Thursday, July 12, 2018

Star Talker: Part 21: Conquest

"Where is Selena?" Rha'han barked the moment he walked in the door.

Daila jumped, wide-eyed at his tone. " the study, Master."

Rha'han growled and marched toward the lift tube, impatient at the ever consistent speed of the damned thing. His annoyance wanted stairs to lope up so she could hear the stomp of his boots as he stalked toward her. The door to the study where his defiant little mate hid flew open before he approached it, as if somehow it could sense his anger. He stormed into the room, eyes darting, seeking her out, but she wasn't there. He growled again, preparing to turn and hunt her down.

There was a feral hiss behind him before a soft, feminine form slammed into his back, hooking thick legs between his upper and lower arms, wrapping her fists around his horns. She jerked his head back and forth, her strength surprising, given the softness of her figure and the pure academic he had pegged her for. He tried to pry her locked ankles apart, but he could feel the muscles beneath the flesh straining against his greater strength. Sharp teeth sank into his shoulder, sharper than they should have been for a Terran.

He roared at the pain, reaching back to dislodge the wild female attacking him. The way she'd lodged herself between his arms had been an impressively clever move, making it awkward to grab at her. He dropped to his knees and rolled forward, hearing a feminine grunt as his weight bowled over her, her bite going slack. The grip of her ankles broke and he took the opportunity to flip over, tearing his horns from her little hands. He pinned her wrists, looming his massive form over her, eyes boring into her. Her eyes were aglow with primal fire, the pupils had distorted into narrow slits of feline creatures.

Rha'han chuckled darkly, the sound rumbling in his chest. "You aren't Terran, are you?"

She curled up, kicking him in the diaphragm with both of her little feet. He grunted, losing his balance as the air was forced from his lungs. She reclaimed her left wrist, trying to roll away from him. His grip tightened on her other wrist and dragged her back toward him. He sprang into a crouch, snatching the pins that held the knot at the back of her skull in place from her hair. The long thick braid sprang loose, offering up a solid source of control. He wrapped the damp, silky length around his fist and jerked her to her feet.

"Interesting tactics, miiyah. I don't think you did yourself any favors, though," he said, forcing her toward the desk. He could have easily carried her the distance, but the stilted march he forced her into excited the animal inside him. A number of disciplinary measures had run through his head in the time since he'd discovered her technological breach, a slightly more civilized one rested in his pocket at that very moment.

But he wasn't in the mood for civil. He folded her struggling body over the desk, catching up both wrists and pinning them behind her back with one of his hands. With the lower two, he ripped open the back of the skirts she'd wrapped between her legs and tied about her waist for more mobility. The fresh bruises from last night's lesson mottled the golden skin of her ass. He quickly stripped his belt and fished his engorged cock from his trousers and with one quick thrust, forced it into the tight bud of her ass.

She cried out, clearly pained by his harsh invasion. She struggled in his grasp, to no avail, unable to prevent his rough thrusts. It was nothing like the night before, slick and hot with oil, the scent of her arousal filling the room, guttural moans filling the air. Only grunts and whimpers from her as he relished in the friction of her tight passage around his cock. There was something extremely satisfying in her distress, in her helplessness beneath him.

He knew the moment she'd resigned herself to his punishment. She stopped fighting, going limp against the desk, her only reactions now the pitiful little mewling sounds and the erratic tensing and release of her muscles as she tried to relax around him. He continued for several minutes more, moaning as he took his pleasure from her, finally spilling himself into her ass with a rough growl.

Still lodged inside her, he pulled his original plan from his pocket, a black plug with a fat bulb and two metallic bands around the stem. He slowly pulled his cock from her, noting the loud groan that fell out of her. He bent over rubbing the tip of the bulb against her anus, coating it in the milky liquid seeping from her ass, and forced it inside her. She let out a frustrated cry. Wrenching her upright, he whipped them both around and tossed her onto her back on the floor, straddling her hips. She was panting heavily, her pupils no longer slits but massive black holes swallowing up those oceanic irises.

"Now," he said calmly, pulling the small remote from his pocket. "I'm going to ask some questions. You're going to answer truthfully, or you can find out what makes that plug special."

Selena took a long, slow breath, squirming uncomfortably beneath his weight, and nodded.

"What are you?"


He cocked an eyebrow and pushed the button on the remote. Selena let out a startled yelp as the metal bands on the plug delivered a sharp shock to her abused opening.

"I'm not lying!" she snapped, glaring up at him.

"Perhaps, but you aren't telling the whole truth either."

"My father was Terran. My mother was of the native dominant species of New Giza. The invading Terrans called them Basti, because of their vaguely feline attributes, after a Terran cat goddess. They were pre-industrial when the Terrans invaded, and easily conquered. I don't know much about them or what they called themselves and their world Pre-Conquest."

