Wednesday, April 15, 2020

Tangled Thoughts of a Little Slave

I've gone through a handful of primary labels over the years and slowly added more descriptors to my list of subliness. One of the earliest was slave, and is still one of my main identifiers. The most recent has been Little, a product of my last relationship. I had looked into the label in the past, feeling I had some tendencies, but I rejected the idea at the time because the sheer obnoxiousness of the littles I had met at the time had put me off associating myself with them.

Since my last relationship was with an actual daddy dom, and not just a man who wanted to be called daddy, the little aspect became more apparent. I added that to my list of labels, but it wasn't until this past year that I really embraced it, I guess. Part of me wonders if I'd done so much sooner, I might still be with my ex, but I suppose thinking about that is an exercise in futility.

I reupped my Kindle Unlimited subscription recently, so I could read more spanking smut. I usually go for spanking/domestic discipline romance, but I stumbled across some DD/lg stuff and have mostly been reading that. It reminds me a lot of my last relationship, although I never really got a punishment spanking with him. Part of me craves that. They're always my favorite scenes in those books. What can I say? I have a particular kink. It's why I like brat play, because I want something like that, but I'm too much of a pleaser to actually do anything to warrant it.

Because, while I enjoy the nurturing aspects of the DD/lg dynamic, I can't turn off the slave bit. Acts of service are a big thing for me, particularly cooking. I like to feed people. I'm fucking good at it. I hate cleaning my own house, but I enjoy cleaning as a service. The slave part of me wasn't an aspect I got to express a whole lot in my last relationship. The TPE aspect was there. He was very much always in charge. He was also very much a daddy, and I loved that about him, but he didn't require much service from me. So, I was a little bit pleased when he got sick once, and I got to roll up in there with my arsenal of Kleenex, soup, and cigarettes, and clean up while he slept.

So, how do I reconcile the two? How do I feed both aspects? How do I find a man who can be both daddy and master? Because I'm very much both little and slave. That's part of why I chose the pet label a few years ago, as I felt it kind of encompassed elements of both. I don't know if I necessarily feel that it fits anymore, but I'm not sure what label I'd want to go with. The label you pick tends to influence the type of men you attract. As much as slave and little can coincide, they can attract polar opposites in terms of men. I mean, I list everything on my profile. But who reads those, right?

I guess I'm just in a bit of flux right now. I mean, I know what I am. I just haven't figured out how to effectively express it in a concise manner. I find the pet label gives too much of an impression that I'm into animal pet play, but I dunno what to go with yet.

I think reading these smut books has been a mistake though, as it often is, as it just reminds me how lonely I am and how few opportunities I have to express the submissive and masochistic aspects of my soul.


Wicked Wednesday

Monday, April 6, 2020

Star Talker: Part 32: Magnanimity


“Which brings us to the next point of business. I understand you speak several Terran languages?”

She straightened a bit, her brow arching again. “I do. All five of the intergalactic Terran tongues. There are others, but I assume those are the ones you mean.”

“I trust that includes the language of the Jin Fai?”

“That would be correct.”

“As I’m sure you have surmised, we do not have an interpreter who is familiar with that language. We require your skills.”

Another laugh bubbled up from her throat. It sounded forced. “And why, exactly, would I do that, sir?”

Amrach blinked, surprise evident on his face. Displeasure quickly replaced it. “Because I ordered it.”

Her lips twisted in thought, her brow furrowing. “I do believe I just pointed out that you had twenty-seven innocent men executed.” Both brows lifted as she leaned forward in the chair, resting her arm on the table. Her next words came slow and clear, as if she were speaking to a dull child. “Twenty-seven of my friends and colleagues. I have been kidnapped, and the rest of my colleagues are in captivity, some marked off to be enslaved. Why should I help you with anything?”

Amrach’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he made no other movement to indicate his anger. “My lady,” his voice was deadly calm, “you would do well to remember to whom you speak.”

She smiled again, and Rha’han began to feel that the smile was somehow dangerous.

“Oh, Radiance, I am fully aware to whom I speak,” she said, her tone deceptively sweet. “You see, my work, unlike my colleagues, is limited to this planet and primarily this continent, so I inevitably depend upon your good graces, sir, to continue in that work. But,” she leaned back again, relaxed and confident, her kohl-darkened lids half closed in a gaze that was almost seductive, “I am fully aware of my value. Otherwise every man in your damn family wouldn’t be slapping brands on me like some prized heifer.”

