Monday, December 28, 2015

Unmasked: Part 12: Respectable Answers


When she stopped convulsing, he slid out of her and off to the side.

Conna stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily. Her body was still throbbing in the aftermath of his assault. She twitched and pulsed with each small movement. She was very conscious of the wetness between her legs. After tugging at the chains a bit, Rodrick finally released her freeing the rings at her wrists from the chain. She sat up a bit to look down at the moisture there. Blood stained the sheets where she lay, more of it seeping out with a white substance she presumed he had left inside her.

She looked over at him. He was lying on his side again, propped up on his elbow. He watched her curiously as if waiting for her to speak. He seemed well-satisfied with himself, relaxed, his trousers slung low on his hips, sated shaft jutting out over the laces. He followed her gaze, noting his half-dressed state and rid himself of the garment. The man was well-sculpted. She assumed, anyway.  He was the only man she had seen in his natural state, but she found him pleasing to look at just the same.

"There is blood on your bed," she said, simply.

It was not the response he had hoped for. She could see it in the crease of his brow and the lines around his eyes. He got up suddenly and went to the fire, where a cauldron of water sat heating. She admired the flexing of his muscles as he lifted it easily from the fire and set it aside.

"There is a chamber pot over there if you would like to use it," he said, pointing. He then busied himself with filling a wash basin with the hot water, giving her some measure of privacy.

She wasn't sure what to make of this experience. Her thoughts were jumbled as she crossed the room to shed the remnants of the act. It wasn't nearly as terrifying as she'd imagined. She had experienced that strange climax twice again. It was hard to know whether it was pleasurable or vaguely traumatic. Should she like her captor? Should she like being used by him in such a way? She should fight this, shouldn't she? Fight him?

When she wandered back over to the bed, he had replaced the linens, removing the evidence of her lost innocence from sight. There was a basin of steaming water sitting on the bed now, a wash cloth handing over the side. She just stood there, staring at the bed, wringing her hands nervously. It was probably stupid to be nervous. She figured he had already done everything there was to be nervous about. He gestured for her to sit, so she lowered herself back to the bed.

Sweeping her braid out of the way, he began washing her back with the warm cloth. "Did you enjoy yourself?" he said, the timbre of his voice tickling her ear as he leaned into her. "At least a little bit? I would prefer it if you did. It is more pleasurable to me if you do."

"Why?"

He frowned. "I'm not a monster...most of the time."

She looked away. "I don't know how I feel yet."

"An honest, respectable answer, so I'll take it." He swiped the cloth over her breast. She shivered. "Your body is much easier to read than your thoughts."

She didn't object as he cleaned the whole of her before tending to himself. She nestled under the covers, pretending not to watch him. The dampness of the cloth  left a sheen on the hard muscles trapped beneath his steely skin. It bothered her that she was so drawn to him. She should hate him on principle, but it was hard to do so when she was so fascinated by just looking at him. As he slid beneath the covers behind her and pulled her to his chest, she realized that she didn't mind this captivity so much. At least this time, she wasn't alone.

~

She woke to the sensation of a warm, rough hand massaging her breast and teeth nibbling at her throat. Rodrick had wedged a knee between her thighs, opening her to his questing fingers. When he noticed she was awake, he plunged two thick fingers into her. She gasped, as he stroked some maddeningly sensitive place within her. His teeth held fast to the back of her neck and he pinned her to his chest with his arm across hers, His fingers teased and tormented her almost to the point of
release.

When she was upon the brink, he pulled his fingers from her in a dizzying moment of confused frustration. He quickly replaced them with his stiff shaft, filling her completely. She was surprised by the ease of his entry this time. Last nights pain had faded, supplanted by a strange fullness and an oddly delicious friction. They rolled and she found herself pinned to the bed beneath his formidable weight. His hips moved forcefully against her with a wildness that had been absent the night before.

She found herself clawing at the bed linens as he wrapped her hair around his fist. A pressure was growing low in her belly, a pressure that was becoming more familiar to her each time. Somehow, he could sense her need becoming more urgent. His grip tightened on her hair and his hips pumped faster. His fingers slipping beneath her was her undoing. He had barely grazed that swollen bead of flesh and she was tumbling into the abyss. He followed swiftly, growling in that otherworldly way none but a wolf could produce. When her body relaxed around him, he eased out of her, continuing to nip at her skin.

She noted light streaming in through the long narrow windows in the wall that she hadn't noticed the night before. Morning. The day had begun as the previous had ended; in a tangle of bodies and a riot of confusion. She felt the bed shift. Rodrick sat up and made use of the washbasin near the bed. He seemed unaffected by their encounter, but she assumed he engaged in such intimacies often.

Gingerly, she sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. "How often are you going to...?"

He looked back at her, eyeing her hungrily. "As often as you can handle," he said, tearing the blanket away again.



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

Saturday, December 26, 2015

The Sweet Spot


For my birthday last week, I ordered my first glass dildos, one of which was a beautiful glass candy cane. I'd never used glass before, but I must say, I'm quickly falling in love with it. It just slips right in with no resistance at all. They're like sparkly bits of interactive art. I'll have to expand my collection.


Sinful Sunday

Monday, December 21, 2015

Unmasked: Part 11: Scent-Marking


When the tray was mostly empty, Rodrick slid it off the bed into the floor. Most of the food had been consumed by him, but the girl had managed nearly a whole steak and most of the tomatoes. She lay back on the bed, looking content, still holding the blanket to her chest. Taking up her wrists, he ran a chain between the metal rings encircling them. He pulled the chain and her arms up over her head to loop it over a T-stake at the head of the bed. Pinching the links together, he locked it in place around the stake.

"What are you...?"

He ripped the blanket from her. "Marking my territory."

She pulled at the chains. "Why these?"

"I enjoy them." He wasn't lying, but he didn't mention that he thought it might be easier for her this way. There was less burden in lack of choice. He wasn't sure she knew about what was about to happen, but he hoped the bonds might give her some semblance of security.

He stretched out beside her, laying a hand gently on her soft belly.  His hand moved in slow circles in an attempt to slow the heartbeat pounding in his ear. Excitement would have pleased him, but he assumed her racing pulse was from trepidation.  His fingers trailed up to caress a breast. She stiffened beneath him as he kneaded the soft globe, teasing the nipple with a calloused thumb.

"Relax. You will enjoy this," he said, giving her nipple a slight pinch. He smiled as she squirmed beneath him. He dipped his head to capture a nipple between his lips, continuing to roll the other between his fingers. Her soft gasp flushed him with excitement, and the small, erratic, movements of her body urged him on. As he pulled away, he lightly scraped the nipple with his teeth.

