Thursday, July 20, 2017

e[Lust] #96

The other livvy header image Elust
Photo courtesy of The Other Livvy

Welcome to Elust 96-

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


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Loop

Yellow Cab Service

Pammy Corrigan Gets Her Wish

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Luring Him Back

Date Night

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

International Chocolate Day 2017 (it was fucking brill)


*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

Good Example - Part II
The Legend of Lyonesse
Broken to Be ~ Part 6
Star Talker: Part 1: Attack
Sex Magick

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

What gets me going
Top Ten Tips For Finding A Dominant Woman

Erotic Non-Fiction

BIG BOYS DON'T - Breaking down
Wank Bank Deposits
To All The Girls I've Loved Before - Thankyou
Erotic Transference. Falling For My Therapist
All Dressed Up And Nowhere To Go

Body Talk and Sexual Health

A change would do you good...
Well in Hand


A Memory of Master Aryn



Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Good news for elderly: Sex robots in nursing
Reasons not to work for News Corpse

Thoughts &Advice on Sex & Relationships




Elust 88

Saturday, July 15, 2017

Star Talker: Part 6: Home

"Captain Rha'han, what lovely treasure you've captured!" came a male voice from somewhere in front of Rha'han.

I stiffened, staring hard at his boots, fighting the urge to look up. A hand caught me under the chin, attempting to tilt my face up for examination. I jerked away with a hiss, crouching to Rha'han's side, holding my bound wrists defensively in front of my face.

"What is she?" the stranger said, a hint of disgust coloring his tone.

"Terran, according to her medical bracelet," Rha'han said, sounding amused.

"Are you sure?"

I opened my mouth to speak, which earned me a hard yank on the chain from Rha'han. I chuffed through my nose, but said nothing.

"I might have a genetic workup done later, but for now I'll accept her listed biometrics and just assume she's feral."

I glared at him and growled. He wanted feral? I'd give him fucking feral. He lifted an eyebrow and wrapped the chain around his fist, forcing me closer.

"If you'll excuse me, it's been a long day. If you're in the market for a slave or mate, the other captives will be at the market later in the week, after debriefings, of course." Rha'han said.

The other man bowed. "Of course."

Rha'han tugged on the chain, and I trudged along after him, staring at the colorful tiles under my feet. The sun had set sometime during the flight, so the sky was dark, but bright lamps lit up the plaza we were crossing. The brightness reminded me of LEDs, but they were likely some native gas. No one else approached us during the trek, as we entered an elevator. The trip up was much longer than I expected. Citadel was the best translation for the word I had, but it wasn't quite like the Terran idea of a citadel. It was a city inside a single building. It was a massive structure, mindboggling in its vastness. It made my head hurt to think about the construction. It shouldn't have. Space stations were a similar concept, except in a space station, you didn't really have a choice. I kind of didn't get why you would want to live in an enclosed city.

I didn't see much besides leather boots and flowing hemlines of vivid fabrics that grazed the floor and hid the feet of the wearers. I wanted to look. I wanted to see this place. I wanted to study the faces of those around me, listen to their words, their accents, their dialects. I wanted to record their voices in my Arkiv. But, I had been bold enough for the day. I was still pissed at the whole situation, but it had settled into a slow burn, the fire weakened by my exhaustion. Continuously aggravating my captor probably wasn't the best of strategies, but it was better than thinking about the coppery scent of blood and the lifeless eyes of the men I'd worked and lived with for the last two years or more. I shuddered.

"You can look up now. We're home."

Home. What a joke.

I lifted my head, but didn't look at him. I stood in the foyer of a large apartment. Large photographs of nebulae and colorful planets hung in elegant frames on the wall. I wondered if he had purchased them, or if they were images he'd captured during his travels with the Lo'Rahni military.

A female alien swept into the room, hands meekly clasped in front of her, silvery bracelets adorning her wrists. She wore an ephemeral white garment, reminiscent of art I'd seen of Grecian nymphs. It was gathered at each shoulder with a pin. The sides were open, but pinned near the waist to preserve modesty. I imagined they were designed for Lo'Rahni women, with their extra arms. The fabric hit her at the knee, much shorter than the skirts I'd seen on the way here. She had iridescent ruby skin, made up of smooth tiny scales. Patches of gold scales broke up the pattern in unusual places. A long fin descended from the top of her head like veil or a cascade of hair. It reminded me of the billowy tail fins of betta fish we used to keep as pets when I was a child. Smaller fins draped from her forearms, looking almost like silk or chiffon. She had small eyes and a small mouth and no nose to speak of. I could see the lines of gills on the sides of her long neck. The fingers clasped in front of her had membranes running up half their length, and her bare feet were similarly webbed. I'd never seen a member of her species before. She was beautiful.

"Welcome home, Master," she said cheerfully, smiling with her tiny mouth.

"Thank you, Daesha. I trust all has been well in my absence?"

Daesha bowed at the waist, her head fin folding around her body. "Yes, Master. Mehdawi is preparing the evening meal." She cast a glance to me. "Shall I take the new girl to the servants' quarters to be properly attired?"

"What? Oh." Rha'han looked down at my wrists and reached out to unlock them. "No, thank you, Daesha, but this one is not a slave. This is Selena, my new mate."

Surprise erupted on her face. Well, I assumed it was surprise. I wasn't quite sure how to read her expressions yet.

"My apologies, Mistress. I assumed..." she bowed again.

I flinched at the word "Mistress." Slavery had been abolished on Terra centuries ago and, while I was aware it existed on other planets, it had not been an institution on my birth station or within the Centauri Federation. The idea of it made me uncomfortable.