Rha'han had to admit he wasn't familiar with New Giza's history. The planet was on the opposite side of the quadrant. It wasn't a major political power, a remote planet, the only one in its star's habitable zone. It was a wonder his father's ship had been around when the comet had hit her observatory. Fate worked in mysterious ways.

"Why isn't that in your registration?"

"My Basti heritage was not entered into the birth record. My father wanted pass me off as pure Terran. Since that's what my bracelet said, the Lo'Rahni who created my new registration had no reason to believe otherwise. Gizan law prevents Basti from gaining interstellar registrations."

Rha'han frowned. "Why?"

Selena propped herself up on her elbows, lifting a derisive brow. "Guess."

Rha'han gave her another zap. She cursed in that strange tongue again. "Mind your tone."

"What were those net pages you had open?"

"Centauri Archives."

Rha'han stiffened. "Did you contact them?"

Selena rolled her eyes. "I'm not an idiot." Zap. "Fuck!"

"What were you trying to do?"

She sighed dramatically. "I was trying to figure out how to connect my Arkiv tablet to your wireless network. Then I decided to fish through the hard drive for the network passcode, but you shut it off before I found it."

Thursday, July 5, 2018

Star Talker: Part 20: Sneaking About

Daesha had been rather thorough in her tour of the apartment. The lower floor consisted of the public areas, a common room with a sofa, some plush chairs, and a viewing screen, the kitchen, a dining room, and the slaves' quarters, which one reached by going through the kitchen. The upper floor contained the bath, Rha'han's chambers, some sort of training room, a study, and a small guest room. The study had caught my eye instantly, with its wall to wall books and the large computer station nestled between the bookshelves. After Daesha's tour, I asked to be left alone in the study to read. Daesha had billowed happily and left me to my own devices.

The tech station was painfully easy to hack into. All residents of Centauri Prime were required to maintain certification in at least basic level computer programming and hacking in order to ensure the security of the Archives. Rha'han's terminal had only basic localized security protocols one would expect for a home computer. There would be no sensitive information on this device. Most entities kept such files in encrypted data clouds accessible only by certain, often portable, devices, or kept locked away in closed networks behind heavy duty physical security measures.

It took a moment to find the web portal, but I managed to link up to the Centauri network and pull up a few articles. My father's tongue was probably the least likely to be known in this sector of the quadrant, so I started rifling through Gizan data mines for information on djinn keys. If I were going to accomplish anything, I needed to upgrade my access level, and I sincerely doubted Rha'han was going to grant me any semblance of freedom any time soon. I also checked news reports from the Lo'Rahni, Centauri, and Jin Fai networks, and not a damn thing was mentioned about the recent attacks by the Jin Fai, the victory of the Klotharan forces, or the destruction of my facility. Not a single word. A fact that didn't bode well at all for me.

I captured a few screenshots of the pertinent sections of the tech manuals for djinn keys on my Arkiv, closed out those windows, and brought up the console. I assumed it would be simple enough to dig up the wireless connection code. Having the access on my Arkiv would be invaluable. I didn't expect to get much time with a native terminal. Not when I could go tattling to the CSF about what Rha'han and his people had done.

"What are you doing?"

I yelped and fell out of my chair as the screen flickered and the display was replaced with an enormous image of Rha'han's face, frowning sternly down at me like the bull god Apis, golden eyes glowing with displeasure.

"Nothing," I said.

His eyes narrowed. "You are a terrible liar."

I shrugged, staring up at his frighteningly huge face from the floor. "Well, I'm not trying."

"You will answer me," he said in a low, deceptively calm tone.

"Not right now," I said, rolling under the desk and yanking a number of power cords out of the wall, hoping at least one of them was attached to the terminal. The hum and whirr of the electronics died with a low moan as the screen went black.


Rha'han stared incredulously at his suddenly black screen. Nothing about this blasted woman made a single iota of sense. Her fearlessness completely baffled him. It was quickly proving to be a problem. If he was going to convince his uncle to let him keep her, he had to get her under control as soon as possible. With an interplanetary war on the horizon, any perceived weakness could not be allowed. Gritting his teeth, he set off for his apartments with a furious growl.

Tuesday, July 3, 2018

Drop it Like it's Hot: Sub Drop

Sub drop. The boogie man of the bottoming world. Everyone warns you about it. Everyone is concerned about it. Cries of aftercare! ring into the night for fear of it. 

Drop really has never been much of an issue for me. I deal with chronic depression anyway, so I'm not sure how I would distinguish drop from one of my typical down days, aside from proximity to a play session. However, since masochism is a natural antidepressant for me, kink play generally pulls me out of an emotional low point by stimulating the chemicals my brain doesn't generally produce. 

