Friday, September 22, 2017

e[Lust] #98

Steamy bedtime Elust98 header
Photo courtesy of Steamy Bedtime

Welcome to Elust 98-

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


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Black and white

Underdressed

I Talk Sex - Female Sexuality and Education

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

You Don't Know What Love Is

Writing for Free vs. Getting Paid

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Ropes, Silk, & an Egg



*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 Non-Fiction


Fly Me To The Moon
WANTING - all the wanting
Hi, I'm _____________, and I'm an addict.
Naked Eyes

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish


A Slave's Perspective
Feeling the breeze
Almost Social

Erotic Fiction


flee
Rites of Passage ~ Part 1
Grasp
Maddie in the headmaster's bath

Poetry


-03.09.17_22:00-

Body Talk and Sexual Health


In the Navel

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships


Polyamorous Relationships
Light my fire







Elust 88

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Sexy Skepticism: Do I Feel Sexy?

What do you do when you no longer feel sexy?

That was the question posited in a recent conversation in which I was a participant. I couldn't even begin to answer it. I don't know what you do when you no longer feel sexy. I can't say that I've ever felt sexy, actually.

I have been...shall we say "fluffy" for pretty much my entire life. I've never been what one would consider conventionally attractive. I've got small boobs, a big belly, a big ass, and acne. I have crooked teeth, and glasses.

I don't have the most self-esteem in the world, obviously. I've never really been shy about that.

I can craft a sexy image, with the right angle, crop, and edit. I'm getting better at that every day and I'm really proud of my work. Those pictures can be sexy, but after I finish working on them, I feel largely detached from the source. Once a piece is complete, it no longer feels like a picture of me.

I occasionally feel pretty, when I get dressed up, or I have a good hair day, but I can't say any of those feelings ever include the idea of "sexy."

Actually, I'm always mildly surprised when a man finds me attractive. I get those messages online of "you're hot" that every woman inevitably gets, but I'm always a bit skeptical. My brain is always questioning the truth of such a statement.

Really? You find me attractive? But I'm fat. I'm shaped like a potato. I have small boobs. Most of the time I probably look like I don't even have boobs. Really? You find my frumpy ass attractive? You might change your mind if you saw the baggy clothes I wear to work.

I've always found my partners sexy. Mesmerizing creatures I could stare at all day. At the same time, I always felt like they were more attractive than me, and part of me was always like "hey, this really hot person finds me attractive. Me? Can you believe it?"

There are a lot of things I think are appealing about me, but none of them are really physical. I like to think I'm intelligent. I do believe I'm rather awesome at writing fiction. I'm a passable dancer. I think I do pretty well for someone who is self-taught, but I could certainly be a lot better.

I often feel sexual, but do I feel sexy? No. Not really.

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Warrior Princess



This is my best friend, Evryn, who was gracious enough to model for me a bit during my visit a few weeks ago, as well as be the photographer for my last two Sinful Sunday entries. She is also the model for the header image featured in Star Talker: Part 12: Conditions. She had recently dyed her hair white, and I wanted to take advantage of her elfin aesthetic. It also helps that she and her husband have some interesting weapons such as the sabotage spear pictured above and a kickass black gladius, both labeled for "home defense." I really like the way this turned out.


Sinful Sunday

Star Talker: Part 14: A Bit of a Shock


I jerked away from him, turning my back. Rha'han laughed and slapped my ass sharply with his two right hands. I yelped at the sting and swung back around, only to get another twist of my nipples. I started cursing in Arabic and kicked my foot out toward his stomach. He stepped out of range and calmly caught my ankle up in a vice grip, preventing me from putting it down. He lifted a single brow and delivered a hard smack the soft flesh of my inner thigh. My knee almost buckled at the sudden, surprisingly intense pain. I blinked, unable to produce a noise.  A large red hand print was slowly forming on my skin.

"Are you finished?" he said, affecting a bored tone.

I let out the breath I'd been holding. "Fuck you."

My free leg was swept from under me. He hooked his lower arms under my knees and moved between them, his rigid cock flush against the lips of my sex. He ground against me, sending jolts of pleasure through the cluster of nerves there. He dropped my legs suddenly, stepping away as I jerked against the bands on my wrist and scrambled to regain my feet.

"You haven't earned that yet. We'll get there though." He strode past me toward one of the cabinets that lined the wall near the armoire. I found myself staring at his ass again, muscles rippling again beneath the gold-dusted skin.

He turned around, carrying a number of implements, some I recognized, others I didn't. Calmly, silently, he laid them out on the top of a small book case up against the wall. beside me. My gaze drifted down to the books there. A series of flight manuals for various models of ships, volumes on Lo'Rahni military history, and oddly enough, three books on artistic technique. The first specialized in mixed media work, the second was on the depiction of light and shadow, and the last covered paint mixing and the creation of custom pigments. I eyed the black hole painting above the bed and looked back at Rha'han curiously.

"So," he said, bringing me back to the moment at hand, "we have several options here. You can move if you like, but bear in mind that the blows will land anyway. That's something you might want to consider before you attempt to dodge them."

Sitting on the case was a thin, but wide paddle crafted of some sort of translucent polycarbonate material. I had memories them from my childhood, as flammable items were prohibited on the observatory. A simple leather belt say next to it. The design on the buckle indicated that it was military issue. There was a long black strip lying there as well that I didn't recognize. It had a dark grey handle with a small switch. The strip was about five centimeters wide and twenty-five centimeters long.

"What is that?" I said.

He picked up the strip. "This is used mostly to discipline slaves, but it's also useful for when firmer discipline is required for mates." He flipped the switch, and a faint hum filled the air. "I'm only going to use it once right now, just so you have an idea of what it means." He stood to the side of me and held my wrists together with one hand and wrapped the other arm around my waist to hold me in place, then pressed the strip to the fleshy part of my ass for a full three seconds.

My mind blanked. It was like a thousand static shocks sparking at once, except they seemed to last an eternity. My nerves felt like they were burning, my skin felt like it was buzzing. I slumped in the chains, but Rha'han held me up. Somewhere in the back of my brain, I registered that the hum had stopped. We stayed like that for several moments, the silence slowly receding as I gradually became aware of his steady breathing in contrast to my heavy panting and my rapid heartbeat pounding in my ears.

"Son of a bitch!" I said breathlessly, the words quiet even to my own ears.