"Daesha, we will bathe and then have dinner in my room. Oh, and I will need someone to fetch some gowns for Selena."

I felt my stomach sink at the prospect of bathing with him, because, of course, I would be.

Daesha examined me and looked back to Rha'han. "Right away, Master. I will send Daila to the market sector before morning." She bowed again and rushed off to do his bidding.

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

Saturday, July 8, 2017

Star Talker: Part 5: Prisoner

I simply stared at Rha'han as the door to the cabin slid shut and the beeps and clicks of him securing the door. The bastard seemed well-pleased with himself. I touched the bandage on my chest, the skin still numb from the anesthetic. Branded like cattle, again. I was getting a bit sick of being marked by Lo'Rahni men. As a child, it was supposedly for my protection, but rather than protecting me from Rha'han, the sight of it had simply spurred him on.

I looked about the cabin. It was a sparse appointment. A bunk, a desk, a small bathroom attached. There were no personal effects to be seen, but that was unsurprising. If it was only a few hour flight from the capital, he would have no need for personal items. The Centauri facility was not equipped for combat nor built for defense. Centauri Prime was a passive station. Our purpose was purely academic. The Centauri Scientific Federation had been contributing to the information databases in the quadrant for decades through the various stations posted in the surrounding star systems. We were universally recognized as a peaceful federation, so the attack made no sense.

Sitting down on the bunk, I tapped on the Arkiv and scanned for active remote radio links. A couple of the Arkivs were still on. Litai's was active. I requested a connection, pleased when she quickly accepted the exchange. I transferred a text file, advising to tell the others to activate the RRLs. I pulled up my translation software and began transferring it to each active link. So far, the program was only completed for English, but I was slowly building the dictionaries for the other interstellar Terran languages. The English software would be enough to get them by though.

I sat the tablet aside. The files were massive, so the transfers would take a bit. I stretched out on the bunk, suddenly tired. The last couple of hours had caught up with me. The adrenaline had faded. My ass still ached, although the burn had faded. My lids were heavy. I didn't fight it. I had nothing else to do. Might as well nap.


The feeling of the descent woke me. I felt groggy, the few hours' sleep not enough to wipe away the exhaustion of the day. I picked up the Arkiv. All the files had transferred. New text files had been transmitted to my device. Several transcripts of the conversations the Lo'Rahni soldiers had been having during the flight had been sent. Mostly innocuous chatter. A few exchanges were of note however. Litai had sent one with a note in bold at the top.

Jin Fai Empire attacked planet. Lo'Rahni victory.

Of course. Jin Fai had arisen in the wake of the last Terrestrial War, a few hundred years ago. They had pioneered extrasolar colonization, conquering the closest habitable exoplanet, forming the administrative seat of the empire. As they'd grown, they'd begun conquering subsequent planets for resource farming for their ever-growing population. Lo'Rah had apparently been their next target.

I had never looked on Jin Fai with any sort of favor. They took slaves of the populations they conquered. They started wars specifically for territory acquisition. And they'd just fucked over the Centauri mission on Lo'Rah, gotten half of my coworkers slaughtered and the rest of us enslaved. Despite the authorization Centauri had been given, I had little hope that the women of the facility would be released. Lo'Rah needed females too badly. And Jin Fai had likely shattered any Terran-Lo'Rahni relations. Most planets did not see that Terrans weren't a unified species. They blamed all Terrans for any Terran aggression, regardless of the nations that initiated it. It was pretty damned inconvenient.

The door slid open to reveal Rha'han's massive form in the hall way. He held a pair of bracelets and a coil of chain.

"Hands, please," he said as he strode toward me.

I looked at the bracelets and then craned my neck to look him in the face. "Why?" I said evenly, turning off the Arkiv's display.

"You are not properly attired for display as a mate, so you will enter as a captive. I will not allow you the disgrace of improper status."

I cocked an eyebrow. "Just the disgrace of being seen as a slave."

He sighed. "A captive woman is valuable. A mate, even more so. If I allow you to walk about as you are unfettered, then it gives the impression that I neither respect nor properly care for my mate."

I snorted. "So, it is not me you're saving from disgrace, but yourself."

His eyes narrowed. "Hands. Now."

I stood and tucked the Arkiv into the waistband of my pants in the back, lifting my shirt to cover it, and held out my wrists as if I were being arrested. He snapped manacles onto my wrists. They were wide and thin, appearing more like delicate vambraces than restraints. A chain about as thick as my thumb connected them and extended into a sort of leash which Rha'han held in one of his lower hands.

"Keep your head down. Look no man in the eye."

I glared up at him, a defiant quip on the tip of my tongue, but his expression kept my lips closed. There was a promise in his eyes of something far more unpleasant than his earlier punishment should I disobey. I was somewhat familiar with Lo'Rah, but the intimate details of their culture were still unknown to me. I suppose it was best that I heed him, not knowing the reasons for the command. I wrinkled my nose with a sigh and ducked my head.

"Thank you."

I simply grumbled in response. He tugged on the chain, and I trudged forward, staring at the back of his boots as we disembarked. I hazarded a glance to either side, to see the others shuffling along, chained to each other. One line of slaves, another line of breeding stock. I glared hard at the chains on my wrists, clenching and unclenching my fists. I could feel my nails digging into my palms. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, trying to calm myself.

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

Saturday, July 1, 2017


Sinful Sunday

Star Talker: Part 4: Branding

She started kicking the moment he mentioned the micro brand. Not entirely quelled by her beating, it seemed. Rha'han guessed he couldn't really blame her. Most people thought of strike branding whenever they mentioned it. Most races considered the Lo'Rahni practice of branding to be barbaric. Rha'han thought it was a wonderful tradition. More permanent than paper or electronic records. Ownership and relation were more easily proven. It could be damned inconvenient though.

