Graduation: The Director

At Unbound Goddess, there is only one rule. You can never stand still. You must... Choose.

The Season Finale!

The transformation is complete. Waking up with a hum of electric confidence, you head to the open-air amphitheater for graduation. You aren't afraid of the crowd; you are hungry for it. When the time comes to choose your final partner, you shock the audience by demanding the one man who started it all: the Director. He claims you on stage in a raw, punishing display of power. But the night isn't over. In the midst of a decadent after-party, you track down the Assistant for one final, public act of worship that cements your status as Goddess.

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This Season's Story:

This season of Choose is titled Unbound Goddess and is written by our own Roxy Callahan. 

More Passionate Stories For You:

And don't forget to check out our host's erotica podcast. It's hotter than a Summer beach! Roxy's Erotic Whispers.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:01):
Hello, my lovel is.

Speaker 2 (00:02):
This is Roxy Callahan and welcome to season two of Choos,
the erotic podcast where you get to decide what happens next.

Speaker 1 (00:14):
You wake up on the final morning, and the first
thing you notice is the silence, not in the room,
but in your head. The puzzing anxiety that has been
your constant companion since you arrived. The fear of judgment,
the fear of exposure, the fear of the unknown, is gone.

(00:34):
It has been replaced by a low, steady hum of electricity.
Today is graduation. Today it's the stage. You stretch in bed,
feeling the soreness in your muscles from yesterday's marathon session
with the assistant, and a wicked smile touches your lips.
You used to be terrified of the idea of people

(00:55):
watching you. Now the thought of a crowd of eyes
fixed on your pleasure sends a shiver of anticipation right
down your spine. You aren't worried about performing, You're hungry
for it. The real anxiety, the delicious, gnawing question that
has been plaguing you all morning, is the choice. Who

(01:20):
you move to the mirror brushing your hair, Who do
you want to be your final partner. Who would make
it the most thrilling, the most erotic, the most exciting.
You run through the mental rolodex of the week's debauchery.
Do you choose one of the men from the gangbang?

(01:40):
You think of the rough man, the way he took
you without hesitation. That would be a show. Or perhaps
the older man from the Free Use party, the one
who looked at you with such reverence, were the assistant.
The thought of pulling her up on stage, of claiming
her publicly after conquering her privately, is incredibly tempting, but

(02:04):
you're not even sure how the logistics work. No one
has asked you for a name, no one has come
to vet your choice. It seems like you're expected to
make a game time decision, a thought that is both
terrifying and exhilarating. You turn to your wardrobe. You want
something easy, something that feels like the you who arrived here,

(02:27):
but worn by the you who is leaving. You choose
a simple, airy sun dress and a soft yellow that
catches the light. It buttons down the front and as
light as a feather, and most importantly, will be easy
to remove. You reach for a pair of panties, then pause.
You look at them, Then, at your reflection, you drop

(02:49):
the panties back into the drawer. You won't be needing those.
You slip the dress on. The fabric is cool against
your skin, and the feeling of air touching your bare
pussy as you walk is a constant, secret thrill. You
step out of the cabin. The weather is spectacular, the
kind of evening that feels curated by the gods. The

(03:10):
sun is beginning its descent, casting the world in the
heavy amber glow of golden hour. You follow the path
up the hill, the gravel crunching softly under your sandals,
towards the location of the final ceremony. As you crest
the ridge, you see it, an intimate, open air theater,
nestled right into the natural curve of the mountain. Stone

(03:32):
benches form a semicircle around a central raised platform, all
of it bathed in that perfect dying light. It looks
like an altar, and you are ready to be both
the priestess and the offering. A staff member in a
crisp linen shirt gestures for you to follow, leading you
down the stone steps toward the front row. The theater

(03:53):
is filling up with staff and the other successful graduates,
a quiet murmur of excitement rippling through the air. As
you descend, you spot her, the assistant. She's standing near
the edge of the stage, holding her clipboard like a shield,
looking every bit the severe gatekeeper she was on day one.
But then she catches your eye. The mask slips instantly.