He tossed the evil thing away. "That's a shock wand. I trust you'll remember it."

I continued muttering in Arabic, heaping curse upon curse on his head. He let me go and stood back. I stomped my feet a little, frustrated that I couldn't rub out the residual stinging buzz in my skin.  I froze as Rha'han picked up the translucent paddle. He laid it gently against my hip and rubbed the smooth surface against my skin. I looked down at it. A warm hand glided up my chest to wrap itself gently, but firmly around my throat. He turned my head to look up at him.

"Do you know why I like this implement?" he said, holding it up before me. I opened my mouth to speak, only to receive a pointed squeeze of my throat. "It's wonderfully see-through. I can see the result of every impact. I can see the color bloom on your skin. It really is a beautiful tool."

He pinned me with those golden, unblinking eyes as he spoke. "In the handful of hours you've been in my possession, you've been defiant, flippant, foul-mouthed, and utterly unrepentant. And where has that gotten you?" He tapped the chains with the paddle. I gave it a sidelong glance, unable to move my head. Another hand slithered down over my belly to bury thick fingers into my sex. I gasped. He chuckled softly. "Or is this where you wanted to end up all along?"



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

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

I Suck at Initiating Relationships

This is a subject I've been thinking about a lot lately, especially since getting involved with a local kink social group geared towards meeting people for potential private play. I've always been somewhat socially stunted. I've never been particularly good at initiating friendships. People usually approach me first. I think I just sort of lucked into friends in school, and then those friends would sort of make other friends for me. Or I'd be adopted into the tribe and their friends became my friends by way of proximity.

So, being single, I find myself at a bit of a loss when it comes to play partners. I don't quite know how to initiate that sort of thing, particularly with men. I've been looking at my past encounters, and most of my play partners have been women, and a friendship was always cultivated first. I can only really recall three men I've bottomed for, two of which were men I was in or had been in relationships with, and the other is a man I've been friends with for over twenty years. I've never done pickup play with a man.

It's funny that this is the case, since I generally prefer masculine energies in play. But, I guess it was trained into me. My first two relationships, my dominants were big proponents of the "one penis policy," and that included play. So, for about four years, I was not allowed to engage in play with men of any kind, top or bottom. As a result, I don't really know how to approach a man for platonic play, because, well, I've never really done it.

I've had several female play partners, all nons-sexual, of course. I think that's also part of my mental road block when it comes to approaching men for play. I know that when I play with a woman, that there is no chance of things becoming sexual. I'm less certain about that when it comes to men. I guess I also feel like that many men won't want to play without sexual elements, if not specifically sex. Logically, I know that a lot of men are probably happy to play platonically, but being with men who considered any play to be sexual kind of skewed my perspective, I guess. I would say the fear of being pressured into sexual contact makes me hesitate with approaching single men for play, but I honestly don't know many single men right now, so that's not really an issue.

But, I also have this weird fear that I'm inconveniencing people. Because I don't want to inconvenience anyone, I just generally avoid broaching the subject at all. Particularly with poly people, especially ones that I haven't really developed a close relationship with. I don't really know how to navigate poly waters. It feels like the rules are different. They may be and they may not, I don't really know. And the fact that I am dealing with uncharted waters only adds to that hesitation.

I mean, I'm obviously a big ball of neuroses. I've never hid that fact. I'm obsessive compulsive. I have a pretty severe, although I would wager moderately high functioning social anxiety, and I over-analyze everything to death. As I've said many times before, I can talk myself out of anything.

I'm also kind of oblivious as fuck when it comes to human interaction or flirting, so I need a more direct approach from people sometimes.

Saturday, September 9, 2017

On the Edge


I have a thing for metal. Chain, knives, jewelry, bells, and coins. I love the texture, the temperature, the delicate sound it makes when it meets something else. There's nothing like it. It ignites every sense in me. I enjoy how cold, how hard, how smooth it is against my skin. Being shiny doesn't hurt either. I like that it can be sharp. I like the threat of it, how I can feel that threat so keenly without any damage. It's a heady sensation that always keeps me on the edge.


Sinful Sunday

Star Talker: Part 13: Weighty Matters



"So you'll just keep me locked up in here forever?" I said, watching him disappear into an adjoining room.

Rha'han came back, holding a fresh bandage and the jar of ointment the doctor had given him. "I'll have to present you along with the other captives in a couple of days," he said, gently peeling off the old bandage and rubbing in the salve, "but once that's done with, your comings and goings are exclusively within my purview. If I chose to keep you confined, which I'd honestly rather not do, so long as you aren't being physically abused, no one would interfere."

I lifted a brow. "If you kept me confined, how would anyone know if I were being abused?"

He pressed the edges of the new bandage down and put the supplies away. "The slaves. They are my property of course, but any slave is obligated to report the deliberate injury of a female within the household. We can't afford to lose fertile mates to that sort of thing. A man convicted of intentionally injuring a female is deprived of his mate and any slaves he might have acquired and has his horns sawn off to show what sort of man he is. If he kills one, he is executed."

I eyed the spiral horns curling around his head. "Does it hurt?"

He reached up and rubbed them thoughtfully. "I don't think so, but such a mark ensures that no one will ever sell him another slave or brand another mate for him. He's basically ostracized from society. Only certain professions will hire him, nothing that involves close proximity with women. His key code is stripped from many establishments, so there are many places he can't enter. And his interstellar registration is revoked, so he can't leave the planet to escape this penalty. It's extremely rare for that to happen though."

I shifted out of the kneeling position to sit on the bed. "What qualifies as abuse?"

His eyes flashed, his lips curling into a slight grin. "I can show you what doesn't."

I shrank back a bit. "That's not what I asked."

His smiled widened. "I know, but I did promise to leave a more lasting impression, did I not?"

I kicked off the bed, rolling backward over the edge. The chain slid off the bed, the full weight on me now. It was much heavier than I realized, stealing any momentum I might have had to complete the roll. The metal slammed into the floor first, closely followed by my torso, legs laying up against the side. I grunted at the impact, pain radiating up my spine, the breath rushing out of me. I grimaced, opening my eyes to find Rha'han staring down at me, trying not to laugh.

"How much do these fuckers weigh?"

"The whole rig weighs ten kilograms. The chain by itself weighs eight."

I blinked. "Whyyyyy?"