He clearly wasn't the only one who had seen the value in this Terran woman. Otherwise the seal of his father's house would not be on the back of her neck. He had planned to wait until they reached the citadel, but the brand complicated things. He had to claim her quickly, before anyone else became aware of the brand and gave her to someone a bit more prominent than a bastard soldier. He had no doubt if he procrastinated that they would do just that, if only out of spite.

He sat her down on the exam table, her thick black braid slapping the small of her back. She winced as her ass met the table. He smiled slightly. She was small, like most Terran women he'd seen. Her head didn't quite reach his chest when she stood in front of him. She had deep olive complexion, only a few shades lighter than his own, and without the golden shimmer. Her eyes were mesmerizing, a whole swath of colors, blue, rimmed with green, with flecks of gold. If she had any hint of horns, he might have thought her part Lo'Rahni. But he knew Terrans came in an astounding array of colors.

"What's going on, Captain?" Dai'ir said, walking into the room, drying his hands with a cloth.

"I need to brand her."

Dai'ir looked at the woman and back to him. "In a hurry, sir?"

He turned her and lifted her hair away from her neck. "It's a matter of some urgency."

The doctor frowned. "That's an adoption brand."

Rha'han rolled his eyes. "I'm fully aware, thank you."

"How'd she get it?"

"She claims she spent a year on a Lo'Rahni ship as a child. If she spent a year on one of our ships and was never on Lo'Rah, then it had to be the ambassador's ship."

Dai'ir sighed. "I see your conundrum."

"I'm right fucking here, you know." They looked down at the girl, who had a thoroughly displeased expression on her face.

Dai'ir smirked. "Restrain her. I'll collect the materials."

The girl bolted off the chair and ran toward the door. Rha'han snatched her around the waist, taking her seat, and settling her in his lap. He held her waist firmly with one set of hands and restrained her wrists with the other. She squirmed on his lap, struggling to get free of him. He gritted his teeth against it, feeling himself lengthen beneath her.

"I suggest you stop that blasted wriggling, little girl, or I might not be able to control myself," he growled into her ear. She stiffened, but stilled, thankfully.

Dai'ir returned with a tray of instruments, including syringe, a vial of anesthetic, and a branding tool. He took a scanner from his pocket and ran it over the medical bracelet on Selena's wrist.

"Oh, nice. It's already translated into Klotharan," Dai'ir said, perusing the information with interest. "Selena Fouad. Home station: Centauri Prime. Species: Terran. Primary Occupation: Interpreter. Blood Type: O+. No known allergies. Height: 157 centimeters. Weight: 72.6 kilograms. No prior surgeries or history of medical conditions. Good. This shouldn't be an issue then."

The doctor took a seat to the side of them. "Remove her shirt, please."

Selena started struggling again, cursing under her breath. Rha'han lifted the hem of her shirt, slipping it off of her with relative ease. She was bare beneath, her modest breasts unhindered by the typical support garments. She turned her head away from them both, her eyes glimmering with rage. Dai'ir wiped the skin above her right breast with antiseptic, and applied a topical anesthetic before applying the local with the syringe.    

He clucked his tongue. "Calm down. You won't feel a thing."

She growled. "The prospect of pain so isn't the point."

Rha'han raised his eyebrows. Hissing and growling? Maybe she wasn't only Terran after all. She stilled as he pressed the branding tool to her flesh, glaring at the doctor as he carefully burned the characters of Rha'han's name in Klotharan script into her skin. Dai'ir had an impeccable hand. The characters were delicate and beautiful, appropriately feminine for a beautiful mate. He smoothed a bit of ointment over the fresh brand and covered it with a bandage.

The doctor stood, setting aside a small jar of ointment and fresh bandages. "Apply the ointment and change the bandage every six hours and it should be ready for display in two days. I'm sure you can delay the debriefing for that long."

Rha'han released the wrists of his new mate. "Excellent. No one can contest who she belongs to now."

"I think I'll manage it." Selena shoved off of his lap, yanking her shirt from the floor and roughly pulling it back down to cover her lovely breasts.

Rha'han stood up, taking her chin gently into his fingers. "You won't find anyone on this planet who will side with you on that least, not anyone with any sort of clout. You might as well get used to me." He endeavored for a kind expression, but her colorful eyes continued glaring daggers into his soul. She wrenched her head from his hand, stepping back from him.

"Going somewhere?" He said, amused.

Her nostrils flared. "No. Unfortunately, I'm stuck on this ship with you."

Rha'han laughed. "You're stuck with me regardless. Come." he commanded, striding toward the door. "You'll spend the remainder of the trip in my cabin. It shouldn't take more than a few hours to reach the citadel."

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

Sunday, June 25, 2017


Feeling inspired by the science fiction spanking romance I've been working on lately. I made a series of these, so don't be surprised if one of these ends up as a header on Star Talker in future. 

Sinful Sunday

Saturday, June 24, 2017

Star Talker: Part 3: Provocation


I held the Arkiv in front of my face during the trip out of the facility, trying to ignore the metallic stench of blood filling my nose. The Lo'Rahni continued talking to each other as if I weren't even there. The man with the spiral horns was named Rha'han and he was the captain of the unit that had attacked us.

"How many were recovered from this site?" Rha'han said.

Korath tapped away on a tablet of his own. "Fifteen Terran females, eight of breeding age. One Candarri female, of breeding age, but not biocompatible with Lo'Rahni. Two very unhappy Tu... Tu..."