I can only recall a couple times I've actually dropped. It requires a certain degree of intensity in a scene and a specific kind of connection with the top. Typically a sexual or romantic, connection. Usually both, because the two tend to go hand in hand for me. 

The hardest drop I've experience happened after playing with a former lover. The scene itself was the most intense I'd experienced up to that point, and the combination of that level of intensity, coupled with the fact that I was still in love with him, and the lack of proper aftercare triggered a several month depressive episode in me. The drop itself lasted a few days, and was rather taxing. I cried...a lot. 

I can only vaguely remember one other time, and that had more to do with the type of play that was involved. I had been rubbed down with a large chunk of ice, which caused a sort of physical shock reaction.

Drop isn't something I generally worry about because I don't go into subspace. Subspace seems to be a primary trigger of most drops from what I hear. I think I might have hit subspace before, but I'm not entirely sure. A lot of elements are required for me to go into an altered headspace. It's not something that happens with a platonic play partner, because the psychological aspects of a scene are missing, and that is my space trigger. 

Essentially, I believe I can only achieve that state with a dominant with whom I am both romantically and sexually involved. Without that degree of intimacy and emotional vulnerability, as well as the dominant aspect, kink play is more akin to a violent massage. Which produces endorphins, yes, but doesn't have quite the same effect. 

And even with those elements in place, I would imagine that the intensity of the scene would still need to be pretty high for me to go there. Typically this would be achieved through a fear response, or a high enough degree of pain to produce tears. 

Basically, if I ain't cryin', I probably ain't flyin'.

But, the fact that need all that to even get to that space makes me a fairly low maintenance bottom. Aftercare isn't something I typically need or necessarily desire. With a partner, or someone I'm really comfortable with, aftercare is great. But because I don't drop, it's not something I have to have, and no one has to worry about something bad happening if I don't get it. 


Wednesday, June 20, 2018

Simple Negotiator

Hold onto your pearls, fraggles and sneetches, because my perspective on negotiations is rather...laissez faire, with both relationships and play partners. I'm not big on formality. Contracts have never been a thing I've had any desire to deal with.

I'm pretty amenable when it comes to negotiating. I toss out my list of nos, and anything else is pretty much fair game to try. If I encounter something I don't like or can't stand, I'll bring it up at the time. No harm no foul. I don't like to direct a scene too much, because I like to experience the style of the person topping me. You do you, and I'll bitch if and when I have a problem.

With relationships, I've never been that elaborate either. Again, I have my limit list, but I tend to gravitate towards the TPE/slave end of the spectrum. So, I'll go along with most things that don't cross my moral or psychological lines. I'm a chameleon s-type. I adapt to whatever is needed of me. I'm happy following the Captain's lead. I just usually ask that I be warned before something particularly unusual or taxing.


Usually I don't even think about safe words. I'm more likely to just express the problem I'm having at the time. I don't tend to go nonverbal very often. It's easier for me to grab the problem than a random word, but if the top is more comfortable with having one, I just say the streetlight system, but I've yet to actually use a safe word up to this point.

I can't account for every thing and I don't try to. Relationships are fluid. I figure in a good relationship, both parties are going to work to make things run smoothly. So, I've never felt the need to employ written negotiations. I just prefer to let things develop organically.

In a relationship, I just say "tell me what you want from me" and I will do my damnedest to figure out how to do that. If I can't, we'll talk about it.

With the right person, things just fall into place for me. I go with my gut. My gut is usually correct.

For being an anxiety-ridden mess, I'm pretty chill about negotiations.

My advice? Listen to your instincts. They can tell you a lot.

Tuesday, March 6, 2018

Intimacy, Aftercare, and Compartmentalization

I have been active in the local scene for roughly 7 years now. I've bottomed and topped. I've been in relationships. A few, anyway. However, typically I've not really bottomed for one of my owners at a party. So, all my play partners at parties have been platonic friendships.

I had to learn years ago to separate masochism from sex. I had a couple partners who only allowed me to play with women, and, being straight, this made it easy to compartmentalize masochism and sex as separate. They're still better together, but I can easily separate the two when necessary.

Aftercare in these situations usually just looks like a quick hug and maybe getting handed a water, and then wandering off. Things like cuddling and such don't really happen. Now, I'm definitely a cuddler. I enjoy that form of intimacy after playing, but it's really only something I've done with my owners. Because in private, the sequence is usually, play-sex-cuddles. That's not a feasible sequence of events for me at a party, especially with play partners.

I have OCD and a decent dose of physical paranoia. Being in the community has helped A LOOOOT with this issue. I no longer have a panic attack when acquaintances hug me, but many forms of what might be considered casual touch are extremely intimate for me. Voluntary physical affection is a huge sign of trust from me and I often express attraction through casual touching, as I generally avoid touching people altogether.