He slid off the bed and bent over to look me in the eyes, braids dangling down to create a sort of curtain around his face. "You tell me."

I swung my legs to the side and tried to sit up, but my abs weren't strong enough to overcome the weight. Bracing my feet on the side of the bed, I pushed away and shifted the chain as far over as I could to help me roll onto my stomach. Tucking my knees under myself, I tried to give myself enough slack on one side to use one arm to help push myself upright, letting the weight of the chain give me enough momentum to help the rest of the way. I huffed a bit with the effort, but I was proud I'd gotten this far. I wondered if I could stand. I pulled the chain as tight against me as I could, trying to get as much weight in front of me as possible, and planted my foot into a half kneel. I struggled, but I managed to get into a lunge and slowly inched my way into a standing position.    

Rha'han was staring at me, both sets of arms crossed, head tilted slightly. "Impressive. How are you feeling about that decision?"

I took a deep breath, ignoring the ache in my shoulders. "Awesome."

"Wonderful," he said, stepping forward and detaching the chain to reattach it in front of me. He grabbed it and tugged me toward the corner of the room where a basket of succulents hung from a hook descending from the ceiling. He removed the basket and strung the chain over the hook, lifting my arms over my head.

He reached out and tweaked my nipples. "Let's get started, shall we?"


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

Wednesday, September 6, 2017

Pro-Tips for Authentic Kitten Play

1. Demand all the pets.

2. Meow incessantly when hungry.

3. If you see a cup, knock it over. Empty cup? Murder it. Full cup? Dead. If they move the cup? Immediately seek out said cup and send it straight to hell (the floor).

4. Obsessively lick one spot on your dominant's body, preferably an arm or a leg until they feel like you will soon wear a hole in their skin.

5. Crawl directly in front of where they are walking and flop onto your back for belly rubs.

6. Choose an arbitrary number of belly rubs to accept before attacking the belly rubbing hand. There should be a different number allotted each time. Keep them on their toes.

7. Chew on random electrical cords. Although I would probably make sure they are unplugged first.

8. For authenticity's sake, cat litter must be everywhere. You don't have to use a litter box, just sprinkle it in random places on the floor.

9. If you encounter a closed door of any kind, scratch it repeatedly and jiggle it with your paw under the door so it makes that annoying thumping sound until someone opens it.

10. Climb onto tables and counters, basically anywhere you're not supposed to be, and take a nap.

11. If your dominant is eating, well, anything, you must steal at least one piece. Preferably when they aren't paying attention. Then hop out of arm's reach and eat it defiantly in front of them. Solid eye contact while doing so is ideal.

12. Bite all the bare ankles you can find.

13. Demand more pets.

Saturday, September 2, 2017

Pluto's Lament



I am cast far from you,
my golden star.
I hover here in the dimness of your light,
drifting dismally among the frozen wastes.

I am trapped in your orbit,
forced to watch those other vibrant spheres
dance around you,
rejoicing in your warmth,
bathing in your light.

I was once numbered among them,
a sister in the cosmic dance.
But no more.

Now I stand distant,
condemned
to forever circle your brilliant glow,
watching,
in near darkness,
every course of those blessed satellites
casting icy spires into the very heart of me.

I hate them,
your lovely planets.
I despise their delighted dance,
they, daily-kissed by your fire,
while I languish, here,
among these frigid bodies
that are now my brethren.

Would that I could but escape your gravity
and float through the dust and gas to another distant star,
that I might, too, be kissed by fire
and melted into a beautiful orb
able to join the celestial promenade once again.


Sinful Sunday

Star Talker: Part 12: Conditions


I eyed the manacles, but didn't move. There seemed little point. There was nowhere for me to go, especially since the door wouldn't open without a key. The chains he held were curiously archaic. They looked more like ancient bonds I'd seen in old art and historical programs. Most modern restraints were electronic, much like the doors. These were thick bands of metal with small keyholes, a heavy chain slung between them.

Rha'han gestured toward the bed. I took the hint and walked toward it, Rha'han trailing behind me. The room was large, and comfortably appointed, but not overly lavish. More photographs of nebulae and star clusters decorated the walls. Some of the images seemed to be hand painted. A massive painting of a black hole hung above the headboard of the bed. The fiery event horizon seemed to glow somehow against the inky background.

The bedding was a series of deep blues with a plush, microfiber blanket on top, a pattern of several local constellations decorating it. The tray of food sat steaming at the foot of the bed. I recognized some of the ingredients, if not the specific dishes themselves. We had used local foods at the facility, but we'd typically used them in familiar ways. There were two plates with seared cuts of dark meat, some sort of root vegetable in a cream sauce, and some sort of legume. There were bowls of red maasi berries off to the side, presumably dessert. I was actually rather fond of maasi. They were sweet like candy, but with a slight tang to make them interesting.

Rha'han caught my wrist and snapped a band around it. It was as heavy as I'd imagined, the weight of it pulling my arm down. Unlike when we'd dismounted the ship, he ran the chain behind me and captured the other wrist. I tried to bring my hands around, but the chain was just long enough for me to bring them in front of my hips, but not long enough to bring them together. The weight was such that lifting my arms was mostly impossible. Rha'han lifted me and plopped me onto my knees on the bed.

I sighed heavily. "Why?"

He sat near me on the bed, moving the tray in front of himself. He made quick work of the meat, cutting up each filet at the same time. "I'm proving a point."

"Which is?"

He stabbed a piece of meat with a fork and held it to my lips, looking me dead in the eyes. I looked at it skeptically, then back at him. His dark brows lifted in challenge. I wrinkled my nose, but took the bite, too hungry to really argue.

He took a bite of his own, and proceeded to alternately feed me like a child while eating his own meal. "Everything you receive comes from me. Any food, clothing, personal items, any freedoms to speak of that you receive will be because I allow it. I can also withhold these things." He lifted a cup of fruit juice to my lips. "I'm not obscenely wealthy, but as a commander of my own ship, I do well enough. I can easily provide for all of your needs. I do, however, require obedience."

He sat the glass down, and pushed the tray away. "I am a bastard of the royal house, so more is expected of me than others. Or rather, less is expected of me, so I must do more to prove myself worthy of that house. In the same way, as my mate, you will have to meet those standards as well."

"I didn't know the Lo'Rahni had bastards."

He licked his lips. "They are...unusual...products of dalliances off world. If I had been born a girl, it would be less of an issue, but as another male of a race already overpopulated with males, and a product of infidelity at that...Well, it makes things complicated."