"Tufblachan," I supplied.

"What she said. Maybe."

"What do you mean, maybe?"

"Most humanoid species don't possess the physiology to produce the sounds found in the Tufblachan language. Those two communicate with others exclusively in writing," I said.

"Let me guess. Not biocompatible?"

I snorted. "My guess is no, but the tentacles could be interesting."

Rha'han shuddered beneath me. "Distribute the seven. Put the others and the Candarri in bracelets to be sold later. Deliver the other two back to an appropriate station."

"Don't you mean eight, Captain?" Goat Boy said.

He patted my ass again. "Nope."

I pinched his ass. He didn't even miss a step. I fought off the yelp of pain in my throat as he pinched mine so hard there would probably be a bruise later.

They deposited me in a cell with the rest of the women, who all started talking at once as soon as I landed on the ground. I noticed several were already wearing metal bracelets. Some still had their Arkivs.

"Where are the others?"

I looked down. "The men are all dead."

There was a ripple of horrified gasps. "But why? Why keep us?"

I looked to the Lo'Rahni, who were assuming their places on the ship's bridge.

"Tell them to keep it down, Terran." Rha'han said without looking at her.

Oh, hell no. I turned back to my coworkers. "I don't know why they attacked us, but the ones in bracelets are going to be sold as slaves. The rest of us are breeding stock."

I turned back around to lean on the bars, smiling flippantly at Rha'han as the cacophony of angry shouting erupted behind me.  He whipped around, eyes narrowed. Litai started up this high pitched screech that reminded me of a bird.

"Tell them to stop. Now." His eyes flashed with fury.

I twisted my mouth in thought. I kept our gazes locked. "He wants you to quiet down." I said, barely audible in the din of their outrage.

His golden eyes twitched almost imperceptibly, his mouth thinning to a hard line. He rose from his seat and stalked toward the cage. The angry women around me shrank back as he threw open the door. He wound my braid around his fist, forcing me out of the cell before hurling the door back into place, the mag lock clicking shut. They watched us in silence now as I was pushed into a nearby corridor off the bridge and out of sight.

The relentless march ended in him tossing me into the interior of a cabin. The door slid shut behind him. He turned and placed a finger on a scanner, followed by a beep and another click. He turned back to me, his expression stony.

"You are terrifically bold for a captive. Do you not care what cruelties you might face?" he said, stepping closer.

I remained still in the face of his approach. The cabin wasn't that large. There was no place to run. No place to hide. Even so, I couldn't hope to outrun him anyway. He was long-legged and thickly muscled. He reminded me of a creature from the ancient mythologies. A minotaur, I think it was called, or a satyr. Perhaps a combination of both. The brand on the back of my neck tingled.

"I'm not unfamiliar with your kind. I know what you value. I know that females are rare among your species, which forces you to interbreed with other species. You won't harm me." I lifted my eyes to look at him, but did not lift my head.

"Harm?" he said, rolling up his sleeves. "No."

Rha'han snatched me up and sat down on the edge of the bunk, throwing me effortlessly across his knees. He snaked an arm around my waist, pinning me to his lap. Another hand gripped my braid again, and pulled, lifting me into an arch. His hand fell across my ass with unrelenting force. The sting of it bit through the thin fabric of my trousers. I had expected something like this, but the pain of it still shocked me. I kicked and bucked, trying to throw myself off his lap. He stopped for a brief moment to grab my ankles and resume his assault. Calm and silent, he landed blow after measured blow, giving no hint of respite.

Somewhere in the middle of it, I started crying. I hated myself for it, but there was little else I could do besides dig my nails into the coarse fabric covering his legs. I lay limply across his thighs, only marginally aware that he had stopped. I felt my hair being lifted away from my neck. He ran a thumb over the brand there.

"Where did you get this?"

I sniffed. "It was given to me as a child, when I spent a year on a Lo'Rahni ship after my home station was destroyed by a rogue comet."

"Shit. That makes this far more complicated." He stood quickly, tossing me over his shoulder.

"Where are we going?"

"Med bay."


"I don't have a micro brand in my cabin."

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

Saturday, June 17, 2017

Star Talker: Part 2: What's a goat?

Three Lo'Rahni males stood just inside the doorway of the vault. They were tall, the whole lot of them two meters tall or better. They were humanoid, for the most part. They had skin the color of deep cinnamon similar to the Terrans who descended from the desert regions of Earth, only with a shimmer of gold that gleamed in the bright fluorescent lights. Each had a set of horns sprouting from their foreheads, protrusions of bone that curled and twisted in the fashion of a Terran ram. The most striking feature of their species, aside from the amber eyes, were the additional set of arms each sported.

The one in the center was the shortest of the three, muscular. His hair fell in black braids around his shoulders, his horns spiraling back around his head like a crown. He raked his golden gaze over me and snorted.

"I didn't know Terrans hissed," he said, crossing his lower set of arms.

"They don't," said a thinner man to his right. I recognized him as one of the scientists from a delegation we'd met with several months ago.

The first man chuckled. "A little warrior then?"

"A bit plump for a warrior," said the final man with a snort.

I jabbed the knife in his direction. "Fuck you, you hulking goat!"

He blinked with surprise. "She speaks our language?"

The shorter man furrowed his brow. "What's a goat?"

"A goat is a horned animal on Terra, used for milk and meat," said the scientist. "That is Selena. The Terrans' translator."

The shorter man grinned. "How useful. Take her and put her with the other females."