Wanting to feel more of her against him, he shed his tunic and tossed it aside. She looked up at him, her face flushed with what he hoped were the beginnings of arousal. Her nipples had hardened from his attentions. He rolled atop her, straddling her thighs. A new wave of fear washed over her. The scent of it burned in his nose. He closed his eyes, fighting his own nature. The scent of her fear had his cock straining even harder than it had been against the seam of his trousers, but he didn't want to encourage that fear. Not this kind of fear.

He nipped at her lips. "Relax," he said again. "I'm not going to harm you." He pressed his lips to hers into a full kiss, exploring her mouth with his. He felt her press back and nearly growled with delight.

When he pulled back, her breath fell a little faster.

"You said 'harm'," she said quietly.

"Yes?"

"You didn't say 'hurt'."

He tilted his head a bit. "You're right. If I did, that would be lying. The first time usually does hurt a bit."

She shivered as he slid down her body, running his hands over her soft curves. He bent her knees and pried them open. A bare moment later, she had them clamped shut. Forcing them back open, he gave her inner thigh a sharp slap. The resulting whimper set his blood on fire. It made him want to do it again, but she left them open this time. He slapped the other thigh anyway. She let out an indignant yelp, glaring at him in confusion.

"It needed to match," he said, shrugging.

Stroking the redness his slaps had left, he languorously examined his prize, She as delightfully plump here as she was everywhere, with rosy lips and a pale mound shielded by mostly straight dark brown hair. The straightness of it made it appear sparser than it was, revealing more of her to his eyes. He blew a puff of air at the tender flesh. She tried to squirm away, so he hooked his arms under and around her thighs.

He took a taste of her, tongue delving between those dusky lips. She gasped and stiffened. He could feel the tension in her hips as he explored her sex with his tongue. She arched slightly when he began swirling about the bead between her folds. She tried to hold in the little gasps and whimpers, but he could hear them. He continued to tease the little bud and slipped a finger inside. Constantina let out a startled sound but lifted her hips just the same. He heard the rattle of the chains and added a second
finger. He teased and stroked, suckling the bead like a bit of hard candy.

She came apart beneath him with a small cry, collapsing back onto the bed. He felt her pulse around his fingers, squeezing them with her inner walls. He loved how responsive she was. He loved how easy it was to bring her to her peak. Pulling his fingers from her, he gave her sex a firm slap, making her jump. He kissed his way back up her body, nestling his hips between her thighs. She looked up at him, panting slightly, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her brow.

"Not so bad so far, don't you think?" he said, nipping at her lip. She looked adorably confused.

"You keep hitting me...there..." Her brow furrowed slightly.

He licked a fang, grinning at her. "Are you saying you don't enjoy it?"

A blush bloomed in her cheeks and she looked away, stubbornly silent. He ground his hips against her, letting her feel him through the soft leather of his trousers. Her intake of breath was subtle, but he saw it, and he felt her throb against his cock.

"I thought so," he said smugly, tweaking her nipple.

She lurched up and bit his lip. His hand slid about her throat and forced her back down to the bed.

"Brave move for a bound woman who was whipped for biting just a day ago," he said, chuckling.

She turned her head, avoiding his gaze. "One has to work with the resources available to them."

"Indeed," he said, tugging at the laces at his waist, freeing his cock. He rubbed the length between her slick folds. "I'll let it pass this time. If only because..."

He gripped her thighs tightly and pushed into her. The barrier parted easily for him as he slid into the tightness of her body. Her entire body stiffened for a brief second, her eyes going wide with pain. She pushed at him as best she could, trying to escape his invasion, but he held her still, whispering soothing nonsense as her body adjusted.

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Please..."

"Shh...It will get better. I promise."

He pulled out and pushed back in, settling into a gentle rhythm that seemed to grow easier with each stroke. Slowly, the pained expression faded from her face, sliding back into that perplexed look. He reached between them to rub little circles around her center as he moved within her. Her lips parted and her eyes fluttered shut, confusion giving way to primal pleasure. He picked up the pace, driving into her with a bit more urgency. She dug her heels into his ass, lifting her hips to meet his. He growled with satisfaction, pushing the both of them toward the edge. His circles grew faster in time with his thrusts. Her breath fell faster, her muscles tensing as she reached the zenith and tumbled over. Her climax triggered his, her body squeezing and pulsing around him. He sank his teeth into her shoulder as his release shuddered through him, filling her up.



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



Masturbation Monday

Saturday, December 19, 2015

Gems


I found this ring on a trip to New Orleans going on six years ago. It was $18 and one of the few things I bought on that trip. It instantly captured my attention when I saw it and, frankly, I was amazed that it fit. I have a fairly large ring size, and this was the only one in the store. It has inspired much musing in me. I have always wanted to use it in a story, but I've yet to do so. Perhaps someday.

I have a love of interesting jewelry. Cost and authenticity are irrelevant to me. I'd rather have an interesting bit of pewter and glass over a diamond ring any day.


Sinful Sunday

Thursday, December 17, 2015

e[Lust] #77

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Photo courtesy of The Other Livvy

Welcome to Elust #77 -

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 #78? Start with the rules, come back January 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

On the Island of Mhowra

Shoulder shaming?

What becomes of the broken hearted...


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

You can hear it in my voice.

Fingers - Please Fuck me With Just Them

~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
Don’t tell me sucking dick is easy
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

FFC #7 – TIME TRAVEL : STOCKINGS
Climbing The Corporate Ladder
A Love Letter From The Rebound Champion
Virgin Traffic Stop
A Desire To Be Watched
It's just sex...
His Gift
Like Blue

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Virginity
V for *ahem* not me
The Lost and Found
Woman in Repose

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Amy Schumer's: Sex Acts for Girls
James Deen, rapist?
The Trouble With “Lady Parts”

Erotic Non-Fiction

Camming On Halloween
Fresh From The Shower
Story Of Endless Love, or Just A Cold Cure?
Strap-on Fun
The moment
Bookends (side one)
"Ropes? There are ropes on this bed?"
Gawan: hands and mouth
Tremble

Poetry

Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark
"Longing" - From Coming Together: In Verse
Denial Denied

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Jessica Jones and Choice (Spoilers)
I want to be your submissive slut (sort of)
Memories of wax
Getting Stuck In a Rut and ...
Primal Hunger. Owning It!

Blogging

The Whole Picture

Writing About Writing

Writing an Experience

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Monday, December 14, 2015

Unmasked: Part 10: Education


So much for that experiment.

She sat up, finding herself once again naked in a bed that smelled of him, her heart racing. She didn't know what had her chest pounding last night. This time it was fear. She looked down at her belt lying on the bed. The loud slap of it in her ear had made her stomach drop. She had waited to feel the sting of it, regretting her rudeness as he shredded her gown, but it never came. Some part of her was oddly disappointed by this. She had been baiting him, after all. Then again, he held true to his word. Fair warning, he'd said after her first taste of his wrath yesterday.