He picked up the tray and sat it on a nearby table. Returning to the bed, he caught my chin and tilted my face to look up at him. "I need to you to behave, particularly in public. If you can't do that..." He lifted the chain, briefly easing the weight on my shoulders, before letting it drop, seeming heavier than before.


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

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

A Slave's Perspective

For most of my time in the lifestyle, I have gravitated toward the Total Power Exchange/Total Authority Transfer (TPE/TAT) side of things. When I first came into the scene, I was adamant that I was a sub and not a slave, but it didn't take me long to naturally fall into the slave category. I've spent most of my time on fet in various M/s forums, so it rarely hits me at how different an outlook that particular dynamic style can be.

I don't find myself discussing it much offline as M/s has never been terribly common in the local scene, at least, as far as I've noticed. I rarely see or hear anyone call themselves a slave when talking about themselves at events. I rarely talk about M/s related stuff at gatherings because of this, and largely because I tend to run into a fair bit of resistence in how I view things.

The local scene has largely been a proponent of the "s-type has all the power" idea, something I've always disagreed with but have rarely voiced that opinion. There are also the ideas of you shouldn't do something if you don't like it, and safe words are full stops, always.

Limits are, of course, regarded as sacrosanct and the concept of no limits is often ridiculed or regarded with much skepticism. Now, I'm not no limits, and I've never proported to be so, but I have long been in online circles where that is a common way to do things, and it influenced how my concept of limits developed. Within the general community, making something a hard limit because you don't like it is perfectly valid. But it always felt like, as a self-defined slave, that my hard limits should have a reason behind it beyond "I don't like it." So, most of my limits are confined to things I find emotionally or physically damaging, things I find morally wrong, or things I can't do because of my own physical limitations. And...clover clamps, 'cause they scare the hell out of me.

As a slave, I fully expect to have to do things I may really dislike. In a recent conversation about my dislike for the taste of semen, there was a discussion about being "made" to taste it versus wanting to, and I mentioned that I had been ordered to in the past and would do again if it was something my future owner wanted despite the fact that I really kind of hate it. A comment was made that doing as you're told when you really don't like something isn't okay. And, I get it, I get the point of view that comes from. I probably felt that way in the beginning, before I fully developed my identity. I also totally advocate that for those who feel that way. You can make a limit for whatever reason you like, and it should be respected.

But that's just not how I work, personally. I have never made swallowing or oral sex a limit. I mean, oral sex is no big deal. It's not something I personally get off on, but it's something I willingly do, and I've been told I'm fairly decent at it. Swallowing, I really kind of hate, but it's not something I feel I have a valid reason to take off the table. I also hate canes, and my only experience with them was terrible. They are a limit with play partners, but if I had an owner, and that was something he chose to use, it's not off the table.

I've also gotten into arguments before about how I handle safe words. This one is a little more tricky, because I haven't ever really used them. My default way to handle things is if I have a problem, I just say what it is, we fix it, and move on. With most partners, I never even establish a safe word. Safe words really don't occur to me in the moment, and if I hit the nonverbal point, I'm not likely to tap out. Although, nonverbal is a rare state for me outside of a romantic relationship. However, if I did use safe words, I have never really considered them a full stop sign like they are at play parties and things like that. Safe words, for me, are a signal that a problem exists and that the problem needs to be addressed, but I feel it is up to my owner to determine how that is to be handled. If he decides we stop, we stop. If he decides to address the issue and keep going, then that's what we do.

I come at things largely from a perspective of lack of choice. I assume I do not have an option unless explicitly presented with one. I've had previous partners who have largely acknowledged and respected my dislikes, even ones I never explicitly voiced. That's great and I enjoy it, but I know there's likely going to be something along the lines that they require that I don't like. As long as I don't find it physically, psychologically, or spiritually harmful, I will do as I'm told. Because, well, that's just how I roll.

Of course, I'm not advocating for everyone to view things this way. I don't expect them to, nor would I want them to. This is just how my mindset has developed over the years. I realize it's not going to click with most, and might even upset a few, as it has in the past. Although, sometimes I do find myself forgetting how unusual it seems in the larger population, so am taken aback by some negative reactions. But, then, it's rare that I discuss these things outside of M/s forums or writings on my blog.

I know I'm unusual, but, I promise, there is a method to my madness.

e[Lust] #97

Modesty Ablaze Elust 97
Photo courtesy of Modesty Ablaze

Welcome to Elust 97-

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


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

The Confessional

A MISTRESS UNSEEN

Wrapped around his finger


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Counting

The Storyteller's Conundrum

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

Rainy Day Lover



*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 Sleeping Beauty
Longing
Broken to Be ~ Part 7 – Conclusion
A good man, with a belt

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

The Scene That Almost Never Happened
Sticky fingers

Erotic Non-Fiction

The Art Class Model
Bondage Alfresco Style ~ Collared & tied.
Welcome Home Lazy Vanilla Lovemaking
The Happiest Place On Earth?

Poetry

Burn Together

Writing About Writing

Smut Marathon 2.0

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Sometimes I feel this is all I'm good for







Elust 88

Saturday, August 19, 2017

Choke Chain


I've always had a thing for chains. This morning I was in a conversation where I found myself yearning for a thick, heavy duty chain to roll around in. Luckily for me, a group of us went to the hardware store after a meet and greet, and I just so happened to find this beauty. Stars and garters, it feels so fucking good around my throat.
Sinful Sunday

Star Talker: Part 11: Freedoms


I pressed my cheek against the cool tile of the floor. My body still trembled with the aftershocks of my orgasm. I gasped as his slid out of me, everything tensing for the briefest of moments at the loss of contact. I hadn't had sex since I was last on Centauri Prime. CSF was extremely sex positive, providing contraceptive implants for all citizens at puberty and routine STI screenings at quarterly biometric screenings. I had a three year implant, expecting to be moved out on a staff rotation once the English dictionaries for my translation software were complete. There was still a year of potency left on my implant. I probably shouldn't tell Rha'han about that. Not yet, anyway.

Even with the implant, I hadn't found any of the men among the staff interesting enough to take a turn with. I had missed it though. Rha'han was right, he had found my weakness. I had always enjoyed anal stimulation more than any other sexual contact. I'd had a few partners on Centauri, but since coming here, I'd found toys to be adequate stimulation, but it was nothing like the real thing. However unhappy I might be with my current situation, I would enjoy the sex, at least, if what had just happened was a typical example.