(04:16):
She gives you a slow, deliberate wink and runs the
tip of her tongue over her upper lip, a brazen,
filthy callback the yesterday afternoon in a lilac room. You
feel a flush of heat rise in your cheeks, not
from embarrassment, but from the thrill of the shared secret.
You are guided to a curved stone bench reserved for
the graduates. You look around at the four women sitting

(04:39):
near you. They aren't airbushed supermodels or porn stars. They're
normal women. A brunette with laugh lines, a tall woman
with broad shoulders, a younger woman with freckles. They look
just like you, glowing, expectant, and utterly transformed. As you
move to your spot, you pass a woman's se on

(05:00):
the end. You recognize her immediately. She's the one who
had come that you licked out of her pussy. You
remember the way she shuddered against your mouth. She looks
up and catches your eye. In the world you left behind,
this moment would be excruciating, a heavy silence, filled with
shame or awkwardness. But here she just smiles. It's a warm, genuine,

(05:23):
knowing smile that reaches her eyes. You smile back, a soft,
easy expression. It feels so natural, so incredibly free. You
shared the most intimate parts of your bodies with each other,
tasted each other's pleasure, and yet you were just two
strangers who enjoyed a beautiful moment in time. There's no baggage,
no guilt, just a happy, golden memory shared between sisters

(05:46):
of the experience. You sit down, smoothing your yellow dress
over your bare thighs, and turn your attention to the stage.
You are ready. The sun dips below the mountain ridge,
pin the sky and purples and deep goes. The theater
lights hummed to life, casting a warm, focused glow on
the center stage. In the middle sits a massive round

(06:08):
bed covered in plush white velvet, a soft island in
a sea of stone. Around the perimeter of the stage
stand the staff. It looks like they are the menu
for the evening. There are gorgeous men in tailored suits,
looking like bond villains or high end escorts. They're stunning
women in evening gowns. You recognize some of them. The

(06:29):
deep man, the teas, the woman from the gala, and
others are strangers. They all look relaxed, smiling, sipping champagne,
seemingly enjoying the spectacle as much as the audience. The
director steps into the circle of light. He looks impeccable
in a charcoal suit. He consults a small card and

(06:49):
calls out a name. The woman two seats down from
you stands. She walks with a sway in her hips
that wasn't there a week ago, so the director's voice
carries easily in the acoustics of the amphitheater. Who have
you decided to fuck? She blames a man you don't
recognize from the line of staff, A large, powerfully built

(07:11):
black man smiles. He steps forward, shrugging off his jacket.
They meet at the bed. There's no hesitation. He proceeds
to undress her, slowly worshiping her body for the crowd,
before dropping to his knees to bury his face between
her legs. You watch mesmerized as she throws her head back.

(07:32):
Then she pulls him up, takes his impressively large cock
into her mouth, and bobs her head with expert rhythm.
He doesn't let it last long. He spins her around,
bending her over the edge of the round bed, and
focks her doggie style. Her screams echo off the canyon walls,
raw and uninhibited. He pulls out right at the edge

(07:53):
and shoots thick strings of come across her lower back.
She looks over her shoulder at him, anting triumph in
her eyes as the staff rushes in. The change the
sheets a quick practiced ritual. You find your hand drifting
between your legs. You can't help it. The sight of them,
the sound of the skin slapping against skin, the raw

(08:16):
public display of it. You press your hand against the
fabric of your sundress, rubbing your clit, feeling the heat
radiate from your body. The bed is fresh. Another name
is called. The woman next to you stands. She points
immediately to a statuesque blonde woman in the lineup. They
meet on the bed and waste no time, tumbling into

(08:38):
a sixty nine position. It becomes a glorious, wet festival
of tongues and moans, their bodies forming a perfect circle
of pleasure on the round bed. And then the director
turns to the audience again. He looks right at you.
He calls your name. You stand, Your legs feel light,

(08:58):
You're heart hammering a heavy rhythm against your ribs. You
walk down the stone steps and onto the stage. The
lights are bright, hot against your skin. And who is
your choice? You look at the line of men. You
see the rough man looking at you with hungry eyes.
You look at the assistant, who is biting her lip,

(09:20):
watching you intently. You look back at the director. He's
standing there, the architect of your entire transformation, the man
who unlocked the goddess within you, and it hits you.
It's not about the men, it's not about the assistant.
It's about the source. You look him dead in the eye.