A rather intense warning, at that.

Dragging a small blanket from the bed, Conna tied it around herself. She was alone, but she still didn't feel comfortable with being nude in someone else's room. Well, she couldn't say she was comfortable being nude in any circumstance, but certainly not in a strange man's room. The bed was similar to the one in the cavern barracks. It was more of a stack of stuffed pallets than a bed. The linens were impossibly soft, the blankets plush and silky to the touch. It was also piled with furs. From the black bear, it looked like.

She rose from the bed to wander around the room. It was more lushly appointed than she might have expected, given the sparseness of the outpost and the barracks. A massive desk sat near a large window to the right of the door he'd left through. Made of rich mahogany, it was carved with wolf heads and knot work. Piles of books and parchment lined the top, a jar of quills jutting out from the center. She recognized the trappings of government. Her father was one of the administrators for the Geo clans. His desk had been of similar disarray.

The walls were lined with weapons and unusual artwork. Wreaths made of branches, bits of bone, and glass beads. Images constructed of colored pebbles and dried moss. All of it looked to have come from bits of the forest.

In her perusal, she came across an armoire resting not terribly far from the bed. That must be where he kept his clothes. Feeling nosy, she pulled the doors open, and quickly realized her mistake. Hanging along the back was a series of whips. The sides held a number of things, from straps to crops used for horses, as well as a few thin, stripy canes. The insides of the doors held what looked like metal bracelets with silvery chains hanging from nearby pegs. A torture closet. Great.

She looked down to find a wooden chest sitting in the bottom of the armoire, She knew shouldn't open it, but she might as well know what she was in for. Popping the latch, she pushed open the lid. Inside were a dozen glass bulbs of varying shapes, colors, and sizes resting in beds of velvet. They were strangely pretty, almost like little translucent roots with flared bases. She wondered what they could possibly be for.

"I had hoped to save this closet for later, but I suppose this is for the best."

She jumped when his voice came from right behind her ear. How did he sneak up on her so easily? "You're going to torture me," she said softly.

He frowned. " I think I have demonstrated that I have no desire to truly harm you." He reached over and took one of the crops from the armoire. "Any instrument of pain can be an instrument of pleasure." He drew the tongue of the crop lightly up to the top of her spine. She shivered.

He smacked her sharply on the rump with the crop. It bit easily through the blanket, burning intensely.

"Ow! Fuck!"

"They can also be used for punishment." He tugged the knot on the blanket loose, causing it to fall away. "I'm sure we'll get to explore both functions."

He reached around her again to take the metal bracelets and snap them onto her wrists. "Come, I've brought dinner."

Rodrick led her back to the bed. A platter sat in the center, piled with trenchers of food. A small mound of venison steaks, potatoes simmered in some sort of cream sauce, and garlic-roasted cherry tomatoes. He waited for her to take a seat before he took one opposite her. He cut the meat himself, not bothering to offer her the knife. When finished, he handed her a fork.

"Take what you like," he said, reclining near the tray. He popped a chunk of meat into his mouth.

She picked up another blanket and wrapped it around her.

He laughed. "That's not what I meant."

"I know."

He ate a tomato. "I would prefer that you honor the spirit of the law rather than the letter."

She glared. "I would prefer a lot of things. Chiefly, I would prefer to not be naked in a beasts bedroom waiting for gods know what to happen to me. But, well, want in one hand, sh--"

"Do not finish that statement."

It was a command, but he left it to her to decide whether to obey rather than compelling her silence. She desperately wanted to finish her crass remark, but she was very conscious of the fact that her belt lay mere inches from his hand. He took a drink from a cup on the tray, watching her intently. She stabbed a tomato with her fork and bit into it. If he said "good girl," she was going to be kissing that belt anyway.

He continued eating without comment.

She took a few bites of each offering before taking a sip of the cup, which contained a honeyed mead. "So, I am living under constant threat?"

His head tilted. "The Kin are rather formal creatures. I know you know how to behave. It's just a matter of when you decide that it's in your best interest to do so, until you learn our ways. You will settle in. Accept your fate. If a firmer persuasion is needed, I am more than happy to provide it." He took another bite.  "To tell the truth, I didn't expect so much resistance so quickly. You are more resilient than I thought. You are well-suited to your name. That strength will serve you well among my people, but it would serve you better to remember to whom you answer."

"I'm not sure that answers my question."

He pondered for a moment. "In time, I suspect that the threat will be less necessary. My rules will still stand. There will still be consequences for breaking them, but you will likely be more comfortable with them by then."

"What is my place here?"

"You are mine. That is sufficient for now."

Saturday, December 12, 2015

Silver-tongued Devil



Snaking over supple skin,
pure seduction with every stroke,
slipping over, but never in,
a lock-less prison, a phantom yolk.

A silver tongue that never speaks,
but pulls from me a breathless song,
crossing valleys, grazing peaks
treacherous pleasures if aught goes wrong.

To feel it flit o'er fragile flesh,
shivers spreading in its wake,
moisture bloss'ming afresh,
though crimson hue it does not take.

A silver tongue with silver teeth,
a dancer of incomp'rable skill,
gliding over that delicate sheath,
blithely bestowing unmeasureable thrill.

He teases me with impish glee,
'til ev'ry note from me is wrung,
extracting ev'ry sigh and plea,
my devil with his silver tongue.



Sinful SundayWicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

Friday, December 11, 2015

That's a Paddlin'

Do you consider a corrective spanking/caning/thrashing as a pleasure or a punishment?

This is honestly a hard one to answer. First, I'll pluck out the word "caning" and toss it into a raging fire where all such instruments belong. I have been caned a grand total of once, and it was for disciplinary purposes. I can't say that after that experience that I would ever find a caning pleasurable. However, I do have a spanking fetish as well as a discipline fetish, which I have mentioned before in Disciplinary Drives.

I fantasize about spanking a lot...a laaawwwwt. Disciplinary spanking in particular. Most of my smut collection is comprised of spanking/domestic discipline romance. In fact, Unmasked originated as a spanking fantasy and morphed into my first true foray into DD romance...okay, it's purely self-indulgent spanking smut, but some people seem to be enjoying it aside from me, so we'll go with it.

Some of Peach's recent handiwork.
As much as I enjoy spanking in general, my fascination is with the punishment variety. I'm not satisfied with only erotic spankings in my stories or in my own kink life. I crave that kind of interaction on some deep internal level.

But do I find it pleasurable?

That is still difficult to answer. It's been a long time since I've experienced a right proper thrashing. The two most memorable instances being twenty lashes with a studded belt and thirty strokes with a cane I mentioned at the top of this post. Both of these were decidedly unpleasant experiences. For someone completely new to punishment at the time, it was a bit traumatizing. The severity of the punishment overshot the infraction by a league and a half. Despite this, I still crave it. I still spend way too much money in the Kindle Store on it.

