Saturday, November 18, 2017

Black Hole

I can feel the very edges of me folding in on themselves.
The weight of my soul is too much,
the gravity too strong.
My weak flesh can no longer withstand the pull.
I am collapsing from within,
each layer condensing into that infinetismal singularity,
an inescapable void.

I see the light around me
twisting and distorting,
swirling, spiraling into my darkness,
consumed, unable to escape.

I can cultivate no brightness of my own.
The hunger of the dark is too strong.
It devours each spark,
inhaling each flame,
until nothing but darkness remains.

The last of my luminescence was lost
in that splendid explosion
which cast those glorious remnants
of strength
into the vast expanse of the cosmos,
lost, even, to the ravenous shadow
I have become.

I strive and strain
to draw in the radiance around me,
replace those glimmers of self
scattered by my super nova.

But I only watch in horror
as that borrowed light unravels before me
sinking into the silent obscurity,
swallowed by the endless shade.

And I wonder,
is that gleaming gone,
is the blackness all that's left?
Or are those fractured fractals
still in there somewhere,
clamoring for release?

Sinful Sunday

Friday, November 17, 2017

e[Lust] #100

Photo courtesy of Wriggly Kitty

Welcome to Elust 100-

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

~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

He’s Out of My League

Pink Hair, Don't Care!

I’m a feminist but...

~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

Pain Sluts and Brain Squirrels

His Car Keys

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~


*You really should consider adding your popular posts here too*
All blogs that have a submission in this edition must re-post this digest from tip-to-toe on their blogs within 7 days. Re-posting the photo is optional and the use of the “read more…” tag is allowable after this point. Thank you, and enjoy!

Writing About Writing

Why Financial Disclosures Matter on Your Blog

Erotic Fiction

An American Werewolf in London
The Spider and the Fly

Body Talk and Sexual Health

Over exposed?

Erotic Non-Fiction

Mirror Image
Return to Position, Part 1
One Present Moment
Edgy Morning
The Date-Aversary Continues
The Smell, Taste and Love of Chocolate.



Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Asking can be sexy too!
Soaring in Space
Age Play
Stroke of luck

Sex News, Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Adult Content on Patreon
Censorship on Share our Shit Saturday
#SSoS Sharing for the Win

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

#iTalkSex Why I Talk Sex
Radical Acceptance In Relationships
So... ghosting is an acceptable thing now
What giving a collar means to me


Reflections on us and the blog

Sunday, November 12, 2017

Shadow Play

I used this image previously as a header for a different post, but I like it so much, I think it deserves a feature on Sinful Sunday. My love of chains is boundless and I hope to soon acquire a set of stainless steel irons, because yes.

Sinful Sunday

Saturday, November 4, 2017

Star Talker: Part 18: Culture Shock

I reluctantly submitted myself to Daesha's attentions. Wincing into the pillow as she applied the salve to my bruises. I wrapped the towel back around myself as she disappeared into the bathroom to presumably wash her hands. She returned swiftly, gliding gracefully across the room toward the wall of cabinets and doors. She slid open a door to reveal a closet inset into the wall. An array of gowns in various jewel tones lined the rail. Daesha turned back to me, gave me a quick once over, and plucked a deep purple from the selection on display.

She approached with the garment, dropping her eyes to the floor. "May I?"

I slid off the bed and stood in front of her. She smiled, fins billowing again, and dropped the gown over my head, tugging it into place. It was an empire cut, the waistline hugging me just below the bust. The lining was comprised of a silky material that felt rather luxurious against my skin. Daesha caught up the two bands of fabric at my left shoulder and wound them through some sort of brooch, pulling them until it fit snugly.  I noted that the dress only had one shoulder, leaving the bandage over my brand on display.

I fingered the brooch, noting that it was in the shape of some sort of large-tailed bird made of a collection of colorful stones. "Are all Klotharan gowns like this?" I said to Daesha, who had knelt to put some sort of matching slippers on my feet. They reminded me of dance shoes.

Daesha looked up at me, her gaze drifting to my fingers worrying at the brooch. "There are different cuts, colors, embellishments and such. There are different qualities of materials depending on the wealth of the family in question. Some have more complex designs. However, all gowns of mated women are designed to display the marriage brand. Unmated women tend to cover both shoulders. Those with two mates typically wear halter styles."

I blinked. "A woman can have two mates?"

Daesha nodded, digging through a small case of jewelry, holding various pieces up to me as if judging their appropriateness. "With the abundance of men on the planet, it is not an uncommon arrangement, particularly among the lower echelons of society. The bride price is easier to manage if two men contribute. Sometimes brothers will take on the same mate as well, if the family can only afford one bride price."