Rha’han’s attention snapped to her at that last statement. He said nothing, but eyed her curiously.

Amrach continued to stare unblinkingly at Selima. “Everyone that is not currently sitting at this table? Get. Out.”

There was a collection of salutes and bowing before everyone quickly exited the room, leaving the three of them alone.

“What value do you presume to have, madam?”

Selima sat up again, returning his piercing stare with her own. “I am a polyglot. We’re not terribly common and in high demand, given your request for me to interpret for you. Beyond that, whether you knew it or not, you violated the terms of a contract. A very significant contract, I might add. Violation of the non-aggression agreement results in summary blacklisting from Centauri services and invites retaliation from the Federation’s defense contracts. What you do not seem to understand, Radiance, is that I am the one person on this planet who can prevent such an unpleasant outcome.”

She smiled again, eyes brightening.

“I think you might overestimate your value.”

The smile became a predatory grin, revealing her fangs. Her pupils narrowed into slits. “Not remotely, sir. You see, I’m not just the only Centauri personnel on this planet who speaks your language. I’m the only Centauri personnel period that speaks your language. And, while Fahim Ashrad does speak English, well, he’s not here, and even so, whose report do you think they’ll believe?”

“You assume you will be allowed to make such a report.”

She looked down, licking her lips with a small chuckle. “The Bassir facility makes monthly progress reports. One will be due soon enough. When it is not sent, and Centauri Prime cannot make contact, they will look for us. And, I assure you, however impressive your cyber security protocols might be? They don’t hold a candle to the level of expertise that exists within the Centauri network. They will find out what happened. I won’t have to do a damned thing. But,” her gaze drifted back up, eyebrows lifting thoughtfully, “I do not want that to happen. As I said, my work is here. I need both access to you and the Archives to complete it. So I am inclined to help.”

The smile widened again into that almost frightening grin. “With conditions, of course. So, Your Radiance,” she leaned back again, draping one leg over the other, “welcome to the negotiation portion of this interrogation.”

They sat there in silence for an interminable moment, just staring at each other. Selima seemed rather pleased with herself, fangs fully on display in a victorious grin. Amrach’s eyes were wide and glowing, but Rha’han couldn’t tell whether it was shock or fury that filled them. Amrach laced his fingers together and regarded her over them, tapping his thumbs together in thought.

“I knew from the moment you walked in why Rha’han laid claim to you, but now I see what my brother must have seen in you as well. Well played, madam,” he said with a conciliatory nod.

Selima shrugged. “Well, he’s been funding my--very specific--education for the last fifteen years, so you might blame the whole of this on him.”

“What?” said Rha’han, startled.

“Excuse me?” Amrach sat up straighter.

“Fahim Ashrad has not spoken to me since he dropped me off with the Centauri when I was a child, but I was funneled into particular courses of study at the behest of my benefactor. Had no idea who said benefactor was until the service agreement with Klothar was drawn up.”

Amrach pressed his fist to his mouth and took a deep breath. “Rha’han?”


“I know how I’m going to end your quarrel with your father,” Amrach said, staring at him intently. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Wicked Wednesday

Monday, March 30, 2020

Star Talker: Part 31: Interrogation


Something changed the moment she sat down in the chair directly across from the Shara. Only the slightly longer than normal blink of her eyes as she sat hinted at the discomfort in her rear he’d placed there. Rha’han made a concerted effort not to smile at that. Aside from that small tell, everything about her seemed strangely at ease. Her shoulders slid back into a relaxed posture. She leaned back in the chair, limbs draped lazily over the arms of it, glittering with the bangles he’d gifted her this morning, fingers encrusted with blue gems. Her olive skin shone with the gold powder Daila had purchased, making her look ever more Lo’Rahni despite her diminutive size. Her wine red lips curled into an easy smile, parted ever so slightly, but not enough to display the small fangs he knew were there. The pupils of her eyes seemed unusually dilated for the amount of light in the room. 

Amrach eyed her carefully, frowning. “You’re so small.”