Because of this, cuddling is a rather intimate action for me. And while I would enjoy cuddles and pets after a scene, I wouldn't wish to obligate someone to a degree of intimacy we do not share. And I may not feel comfortable with what I see as very intimate acts either.

Being straight and monogamous has a lot to do with this as well. Most of my play partners have been women, and all of my platonic play partners (at least on the top side), regardless of gender, have been poly. I'm very careful about what degrees of intimacy I allow/request. I don't want to infringe on their relationships and I don't want to compromise my personal convictions.

I think I've confused the occasional top with my lack of need for aftercare. I can't really say I've subspaced more than a couple times in my life, so I don't really enter an altered state when I play. I go deeper with romantic partners because of the emotional connection and the sexual elements, but then I usually get what one might call "aftercare" because those are private situations.

Without that emotional and physical vulnerability, I either can't space or subconsciously won't allow myself to so I don't put myself or someone else in an awkward position. And, I'm sure it's only awkward in my brain, as those I've played with tend to be very affectionate people, but I've always been excruciatingly careful about allowing myself to be vulnerable around others.

In most situations, it's simply something I don't need, or at the very least, have divested myself of the need for it in platonic scening situations. Obviously, more intimate relationships have more of an emotional impact for me, so those can be a bit more complicated depending how deep down the rabbit hole we go.

Monday, February 19, 2018

Who Holds the Power?

This has been a topic I've addressed in the past, and I'm sure I'm going to repeat a few of those points in this post, but it's been a handful of years now, and I feel like writing about it again. There is a prevalent philosophy within the PE (Power Exchange) scene that the sub holds the true power in the relationship. I have never subscribed to this, and I think its detrimental to those who do.

I understand why this is such a popular belief. Submission/surrender is a vulnerable place to be. When you're tied up or at the mercy of someone physically stronger than you, it can be a dangerous place to be. The potential for damage is high, so it makes the s-type feel safer to think that they are somehow running the show.

But I think this idea that the s-type holds all the power comes from a very narrow perspective of what power actually is. Power is more than a yes or a no. It's more than the ability to impose limits. It's more than the ability to walk away. If that is how we measure power, then both parties would possess equal power. A d-type can say yes or no. A d-type can impose limits. A d-type can walk away. These things are not rights exclusive to one side of the slash. Excluding M/s and O/p situations where these rights have been negotiated away, both parties possess these manifestations of power.

But a dominant can't dom without someone to submit to them!
And neither can a submissive submit into a vacuum. There's a reason why the word exchange is part of the terminology. We're trading in types of power. There is never just one. To think that the s-type possesses all the power is very dismissive of the d-type in the equation, and ignorant of the types of power one can hold.

For instance, physical power. You can say no. You can walk away from a relationship, but when you're bound, your power is illusory at best. You're relying on the assumption that the d-type in question will acknowledge your perceived power if you decide to use it. Because they are in a position where they don't actually have to. You are the one in the vulnerable position. In that moment, the power of choice is theirs.

Another example is financial power. I'm not referring to findoms. But say one is in a situation where one partner provides the sole income or the primary income of a household. This can be either the d-type or the s-type, depending on the living situation. In such situations, one partner is dependent on the other for their financial security. That is a form of power. Your options of leaving are rather reduced if you have nowhere to go and no money to do so.

Then we have sexual power, and I don't mean orgasm control or denial, or chastity. That's control. We're talking about power. There are people who elicit certain responses in you. That primal urge. I remember past relationships where I was almost constantly aroused by the mere proximity of my partner. He had that kind of subconscious power over my body, and I don't know that he even realized it. That intense attraction is a form of power. The ability to influence behavior without any real effort.

The most potent, I think, is emotional power. It has a lasting effect, a grip that doesn't let go easily even after a relationship ends. Any relationship can lead to emotional entanglements that rarely leave us. I know my partners all held a certain power over me for a long time after they left. Certainly within the relationship as well. I cannot speak to the power I had over them, but I know what they had over me. My need to please them. My abject fear of upsetting them or making them feel bad in anyway. I thought about them constantly. Longed to be in their presence when we were apart. If that's not power, I don't know what is.

Power is more than just consent. It's more than limits. It's more than the ability to leave. Power is such a complex concept with so many manifestations. I can't conceive of a relationship--a healthy one, at any rate--where one partner holds all of the power. Relationships, kinky or vanilla, aren't one-way streets. There's give and take to everything, and I think that's beautiful.

Sunday, January 28, 2018

The Art of Seduction

A gift I painted for the domly type I'm attempting to seduce. Got to test it out last night too. I think he liked it.

Sinful Sunday