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

Monday, November 9, 2015

Unmasked: Part 5: Confinements


So, he wasn't going to eat her. He was going to keep her. She wasn't sure which she preferred. He seemed kind enough...for a wolf anyway, but, damn, that blasted belt hurt and he seemed far too eager to use it again. He seemed far too eager to do a lot of things. What was she now? A slave? Did wolves even keep slaves? She knew so little about them. Most Kin viewed them as nothing but rabid beasts out to kill them all. They clearly didn't think much more of her since they had given her over to the things they hated so fiercely.

She wandered over to the table where her mask lay and picked it up. One of the leather strips used to fasten it in place was cut. She felt naked without the smooth metal pressed against her skin. Among the Kin, she might as well be naked without the mask. Upon reaching the age of three summers, a Kin was expected to wear their mask when among other Kin. One only saw the bare face of one's mate or of infants. The only people Constantina had ever seen unmasked were babies and the three
wolves who had captured her.

She looked at Rodrick, who sat watching her intently as if she were the most interesting thing in the room. He was utterly unperturbed by his bare-facedness, confident in his control of all that surrounded him, including her. She looked away, sitting back down and peeling the broken bit of leather away from the side of the mask. Fortunately she had not tied it correctly that morning and woven the long thongs into her braid as she usually did, so he had only cut one side.  Separating the two pieces, she deftly tied the broken strand round the hook on the edge of the mask.

"You really shouldn't bother with that. You won't be wearing it anymore," the wolf said, rising from his seat.

She examined her work, adjusting the knots ever so slightly. "It is mine, and I shall do as I please with it."

Suddenly, the delicate metal was plucked from her hands. "Actually, it is mine, just as you are." He set it aside. "Look, I know you probably hate me now. Perhaps you did before you came to these woods, but, understand, whatever horrors you've been told about my people, the same prejudices exist for yours. If what has happened to you is much to go by, I would hazard the prejudices against the Kin are more accurate than the fairy stories you've been told of mine."

She inched her chair away from him. "Do you deny raiding Kin settlements and killing many of us?"

He closed the distance between them, catching her braid in his hands and lifting it to his nose. "Nothing your people have not done to us before. I'm just better at it." He looked up thoughtfully, still holding her hair. "That is incorrect. They aren't your people anymore."

The ease with which he accepted his new ownership of her was rather shocking. But, then again, her resistance was a bit of a poor showing. Of course, this wolf had made it painfully clear that resistance was pointless. She wasn't sure why she bothered, to be honest. He said they weren't her people anymore, but she didn't know if they had ever been to begin with. Her body had quickly diverted from the acceptable standard. A strange defect among the tall, slender masses of Kin, she was small in stature and round in all of the wrong places. As a youth, she had often been compared to the potatoes she grew in her garden.

Her family had been further disappointed when her powers failed to extend beyond the growing of things. It was a useful talent, to be sure, but not terribly prestigious and frightfully basic. It was swiftly determined that she had no hopes of marriage, so they had sequestered her to the back of the house to busy herself in the gardens. She spent her days digging in the dirt like a barbarian, nurturing her plants, and playing with the tabby mouser her family kept. After the last raid, the Council had called upon those families with undesirable children to offer as bribes for peace. In the end, it was Conna who had been chosen for the dubious honor of sacrifice. She didn't know if that said more about the wolves' tastes or the distaste of the Kin.

"One cage for another," she muttered to herself.

Rodrick leaned down, pulling her hair taut. "You might find that you like cages," he growled softly, nipping the top of her ear.

She shivered in spite of herself.

He lifted her off the chair like she might do with a doll and slid into the seat beneath her. He settled her onto his lap, resting a hand on her hip. She perched there self-consciously, waiting for a comment about the pressure she was putting on his thigh. She clutched her satchel nervously in her lap. Looking down, he gently pried her fingers from the leather and tossed the flap open. As he started to reach down into the satchel, she slapped his hand.

He pinned her with a skeptical look. "I thought I explained your situation rather plainly."

Her eyes narrowed stubbornly. He lifted both brows, as if daring her to challenge him. She huffed and looked away.

"Good girl."

"Fuck you."

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Mourning

My daddy died on Wednesday. Not the owner, but the man who named me and raised me. Lung cancer. The doctor was baffled. He'd never seen it move that fast. He went in thinking he was having a heart attack and three weeks later he was gone.

I don't think it's hit me yet. I've been crying for 3 weeks, so the screaming I expected when he finally passed never came. I was there. I watched him take his last breath, although none of us realized it at the time.

The funeral is today. I'm not sure I'll be able to handle all of the people.

I just don't understand. He was the healthiest one of all of us and now he's just gone.





Sinful Sunday

Monday, November 2, 2015

Unmasked: Part 4: The Way of Things


He swept a lock of wet hair out of her face. "Good girl. See? Not so hard."

"Fuck you," she said on a sigh.

He chuckled, his eyes lighting up with amusement. "Are you a Geo Kin?"

"Yes."

"Are you a powerful one?"

She laughed, almost bitterly. "They threw me to the wolves, so I guess not."

"Did they send you to spy on us?"

What were these questions? "If they did, I was not informed."

"Why did they choose you?"