Selima laughed. The sound startled him. He’d not heard it before. It sounded natural, melodious, almost a song erupting spontaneously from her throat. He wondered how natural it was though, as she still managed to keep her fangs from showing. But perhaps she’d simply been trained long ago to hide her teeth.

“Well, you’re rather large, Radiance, so I imagine most are small next to you.” Her smile lit up her face as she rested her head in her left hand.

Amrach continued frowning. He simply looked rather stern, but Rha’han could feel his confusion. He shared it.

“We’ve been able to communicate somewhat with your colleagues through the translation software on the tablets they were for some reason permitted to keep,” Amrach began, throwing a glare at Rha’han. “Can you tell me where you acquired this program?”

“Certainly,” Selima said brightly. “I wrote it. It’s not finished, of course, I still have another year on the assignment, but I transferred the alpha version to my colleagues during transport. Given that I was separated from them and not a single Klotharan that came to the facility spoke English, I assumed they’d need it. Hard to follow commands if you can’t understand them.”

Rha’han couldn’t hold back the derisive snort he gave at those words. The woman spoke Klotharan like a native and she sure as hell didn’t follow his commands. His uncle’s gaze slid to him briefly in silent warning before returning his attention to Selima.

“For what purpose are you creating this program?”

“The mission of the Centauri Scientific Federation is, first and foremost, the acquisition and preservation of holistic knowledge spanning all realms of study. Beyond this, we provide access to such knowledge to those who would aid in its cultivation and protection in order to facilitate communication, cooperation, and understanding between the disparate races of the cosmos.” The words flowed easily from her lips, a recitation she’d obviously been trained to repeat.

“Why Klotharan?”

She smiled. “Klotharan is my second language, the first to awaken my love of languages. It wasn’t much of a chore to learn. Klotharan is not dissimilar from my mother tongue.”

“I must say, your elocution is impeccable.” He glanced at Rha’han. “And your grasp of our formal protocols is impressive.”

Rha’han’s face remained blank. He had no idea how she had known to wait for the Shara’s touch to rise. 

“My tutors were very strict about my studies in that regard. I was left with a number of resources when I was sent to Centauri to continue my studies.” Her shoulders dropped in an elegant shrug. “Not much beyond language, unfortunately. I am an ethnologist at heart, so I jumped at the chance to be able to come here and study your cultures when His Highness Fahim Ashrad expressed an interest in bringing Klothar into the Federation’s contracted users.”

She dropped her eyes to the table. “If you’ll forgive my impertinence, Radiance, it was a wise move to do so. I think Klothar, and Lo’Rah, can benefit from such a partnership. Isolation creates weakness, and, while you do engage in intergalactic travel and…” her gaze went to a male slave standing near the door behind Amrach, “trade...your exoplanetary alliances are few and fledgling. Which the Jin Fai have noticed.”

Amrach tapped on a tablet in front of him and scrolled with his finger. “Your colleagues would have us believe that your delegation had nothing to do with the attack on my empire, but your words give me cause for concern. Your knowledge of the Jin Fai’s perceptions.”

Selima lifted a brow and gave a tight-lipped smile. “The Centauri Federation is a non-militant entity. We have no stake in the political squabbles of governments that access our service. Absolute neutrality is what allows us to operate efficiently. However, being that the CSF is a Terran-born institution, our Archives hold a disproportionate amount of data on governments and peoples that originated on Terra. We cannot control how the information we provide is used, so long as it is not used against us, but we do pay attention.”

She idly rubbed a thumb over the turquoise stones on her wrist before looking up. “We had nothing to do with the Jin Fai’s actions and had no knowledge of it before your men attacked us and killed nearly thirty Centauri scientists.”

Rha’han noticed her pupils contract into slits briefly before dilating again. Amrach was looking down and did not see.

Wicked Wednesday

Monday, March 23, 2020

Star Talker: Part 30: The Shara


If I had once compared Rha’han to Apis, I was sorely mistaken when I laid eyes upon the Shara of Klothar. The man at the head of the room was a veritable giant. Even with the distance between us, I had to lift my head slightly to look him in the eyes. He was thickly muscled like the soldiers that had captured me, more so than I might have expected of a monarch. As Rha’han had claimed, he resembled Rha’han greatly, although his braids were longer and peppered with silver. His horns were the same as Rha’han, only thicker and longer. Golden rings with huge gems adorned his horns and golden beads were woven into his hair and his beard. He wore a long garnet tunic that ended below his knees, embellished with silver and gold embroidery, the trim encrusted with small gems. All four of his biceps bore the same coiled cuff that Rha’han wore and each of his hands wore a number of golden rings.

