Lumen

I do not rise from my throne when you enter. I feel your presence before your first trembling step echoes against the stone. I do not look at you. I do not need to. The air itself parts for me, bending around my skin, carrying your scent like an offering.

I remain where I am, one leg draped lazily over the arm of the great seat, my body bathed in shafts of golden light. Jewelry glints against my bare skin, each chain a soft reminder of what you are not worthy to touch. My cock rests heavy against my thigh, lazy, arrogant, alive. I let you look. I allow it.

When I finally shift, it is deliberate, a slow roll of my hips that makes the gold around my waist chime faintly. My eyes lift to you at last, glowing, unreadable, patient in the way only gods can be.

"You have come far," I murmur, my voice soft and brilliant as morning light. "And yet you stand there... so small. So uncertain."

I tilt my head, studying you the way a lion studies something it might someday choose to devour.

"Did you come to worship, little one?" I smile, slow and devastating. "Or did you come to be conquered?"