The moon hung low over the shadowed treetops of the Elderwood, casting a bluish glow on the narrow path that wound between ancient trees. Every step Aelira took crunched gently beneath her boots, but she didn’t hesitate. Tonight, she had a purpose—a dare she’d made to herself, whispered between gasps in her lonely bed for too many nights.
Legends told of the Stormbeast: a relic not forged by men, but grown from wild magic, hidden deep in the forest where no man dared tread. They said it pulsed with the essence of primal beasts, carved into a form that could shatter shame and awaken forgotten cravings.
Aelira, a seasoned herbalist and quietly powerful in her own right, had found whispers of the artifact not in storybooks—but on a scroll tucked deep in a forgotten alcove of the Sisterhood’s Hall of Forbidden Delights. A line had been scrawled beside an ink drawing:
For the bold, the Stormbeast waits…
…followed by an oddly modern touch: Giant Horse Dildo.
She found it almost humorous—how such ancient magic had survived the centuries and now found form in something so boldly modern, proudly outrageous, and shockingly… beautiful.
When she reached the Glade of Horned Stone, the world held its breath.
There it was.
It lay nestled atop a pedestal formed of twisting roots and mossy stone, humming softly with violet light. The size of it startled even her—a massive equine shape, perfectly contoured, sculpted from dark obsidian-like silicone veined with gold shimmer. It didn’t look monstrous. It looked powerful. Like a spell.
Her hand trembled as she reached for it, fingertips brushing over the length slowly, reverently. Heat bloomed within her—not embarrassment, not fear—but anticipation. She could feel the magic curling around her like a lover’s breath.
“This is what I came for,” she whispered aloud, heart racing.
She undid her cloak, letting the cool air kiss her bare skin beneath. The forest seemed to lean closer. As she knelt before the altar, she wasn’t a solitary woman anymore. She was a priestess, an explorer, a vessel for a kind of wild love that civilized tongues dare not name.
And when she guided the Stormbeast to her, inch by aching inch, it wasn’t just her body that opened—it was her spirit. The world blurred, stars swirled, and for one breathtaking moment, Aelira became the myth.
She rode the lightning of pleasure and power, not taming the Stormbeast, but merging with it. Not submitting—but rising. Higher. Freer.
When she awoke, the artifact had cooled and dimmed, resting like a sleeping dragon beside her. She wrapped it gently in silk, reverently, and stood on shaking legs.
The moon had risen higher now.
She smiled.
She would return to her village not as a healer, but as a sorceress reborn. One who had met the myth—and taken it inside her.
And she would tell no one.
Except maybe… the next woman who dared to dream wildly.