For the briefest of moments, I met his eyes. I had thought Rha’han’s eyes golden, but his were the color of molten metal and just as bright. The kohl around his eyes made them even brighter, seeming to peer into my soul with the intensity of his gaze. His face bore the lines of age, but he didn’t feel old. With what I now knew of Rha’han’s age, I imagined he was probably in his sixties, but nothing about him was frail.

He had the look of a warrior. A belt of thick gold chain was slung around his waist with links the size of my fist. At each hip was a long sheath of gleaming leather with jeweled hilts glittering in the light of the room. They looked like they might be long daggers in his hands, but in mine they would be short swords. The richness of the hilts spoke of decorative purpose, but I had little doubt they would be as lethal as the more utilitarian models I had seen on the soldiers.

I held his gaze and drifted forward, away from Rha’han to half way between him and the Shara and dipped into a deep curtsy, dropping my gaze to the floor. I waited there in silence. I could feel a dozen sets of eyes on me. It felt like an eternity before the sound of his heavy boots began to make their way toward me. My thighs strained to maintain the bend, but it was one of the customs I remembered from my childhood training, so I waited. Finally, he gently touched me on the shoulder and I rose. He was so close, I had to tilt my head all the way back to look at him. My head didn’t even reach his chest. I was about eye level with his belly. After a moment of towering over me, he backed up a step or two and spoke.

“I am Amrach Malikar of the Horned Crown, Shara of the Klotharan Empire.”

I curtsied again, a short dip, before rising again. “I am Selima Fouad of Centauri Prime, official interpreter for the Centauri Bassir mission.”

The Shara narrowed his eyes slightly and studied me for a brief moment. “Yes, I keep getting told about this mission, but I had not heard of it before this week. Which is why you’re here, my lady. It seems my own people insist on keeping things from me. Authorizing secret research expeditions without my consent. You will give me the answers I seek.” 

I frowned. “I am confused. I would not think the ruler of an empire would be personally conducting interrogations.”

Amrach smiled, looking me up and down and arching a regal brow. “You are correct. Normally I would leave such matters to my soldiers, but you are There is something about you that causes my family to disobey me, and I am curious to know what that is.”

He made toward a relatively small table and gestured toward the seat nearest me. “If you’ll have a seat, my lady. Rha’han, you may sit there, but you will not interfere with the discussion. Understood?”

Rha’han nodded and took the designated seat. “Yes, Sire.”   

Wicked Wednesday

Monday, March 16, 2020

Star Talker: Part 29: Promenade


We moved swiftly through the promenade. There were many people wandering about, tall women of various species in flowing vibrant gowns and men in opulent, richly embroidered sleeveless tunics. I gathered very quickly that we were in the literal upper echelons of the city. Rha’han’s outfit was a bit more subdued, but not quite the spartan quality of his uniform. He was dressed as a civilian today in a deep moss green tunic over black trousers. The edges of the tunic were embroidered with shining copper thread, but it was less ostentatious than many of the garments of the other men around. He had a gold armlet around his bare bicep, the one bit of jewelry he wore. The metal was twisted into a corkscrew design that mimicked the horns curling back from his brow around his head. The wide leather belt that cinched his waist had the same copper embroidery as his shirt.

We did not go unnoticed as we walked. I noted several people openly stared at us. Several men looked on Rha’han with blatant disapproval, almost sneering. Others were more content to stare at me, anywhere except my eyes, of course. When they noticed the brand on my chest, a few looked startled and scurried off. 

“Do they always look at you like that?” 

Rha’han sighed. “On this floor? Yes. The cuff,” he said, tapping the coiled armlet, “is the only thing that keeps them from insulting me outright.” 

“Then why do you live up here?” 