I started as Rha'han was suddenly touching me again, sliding the sponge between my cheeks, cleaning me off. I tried to stand up. He cleared his throat pointedly, and pressed a single finger into a nerve on my spine. I dropped, my torso hitting the tile with a wet slap.

"What the fuck?"

Rha'han continued his rather thorough ministrations. "Humans have an interesting number of pressure points. I'm familiar with a couple dozen or so."

"Greeeaaat," I said, my afterglow suddenly gone. "You know, you could've just said 'stay put'."

He poured warm water over me, rinsing the soap away. "You aren't very consistent about obedience. Physical manipulation seems to be far more effective."

To prove his point, he snatched me up into his arms and carried me out of the bath. He sat me down long enough to towel us off, before taking hold of my braid at the base of my skull and guiding me from the room, both of us completely nude. He took me down the hall to another sliding door. It opened with no prompting from him. I wondered what triggered it. He pushed me into the room. I stopped short at the sight of a woman nearly identical to Daesha, only her scales were a deep fuschia instead of red, and a small white ring dangled from her collar.

"Good evening, Master. The garments you've requested have been purchased and placed in your wardrobe. Your dinner has been delivered as well." She held her hands demurely in front of her, looking down at the floor in what I presumed was deference to our nudity.

"Thank you, Daila. Approach."

She glided forward, fins billowing behind her with the moment. She kept her eyes averted, but tilted her head to expose her throat. Rha'han detached the white ring from her collar.

"You may go," he said, stepping away from the door.

"Thank you, Master," Daila said, bowing slightly and exiting the room.

I plucked the white ring from Rha'han's hand, finally noticing a larger one wrapped around one of his own fingers. "Holy shit. Is this a Djinn Key?" I peered at the tiny thing, seemingly made of slightly translucent white plastic. I could barely see the minuscule circuitry beneath the surface.

"A what?" he said, snatching it back out of my hands.

"A Djinn Key. I remember hearing talk of it on the observatory when I was a kid. A new technology they were developing on New Giza. Automatic security access keys with biological signatures. We never got them on Centauri Prime. They just upgraded the individual bioscanners as needed. We didn't have a lot of foreign visitors at the station, so the expense of a Djinn system wasn't justified."

He stepped away to deposit the ring into a safe that opened when he held up his hand. "That's what they are, but we don't call them Djinn Keys. Just keys, usually. The entire citadel is equipped with the security system. The fleets aren't one hundred percent converted, but they will be within a few years."

"Do I get a key?"

He considered me carefully. "I'll program a blue key tomorrow."

I narrowed my eyes. "What's the difference between a blue key and a white key?"

He strode across the room to what I assumed was an armoire. I couldn't help but let my gaze fall to the muscles of his ass as he walked.

"A blue key gives you free access to all areas of the apartment. White keys access the exit and public establishments throughout the citadel."

"You need a key to get out of the apartment?" I said, incredulous.

"You need a key to trigger any door in the citadel. Public areas are setup for general white level access during operating hours. Residences are set up to only allow access for the key codes of the residents or whomever the admin gives access to," he said, searching through the armoire.

"So, I'm not a slave, but your slaves have more freedom than I do." I crossed my arms over my chest.

He turned around, holding a set of manacles. "For now."


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

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Whips and Chains Excite Me. Rope? Not So Much.

When the bdsm.org test first popped on the scene, the bondage items were listed as "Bondage Receiver" and "Bondage Giver." In later iterations, that item was changed to Rope Bunny/Rigger. I initially copy pasted that onto my profile, because quizzes are fun, but I later changed Rope Bunny back to Bondage Receiver, because Rope Bunny is so not accurate for me.

I'm not a rope bunny. I never really have been. I like bondage, all right, but as a precursor to other activities. I like being tied down, rendered immobile, helpless, preferably in a way that doesn't allow for much fighting. I like chains, and manacles, and leather cuffs. I like the weight and the texture of cold metal against my skin.

Rope? Eh, it'll do in a pinch, but I wouldn't call it one of my kinks. I never learned much about tying, so I usually just attach it to a set of cuffs and go on my merry way.

I mean, I enjoy looking at shibari for the artistic aspects. It's pretty and complex, and interesting from a technical standpoint. But, I don't find myself longing for it. I'm sexually indifferent about rope, particularly complex rigging. There's nothing about it that gets my engines running. I don't pine for it like I do spanking or knives, or other such things.

I don't really include rope in my erotica either. I usually stick to chains, because that's my thing. If I use rope, it's attached to cuffs, because that's what I know and because the tying isn't the point. It's a means to an end for me. It provides the right environment for the other erotic abuses I'm interested in.

I feel weird about it sometimes, as rope is so popular. It's one of those quintessential activities you see in pretty much every bdsm community. It's one of the community show ponies, along with flashy fire play, which oddly, I'm not really much into either. Fire play has always been really popular too, and I've always felt the odd man out not being interested in that either.

So, chock it up to another oddity about me. Love bondage. Love being tied down and restrained. Rope though? Meh. It's pretty, but I can't dredge up the enthusiasm for it that so many of my friends have.

Device bondage looks hot though.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

Star Talker: Part 10: Coalescence



Rha'han blinked. "What?"

She sighed. "I'm not some blushing virgin. If it's gonna happen, I'm going to enjoy myself. And if you're going to work me up, I expect a payoff."

He hadn't expected that. But then, nothing she'd done so far was predictable. Her utter lack of reverence both confused and aroused him. She didn't behave like the other Terran women who'd come to Lo'Rah as mates. But, then, most of them had come willingly, volunteered to marry a Lo'Rahni man as part of their planet's treaty. The others had been purchased from slave brokers. They'd been granted their freedom through marriage, but they retained the subservience that had been trained into them as slaves. Selena was different. She spoke to him as if she weren't half his size, as if he couldn't effortlessly overpower her.

"All right then," he said, pulling his finger from her and setting the sponge aside.