The rude one strode toward me. I slashed with the plasma knife. He cried out as I made contact with one of his arms. I backed away, holding the knife up, clutching the Arkiv to my chest. My back met the hard flesh of a man. I yelped and whipped around, knife high. Large hands gripped my hips while a third gripped my wrist and the other easily pried the knife from my fingers. Why did they have to have so many damned hands? It was the man with the spiral horns and braids.

"I admire your courage, but we both know you can't win this battle, girl."

He tossed the knife aside and reached for the Arkiv. I twisted and bit the arm closest to my face. His brow furrowed, nostrils flaring. His free hand landed sharply on my left cheek. I blinked, pain blooming in my skin. There hadn't been much force behind it, just enough to smart, but I had little doubt he could have easily broken my neck if he wanted to. However, I knew from studying their language and from conversations with their people that he wouldn't despite the bodies decorating the once immaculate floors of the facility.

"I would advise," he said slowly, as if speaking to a child, "that you cooperate. This could go far worse for you, but, then, you know that, don't you?"

I lifted my chin. "I keep the tablet."

He arched a brow. "You are not in a place to negotiate."

"I'm not negotiating. I am going to cooperate. I'm also keeping my tablet." I gripped it tighter. "It's my work. You can't read it or likely translate it. You have no use for it."

He snorted. "You think we couldn't find another Terran translator to decipher your little computer?"

I stared him straight in the eye. "There are roughly seven thousand Terran languages, modern and extinct. Have fun figuring out first what language my notes are in, and then trying to find another linguist who is not only familiar with Terran languages, but with the subset of languages my notes are in. The odds of a non-Terran linguist being able to translate it are infinitesimal, and given what I saw on the cameras a few minutes ago, I really doubt you're going to get you're hands on another Terran linguist."

There was an uncomfortably long silence.

"I thought you were a xenolinguist?"

I looked at the scientist. I suddenly remembered his name was Korath. "All exoplanetary linguists are xenolinguists, but a girl has to have hobbies."

My captor closed his eyes and winced as if I had given him a headache. "Fine. You keep the tablet." He tossed me over his shoulder, gripping my ankles with one hand and planting the other on my ass.

"Is this really necessary?" I said, now eye level with the toned muscles beneath his black trousers.

He gave my ass a little pat. "Let's see, you attacked my man with a plasma knife and bit me, and I haven't beaten you yet. You really going to complain?"

I stayed silent. Mostly because the "yet" hung in the air like a menacing promise.

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

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Star Talker: Part 1: Attack

Alarms blared throughout the facility. Lights flashed along the corridors, red, the color of attack. I had never seen the signal lights flash that color before, not in the two years I'd been studying on this planet. Blue signified storms. When the lights were solid green, it meant visitors. The facility had several delegations of the native dominant species visit before. Initially, military probes to determine whether our presence was a threat. Then a few scientists were allowed that we might observe each other. Learn about each other.

A few months ago, the scientists stopped coming. Now I knew why.

"Shit shit shit!"

I ran down the stairs, clutching my Arkiv tablet. I slammed my hand on to the palm reader at each floor barrier. If I got to the basement level, I could lock myself in the pharmacology vault. Hopefully, they wouldn't destroy the facility entirely. Maybe I would be able to find a return vessel, or signal for a rescue pod from a proximal station.

I flew through the final door into the vault, securing the mag locks and throwing the thick steel bars in place. The room was the color of brightly polished pearls, pristine and sterile. It smelled faintly of antiseptic and the powdery chemical scent of pills. Steel refrigerator units lined the walls, each filled with vials of various medications. The temperature controlled safes contained the pill forms. I jerked open the drawers of the prep counter, looking for some semblance of a weapon. Pill cutters, packages of unused syringes, bins of sterile needles. I laid the Arkiv on the counter and crouched to pilfer through the lowest drawer.

An inactive plasma knife gleamed up from a package of surgical instruments. I ripped open the hemp plastic and took the knife flashing it on briefly, to ensure it worked. Snatching the Arkiv back into my hand, I flipped off the overhead lights and sat against the wall behind the counter, keeping it between me and door. The red lights continued to flash, oddly dim in the darkness of the vault. The alarms were muffled now, sounding outside the vault, but thankfully not in it.

I switched on the Arkiv, wondering if I might access the camera network. The wifi tether was still in place, so the natives hadn't destroyed the server room yet. I tapped the camera icon and pressed my thumb to the scanner. Images flickered onto the grid as the streams loaded to the tablet.

My heart stopped. Corpses littered each floor. Doctors in bloodied white coats lay in heaps on the tile. Even the poor old botanist in his dusty apron lay among his plants in the greenhouse, feeding his lifeblood to his verdant children. I scrolled through each image, zooming in on the faces of the fallen. So far, they were all men. Many were Terran, like me. Human. There were a few other races that had joined us here, studying both the planet and us through proximity. The botanist had a coworker, a female Candarri agriculturalist, who had been interested in the cultivation of Terran food sources in alien soils.

Litai had been a tall slender woman with iridescent blue skin. Her eyes were large and round with irises the color of Terran emeralds that seemed to refract light much like a cut and polished gem. Silvery feathers adorned her head in place of hair. I’d found her striking. I also found her missing.

I scanned the cameras again. No corpse. But Litai was nowhere to be found. Instead, teams of large humanoid beings moved quickly through the halls, firing blasters at any male facility staff that crossed their path.


I looked up, wondering at the sound that had echoed inside the vault. I looked back to the cameras in time to see every door in the facility fly open. Shit, the emergency release.

The steel bars on the vault door slammed open, making me jump. The sound of the mag lock releasing echoed in the chamber a split second before the door swung open. The lights came back to life, blinding me briefly with their brightness.

“Get the drugs. Take everything.”

