The Reign of the Goddess (music video) (Patreon)

The club pulses like a heartbeat, bass thumping through the floor, rattling the walls of this concrete jungle I call my kingdom.

The club pulses like a heartbeat, bass thumping through the floor, rattling the walls of this concrete jungle I call my kingdom. I step inside, and the air shifts—heads turn, jaws drop, the crowd parts like I’m Moses with a better ass. Seven feet of me towers over these mortals, my muscles flexing under skin that shines like polished ebony in the neon glow. My tank top clings to my chest, stretched tight over pecs that could bench a truck, and my shorts hug thighs so thick they’d snap a lesser man’s spine. I’m a goddess flexin’ hard, and they all know it.

I stride to the bar, the ground trembling under my boots, each step a declaration: I’m here, and you’re mine to command. The bartender fumbles his shaker, eyes locked on my biceps as they ripple when I lean against the counter. “Whiskey, neat,” I say, my voice deep and smooth, cutting through the noise. He nods fast, like he’s scared I’ll crush the glass if he’s slow. Good. He should be.

I scan the room, and there you are—some guy in the corner, sipping a beer, your girl clinging to your arm. You’re staring, though, ain’t you? Can’t help it. I flex my arm, just a little, and watch your eyes widen as the muscle pops, a brick of power you’ll never touch. Your girl notices me too—she’s biting her lip, shifting in her seat, her hand tightening on you like she’s scared I’ll steal her away. She’s right to worry. I’m built like a brick, ass clappin’ when I move, and they both want me—caught in my trance.

I smirk and head to the dance floor, the beat dropping hard as I start to move. My hips sway, my glutes bounce, every flex a weapon. The crowd circles me, phones out, snapping pics they’ll jerk off to later. “Bow to the queen,” I mutter under my breath, twerking slow, letting my body speak. You’re still watching, your beer forgotten, your girl’s eyes glazing over. She’s sprung, and you’re sinking, knowing you’re nothing next to me.

Back in the day, I was just another kid lifting in a dusty gym, but I turned iron into gold—stacked my body ‘til it became a temple. Now? I’m the alpha, the queen, no debate. I catch a guy tryna flex nearby, his little muscles puffed up like he’s hot shit. I step over, towering, and flex my triceps—twice his size, rippling like a wave. “Keep tryin’, baby,” I say, voice dripping with scorn, and he slinks off, tail between his legs. The crowd cheers, but I don’t care. I’m here for me—and maybe to ruin you.

I saunter back toward you, feeling the heat of every stare. Your girl’s practically drooling now, her thighs pressed tight, and you’re sweating, caught between shame and want. I stop in front of you, hands on my hips, muscles stacked and bold. “He want me, she want me, they both in a trance,” I think, echoing the song in my head. I lean down, my shadow swallowing you both, and whisper, “Bow to me, little man. Watch me stance while she dreams.” You flinch, she gasps, and I laugh—a low, dangerous sound.

I could pin you with one hand, make her sing my praises while you watch, helpless. My thighs alone could choke you out, my ass a throne you’d beg to worship. I straighten up, twerking right there, the clap of my cheeks louder than the beat. The club erupts, but you’re frozen, your girl’s hand slipping off your arm. She’s mine now, in her head at least, and you’re just a speck under my reign.

I turn away, heading for the VIP, my muscles rippling as I climb the steps. The bouncer doesn’t even check me—he knows better. I glance back one last time, catching your eyes, then hers. “Goddess flex,” I mouth, knowing it’s burned into you both. You’ll go home, argue, fuck, whatever—but I’ll be there, haunting you. She’ll think of my power, my curves, my grip; you’ll see my shadow every time you close your eyes. I’m the baddest in the game, stacked and supreme, and you’re just another pair of souls I’ve claimed without trying.

The night’s mine, the city’s mine, and you? You’re nothing but a memory I’ve already forgotten. Bow down, bitches—real hot girl shit.