He scooped a bowl into the water and rinsed the soap from her. Scooping her up, he stood her on the ledge he'd been sitting on and pushed on her back until she bent over the edge. A large vial of bath oil sat on the tray next to the bowl of soap. He poured some into his lower hands and rubbed them together. Bending over her, he pinned her arms to the cool tiles lining the floor. With the others, he reached around her, sliding his fingers over the lips of her sex, slipping between them to coat them with the oil. The warm tingle he felt in his fingers would soon be felt more keenly by her as the oil seeped into her skin. He ran the length of her slit down and back to circle the bud of the entrance he sought. He circled her there, leaving more oil in his wake before delving inside to lubricate the tight passage.

Selena moaned, resisting the pressure of his hands on her wrists. Rha'han chuckled, adding another finger, thrusting in and out of her while he circled the bead of flesh nestled between her lips. She gasped, grinding his hand into the wall of the bath. She pulled harder at her wrists, so he tightened his grip. She growled.

"Ah, ah. I'm flying this ship," he said, biting down on her shoulder.

She popped her hip sharply, smacking his wrist into the edge of the bath.

He growled this time, pulling his hand from her sex to deliver a fierce slap to her ass, delighting in the vibration of her flesh. She hissed at the blow, instinctively arching her back, lifting her ass higher. Removing his fingers from her body, he reached for the oil again, pouring more into his palms. Her forlorn groan at the loss of the sensation sent the blood straight to his cock. He shuddered as he stroked it finally, pleasure shooting up his spine. The oil slid over his skin, the effects of it leaving him straining against his own flesh. He pushed forward, sliding the head between her plump cheeks. She moaned loudly as he bumped the opening, arching again. He grabbed her hips and entered her ass in one powerful thrust.

The sound she let out was positively feral, echoing around him in the bathroom. He met her with a fierce growl of pleasure. She was hot and tight, clenching around him as she struggled against his arms pinning her down. He laughed, beginning an achingly slow rhythm, never quite leaving her body before pushing back in again. She bucked, but his other hands held her hips firmly in place, at the mercy of his pace.

She hissed violently, twisting suddenly to sink her teeth into his hand. He roared, jerking her arm to pin it against the small of her back. Gripping her hips tighter, he set into a harsh, unyielding pace, listening to her frantic moans and whimpers fill the air around him. He reached around between her legs again, placing two fingers against her clit so that each thrust ground her against the rough skin of his fingertips. She growled softly, almost desperately, circling her hips in a way that drove him mad.

Her breath came in rapid bursts, the movements of her hips becoming more erratic beneath his onslaught. Suddenly, she came with a soft cry, pressing herself hard against his fingers. The spasms of her ass around his cock in the wake of her orgasm sent him tumbling over the edge with her. He dug his fingers into her hips, thrusting into the hilt as he spilled into her. She went limp beneath him, panting slightly in the sudden silence of the room, their breaths coalescing into a soft roar of satisfied exhaustion.  



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

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

A Case for Brats

For a while now I have largely been avoiding brat discussions on Fetlife. I've written about the topic several times both here on Fet and here on the blog, but it gets a little exhausting after a while trying to combat the negative stereotypes that often come with the word "brat" online. People most often go straight to the "disrespectful, disobedient child" definition, and rarely differentiate that from what is often a vastly different kink context.

I identify with the brat label, but I always have to state that with the disclaimer that it does not mean I am disobedient or disrespectful. It has never really meant that for me. It was a term of affection my dad used when I was growing up. To me, it means playful and teasing. A bit of bear poking, if you will. It has never included willful disobedience, and never will.

A lot of people complain that brats brat for attention, and that's not entirely wrong. It is, in its essence, a way for me to communicate a desire for play or a particular intensity of play. I've never been that great at verbally requesting things. I often default to physical communication, particularly in primal space. I was inadvertently trained, both as a kid and in my first dynamic to basically not ask for things. My first dom mocked me a lot, made me feel bad for asking for things, making suggestions, or constructive criticisms. Given that humiliation is the main trigger of my anxiety disorder, it made it extremely hard after that for me to verbalize my desires. I feel stupid, knowing it's easy enough to ask, but I can't make the words come out because of that niggling fear in the back of my brain of being ridiculed for it.

My coping mechanism for this is non-verbal communication. I'll gesture to things, or present objects, rather than out and out ask for them or for their use. I'll have important conversations in text because it's far easier than saying them. With play, I'll do the brat thing. I'll poke and I'll prod. I'll tease and challenge. It's something I enjoy and most of my previous doms have enjoyed. My first dom was an unusual situation, and I really hadn't fully developed my kink identity yet.

Another motivating factor for brat play for me is my discipline fetish, which is also difficult to explain.  I have a force fetish. I like being helpless and not having any control. Having an inordinate fascination with punishment is an extrapolation of that. I love reading domestic discipline romances, but the scenes that turn me on the most are the punishment scenes, not the erotic ones. I'm turned on by the idea of not having a choice in the matter, by taking more pain than I can theoretically tolerate. In the form of spanking, of course, 'cause am spanko.

I feed this need with brat play, which gives the play a sort of punishment context in my brain. Now, this is where the disconnect comes with most people. The idea of punishment and the psychology of it turn me on, but that doesn't mean that I seek out or desire real, disappointed/hurt/upset my owner type punishment. That shit sucks. I mean, I panic if I even so much as imagine I might have upset my owner in anyway. There's a distinct difference between serious punishment and the sort of mind fuckery I'm into. Because I guess that's what it is, really. A brand of mind fuck. I like to play with fear and force, and it's not the same if I have to ask for it directly.

I want to be clear, though, this is done with consent. I ensure a dominant with whom I'm engaging in this sort of thing understands what's going on when I do it. It's an aspect of my personality, linked, I'm sure, with the little part of me. But what I don't want is to be lumped in with the annoying, disobedient, bitchy people most people seem to think that brats are. I wish those who were like that wouldn't call themselves brats, because it just makes it impossible for the rest of us to distinguish the kink role from the vanilla definition.

I find myself coming back to this topic again and again, even though it brings me nothing but grief. I've learned to avoid the discussions on Fetlife, as my voice gets lost in this tidal wave of hatred, and I end up just getting mad. But, sometimes, I feel the need to dispel the myths about bratting, as well as those about the other labels I identify with, because no one wants to have negative stereotypes attributed to them, and not all brats are spoiled little shitlords the internet would make them out to be.

Saturday, August 5, 2017

Star Talker: Part 9: Weaknesses



Selena eyed him warily, but slowly turned around. Her posture was stiff, muscles tense, as if bracing for an attack. Rha'han rinsed the sponge and dipped it back into the soap. He laid his hands gently on her hips and prompted her to step closer to him.