They were speaking Klotharan. It was the primary language of the continent the facility stood on. All the visiting scientists had spoken it. From our talks, Lo’Rah, the planet we were on, had several hundred languages, much like Earth, but Klotharan was the most common and the one they used for interstellar communications. I had been studying it for years, among other interstellar languages. I had been brought to Lo’Rah as an interpreter. I guess I suck at my job.

I leapt up from the floor, flicking on the plasma knife and hissed at the invaders before they could round the counter.

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

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Factory Defect

One of the recurring features of my erotica, seems to be a scene that includes cunnilingus. Prior to writing these scenes, I'd only experienced the act personally once, and it wasn't good. Dude bit me...hard. Ow. But, I have a pretty decent imagination, so I could craft an oral sex scene capable of turning myself on. I'm actually pretty proud of those scenes. They're typically the first sexual scenes in my stories as I'm a bit of a foreplay whore and it takes me forever to develop the plot to full on intercourse.

I've since discovered in the last several months, that I don't actually like receiving oral sex. I've long imagined what it would feel like to experience it with someone who actually knew what they were doing. I finally got around to doing just that and...I hated it. It only happened a few times, but each time, it was uncomfortable and sometimes painful.

I had trouble coming to grips with this. I thought there was something wrong with me. It was something I was supposed to enjoy. A lot of women talk about how they get mad if a man refuses to reciprocate on oral sex. I felt bad that my partner was trying to do something to please me and all I wanted was for it to stop. I didn't say that though. I didn't want to deprive him of his pleasure.

I think my body must be weird. My clitoris is pretty deep set anyway, so having to be parted to get to it is very uncomfortable. I'm also not terribly fond of pinpoint stimulation. I can't stand the tiny finger-shaped bullets because of this. I prefer broader coverage.

I've been assured by others that I'm not defective because I don't like it. I've seen plenty of women online claim they hate it, but I still feel like it's something I'm supposed to enjoy. For many it's the fastest way to orgasm. For me, it's never going to happen. I can't blame my partner. I'm sure on anyone else, it would have been a fantastic experience, it just doesn't seem to be a form of stimulation that works for me. I never addressed the subject with him because I didn't want to make him feel bad.

I'll probably still write the scenes in my stories. They're always nice. I just probably won't be requesting the activity in future relationships. I'm perfectly okay without it.

Saturday, March 11, 2017


Mr. Gray, the sad little tom that
lives on my mom's porch.
I think amicable splits are the hardest to process. At least when a relationship ends badly, you can rage and vent without a care to the feelings of the other person. But when it ends with a hug and a suggestion to hang out, what do you do with your emotions then?

I don't know how to do this. Sad is just a woefully inadequate word to describe how I feel. Devastated is more apt. Confused is also applicable. I mean, he explained himself pretty clearly, but my brain can't process it. It's not like past relationships where things got gradually worse until the end was almost a relief.

No, this is traveling along a scenic road with the top down on a perfect day, with the wind in your hair and the sun on your skin...and then suddenly tumbling over a cliff you never saw. Everything was great. Five months of affection, care, intimacy, fun, and adventure. Then suddenly it's over.

He was kind about it. He did it properly. In person, sweetly. That doesn't make it any less painful. Somehow I think it makes it more so. I know he put a six month trial period on the whole thing, but everything was going so wonderfully well, I didn't expect this to happen. I secretly feared it after a particular conversation a few months ago, but I was not prepared for this. Just Tuesday, he was at my house in my arms, stroking my face an hair.  Thursday, I go to bed happy, looking forward to the weekend, then wake up to him at my door.

I managed to contain myself to a few silent tears, and avoid the angry hysterics in my head. You know how I hate to cry in front of others. I was thoroughly confused by the time he left because he was so kind about it all, and perhaps because I couldn't bring myself to believe it was happening, that after he left, I had to clarify through text what he'd intended with that conversation.

I cried for a good two hours.

He had mentioned possibly seeing a movie this weekend, which is why I was confused. I don't think I can do that yet. I don't know how to be with him without being WITH him yet. I don't know how to be around him without all the affectionate little touches, hugs, kisses. I don't know how lose the whole Daddy/kitten dynamic.

I don't know what I'm doing yet. The thought of trying to find someone who lives up to the standard he set is daunting.

In short, I'm really fucking sad right now.

Monday, February 20, 2017

How Do I Love Thee?

With Christmas and our birthday gift exchanging out of the way for the year, I've been reflecting on my gifting habits and my methods of communication in general. It got me thinking about the 5 love languages and how I express myself through them.

I took one of those online quizzes to figure out my love languages.

  • 10 Physical Touch 
  • 9 Quality Time 
  • 5 Words of Affirmation
  • 3 Acts of Service
  • 3 Receiving Gifts

I'm completely unsurprised that my primary love language is touch. I've always been more of a physical communicator in romantic relationships. It's funny to me that this is the case, since I generally eschew touch from most others. But with a partner, I'm like a needy cat who always wants to lay in your lap at the most inconvenient times. I crave physical affection like some sort of addict. I jump at every chance for contact. I relish every pet and caress.

I also kind of hate that he's built this little fort of stuff around his favorite spot at his house. He has a little makeshift computer station in front of his seat. The other side of the love seat is more like a tray for various convenience items like tissues, cigarettes, and a bowl of snacks. I'm relegated to the couch, where I wait for occasional head pets. Which are nice, don't get me wrong, but I am, at the very heart of me, a lap cat.