(09:41):
The silence in the theater is absolute. I want to
fuck you. Your voice is steady and loud enough to
fill the entire bul of the theater. He raises an eyebrow,
a spark of surprise, a hand, intense heat flaring in
his eyes. You take a step closer. I want you

(10:01):
to just toss me on that bed, roll me over
and fuck me until I feel your cock pulsing inside me.
As the words leave your mouth, explicit and demanding, you
feel a cush of wetness. Soak your panties. You are
instantly drippingly ready. The director holds your gaze for a
long beat, then a slow, wolfish smile spreads across his face.

(10:25):
He nods once and begins to undo his tie. The
director doesn't hesitate, he doesn't ask if you're sure. He
simply accepts the offering with a terrifying, thrilling competence. He
steps forward, closing the distance in a single stride. His
hands large and warm, grab the front of your yellow sundress.

(10:46):
There's no fumbling with buttons. With one sharp, decisive motion,
he yanks the fabric tears with the sound like a gasp,
buttons pinging onto the stage floor, and the dress falls open,
pulling at your feet. You are naked in the cool
mountain air, standing in nothing but your skin, in your desire.

(11:08):
He doesn't strip, he doesn't remove the jacket. He simply
unbuckles his belt and shoves his trousers down just enough
to free himself. The contrast is dark and incredibly erotic.
The impeccably dressed authority figure in the raw, exposed goddess.
He grips your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh,

(11:29):
and pushes you backward onto the round white bed. You
scramble to your hands and knees, your body, moving on instinct,
presenting yourself to him. He looms over you, a wall
of charcoal, wool and heat. You asked for this. His
hand draws back and lands on your ass with a
force that shocks the air from your lungs. Crack. The

(11:52):
sound is a gunshot. It echoes off the stone benches,
bouncing back from the canyon walls, A sharp, crisp report
that's highlence is the night. The sting is immediate and searing,
a white hot bloom of pain that instantly transmutes into
a rush of endorphins so intense your vision blurs. Before

(12:12):
the sting can even begin to fade, he grabs your
hips and shoves himself inside you. There's no gentle slide.
He pierces you, bearing himself to the hilt, and one fluid,
heavy thrust. You cry out, your head thrown back as
he feels you completely. He begins to move, and he
is relentless. He isn't fucking you like a lover. He's

(12:36):
fucking you like he owns the very breath in your lungs.
His rhythm is hard, fast and punishingly deep, his suit
jacket rushing against your bare back, the rough wool a
sensory counterpoint to the slick heat of his cock. You
don't close your eyes, You force them open. You look
out past the bright lights into the shadowed ring of

(12:57):
the theater. You are the show. Oh, you are the
stenter piece, and you see them. In the second row,
a woman has her hand down the front of her
cocktail dress, her eyes glazed and fixed on your bouncing tits.
To the left, a man in a tuxedo is abandoned
all pretense. His cock is out his hand, working furiously

(13:17):
as he watches the director clean you. They are mesmerized.
They are feeding on your pleasure, and you are feeding
on their gaze. The friction is unbearable, a building pressure
that feels like a tidal wave. You reach town between
your legs, your fingers slick with your own juices and
the overflow of his thrusts. You find your clin and

(13:39):
begin to rub, sinking your rhythm to the pounding of
his hips against your ass. His voice is deep and
vibrates against your spine. He grabs your waist, pulling you
back onto him as he drives deep one last time.
You feel him twitch, swell, and then pulse. You feel
the hot, heavy spurts of his release beside you, painting

(14:01):
your pussy, marking you as his. He stays there for
a moment, panting, before he pulls out. You gasp at
the loss of fullness. But he hasn't done. As his
semi soft cock slips free, wet and glistening. He rests
the head of it right on the curve of your
stinging ass cheek. You feel the heat of it, the wetness,

(14:25):
You feel it still pulsing, and you feel his cum
leak from your pussy, a warm, steady trickle running down
your thigh, with more of it dripping from him onto
your skin. The sensation, the sting of the slap, the
heat of his cum, the cool air, the eyes of
the crowd. It overloads you. You stroke yourself frantically, your