He gave her braid a small yank. "Breathe."

She released the breath she'd been holding in a heavy burst. Her shoulders dipped slightly, but the tension remained. She took in a deep breath as he touched the sponge to her skin, swiping it up her arm, across her shoulders and down the other. He gently washed her back, watching her muscles loosen and relax beneath the sensation. He stood, stepping in closer so that their skin touched. He ran his lower hands down her arms, to clasp them firmly about her wrists. She pulled at them, but his grip remained steadfast. He leaned down, inhaling the scent of her hair as he moved the sponge over her breasts. There was a floral scent mixed in with her own, but he was unfamiliar with the plant.

He swept the sponge delicately over her nipple, watching it harden. "What is the plant you smell of?"

She turned her head slightly, but not quite enough to look at him. "It's called jasmine. I import my toiletries from New Giza."

He ran the sponge across her stomach. She inhaled sharply, abs contracting beneath her soft belly. "New Giza...that's another Terran colony, yes?"

She closed her eyes, as if trying to collect her thoughts. "My birth planet, actually. My father was an astrophysicist, so we spent half of the year on an observatory station. I haven't been there since I was adopted by the Centauri."

He moved the sponge lower, dipping it beneath the water. She struggled then, trying to free her wrists, to no avail. Rha'han leaned into her, nipping her ear sharply as he massaged her sex beneath the water. The sponge was soft but had enough texture for touch of roughness. She shuddered, her thighs clamping together. He reached his remaining hand around to cup a tender breast. He massaged the small globe with his fingers, pinching the nipple lightly between them. Despite her reluctance, she was delightfully responsive, her breath quickening, her body moving subtly into his touch. His cock throbbed in the warm water. He pressed it into the velvety skin of her backside. She sucked in a quick breath, back arching ever so slightly.

He wrapped an arm around her, holding her against his chest. He brought the sponge back around her body, dragging it over her ass. She shivered, her belly contracting again.  Tentatively, he slipped it into the cleft there, pressing it between the cheeks. She held her breath then, stiffening as he moved closer to the puckered flesh of her anus. He pushed against it, smirking at the small gasp he pulled from her. Shifting the sponge out of the way, he pressed a fingertip to the opening until it slipped in. She let out a low moan, clenching around his finger.

"Damn it," she muttered, panting softly.

Rha'han chuckled, thrusting the finger in and out of her ass. He was rewarded with more moans and curses as she tilted her head back, eyes closed.

"Seems I've found your weakness, miiyah."

She opened her eyes to roll them at him. "Yeah, yeah. You gonna fuck me or not?"


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

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

The Storyteller's Conundrum

I've always said I was a writer. I even mention it in my profile here, and probably all my useless dating profiles. But, I don't think that's quite accurate. I write, yes, but "writer" is too vague, I think. It doesn't convey the right image.

What I am is a storyteller. My mind is awash with a thousand characters, plots, settings, and endless streams of dialogue at any given moment. Let's not even get into the random lines of gibberish of some fabricated language I don't have the wherewithal to actually build. Perhaps if I'd been able to take more linguistics courses...

I often struggle to compose article style writings, which is funny, since I started a blog specifically for that. I have profound--at least I think they're somewhat profound--thoughts, but they often manifest in a tangled jumble that flows out in some unplanned stream of consciousness that trails off rather than ends.

Narrative comes far more naturally to me. In the last couple of weeks, I've been digging around in the pile of thoughts, trying to construct some sort of coherent non-fictional prose, but the first lines that always come to mind are the beginnings of stories that likely won't ever be written.

And the bad thing is? I could do it. I would weave my personal issues into carefully crafted short stories. I did it in college. My years as an upper classman were fraught with emotional bullshit as I started treating my anxiety disorder, entered the kink scene, and navigated my first relationships in my life. My fiction classes wouldn't allow me to write the fantasy that is my first and most prominent literary love, so I wrote about polyamory, kink parties, breakups, bdsm-themed noir, abusive relationships, suicide, and intricately detailed descriptions of dirty trailer homes.

Those stories were inevitably full of those people and places which inspired them. I don't think all those who appeared in those stories have read them. I'm not entirely sure how they would feel if they did. Which is why I don't really do that now. I know I could craft stories of my emotional turmoil, but those who read them will inevitably recognize themselves in the characters.

I am the artist who paints what I see as accurately as possible. I'm just better with a pen than a brush.

But the key aspect of this whole storyteller business is that an audience is necessary. I think that's the biggest distinction between storyteller and writer. If I were just a writer, I would be content with the writing. The words on the page would be enough. I could purge all the emotion and imagination on the page, and there wouldn't be need for anything more. I could be satisfied that the words were written.

But it's not enough. Someone has to read it. Someone has to feel the feelings I bleed onto the page. They have to see the things I see, hear the words I hear, know the people I know. Hear the endless parade of voices in my head.

It's why I've never been able to keep a diary with any sort of consistency or real enthusiasm. I always found myself inevitably writing as if I were speaking to someone, as if I expected someone to read the words someday, even though they were often private frustrations or hate-filled railings that one can't actually say out loud.

It's also why I can't follow some advice I recently received. Because of the smallness of the local community, I can't fully write out the cathartic pieces I need to without adversely affecting others that I have no desire nor intention to hurt. It was suggested that I write them out anyway, and post them when I'm ready. But it doesn't work that way for me. They are things that I don't know that I can ever feasibly post, at least not in an arena where those involved would read them and know that they are there in those words.

But in order for the works to be complete, to provide the catharsis they are intended to give, an audience is imperative. The feedback is needed. The simple knowledge that the story has been shared, has been told, has been told to someone is integral to the experience of the storyteller.

I am not simply an artist, satisfied with the creation of my art. I am, in my heart of hearts, inescapably a performer. Perhaps not of the nature one typically imagines, but, for me, my art is not art unless it is shared.

My sorrow, my shame, my love, my loss, my joy, my grief, my passion can never be fully expunged until I am no longer the only one feeling them.

Thus is the burden of the storyteller.