But as I read about this harsh discipline, I wonder if I can even handle that kind of pain. I did it five years ago, but those memories fade. My tolerance appears to be growing now that I have a regular play partner again, but I'm nowhere near Foxy or Kitty's level. A whack with that damn billet strap the other night would have had me climbing the walls if I hadn't been tied down.

So, pleasure or pain? Both, I suppose. I find the idea of it intensely arousing, but I don't know if I can handle the kind of pain I fantasize about.

But that's the point, isn't it? It's not supposed to feel good when it happens.


Monday, December 7, 2015

Unmasked: Part 9: Territory


Conna fell back to the bed completely dazed. What had just happened? She felt like she had been running through the forest again. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. Her breath fell in heavy pants. Her pulse throbbed in her thighs and between her legs. Her body was still singing with the aftermath of his confusing assault. She had awoken to an intense burst of perplexing pleasure, only to have him capture her limbs and force another on her. She wasn't sure if she liked it or not, the way he played her body like a lute. He had enough advantage. He didn't need more.

She tucked her knees up, a bit disturbed by the wetness between her thighs, and fell into the sleep of the exhausted.

When she awoke, Rodrick was already up clad in the leather and metal scales he'd been wearing the night before. He was packing up his satchel, as well as stuffing things into hers. She sat up, clutching the blanket to her chest. He looked up at her. His eyes traveled over her, taking in her disheveled appearance. He flashed another fang-filled grin.

"There is a wash basin next to you, if you want to use it. Your gown is on the next pallet," he said, pointing at the items.

She scooted over in the bed, keeping a firm grip on the blanket about her breasts. She could feel his gaze upon her, waiting to see how she'd handle it. Frowning at him, she turned her back to him before dropping the blanket and wrapping it around her hips. He snorted. She ignored him and went to washing herself as best she could. The gown managed to go on without her having to reveal anything, but, once on, she couldn't manage the laces. Even though the garment hung loosely about her, she grabbed for her belt anyway.

"Stubborn woman," Rodrick muttered, grabbing her braid and turning her around.

"I don't need help!" she snapped.

He gave her hair a good yank. "Behave, please. It's far too early for a beating."

She reluctantly allowed him to lace her up. When finished, he handed over her satchel. "Come on. We have a fair bit of walking to do today."

She followed him into the hallway, where Jurgen and Reiner waited with torches in their hands. Beyond the meager light of the torches, the cavern ahead was dark. They must be travelling underground, otherwise, she imagined they would have simply taken one of the lanterns from the barracks.

They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity. Occasionally, Rodrick would hand her a canteen to drink from, or they'd briefly stop to relieve themselves and eat a bit of dried meat. She had no concept of time within the darkness of the tunnels. There was no sun to tell her exactly how long they had been walking. Just when she thought she was going to drop where she stood, they happened upon another staircase.

"Finally," Jurgen said wearily, climbing the steps and pushing open the doors.

She stepped out last into a room very similar to the outpost they had come from. but this one was filled with giant, armored men. And they were all staring at her. There were a couple dozen of them at least, tall and lean. A sea of  black, white, and silver hair.  So many eyes in different shades of gold were trained on her. She stepped behind Rodrick, trying to hide herself from them.

***

Rodrick smirked as Constantina stepped closer to him.  The men followed her movements, noting whose protection she sought. He was pleased by her actions. She had essentially confirmed his possession of her before his men with that small movement. Unfortunately, a bit of cruelty was yet required. He reached around and pulled her forward into view.

"A gift from the Kin," he said with a grin. "They would sue for peace."

That got their attention. Their eyes traveled to the girl and back to him.

"Are you accepting?" Luther said, stepping forward. He was a tall, lean man. He was only a bit older than Rodrick, but he bore the white hair of his wolf.

Rodrick pulled her into his body with an arm around her waist. "I'm keeping the gift. The rest remains to be seen. We will discuss that at Council. For now, I tire of politics. I have more enticing things to attend to." He pressed his nose to her neck and inhaled deeply.

There was a rumble of knowing laughter as he led her out of the barracks. He even heard a few whistles as they came into the corridor lit by the afternoon sun pouring in through large windows fitted with glass. They looked odd, set into the rough mountain stone from which the fortress was carved. The panes weren't as refined as the Pyro Kin could fashion, but he was proud of them just the same. He may have been a warrior, but there were remarkable craftsmen among his kind, even if much of the world regarded them as little more than simple beasts.

Constantina shoved at his arm, wrenching herself angrily from his grip. "What was that?" she demanded.

He shrugged, "Marking my territory."

She snorted derisively. "I'm surprised you didn't piss on me."

Such a brave little woman. Far braver than she ought to be in her position. Brave, or perhaps foolish.

"I prefer other methods of scent-marking, as you will soon learn." He snatched her up by the hair and steered her down the corridor.

He debated whether to give her another lashing for the piss comment. Such disrespect was unacceptable. His hand itched with the desire, but he had promised fair warning. While he hadn't promised fairness, he had given her that much, and he would keep his word. He turned her down hallways and up a few flights of stairs. When she stopped moving fast enough for his liking, he tossed her over his shoulder, getting an indignant squeak for his trouble. Upon reaching his rooms, he pushed open the doors, went to the bed and threw her roughly onto it.

He climbed atop her, pinning her thighs with his own. Her belt came off easily. He doubled it over and slammed it down on the bed near her head so hard, it snapped loudly. The girl flinched at the sound. She struggled until he pulled the knife from his belt and started cutting away her dress. She remained perfectly still as he split the fabric down the center and pulled it away from her body.

He leaned over her and tapped her cheek with the blade. "Your strength is admirable, and your resistance amuses me, but I will not tolerate blatant disrespect like you just displayed in the hall. I'll allow your displeasure with my praise, but do not express it in your way in public. Consider this your warning. There will not be another." He slid down her body, taking the remnants of the dress with him.

She was silent for a moment. "...did you have to ruin my clothes?"

"Yes. You won't dress as a Kin any longer. I will bring you new clothes," he said, striding back out of the door, locking her in the room, naked in his bed.

Sunday, December 6, 2015

Candy Caned


My first and last taste of a cane was almost 5 years ago now, in January of 2011 with one of the little beauties you see clutched between my toes. Braided, plastic candy canes you can find for a whopping $1 at a number of stores. I don't know how I would have felt about them if my former dom had eased me into canes, rather than using it for punishment right from the off. As of right now, they are a limit with play partners. Daddy isn't fond of canes because of the way they bruise, so it's not something I'm terribly worried about with him.

Peach, however, adores the little beasties, so this one is going in her stocking this year.

