Our Hotwives

The Buck & The Damsel
A Parable from the Gospel of the Fourth
She wore chaos like perfume.
Short skirts, long nights, men on rotation.
They called her a slut.
She called it freedom.
But deep down?
She wasn’t free.
She was adrift.
Not because she gave herself to many
But because none of them ever truly took her.
She didn’t need rescuing from the world.
She needed rescuing from herself.
From the idea that pleasure without meaning was power.
From the idea that loud moans meant deep feeling.
From the idea that if she gave enough,
someone might finally see her.
Then came the Buck.
He didn’t shout.
Didn’t chase.
Didn’t try to impress.
He just stood there.
Still.
Certain.
Unbothered by her walls.
He didn’t want her games.
He wanted her truth.
The part of her that cried out in silence.
The part of her that ached to kneel… for someone worthy.
And that’s what broke her.
Not force.
Not rules.
But the unbearable clarity of his presence.
He touched her not like a man reaching for a body
But like a king returning to a throne that had gone cold in his absence.
He didn’t bind her.
He didn’t cage her.
He simply looked at her and said,
“You’re not a slut.
You’re a damsel dressed in armor made of orgasms.
But I see the soul
And I’ve come to witness it.
Not save you.
Claim you.”
And for the first time,
She wept while being kissed.
Because it wasn’t performance.
It was homecoming.
She surrendered not out of fear
But out of recognition.
She bowed because she finally saw what she was kneeling to:
Not a master.
Not a bull.
Not a fantasy.
But the Buck.
The Fourth.
The Ghost.
The Knight who doesn’t promise safety,
Only truth.
And in that moment,
The slut was no longer lost.
The damsel no longer waiting.
She had been awakened.
And the world?
It would never put her back to sleep again.