Shot from our latest shutterbugging
The prominence of quality time is also unsurprising. I'm always looking forward to the next visit. I measure time in days til I see him next. It helps me get through the work week. My productiveness has decreased a bit, because my focus has shifted, but I do so enjoy it when we spend time together. We often go for drives down the old scenic highways and take pictures of abandoned buildings and various bits of nature. We'll go to the movies, often animated ones, and munch on popcorn while I lean on his shoulder. A couple weekends ago, we broke our usual routine and played video games for the first time together. It was fun, and I'm honestly surprised we hadn't done it before.

Words of affirmation are less important to me, although I enjoy it when he lets me know that I have pleased him. I have had to work on expressing my appreciation verbally, as I'm often more physically expressive. This is primarily a coping mechanism of my anxiety disorder where I avoid speaking in order to avoid embarrassing myself. It's been rather cathartic now that I think about it, to delve into the Little mindset where I can sort of figure out how to reverse compulsions instilled in me as a child. Sometimes though, I have to go back to other languages as some verbal expressions aren't right yet.

Acts of service is naturally low, as far as receiving. I am less interested in receiving acts of service than I am giving. Although, I can see this also being a little low due to the fact that I enjoy having acts of service requested of me. I enjoy doing things on my own as well, but I am less confident about acting independently in someone else's space. I don't want to disrupt Daddy's space without knowing how he wants stuff done, so I prefer to wait for instruction there. Daddy does a lot of things for me. Just this week he bought me an antenna for my TV so I could watch something that didn't require an internet connection. I really enjoy his nurturing form of dominance.

I'm not surprised receiving gifts was so low, but I was surprised that gift giving didn't factor into the equation, because I would have thought that would have been part of it also. I like receiving gifts, like most people, but it's not an important aspect of a relationship for me. And I still hesitate to ask or rather accept offers to buy what I consider to be expensive things from Daddy. I don't like to be a burden or impose on anyone, and I grew up being trained to be as financially unobtrusive as possible with other people's money. However, I've always been a vigilant giver.

I never really ask people what they want for any specific holiday, unless it's some relative I rarely see and know nothing about, but am obligated to give to because of holidays. For personal relationships, I see gift giving as a sort of challenge.  I want it to be a surprise, and I want it to be deeply personal.

I've done this with every significant other I've had. I remember the first gifts I gave to my first dom for Christmas. He had casually mentioned an interest in voodoo, so I bought him a book on Voudun, which looked fairly credible to me. He didn't end up terribly interested in that, but I had also found him a rare retro video game he had mentioned previously which got a better reaction.

With my long distance master, I had very few ways of showing affection, so I tended to go overboard with the gift giving at Christmas and birthdays. The first year, I painted him something, since he didn't want me spending a lot. He had mentioned being a Conan the Barbarian nut, so I sent a miniature replica of the Atlantean sword from the Arnold Schwarzenegger movie. The next Christmas I sent an array of things, but the main gift was a hand made Minion doll in a maid's outfit I'd gotten at a local craft fair due to his love of minions. The last Christmas, I sent a Dragon Ball Z coffee mug that changed colors with heat. The last two years, I even sent his kids some small gifts personalized based on information I got from him.

 Daddy has been an interesting new challenge for gifting. I mentally scroll through my archives of information that I've gathered, and try to come up with ideas. I was quite proud of my selections. I told my mother what I got him for Christmas, one of those large coffee table type books on The Art of the Classic Car. She responded with "And...?"

Apparently my tendency to go overboard with gifts precedes me.

I was so excited about the birthday gift I got him, that I purchased it over a month before his birthday. One of the first things I noticed upon first visiting his home was a curio cabinet full of beautiful glass clocks, cordial glasses, and antique silver dinnerware, and a collection of antique cigarette holders. So I scoured the internet until I found an ox bone cigarette holder from the early 1900s complete with the original leather case. It wasn't a very elaborate piece, but interesting just the same. I'll have to work hard to top it in future.

It's been interesting topic to muse about. It's helped me learn more about how I express myself. It also gives me insight into how those I interact with show affection too.

What's your love language?

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Playing Pretend

My little Valentine for myself.

For as long as I can remember, my favorite game has always been playing pretend. When I was a kid, this involved games with friends, with sticks, balls, rocks, chalk, and plushies to help play out our little scenes. Or, if I was alone, it involved little play sets and figurines, or dolls, although I wasn't much of a doll girl.

I do remember some of my favorite toys though. I grew up in the days of Polly Pocket and the various knockoffs. I don't remember if I had a legit Polly Pocket set, but I did have similar miniature doll cases. I even had a Pokemon one that had a little Pikachu to play with in it. I also stole the pieces from my Pokemon Monopoly game so I could have more characters.

Polly Pocket Trendmasters Castle (1994)
But, by far, my favorites were these three tiny castles. I remember a pink and a purple one (the one pictured to the right), but I don't remember the color of the third. They opened into two connected halves, with little floors and rooms inside to place the tiniest of figurines in. I would use the Pokemon in these too, because I'm that kind of nerd.

I've been thinking about those more lately, as I delve deeper into this whole Little thing. Today I bought myself a little plushy unicorn from the Valentine's section at the store. I clutched it as I wandered through the toy isles while I waited on my car to be serviced. I looked at the dolls and the little toys, and wished I could find a tiny little castle like the ones I used to have.

My playing pretend has long since evolved into the more adult form of writing fiction. My games are more elaborate and end up on paper. But, I do miss my tiny castles. If there had been a tiny castle at the store today, I'm fairly sure I would have bought it. I also may or may not be currently trolling Amazon for a suitable replacement.

I hadn't thought about those castles in a long time. I'd never really considered the little thing prior to this relationship because it wasn't something my previous owners were interested in despite my also calling them Daddy. It's actually pretty nice. It's a comfortable place. I don't feel like he's going to stare at me like I've grown a second head when the childlike aspects of my personality pop out.