Sinful Sunday

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Denial Denied

I understand what you're doing.
I really do.
I understand what you want me to do.
You told me.
But you gave me the choice.

You shouldn't have.

I know that no is not your way.
You "steer."
You give choices.
You want me to choose
that which would please you most.
But you gave me the choice.

You have no idea how
infinitely frustrating
that is to me.
There is a reason that
I gave you the power
to deny me.

I don't always have the strength
to deny myself.

I didn't seek the chain
for choices.
I don't want
choices.

But no is not your way.

You know,
I don't think
you have ever told me
no.
I know there's not much
Opportunity.
You are terribly
permissive.
It's rare you require permissions
for anything.
As long as I ask,
you never say no.

I wish you would.
I wish you would
tell me no,
for once.
I wish you would
just say no
when you don't want
me
to do something,
instead
of leaving me
in this
interminable purgatory
of choices.

The miles
that stretch between us--
those daunting,
seemingly endless
miles--
prevent the bondage
I seek.
The only restraint
left to you
is
that little word
you won't give me.

I crave
freedom
from all this
choosing.

But you deny me that.

The only
thing
you deny me.

Denial itself.




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

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Unmasked: Part 8: Skin to Skin


She obeyed silently, still holding her fingers. He waited until she was standing right in front of him, and then he reached down to loosen the wide belt cinching her waist.

"What are you doing?" she said, clapping her hands over the belt on either side of her belly.

"Well, you can't very well sleep in the dress. It's filthy. These beds don't get washed often, so we have to do our best to keep them usable." He slipped the belt free from her grip. "Besides, I prefer to sleep skin to skin anyway."

He whipped her around, gently draping her braid over her shoulder. The fabric released around her as he loosened the ties in the back. He pushed the dress off of one shoulder, resting his warm hand on her bare skin. She shivered, not sure if with fear or something else entirely. He did the same with the other shoulder and pushed the bodice down away from her body as his hands slid down her arms. The skin of his palms was rough against hers, but the sensation wasn't unpleasant. She sucked in a breath as his hands moved to her hips and repeated the process with her skirt.

Gently caressing a buttock, his fingers traveled over a welt. "A few bruises, but I think you'll survive."

Conna glowered at the floor.

"I can give worse and have done so in the past, so I would count this a blessing, if I were you," he said, a hint of mirth in his tone.

She snorted. "Blessing. Right."

When she turned around, he was lying on the pallet, the blankets covering him from the waist down. He propped himself up on his elbow and watched her. She noted how his eyes moved over her body. She wanted to cover herself, to hide her small breasts behind an arm, to shield the excessive swell of her belly. He stared hard at her, a look in his eyes she couldn't quite place. They seemed to glow in the soft lantern light. Another crook of his finger beckoned her to the bed.

She lowered herself to the bed, sliding under the covers. The fabric was cool against her skin, if a bit rougher than she was accustomed to.  Rodrick wrapped one muscled arm around her middle and slid her across the bed to pull her back flush against his chest. Heat spilled from his skin into hers in unending waves. She could feel the hard planes of his belly, the crisp hairs tickling her back. His hand moved in slow circles on her belly. It was oddly relaxing. A familiar tingle started at the base of her skull and traveled down her spine.  Slowly, she felt the fear bleed out of her.

"That's cheating," she said sleepily.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through her. "I think you'll come to appreciate my gifts sooner or later."

"Unlikely," she muttered, drifting off to sleep.

* * *

She was perfect. Pale and plump, soft everywhere that counted. Vines seemed tattooed on her skin, starting at her left hip, curling over her belly and around her back to curl around her right breast. Her skin was almost the color of milk from years of wearing the modest dresses of the Kin, although he noticed the green shimmer dusted parts of her shoulders, breasts and hips. She might pick up some more color when he dressed her like a wolf. She would likely resist that. She was clearly displeased by her nudity. He could see it in her face and the tension on her arms as she fought not to cover herself. He wondered if she resisted out of defeat or rebellion. He wasn't sure which he would prefer.

He had the feeling she was softening a bit. When she'd looked upon his chest, her pupils had dilated slightly and her scent had changed briefly.  He liked to think he was an attractive man. Plenty of women sought a place in his bed, but he attributed much of that to his position as alpha. There were benefits to belonging to him. Power to be had. Prestige. Many would hate her for filling that place, more so because she had no desire for it. Perhaps with enough time and coaxing he could make her desire him at the very least.

After a little while of listening to her slumbering breaths, he moved his hand from the slow circles he'd been making over the silky skin of her soft belly to gently cup her breast. They weren't very big, but they fit nicely in his palm. Her breath retained the steady rhythm of sleep as he kneaded the delicate flesh. She arched slightly into his touch. That was promising. His hand slid lower, grazing over her belly again to brush the dusting of hair over her mound. He draped a leg over hers as he toyed with the hair there, relishing the silkiness of it. He slipped two fingers between the folds of her sex, seeking out the bead of flesh that would stoke her fire. His fingers rolled slowly in small, gentle circles around the sensitive little bead. A small gasp escaped her.

He continued to massage her sex, delving deeper between the folds, bringing moisture to the surface. Her hips shifted in little movements, pressing into his touch. Her breath quickened. Rodrick continued his work, listening intently to her breathing, feeling this shifting of her body, the tension and release of her muscles. She awoke with a soft cry as her body released beneath his touch, muscles twitching, blood pulsing beneath the skin. He continued his gentle stroking, prolonging the release. She moved, trying to escape his probing. He clamped his leg down on hers and pushed his hips into her well-padded ass, pinning her between his fingers and his body.

"What are you doing?" she said, stifling a quiet moan between closed lips.

"Playing with my new toy." Rodrick pushed a finger inside her, careful not to press too deep. She gasped again. He pressed the heel of his palm against the place where her pearl hid beneath the folds and ground against the slick flesh in slow circles. Constantina arched, grabbing at his wrist.

He rolled onto his back, taking her with him so that she lay on her back on his chest. He wrapped each of his legs around hers and pulled them wide, exposing her to him. His free hand came to her throat, holding her against him with a steady pressure. It wasn't enough to cut off her air, but just enough so that she could feel the strength in his hand. In this position, he could feel even the tiniest movement, every hitched breath and barely audible gasp. He teased and toyed with her, listening for those subtle sounds of pleasure, learning her body. He finally found a stroke that had her pumping her hips into his hand. He sped up the circles as she arched higher and higher, muscles taut. She fell back against him with another weak cry, panting heavily as her body twitched in the aftermath of her second climax.

"Good girl," he cooed, nipping her ear.

"Fuck you," she said breathlessly.

He tilted his hips, sliding his cock back and forth between the wet lips of her sex. She stilled. "We'll get to that, just not tonight." he said, giving her mound a firm swat before rolling them back onto their sides.



