ja**** Posted August 20 The Four Goddesses I found myself inside a vast facility, a place said to train men in the ways of serving women. The rule was simple: all men were naked. I too was stripped bare. Before us were only four goddesses, radiant, terrifying, sovereign, each ruling in her own way. The hall resembled a school. Wooden desks lined the room, a green chalkboard at the front. A young Russian goddess stood there, teaching. She commanded presence, with sharp eyes, a soft voice, and an authority that drew us forward. She chose me. She allowed me to worship her, not as a lesson in *** but as an initiation. “You must learn,” she said, “to make him love you, make him addicted to you, make him take the very little you give.” Her words bound me deeper. I obeyed, and she used me as an example, showing the others the art of worship. Suddenly, a scream shattered the air. We rushed outside. She only giggled. In the courtyard stood another goddess dressed in black, holding a long leather whip. She was merciless, striking her man again and again, each lash tearing at his very soul. He cried out, but she did not falter. His pleas were nothing. Mercy did not exist here. He was a husband, a bad one, and she had claimed the right to cleanse him. His agony was her justice. Then, by the pool, I saw the third goddess. She was Middle Eastern, crowned and radiant in her cruelty. She toyed with her man, trapping him beneath the water of a two-sided pool. She closed one opening, leaving him gasping toward the other. But as he clawed for escape, she pressed down on his fingers with the weight of her jeweled sandal. She smiled as he suffocated in her game. At last, she pulled him free, only to tell him coldly, “Even if we were lovers, that does not mean I will care for you.” She wore her disdain like a crown. When I asked why, she looked at me with scorn. “You are new here. In time you will learn. The more he gives, the more I take. The less he gives, the less I want. I feed on his agony, and he feeds on my cruelty.” I could not turn away. I watched. And then, I saw her, the fourth goddess. She did not wield whip or crown. She simply sat upon her chair in a flowing blue sundress, her beauty quiet, her gaze unshakable. She looked at me, and her voice was soft, almost tender. “You think I am the gentle one,” she said. “But gentleness is the sharpest chain.” Her eyes locked on mine, and the room seemed to sway. The courtyard blurred, the pool rippled into smoke, the classroom dissolved into shadow. I blinked, and I was in my own bed, the sheets twisted around me, sweat cooling on my skin. The clock ticked softly on the nightstand. I sat up, whispering to myself, just a dream.
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