(14:48):
hand a blur, leaning back into his warm, wet cock
resting on you. Yes, yes, you come hard. It's a
full body seizure. A crashing wave of ecstasy that has
you screaming, your voice joining the echo of the slap
in the night air. Your legs give out and you

(15:09):
clapse onto the white velvet, trembling, slick and utterly ruined.
Someone hands the director a towel from the shadows. He
wipes himself off with a few efficient strokes, buckles his belt,
and fixes his jacket. In seconds, he transforms back from
the lover to the leader. He doesn't cuddle you, he

(15:31):
doesn't whisper sweet nothings. He simply nods at your prone
form a gesture of respect, and returns to the podium.
You push yourself up, your hair wild, your body glowing.
You wrap the torn remains of your dress around you
like a toga, a badge of honor. As you walk
back to your seat, your legs shaky. The other attendees

(15:53):
don't just clap, they cheer. It is a roar of approval,
a celebration of the goddess you have finally become. Graduation
is over, and the transition from the cool mountain air
of the theater to the warm, ambulant interior of the
lodge is a blur of adrenaline and endorphins. It's the
after party, and you are floating. People. Staff, other graduates,

(16:18):
the men and women who performed on stage, swarm you.
Hands pat your bare shoulders. Voices whisper congratulations. Glasses of
champagne are pressed into your hands. You are no longer
an attendee. You are a goddess through the crowd. The
assistant appears. She doesn't ask for permission, She just steps
right into your personal space, cupping the back of your

(16:41):
head and pulls you into a searing, passionate kiss. It
tastes of champagne and promises. She pulls back just an inch,
her eyes dark and dilated. The night isn't over. A
hot shiver runs straight down to your toes, afore you
can respond. Way into the throng, a trail of breadcrumbs

(17:03):
you are destined to follow. You head toward the bar,
needing something cold to cool. The fire is still burning
in your veins. As you wait for the bartender to
notice you. You glance to your right. A woman in
a shimmering cocktail dress is leaning heavily against the mahogany counter,
shifting her weight back and forth in a strange rhythmic motion.

(17:23):
You wonder if she's dancing to the low music. Until
she turns her head and you see her eyes rolled
back in her head, mouth open in a silent gasp.
You look behind her. A man in a suit is
pressed tight against her back, his hips grinding into her,
his hand bunching the fabric of her skirt at her waist.

(17:43):
She's being fucked right there at the bar. You look
around the room with fresh eyes. On a plush sofa,
three people are entangled in a knot of limbs. Near
the fireplace. A woman is on her knees. This isn't
just a celebration, and the boundaries haven't just been pushed,
they've been dissolved. The after party is an after orgy.

(18:08):
The realization hits you like a physical blow, and the
heat flares up instantly. You down your drink in one gulp,
ice rattling against your teeth. You don't want another. You
want her. The memory of the assistant's taste, the wild
tangle of her hair, the way she screamed your name
in the lilac room. It floods your senses. You scan

(18:32):
the room, hunting there by the terrace doors. She's talking
to another attendee, her back to you the line of
her dress, hugging those curves you now know by heart.
You cross the room in three strides. You don't tap
her on the shoulder, You grab her shoulder and spin
her around with a force that surprises even you. What

(18:53):
the fuck? Her professional mask flashes into place for a
split second before she sees Your eyes go wide, the
pupils blowing out as she recognizes the look on your face.
You don't say a word. You drop to your knees,
right there in the middle of the crowded room. You
grab the hem of her dress and lift it, ducking

(19:15):
your head underneath. The world outside disappears. You are in
a private silk line tent, enveloped in darkness and the
overwhelming intoxicating scent of her musky, sweet and aroused. You
are face to face with it again, that magnificent, wild
tangle of red hair, dripping wet. You don't hesitate. You

(19:38):
press your face forward, burying yourself in her heat. You
start at the very bottom of her pussy, planting your
tongue firmly against her skin, and drag it slowly, deliberately,
all the way up the slick slit of her pussy,
parting the lips, tasting the salt in the sweet, until
you reach the hard pearl her clit. You hear the

(20:02):
sharp intake of breath from above. You feel the way
her thighs instantly clamp around your ears, trapping you in
your sanctuary, and then floating down from the world above,
her voice soft, broken and filled with absolute reverence.

Speaker 3 (20:20):
Goddess in the