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

Monday, November 30, 2015

Phallic Fallacies by Mistress Peach

They're into it. Sometimes a little more openly, sometimes a little more shamefully: big, strong men who want to submit in the very best way, who want to bend over and let a woman sodomize them hard, fast, and dirty.
Mistress Peach and her elegant
cock.

Hot as hell, right? And I'm into it too. Way into it. I'm in my twenties, supple and vicious and oh so into anal play, and I've found that my pool of prospective partners is absolutely huge. Do you have any idea just how many naughty boys want to be taken like this? And in the South, no less! (Goodness gracious me.)

I should be fucking anything that moves.

Should be.

But I can't.

I identify as lesbian, with very strong predilections toward anal play with other women. While I enjoy the fantasy of forcing some strapping young man to suck me and then bend over, there comes a strong divide in my mentality. Is it sex or not?

Do you lovely people know just how many men have approached me, only to be offended when I refused strap-on sex? Something phallic is entering something hole-shaped, and that phallic something just happens to be MY COCK. What could be more sexual than that?

Yes it's silicone and yes it's freakishly long, but like a good flogger or my beloved riding crop, it's an extension of me. When I scene, my flogger doesn't strike my sub, I strike my sub. I may be using an implement, but in the end, I am the one directing the intensity, the speed, the sound. To me, it's dismissive to call strap-on sex anything but--how I've come to hate the word pegging! As if giving it a different name changes the fact that a man is being fucked in the ass!

I'll not apologize for withholding my cock. I'll not apologize for giving the act of penetrative sex a greater weight than manual stimulation or toying. Just as there are probably hundreds of men who would disagree with me, there is a part of me that could never give my lovely scary cock to anyone I didn't deeply care for.

If that makes me the most old-fashioned Domme in the South, so be it.

***
Peach is a regular player in my posts here on Rabbit in Chains. Since I have no experience with strap ons, I asked her to do this guest post for Kink of the Week. I think she did a bang up job, and I hope she will do more guest posts in the future. 


Saturday, November 28, 2015

Madame Sophia

Prior to my move in October, my wand died a sad pitiful death whilst I was attempting to...ahem...well, you know. I think the most disappointing thing in sex is having your orgasm ruined not by a partner, but by fucking electricity.

I resolved that once I moved, I would acquire a new buzzy friend. I managed to order three other toys prior to replacing my staple toy. Foxy had alerted the girls that EdenFantasys was having some combo sale and I ordered three new pieces for my collection. And since their sales are so ridonkulous, I decided to go there to find my new wand.

I settled on the Sophia Luxury Wand, which was a bit pricier than I really intended to get, but at $40 off, who can bitch? She finally arrived today, and, well, she's kind of adorable. Much smaller than a Hitachi, waterproof, and rechargeable.

And it's fucking purple, which is the predominant color scheme of my toy bag.

I'm excited to see what this little beauty can do.



Sinful Sunday

Thursday, November 26, 2015

Empty Chairs at Empty Tables

I do stupid things when I grieve. I panic. I make rash decisions. I do things I might not normally do when riding the anxiety train. Perhaps they're mild things in the long run. I mean, I've never ran off and went on a sex spree, or done drugs, or anything permanently damaging. Well, I might have a few minor scars. I only manage to dangle off the side of the anxiety train.

But for me, they are shifts in my normal decision-making process.

When I lost my first dom, I burned his shit and then I became play partners with a couple for several months, doing things I might never have done otherwise. I'm not sure how I feel about it now. It went farther than I had intended, but fate saw to it that it didn't go somewhere I would have really regretted. We had discussed it, but circumstances prevented it.

Maybe I should set it on fire too.
When I thought Daddy had broken up with me, I immediately went out and agreed to move in with a friend. Hence the new window in my Sinful Sunday posts. We got back together, but I work fast when I'm upset.

But now, I'm not really sure what to do with my grief. I feel like there is no real outlet for it. I've bought Christmas presents. I've arranged private play dates with Peach. I've cursed at a U-haul box and stomped it into oblivion.

But, honestly, my major inclinations tend toward self-destruction. I'm far too chicken shit to execute most of the morbidity that passes through my brain, but it passes just the same. The one thing I've managed to do throughout the course of my post-pubescence is cutting. An expression of my masochism from the early days. Daddy requires that I ask permission to do it, but since I so seldom ask, he typically says yes.

I know he'd most likely say yes, but even so, a part of me wants to just fucking do it without asking. The rational part of me knows it's bad, and I've managed to refrain. I'm not sure what would come of it. Nothing satisfying, I imagine, at this distance. I'm not typically one for acting out to get attention, but I suppose my pitiable attempts at self-destruction involve this sort of bullshit.

I expressed this to him in a text message. I've yet to receive a response. It's a bit disappointing, his silence today. I assumed he might say something since he was off work for the holiday, but I'm treated to more silence. Perhaps that's part of it too. Grief mixed with a lack of attention.

I just feel like crying is rather impotent and I'm too fond of my shit to break anything. Throwing things has never been terribly satisfying to me anyway. I'm more of a punching door frames kind of girl.

Masochism is my outlet, and I appreciate Peach's willingness to scratch that itch. However, I've not quite managed to figure out how to trigger catharsis.

I mostly just scream in my head a lot and fight back tears.

This is the first holiday we've had without him. We usually spent Thanksgiving at his family's. Instead, we went to the casino and played blackjack and had dinner at the Waffle House.


Monday, November 23, 2015

Unmasked: Part 7: Compulsions


He said it like he found the idea preposterous. She wasn't sure why. Most Geo Kin could produce food as easily as she could, probably more efficiently if she were honest with herself. She just wanted to go back to her garden and grow her potatoes. She didn't want to be cooking rabbit stew for three massive wolves, one of which who was squatting naked right next to her and another claiming he owned her. She turned away from the pot to the side without a naked man and collected the meat from the quiet man at the table. She threw it into the pot a bit more cavalierly than she should have. The naked man hissed as hot broth splashed onto him.

"Watch yourself, woman!" he snarled.

"Put some damn clothes on and you won't have to worry about burning yourself." Rodrick said, a hint of anger in his voice.

The other man stood and stomped petulantly over to his pile of clothes near the door and began stuffing his over-sized limbs into the stiff fabric. Conna covered her mouth, trying to hide her smile. Perhaps her plan was a bit mean, but it worked. Rodrick seemed upset enough with his man to believe it was an accident. He might not even care if he learned that it wasn't, but she didn't really want to find out. Once she got control of herself, she caught up her knife, chopped up the onion and threw it in the pot with the rest.

