Monday, December 5, 2016

Thief in the Night: Part 2: An Offer

Diebin threw her elbow back into his gut and was sprinting toward the door before the grunt of pain hit her ears. She took the stairs two at a time, landing with an indelicate thump on each step. At the foot of the staircase, she caught the newel post at the cap and swung about, propelling herself towards the main door. Much heavier footfalls thundered behind her, echoing on the hollow floors. She flung her hand out toward the knob, only to have her fingers just brush against the idea of freedom as her pursuer snatched up her braid and yanked her backward. The entryway rug slipped from beneath her, spilling her onto her rump.

Air rushed from her lungs and pain ran up her spine at the impact. She shook her head, dazed. The man caught her by the scruff of her coat and shook her roughly, making her pockets jingle with the bits and bobs she'd already pilfered from the study.

"A busy little thief, I see," he grumbled, a hint of amusement in his tone. He lifted her bodily from the ground by her coat before switching his grip back to the thick base of her braid and guided her back into study in which she'd found the signet ring nestled over her left breast.

"Sit." he commanded, thrusting her toward a chaise lounge upholstered in forest green velvet which sat across from a great cherry wood desk.

She eyed him warily as she moved to obey, her heart racing as he took a key from the pocket of his trousers and locked the doors. He then took one of the withering candles from a sconce and lit a few of the lanterns about the room to illuminate them both. He turned to her finally, dropping the key into is left pocket. He was tall, as she had imagined from the expanse of the bed which he consumed. He was broad at the shoulder and narrow at the hip, but with the slight protrusion of the belly common among men of comfortable means. The dark gold of his head also dusted his torso and arms, and bedecked his face in a neatly trimmed Van Dyke fashion. He was neither old nor young, but it is hard to tell the age of a man when freshly woken. He narrowed sky-colored eyes at her as he made his way leisurely to the other side of the desk, but the look was somewhat diminished by the disheveled state of his hair.

He took a seat in a leather-backed swivel chair and produced a sheaf of paper and a pen from a drawer to his right. The desk was otherwise clear of clutter, save for a capped inkwell, a tin of tobacco, and an oil lamp with a small flame flickering occasionally behind the glass. He uncapped the inkwell and dipped his pen a few times before casting her a brief glance.

"Your name, Miss?" He said.

A nervous laugh escaped her. "Why would I tell you that?"

He looked up at her and arched an imperious brow. "Miss, I will remind you that you are currently locked in a room with me. I've a good foot on you and easily a few stone. My questions will be answered. How I attain those answers is singularly up to you. Now, your name, if you would be so kind. First and last."

"Diebin Kraus," she bit out with a frustrated snort.

He gave her a hard stare. "That is not your name."

Diebin bristled, returning his gaze with an indignant glare. "It's my name. Who are you to say otherwise?"

"I do not believe for an instant that your parents named you 'thief'."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Perhaps they did. Perhaps they didn't. You're welcome to sod off across the country to the cemetery they happen to be buried in and ask 'em, but I very much doubt you'll get a satisfactory answer."

He lifted his brow again and jotted something down on his paper.

"What are you doing?"

"Making a note," he said absently. "All right then, Miss Kraus, please produce everything you have purloined from my house."

Diebin tightened her grip around herself and remained defiantly silent.

He huffed a short sigh and scribbled another note on his paper. "Miss Kraus, I might always forcibly strip you and search your clothing in any case. It would behoove you to comply."

Diebin huffed and started plucking the treasures from her pockets: a handful of gold coins, a silver pocket watch with pearl settings, a few pieces of silver cutlery, and, reluctantly, the gold signet ring. She laid them before him on the desk and watched as he recorded each item on a piece of paper separate from his "notes."

"Come now with the rest of it. That's not all that was in your pockets," he said, gesturing with his hand.

Diebin plopped back onto the couch, crossing her arms again. "You only requested the things which I had taken from your house. You're not my first stop tonight."