She frowned. What did any of this matter? "You like the fat ones and they don't? I don't know. I'm a gardener. I'm rarely spoken to except to inform me of my shortcomings. I'm sure they thought you would eat me. I can't say I didn't share that assumption. However, I now assume that is not the case since I can't see the logic in beating your food."

The grin he gave her was so full of teeth it was frightening. "No...not in the traditional sense, anyway.

She frowned again, not understanding the joke. Perhaps she didn't want to. He held out a hand to her. She took it, allowing him to help her back to her feet. She pulled her skirts from her belt. They fell back down around her ankles, once again giving her some semblance of modesty. Picking up her satchel, which had fallen to the floor during her whipping, she dug out a comb.

* * *

Rodrick watched her with fascination as she freed her hair, ran the wide-toothed comb through it and wove it back into place. Only the flush of her cheeks signified her exertion. Constantina, such a lovely name, and appropriate for the stubborn woman. He had the feeling he would be spending a great deal of time coloring her hide. The prospect did not displease him. He enjoyed the rushing release of her surrendering to his will. Her ass wasn't hard to look at either.

Jurgen came back through the door now that the commotion was over, Reiner close on his heels. Constantina unconsciously stepped closer to Rodrick. This pleased him. Jurgen noticed too, glancing at her then back at him.

"I suppose this means you're keeping her?"

Rodrick swept a possessive hand down over her ass, giving it a squeeze. She jumped with a squeak.

Jurgen shook his head, tsking dramatically. "So disappointing."

Rodrick gave him a look. "Why don't you two go make yourselves useful and go catch some dinner?"

Jurgen grinned at Constantina "I could go get the little messenger boy. He'd be a bit stringy, but..."

Rodrick let out a warning growl. The other man stepped back out the door, laughing...and promptly tripped over a tree root. He came up snarling, angrily shedding pieces of his scale mail armor as he stalked towards the girl. She looked up at him indifferently, no glint of amusement at the success of her trick showing in her eyes.

"Don't try that Kin shit with me, little girl. You think the alpha is bad, I'll get after you with a stick," he snapped, his face inches from hers.

She tilted her head, her expression unchanging. "Try it. I will find where you bed down and grow a blanket of poison ivy around you while you sleep."

Jurgen just stared at her in shock.

Reiner let out a low whistle and started clapping. "You got him to shut up. I am impressed."

Jurgen whipped around and punched his brother on the arm. Grumbling at each other, they finished stripping out of their clothes and leapt through the door, changing forms as they went. Constantina stood there, watching as they left, seemingly fascinated by the change. Rodrick walked back around the desk and took a seat.

"I hope that threat was not backhandedly directed at me. If so, I would strongly advised against it," he said, resting his arms on the desk.

She gave him a sidelong glance. "Why do you say that?"

He smiled. "Because my bed is also your bed."

Her eyes widened.

"And any such instances of petty revenge will be seen as defiance, and well..." he looked down pointedly at the doubled over belt lying on the edge of the desk. Her eyes traveled to it as well.

"Is that how it's going to be, then?"

He rested his head in one hand. "You will warm up to it, and to other things, to me." She seemed skeptical. "If you find any comfort in it, I am consistent in all things, and I do give fair warning. If you choose to ignore it, that is your decision."

She looked down at her hands clasped in front of her. "I did not understand your euphemism."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Not knowing the consequence is not an excuse when you understand the order."

"I thought you were going it eat me!"

"And yet, I specifically said I was not before you bit me the last time."

"Why am I even having this conversation with you?"

"You are going to be having many conversations with me, so why not this one?" he said, regarding her casually. "It's likely an important one. The faster you get used to your new life, the easier it will be."

She sat down on the chair she'd been bound to earlier. A wince passed over her face as the hard surface met tender flesh. "And what exactly is my new life?"

He noted how she kept her distance. That would change soon enough. His people were affectionate creatures, physical creatures who thrived on touch. Given the distant ways of the Kin, he wondered how they managed to make children.

"First and foremost, you belong to me. I am the alpha of our tribe, so you have nothing to worry about with my wolves. This makes you my responsibility. You will live with me and I will provide for your needs...and you will provided for mine." Her eyes were like saucers. "Yes, that too."

"I...I never..."

"I know." How could he not know? Her scent was purely her own. It was only lightly mingled with his from his rough handling of her. Nothing she'd said thus far indicated any kind of close relationship with anyone. Even now he could smell her confusion at the idea that he wanted to mate with her. He found it a little sad.

"And, naturally, I expect you to obey me. I assume I do not need to explain the consequences of disobedience."

Her eyes drifted to the belt again. "What if I don't agree to this?"

He smiled. "I don't believe I said anything about your agreement being necessary."

She lifted her chin. "I could still make things difficult."

He shrugged. "Be defiant if you want. You know how I plan to deal with that. You're in my kingdom now. I can make life far more difficult for you than you can for me. I can also make life fairly pleasant for you."

He watched the emotions play across her face. Her freedoms among the Kin couldn't have been much greater than what he offered. Different, perhaps, but he liked to think that his captivity was better than her previous isolation. He did not know the extent of her trials, but he offered what he might any mate. Not that she'd know that.

She finally shrugged in defeat. "Fine."

"Good girl."

"Fuck you."

Oh, yes. She was going to be very entertaining.



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