When she turned around, she wanted to hide again. The big one, the one called Jurgen, was eyeing her predatorily. The quiet one was washing the blood from his hands. Rodrick was staring at her too. Catching her gaze, he beckoned her with a pat of his thigh. Conna pursed her lips, but didn't move. Those eyebrows lifted again, golden eyes flashing. There was danger in that look. A tingle ran down her spine, propelling her forward.

Well, then, apparently he didn't need to speak to compel her. That was going to get annoying.

She walked stiffly over to him. When she got close enough, he pulled her into his lap. "Tonight we will bed down in the barracks, and tomorrow we will head back to the Den. Then we can discuss the Kin's...proposal with the Deltas."

"Will the females even accept her?" the quiet one said.

"They will do as they are told."

"They won't be happy about you keeping her."

She felt him laugh. "They are welcome to offer challenge."

The other man's lips thinned. "Be wary, they might challenge her directly."

Jurgen snorted.

Rodrick rubbed her belly in what she assumed was meant to be a comforting gesture. She just found it odd. "She is outside the pack structure, and that's not how things work. They wouldn't waste the effort."

"I am simply saying that it is something you should be prepared for," he said, throwing up his hands.

"Reiner, if you are referring to your sister, then I will remind you that it is your responsibility to keep her and her ambitions in check." His grip tightened around her middle.

This was just getting better. Not only did she have to deal with the brute holding her captive on his lap, now she had to worry about she-wolves trying to fight her. Were she-wolves great giants like these men? She had never fought anything more ferocious than a stubborn weed. Any physical confrontation between her and a wolf would be down right laughable. Sure, she'd managed to survive her scuffle with Rodrick in tact, if not wholly unscathed, but he wasn't actively trying to harm her. Yet.

She tried to pry his fingers from her belly. He pinched her thigh. Giving up, she sat silently until the food was finished. The wolves continued talking about a number of matters, none of which she really understood, having no context. Rodrick finally released her from his lap to eat, sliding her into the seat beside him. She picked at her food in silence while they devoured theirs at a sickening pace.

She continued to sit there while the one named Reiner scrubbed out the bowls and put them away. He then went over to a ring bolted to the floor and lifted it, revealing a staircase descending into the ground. Jurgen jogged down the stairs. Rodrick stood and moved toward them, holding a hand out to her again.

"The barracks are downstairs." He left it open. There was no command in it. No compulsion. But, really, what choice did she have?

She stood slowly, still trying to absorb all that had happened. Her muscles ached from the tension she was only starting to release. She laid her hand delicately in his, small and pale against his large, rough palm. He led her to the stairs as if her were escorting her to some affair, not leading her down into the depths of the earth, to the unknown. Gingerly, she followed him down the steps, using his hand for balance. About twelve steps down was a hallway that resembled a cave more than a hall. She saw two doorways on opposite sides of the hall. Jurgen and Reiner disappeared into the left one, and Rodrick led her to the one on the right.

The room was dimly lit by a series of lanterns with fat candles burning behind the glass. A number of fat pallets lined the walls, blankets lying in disarray atop them. In the center of the room stood a dead fire pit. A large satchel sat on a pallet towards the back of the room. Rodrick went to it and moved it off the bed and began stripping off his armor. As he peeled off each piece, he laid it aside, watching her as he did so. Conna stood near the door. The dim light cast him in an array of shadows that made him seem larger than he likely was. He finally tugged the  tunic over his head and tossed it aside.

She couldn't help but stare. He held the tunic in his hands, watching her as she examined his thickly muscled arms, his flat belly, and the indentations at his hips. She had never seen a man's torso before. She felt a distinct urge to touch those hard planes, to know what they felt like beneath her fingers. Where she was soft, he was hard. Where she was smooth, he bore a dusting of black and silver hair or some pale scar. She grabbed her fingers with her other hand to resist the urge to reach out. A corner of his mouth lifted ever-so-slightly as if he was aware of the conflict in her mind.

He crooked a finger at her. "Come here, please."


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

Saturday, November 21, 2015

Broken Wings


This is an oldie. I was 19 when this was taken. It was my first encounter with my first dom. The markings were done with one of my mini twin floggers. I always liked the picture because the marks reminded me of wings. One is unfinished because of the position we were in limited his swing, but I find it interesting that these were the first marks of that relationship, given how it ended. Broken wings to begin a broken relationship.

I think it fitting.


Sinful Sunday

Thursday, November 19, 2015

e[Lust] #76

Elust header
Photo courtesy of Charlie in the Pool

Welcome to Elust #76 -

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 #75? Start with the rules, come back November 1st to submit something and subscribe to the RSS feed for updates!


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Sex and the post-birth vagina

Lonely Things

Just the two of us


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Tiny, shiny, bity snaps of steel...

I have fallen in and out of love with myself


~ Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

*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 End of the Run
Ladies Who Lunch
kink of the week: dirty panties
Release
Brutal Nights
Because I Knew I Shouldn't
Erotic Fiction: "Everything"
Look, Don't Touch
As one night ends...
String Quartet
Unmasked: Part 1: The Gift
The Secret Rolls

Erotic Non-Fiction

The lick of love.
Tickle & Tease
Oral Sex, Don't Forget Oral Hygiene - Whoops!
Feed my senses
Camming With A Foot Lover
Finding the Edges
Word power
The Mail Room
Doing It Herself

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

I Had An Abortion
The 7 Dimensions of Cock

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

When I Thought the Scene Was Done
Introducing the Abject Kitten, Part 2
The Joy of Fear
Talking About BDSM With Your Therapist
On Denial (and topping from the bottom)

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

I Did It My Way
Two
Fuckin With Fuck Boys Part II
You don't need my permission to fuck my lover
Undercovers

Writing About Writing

The Hunt for Adult/Sex Friendly Businesses



ELust Site Badge

Monday, November 16, 2015

Unmasked: Part 6: Profound Magics



Rodrick chuckled. Her dislike of that particular form of praise amused him. Her submission, however reluctant, filled him with satisfaction. The first item he pulled from the bag was the chain he'd bound her with. He snorted, cocking a brow at her and setting it aside. The next was a bit of rope that had likely been used for the same purpose. He would have to remember her talent for escape. Next, he pulled out a small stuffed rabbit doll. Brown and white, the little toy was knitted from a soft yarn.
Constantina snatched it from his hands, stuffing it in the back of her belt. He decided to let the curious action go.

The final items he pulled from the bag was a jar of dirt, followed by a bag of seeds, and small water skein. "No food? No blanket? No weapons?"

She reached into the back of her hair and drew out a small dagger. He frowned and looked at the back of her head, wondering how he hadn't noticed it thus far. Well, that was certainly interesting. He wondered what had kept her from using it.

She pointed at the bag. "That is food."

He blinked, looking at the bag of seeds. "How?"