He lifted both brows at that. "No, but I am your last. My name is Coleman Raycraft. I am a professor of history at the Barryman Institute, the second son of a minor lord. I find myself desirous, if not so much of need, of a servant. Thus far, I have not been able to justify the expense of a staff given my relatively modest accommodations, but since there would be no need to pay you..." He trailed off, appraising her silently. "I shall offer you two options for how we might handle this incident. I can summon the authorities and give an account of the items you have both stolen and attempted to steal from me, and given that you have already admitted that you have additional evidence of your thievery on your person, I very much doubt that would go well for you."

He sat the pen down. "Your other choice is to bind yourself to this house and to the whims of myself. You will perform whatever duties I see fit to assign you, suffer whatever disciplines you might incur in the failure of such. Essentially, you will be the property of this estate and of myself."

Diebin narrowed her eyes. "For how long?"

Coleman Raycraft chuckled, a low, almost seductive sound. "My dear little bird, you aren't exactly in the position to be attempting negotiations."

"And what makes you a better choice than prison?"

He pondered her carefully, stroking his short beard between his thumb and forefinger. "My dear, I could regale you with the fates of women in prisons historically speaking, but I think you already know that pretty little birds like you do not fare well in such conditions. That is to say, if they do not decide to hang you, which, given your history and aptitude for your...craft, is a very likely outcome."

Diebin slumped in her seat. He was right. They would likely hang her. That might be the most merciful option of those available to her.  If she were honest with herself, she didn't want to die. She didn't want to go to prison either, but she also didn't know what she was agreeing to with this Professor Raycraft. But what choice did she have?

She sighed, resignation heavy in her chest. "All right."

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

Thief in the Night: Part 1: Curiosity

Diebin was by all accounts an exquisite thief. She could slink silently through a house in the dead of night, sneaking small treasures into her copious pockets before slipping out like a phantom in a dream. In theory, a perfect pilferer in most regards. Her ability to spot the shimmer of precious metals or the flicker of gems in dim candlelight was unparalleled. Her one flaw, perhaps, was her curiosity. She liked to see the faces of those from whom she stole. Sometimes, if she found the owner of a jewel particularly intriguing, rather than sell the piece, she might keep it as a token memory.

She frowned as she held the large signet ring up to the flame of a dying candle. It was gold, dark with age but still possessed of that familiar glimmer. Wide and masculine, the seal was comprised of castle spires and two scrolls crossed in the center. The tallest spire in the center of the seal was capped with a small diamond, sparkling with brilliant clarity. It was a fascinating seal. She'd not seen another like it. She wondered at the man who possessed it.

Dropping the ring into her breast pocket, Diebin crept up the stairs, which were lined with cases filled with books. The crackle of the fire in the hearth that could be barely heard throughout the otherwise silent house grew louder as she drew nearer to its source.  The soft rumble of snoring distinguished itself above the crackling wood. Her eyes fell upon the slumbering man lying on his belly in a rather modest bed.

He spanned the length of bed, which was wide enough for two, but not as grand as she might have otherwise imagined. The vague silhouette of his feet could be seen beneath the furs that covered him almost touching the cherry wood foot board. The furs had fallen away from him revealing broad shoulders blanketed in freckles. Diebin drew closer. Dark gold hair lay in disarray about his head he slept. He looked peaceful, lying there. She couldn't make out much of his face, shrouded in the shadows cast by the fire, half hidden by the pillow he clutched in seemingly strong arms.

She reached out and tentatively touched the smooth expanse of his back. It was surprisingly cool to the touch. He thankfully did not stir. Yes, she would keep the ring. A glint of metal caught her eye. She looked to a display cabinet near a curtained window. The doors were mostly glass and behind it, she could see a number of beautiful things within.

She sneaked to the cabinet and carefully opened the doors. A collection of ornate tobacco pipes filled the shelves. Some were of intricately carved wood, others cast of metals polished to a high sheen. Some were even made of colored glass or had ivory carvings on the bowls. They would certainly fetch a good price.

As she reached for a silvery pipe, hot breath fell upon her ear.

"Ah, ah, ah. I wouldn't touch that if I were you."

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Holiday Treats

Playing around with digital art. This is a collaboration between Daddy and I. Since this is the beginning of the holiday season, I figured I'd start it off with a bang.