I imagine he'll smile when he reads about my tiny castles. Sometimes it's nice to not be weird.

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

Saturday, February 11, 2017

Three's a Crowd

Gimme all the attention.

I have never been shy about the fact that I am not remotely about the group sex. I am a pure monogamist in my soul, a subject that I have addressed frequently on this blog. There is often a prevailing expectation within the BDSM community of some form of nonmonogamy, be it polyamory, open relationships, or casual threesomes at the very least. It goes hand in hand with the expectation of bisexuality, particularly among submissive females. 

I have encountered those in the past that believe that as a slave, I should fully expect any owner I have to have sex with others or for him to expect me to have sex with others. The expectation of monogamy is seen by these types as "controlling the owner's dick," because, I mean, God forbid monogamous men/owners exist too.

I'm always very up front with potential partners about my expectation of monogamy and my utter disinterest in nonmonogamous sex. I'm not bisexual, so MFF would be utterly pointless, and I can't even stomach the thought of having sex with more than one man at a time, so MFM is out.

However, in my early days in the lifestyle, I did come close to an MFF threesome twice. I've never really counted them, as we didn't really have sex.

The first occasion was actually both my first kinky experience and my first sexual experience. I've mentioned the couple that initiated me into kink before. The night consisted of my first kiss and my first beating. I however remained half clothed the whole time like the terrified virgin I was. The couple did have sex with each other while I laid next to them in the bed, but I don't believe that counts since I wasn't really a participant.

The second occasion was with my first dom, who pressured me into asking a friend to have a threesome with us. We ended up doing a number of things, but no one ended up having sex because my friend and I weren't nearly as comfortable with the situation as we might have hoped.

It was largely through these two encounters, call them threesomes if you want, that I confirmed my heterosexuality. It also reinforced my general possessiveness. I don't like sharing my owner. I'm utterly enthralled by my partner. I have no extra space to worry about someone else in the mix. Sometimes I barely have the attention span for one. I have a tendency to go a bit brain dead when I'm being touched.

I'm really not one for sharing attention on either side of a sexual encounter. Is all mine.

Monday, January 16, 2017


This would probably come as a surprise to most people, but I am 26 years old and have never once owned a pair of high heels. This is partly due to the fact that they are horrendous torture devices and I like comfortable shoes. It's also partly due to the fact that the shoe industry hates people with wide feet, so finding a pair of cute shoes, heeled or otherwise for my chubby hobbit hooves is damned near impossible.

Wide shoes are the rarest of beasts. Wide heels are the fucking unicorns of the shoe world.

I am, however, a dancer, and spend a great deal of time in relevé (raising of the body on the points or demi-pointes). As a belly dancer who dances barefoot, this would be demi-pointe as my feet are not strong enough for a full pointe even in block shoes. Basically what this means is I spend a fair portion of my dancing in imaginary heels.

There is also a portion of the belly dance world that dances in heels. This is particularly popular in Turkish and Lebanese belly dance. Many belly dancers across the world do wear some form of shoes, but many also perform in these phantom heels made of air.

I often wonder, because I've never danced in heels, how one would perform certain steps and turns with a heel in the way.

Heels have never factored into my kink life. I'd have to find a pair that fit first. In the meantime, I'll content myself with flats and dancing on air.

Saturday, January 14, 2017

Serve First

Long time no see, reader peoples. Along with general holiday craziness, Daddy and I have been laid up with winter plague. He was the first to succumb to what in the American South is known as "the crud," which is a delightful colloquialism for a head cold and conditions of a similar nature. I fell victim about a week later.

I spent New Year's weekend caring for my malarial master, despite the almost guarantee that I would also get sick. He was concerned that would happen. I didn't really care if I did or not. It was the first real opportunity I had for domestic service beyond simply fetching a drink when he would shove an empty glass at me.

I arrived quietly, armed with four cans of chicken noodle soup, two boxes of tissues, and a bottle of Mountain Dew (his soda of choice). He had advised me to let him sleep if he was doing so when I arrived, so I went about picking up trash and dishes and cleaning up the kitchen.

It's interesting, trying to navigate someone else's kitchen without guidance. I hadn't really been given any sort of domestic tasks in his home before. We typically switch off who cooks based on who is hosting during each visit. This time, I brought up food I'd already cooked and was trying to determine what could go in his little dishwasher based purely on instinct and what I could remember from watching him on previous visits. I don't think I managed to destroy anything.

It's interesting to me how much of a motivated housekeeper I am when I'm doing it as a service. I look at my own kitchen or my own room and just kind of grimace. I procrastinate like a son of a bitch when it comes to cleaning up my own spaces. But when I'm cleaning for someone else, I keep finding new things to do when one task is finished.

Which, by the way, is hard, when your master is a bit of a neat freak.

He warned me the house was trashed because he'd been sick. His idea of trashed is more like mildly cluttered.

Fortunately, as I've mentioned in the past, he's wonderfully observant, so he noticed pretty much if not everything I did, regardless of how unnoticeable I thought it would ultimately be. I spent the long weekend fetching drinks, cooking soup, making two dinners from the mess of food I brought with me.

Amidst that, he might rattle off a list of tasks, and I might get a little frazzled trying to get myself organized. I particularly have this issue when I'm cooking a meal with multiple dishes. I kept thinking "serve first, then do [x]."

I've never really had that thought before, but then, I've never had much of an opportunity for service before. The few I can remember have been sparse with perhaps years between.

One thing I do know from those few experiences is I'm much better at taking care of others than I am at taking care of myself.