonely, desires suppressed into restless dreams. Whispers among the young spoke of the Convergence with hushed excitement, but for Jorka, it was a distant tease— the next one years away.
Sorang watched his son with pride, teaching him to lead patrols, track prey, and wield the clan's ancestral axe.
"You are Soranghi blood, Jorka. Strong like the oaks. But remember: our strength comes from discipline. The women are sacred, separate. Lust unchecked brings ruin."
Irony twisted in Jorka's gut, Alex's memories of women, but he nodded, burying the ache. This life was hard: blizzards that froze the weak, rival clans raiding for territory, and endless labor to survive. No women, no escape from the grind. The High Goddess's punishment was thorough, a cage of testosterone and toil.
Yet, deep down, Alex's spirit simmered. He would endure, adapt, perhaps even bend this world to his will. For now, he sharpened his spear, staring into the forest's depths, wondering if fate or a goddess's whim held more twists.