Saturday, July 29, 2017

Star Talker: Part 8: Commands




Selena stepped down into the water, her expression softening in the relaxing warmth of the water. Her dusky lips parted slightly with a sigh. Rha'han leaned back, appreciating the sight of her as she moved to the opposite side of the bath, as far away from him as possible. She sat on the smooth stone ledge that mirrored his, the water rising to cover her breasts. Her body looked as soft as her tongue was sharp. The swell of her belly, thick thighs, the generous slope of her hips. The deep olive tone of her skin covered the whole of her. A dark patch of hair hid the triangle between her thighs.

No, this little female was not designed for combat, but you wouldn't have known it, the way she poked and prodded him with her biting remarks and flippant attitude. Her bestial mannerisms paired with the seemingly sophisticated mind fascinated him. He knew he had to have her after watching her fearlessly attack Tah'rim and face himself with such temerity. His father would never arrange a mate for him, certainly not one like this. Despite her reticence, he didn't regret his swift decision to brand her. Part of him also reveled in the fact that he had effectively stolen her from his father, whether his father knew it or not.

"I think we should discuss what will be expected of you here," he said, noting how she stared at him.

Her eyes traveled downward, staring through the water, presumably at his hard length beneath the water. "I have somewhat of an idea."

Rha'han laughed. "Well, yes, that will be part of it." He drug his fingers through the surface of the water.  "There some things you should know about me. Perhaps you won't be as averse to the arrangement once you hear them."

She snorted, pinning him with her mesmerizing eyes. "Hmm, well, you did murder twenty-seven of my friends."

He flinched. Right. "We were following the orders of the Shara."

"Orders to attack a peaceful scientific expedition your government authorized?" She hadn't moved, nor had she blinked. Her voice was calm, but he could see the seething rage in those eyes. Part of him was pleased she responded to her tragedies with anger rather than fear or despondency. Although, a bit of fear would make things easier for him.

He took a deep breath, trying not to bite back. "I do as my superiors command. You will do the same."

She arched a dark brow. "Will I, now?"

He sat up straighter at the challenge. "Clearly, I did not leave a lasting impression on the ship. I'll be sure to rectify that later. Come here."

She pressed her back against the wall of the bath, lifting her chin slightly.

Rha'han crossed his upper arms over his chest. "You can obey me, or I can force the issue. I don't recommend the latter."

Her jaw ticked with annoyance, but she rose, straightening her shoulders. She waded toward him slowly, the water lapping at her navel, until she stood a handful of centimeters from his knees. He stood, towering over her tiny form, reaching for a soft sponge and dipping it into a bowl of liquid soap without breaking eye contact. He swept the sponge across his skin, lathering the fruit-scented soap over his tired muscles. She followed the sponge with her gaze, watching it travel over the hard planes of his abdomen, the swell of his biceps, the dark flesh of his nipples. Her eyes snapped up as he dipped it below the water. When finished, he sat back down, rinsing the soap away.

"Turn around."


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

Sunday, July 23, 2017

Star Talker: Part 7: Privileges



"How many slaves do you have?" I said, not bothering to hide my distaste.

"Just the three. Daesha and Daila are sisters. Mehdawi is a Candarri male."

"Just," I said with a snort.

He set the chains on a table under a picture of a lavender and cerulean nebula. "I take it you do not approve."

"Observant," I said.

"Follow." he said, starting down a hallway toward a lift tube. He ushered me in first and pressed the button. "Slavery is a part of our culture. You will have to get used to it."

"I suppose I will. After all, I am one."

He frowned, furrowing his brow. "You are not."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Am I allowed to leave?"

"No."

I arched a brow. "Do I have the option to disobey you?"

"Not without consequences."

"Then, tell me, what is the damned difference?"

He raised a brow. "You get to ask questions like that."

I blinked, a bit taken aback.

He sighed. "You cannot be sold to another house, like a slave. You are not subject to menial labor as a slave is. No other man may touch you. You are not expected to be subservient to anyone but me."

I rolled my eyes. "I feel so privileged."

"You should," he said.

Rha'han took my hand and led me from the tube to a large bathroom. Two small doors in the back stood slightly ajar, showing toilets stood behind them. The bath itself was a small, stone-lined pool that sank into the floor. Steam rose gently from the deep water, filling the room with warmth. My discomfort wavered a bit in wake of such an inviting sight. The stones were flat and smooth, a vivid, gold-shot sapphire that reminded me of lapis lazuli. It had always been one of my favorite stones, appearing as if a galaxy lived inside the rock itself.

Rha'han stepped further into the room and popped open the buckle on his belt, sliding it free of his trousers. He turned back to me. "Disrobe, please."

Despite the pleasantry, it clearly wasn't a request. He tugged the hem of his deep garnet shirt free of his trousers and tossed it aside. It landed on the tile with a heavy plop. It must have been some sort of armor for that sort of weight. I had read about the new armor technology a few years ago, when I was still on Centauri Prime. Microscale fabrics that were stronger than Terran kevlar, but lighter, thinner, and more flexible.

My attention returned to him, now gloriously nude before me. His thick limbs were a rich cinnamon, lightly dusted with raven hair. His skin shimmered in the light of the room, as if he'd been coated in the sheerest layer of gold paint. He turned and looked at me, resting his lower hands on his hips and crossing the other arms over his broad chest. I stared at him, wide-eyed, intimidated by his solid form. My eyes drifted lower for the briefest of moments, before I jerked my head up to stare at the ceiling. Thank God, his cock wasn't massive like the rest of him. I think I might have passed out otherwise. He was about the size of an average human male, perhaps slightly larger, but nothing terrifying. That was one blessing at least.

"You may remove them, or I will. Your choice, but they are coming off."

I reached back and pulled the Arkiv from my waistband and set it on a nearby counter. I slipped off my sandals and turned away from him, pulling off the thin hunter green t-shirt with the Centauri Prime centaur logo on the chest. I laid it next to the Arkiv and unbuttoned my cream-colored slacks. I could feel his eyes on me as I hooked my thumbs into the simple cotton panties beneath and slid both garments down and off. I stepped out of them and folded them.

"You needn't bother with that. They'll be discarded anyway."

I peered at him over my shoulder. "Taking everything away from me, hmm?"

He gestured to the Arkiv. "I let you keep that, didn't I?"

"How magnanimous of you," I said, turning around and crossing my arms over my breasts.

"Get in the bath." He commanded, descending into the water first.


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

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

Events

A Memory of Master Aryn

Poetry

-04.07.17_20:26-

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

Elegance

 

 

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