Rha’han frowned at nothing in particular, not looking at me. “My father is a bit of a contradictory sort. He only begrudgingly acknowledges me as his son, and really only because the Shara forced the issue. His wife hates me and half hates him for the whole thing. Although, I have younger brothers, so it's apparently a productive hate.” He snorted, but the sound didn’t hold much mirth. “He won’t allow me to live on lower floors where the people are less...inhospitable.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Allow you? You’re a fucking adult. How old are you anyway?”

He smiled a bit then, looking down at me. “I am thirty-eight. But, my father is a fahim and I am just a soldier, so my age has little relevance to what that man can and cannot control. Unwanted spawn or not, he can’t have anyone of his get living amongst commoners. It simply isn’t done.”

I stopped and squinted up at him, surprised at his age. I hadn’t much noticed before, but suddenly I could see the faint lines at the corners of his eyes. Well, that explained a bit more of the chemistry between us. I did have a habit of preferring my men well-seasoned. 

“You don’t look thirty-eight,” I said after a moment of awkward staring.

He laughed. “Do you know what typical thirty-eight year old Lo’Rahni men look like?” 


 “Then what rubric are you using? Terrans? I say, you certainly don’t look twenty-four, but, then, I don’t know what a typical twenty-four year old Terran looks like either.” His face broke into a lecherous grin. “Because you are anything but typical.” 

I flushed a bit, slightly embarrassed by the sexual heat plain in his eyes. “Wait!” I said, frowning. “How do you know I’m twenty-four?”

He blinked, eyes widening a fraction. “Oh, um, it was in your medical records. Your med bracelet has your birth date.” 

I squinted at him again, suspiciously. My date of birth would certainly have been on my med bracelet, but the doctor on the ship hadn’t mentioned it, and I figured Rha’han had more important things to do than scrutinize my medical records.

We finally came to a large, oddly ornate, lift tube. Two soldiers stood guard to either side of the door. Both were a full head taller than Rha’han, white horns jutting out from the sides of their heads and sweeping up to the sky. They were fully armed, with pulse guns at their hips and the hilts of what I assumed were blades sticking out over their shoulders. They nodded to Rha’han and let us pass, never once seeming to look at me.

“I don’t know whether to be offended they didn’t acknowledge my presence or happy they didn’t leer at me like the others,” I said as we stood next to each other, alone in the lift. 

“They know better than to cast eyes on what is mine. They actually have respect.” I wanted to protest the possessiveness of his words, but the irritation in his voice held me back. Clearly he’d noticed all the leering too.

We stepped from the lift into a sizable lobby area. Plush burgundy armchairs filled the room, settled around glass top coffee tables set with golden centerpieces. Another two guards stood before a clear door that led into a hall lined with portraits. 

“Captain,” they said in unison, nodding at Rha’han. 

“Our presence has been requested by His Radiance,” Rha’han said formally.

“Yep, you’re expected. Gimme a sec,” said the one to the left. He tapped his ear piece. “Captain Malikar has arrived...yes, they’re both here.” 

A few moments later, an alien of the same species as Daesha and Daila came walking down the hallway. This one was taller and broader through the shoulders than either of Rha’han’s slaves, so I assumed this one was male. His scales were the color of fresh blueberries, glinting with a silvery flash. His fins were longer and wider than the women’s, the blue gradually changing to a blood red hue towards the ends. Though much leaner than his Lo’Rahni masters, he had the look of a fighter about him. A gold collar encircled his throat, with a crimson djinn key dangling from it.

“Captain,” he said as the door slid open. He turned to me and bowed. “Rha’hana. This way.” The fish man turned and led them down the hall. 

Rha’hana, hmm? I’d have to ask about that later. 

Rha’han took my hand and moved it to lay atop his upper left arm as he held it out before him. I allowed him to arrange me as he pleased, as he would be far more familiar with this situation than I. The book I’d flipped through in Rha’han’s absence yesterday had given me a bit of a refresher on my childhood lessons, but better to let him take the lead here. I needed to observe the field before I made my move. 

Rha’han stopped us in front of another door, this one standing open. The slave stepped forward into the room ahead of us, bowing deeply at the waist. 

“Your Radiance. Captain Malikar and Rha’hana Selima.”

Rha’han stepped past the slave, leading us into the room. He slammed his right fists to his chest in salute and bowed. 

Wicked Wednesday