She slid off of his lap and went to the table, setting the rabbit and the knife down. She opened the jar of dirt and untied the bag of seeds, which turned out to be a simple square of cloth she'd tied up rather than a true pouch.

"What would you like?" she said, spreading out the seeds.

He thought about it. "Potatoes."

A strange expression passed over her face before she threw him an exasperated look. "Potatoes are tubers and you have to cook them." She picked through the seeds. "We'll go with grapes."

Digging a little hole in the dirt with her finger, she dropped a tiny seed in, and covered it up. She picked up the water skein and poured a bit of water into the jar. Wrapping her hands around the jar, she stared intently at it, taking in deep, even breaths.

At first, it seemed slow. He had never really thought about how fast or slow plants grew. He wasn't exactly a farmer. What he did know, was the vine snaking out of that jar was a marvel. It grew rapidly before his eyes, twisting and curling, sprouting small leaves. A flower finally unfurled on one of the shoots, fell away, and little fruits began to form. He watched with rapt attention until she had two sizable bunches of grapes hanging from the short vine.

Finished, she sighed and wiped a bit of sweat from her brow on her sleeve. "See, food."

He plucked a fat red grape from the vine, just staring at it. It was perfect and plump with unblemished flesh. He popped it into his mouth. Sweet juices spilled over his tongue. He had never tasted a more perfectly ripe bit of fruit. She was definitely more than he expected.

"The Kin consider this a disposable talent?"

She ate a grape. "From what I've been told, plant manipulation is a very basic talent. Nothing remarkable about gardening. I don't normally produce this fast, but one plant is easier than a whole plot."

"The Kin are idiots. Ample food supply is the foundation of a kingdom."

She shrugged, eating another grape. "One gardener among many makes no difference."

"I have gardeners, farmers, but no Kin. You will make a great deal of difference," he said, taking a cluster of grapes.

"I thought you only really ate meat..."

"Indeed we do, little Kin," Jurgen said, strolling through the door, naked and spattered with blood. He slung a pair of dead rabbits down on the table.

Constantina's eyes went wide, and she hugged the jar to her chest as she stared at the floor.

"Jurgen..." Rodrick said in a warning tone.

"What?"

"Clothes?"

He scoffed. "She'll have to get used to it sooner or later. Besides, I'm not that hard to look at." He swaggered over to a wash basin and set about washing off the blood.

Reiner came through the door shortly after, fully clothed. He looked over at Jurgen, huffed, and walked away shaking his head. He scooped up the rabbits and started to clean them. "Someone might start a pot heating..." he said, without looking up.

Constantina looked at Jurgen and then back at Rodrick. Seeing neither man move, she began pinching off the bunches of grape. Setting them aside, she carefully lifted the grape vine out of the jar, root ball in tact. Clutching both vine and jar, she wandered out the door. Rodrick sat up, prepared for her to run again. The sounds of her footsteps, however, were unhurried and stopped not far from the door, so he relaxed. She came back without the vine a few minutes later, her jar full of new dirt.

He noted Jurgen watched her too as she settled in front of the hearth and transferred the cast iron pot from the hook to the rack over the fire. She wandered around again, looking for things, not speaking to any of them. Somehow, she managed to unearth a pitcher of water and a good-sized bowl. She poured half the water into the pot and sat the bowl on the floor. Collecting the bones from which Reiner had stripped the meat, she tossed them into the heating water. She then poured the dirt into the bowl and carefully placed several seeds inside it. Pouring a bit of the water into the bowl, she went to stirring the pot, absentmindedly waving her hand over the bowl.

The scent of fresh herbs filled the air as tiny plants sprouted beneath her palm. She twirled her fingers around one plant a little longer than the others, but she never looked at any of them while they grew.  Finally satisfied, she started plucking sprigs of herbs, shredding them in her hands and throwing them into the pot. When she dug a small onion out of the dirt, Jurgen dropped his rag.

"She just conjured food," he said in amazement.

Constantina continued to stir. "It's not conjuring. Kin can't make something from nothing."

Jurgen padded across the room, crouching near the bowl, peering at it. Constantina stirred harder at the pot, apparently still very aware of Jurgen's nudity.

Jurgen looked back at Rodrick. "Why do the Kin fear us if they are capable of such profound magics?"

Rodrick felt her eyes on him, although she did not turn her head.

"The Kin value form over function. They could be devastating war machines, but it is not a skill they value." He pointed at the bowl of plants. "That is also apparently a skill they do not value."



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

Saturday, November 14, 2015

Chosen


He strolled down the Hall of Flowers, perusing the blooms laid before him, kneeling in their silks and jewels. Their eyes gazed demurely at his feet waiting to be chosen. All but one. She looked boldly upon him, a sly smile turning up her lips. Draped in red and gold, she dared what none of the others would. His steps slowed to a halt before her. She took the hand he reached toward her and he led her from the hall. 

Sinful Sunday

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Virgins on Parade

After reading my catalog of romance and erotica, one might be forgiven for thinking I have a bit of a virgin fetish. My pieces are lousy with virgins. Perhaps I'm the only one who notices this. Perhaps I'm the only one who notices any of the common themes among my work. After all, I'm the only one who has read all of my work. So, maybe you haven't noticed my harem of virgin flesh parading into the arms of hairy beast men.


Or maybe you have.

However, I'll dispel that myth right now. I don't have any particular attachment to virginity. It's just the state that makes the most sense within the worlds I tend to create. I grew up on historical romance, where every heroine is a virgin, because that's how medieval ladies were. You were a virgin until you got handed over to a man, and then, bam, best sex evarrrr.

I remember my mother often telling me that the virgin sex in my romance novels was nowhere near accurate. She's a bit biased, as she has told me in the past that she could take or leave sex and that it was always initially painful for her. Even so, based on my experience, she wasn't wrong. My first experience was extremely painful and involved much bleeding. I won't attribute that solely to my virginal state at the time. A lot of it had to do with the disinterest of my partner in any sort of foreplay beyond receiving a blow job.

I try to create a happy medium between the awful pig sticking I experienced and the fantastical multi-orgasmic affair one often sees in a historical romance. It's difficult, however, to mesh good sex with painful sex when I've only really had the one.

I'm not sure that it's a conscious influence on my part, but beyond the fact that virginity just makes the most sense for my female characters, one possible reason for my virgins is the fact that that comprises the majority of my experience. Most of my sexual activity has been solo. My only true sexual experiences with another person are minimal at best, and mostly unpleasant. What I write here are the wild fantasies of a literary nympho but a veritable virgin physically.

No, I'm technically not a virgin, but in a lot of respects, I might as well be. I'll likely continue writing virgin characters. They fit their worlds just fine. And, really, it's what I know. I was one for almost 20 years.

Maybe I'm just trying to recreate the most romanticized experience of one's life into something actually worthy of romance.


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