Sinful Sunday

Thursday, November 24, 2016

The Little Things

Siggy, my kitten
About a year and a half ago I first mentioned my conflict with the label of "little" in The Word "Daddy". My relationship with the term has changed somewhat, having begun a relationship with an actual daddy dom rather than a dom I simply called Daddy, although I can't say that it's become less confusing for me. In the past two months, I've had two labels added to my rather formidable list of identifications by this man: little and kitty. I can't say kitty is terribly surprising. I mean, I'm a cat lady. But the other...the other I still struggle with.

He constantly tells me I'm a little. After examining the evidence, I can't disagree, but it's still a murky place for me. There's still a part of me that wants to wrinkle my nose at the idea of it. So many of the stereotypical aspects are distasteful to me. I have no desire to wear little girl dresses (not that I could fit into one...). Baby talk annoys the ever loving shit out of me, particularly in written form. The whole whiny spoiled brat thing bothers me (mind you, I'm not talking about the BDSM definition of brat which I have addressed multiple times in the past).

I don't really have a concrete idea of what a little is anymore than I did last year. I have never dared to attach the label to myself due to the stigma attached to the more annoying traits. I also don't regress like so many littles seem to do. I don't have a "little space" or a "middle space." Whatever part of me is a little is always a part of me.

I find that the longer I am with him, the more prominent that aspect becomes. I can't tell yet if the little part is manifesting itself because I'm finally with someone who recognizes it and appreciates or because I know it's something that he enjoys. I've always been naturally inclined to magnify certain behaviors in order to be more pleasing. So, at this point I don't know if it's coming from me or coming out for him.

I often play the "why" game now, in which I will respond to a series of things with "why/because why/etc." until he starts repeating himself or starts laughing. I told him recently that "this" was his fault, but I don't think he really understood what I meant.

I express it constantly around him, but there's still that hint of hesitation or discomfort in the back of my brain. I'm not completely comfortable with the idea yet. I can't see myself doing "little" things in public, even at parties. I'm not going to carry a stuffy around, or sit around coloring with others, although I do enjoy coloring. I'll watch animated movies with others, because who doesn't love a good cartoon?

I imagine part of it is some subconscious awareness of the significant age difference between us. I brought up in The Word "Daddy" that I was self-conscious about being mistaken for my ex's daughter. I'd say that concern would be more legitimate now. It's also just self-consciousness in general about how I'm perceived.

Yep, my disorder hasn't gone anywhere. I'm still pretty keen about not feeling like a weirdo in public. Sure, I can get away with a lot based on my appearance and being female. Sexism is alive and well, ladies and gents, particularly in the Southern U.S. I will still make the argument that women are expected to retain certain youthful traits into adulthood that are considered less acceptable or generally unacceptable in men.

I'm still contemplating this new label. I'm sure as I ponder, I'll post more about it here. I still default to owner in non-DD/lg forums and dom in public. I still think about stuff like that. 'Cause I'm still neurotic as fuck.

Tuesday, November 22, 2016

e[Lust] #88

Photo courtesy of Miss Scarlet Writes

Welcome to Elust 88-

The only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month. Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #89 Start with the rules, come back December 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Heart stabbing

Redemption: The Sex Goddess Project


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

An Open Letter To That Cunnilingus Post

I Found Myself Over His Knee

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Writing Sex Scenes With Less Cissexism, Pt 1

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Erotic Fiction

The Haunting of Iris Day
MERMAID??? Wicked Wednesday #229
Fear, Scents and Sounds
Lady Amore
love is love
Her Struggle
The New Principal

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Evolving Landscapes
Trust in Me
15 BEST Things About Giving Blowjobs!
With a rebel yell
What lie do you need to hear so we can Fuck?

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Brush
Tasked with asking for what I need
How Old Is Too Old For Wild Lovemaking?
Brass In Pocket
An Unstated Predicament
California Cuisine
Krystal's First Pegging

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

That Adult Bookstore Just Outside Town
Creature of the night
MISTRESS IN A DRESS - or out of it
Come Here. I want to Taste You
Terror of the cane! How to make caning sexy

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

11 Signs You Might Be a Side Guy

Writing About Writing

Writing Sex Scenes With Less Cissexism, Pt 1

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