Well, that was fascinating. "Are there ever men with two female mates?"

Daesha slipped some gold bangles on my wrists. "It's not unheard of. If a man is rich enough to purchase marriage contracts from off world races, then he can acquire two mates. No man has ever had two Lo'Rahni women for mates as far as I know. It's considered the height of greed to deprive others of a potential mate when you already have one. Now, sometimes, two mated couples or triads will come together to form a single household, particularly if some of the partners have a taste for their own sex."

"What about female only pairs?"

Daesha stood back from me, examining her work. "That is only permitted if both females involved are infertile. Even if that is the case, they are still required to be attached to a male's household in some capacity."

The anthropologist in me was positively humming. "How thoroughly archaic," I said in wonderment.

Daesha shrugged.  "It is simply how things are. You've seen their men. There are benefits to having one of those hulking creatures on your side."

Her eyes went wide briefly, then dropped to the floor. "Apologies, Mistress. I overstep myself."

I snorted. "Well, you aren't wrong about them being hulking creatures. No harm in the truth."

She seemed to purse her lips. "You are going to get me into trouble eventually. I know it."

I tilted my head. "That is probably not inaccurate. I seem to be quite gifted at getting myself into it. Splash damage is probably a good possibility."

I looked down at myself, the lush gown flowing delicately around my ankles, gold bangles tinkling at my wrists, a jeweled brooch at my shoulder. "Aren't I a bit overdressed for being confined to the apartments?"

"This is actually one of the simpler gowns that was purchased. Besides, Master will want you well-dressed regardless of confinement."

I turned, feeling the silk graze the skin of my ass. ""

Daesha blinked, confused. "Under what?"

"You know. Smallclothes? Things you wear under your clothes?"

Daesha frowned. "Why would you wear clothes under your clothes?"

I raised my eyebrows. Well then, something to add to my notes later. Underwear didn't exist in Klothar. At least, not this part of it, anyway.

I clasped my hands in front of me. "Care to give me a tour?"

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

Saturday, October 21, 2017

Star Talker: Part 17: Morning Ablutions

The other side of the bed was empty when I woke. I was keenly aware of the missing pressure of his arms around my waist. I rolled over and sat up, hissing at the ache in my backside. My movement must have triggered the lights, as a white glow appeared around the perimeter of the ceiling and intensified to mimic the effect of natural light. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, noting the heavy metal cuffs still adorned my wrists. I slid off the bed, even the softness of the sheets scraping against my raw skin.

A small note sat on the beside table next to a cobalt blue ring. The note simply said "Your key" in a surprisingly delicate script. I slipped it on my finger and shuffled off to the corner of the suite where another lavatory appeared to be. It was much smaller than the bathroom from last night, but it was appointed with a toilet and a generously sized shower. I poked around in the cabinets until I found a stack of enormous, plush white towels. I quietly relieved myself and proceeded to figure out the switches that operated the shower. A strong spray erupted from three different shower heads, converging in the center of the stall.

I walked into the spray, moaning with pleasure as the hot water ran over my aching flesh. The water pressure was delightfully strong, almost massaging me from all directions. I pulled a bottle of soap from the shelf of toiletries on the shower wall and proceeded to scrub away the dried sweat and the sticky remnants of the rather intense coupling of the night before. My shoulders were sore from the weight of the chains and from being strung up, but the hot water beating down on me was easing the stiffness in my muscles.

I turned my head, noting the far wall of the shower was a wall length mirror. I rolled my eyes, wondering if the mirror was a result of severe narcissism or simple lechery. I stepped out of the spray and turned to examine my ass. Splotches of deep purple decorated my skin low on my buttocks, and a few had bloomed on my thighs. I touched the colorful spots, finding them tender to the touch.

I returned to the water, washing my hair with the fruit-scented soap, which I now realized was scented with maasi berries. I wasn't sure how I felt about the night before. The sex had been fantastic, but my ass hurt like hell. Aside from the bruises, I was no worse for wear, but that shock wand had fried my brain and that fucking paddle needed to die in a fire. All in all, it wasn't an insurmountable situation. Rha'han, despite his...sternness, seemed a decent sort of man. He had done very well with my needling so far.

I just needed to figure out what I was going to do. Centauri Prime would be expecting our monthly research notes, inventories, and status reports in a few weeks. Investigations would be launched when no response was given. Once they realized what had happened, Lo'Rah's global IP would be blocked from accessing Centauri satellites and any of us still in possession of our Arkivs would also be blocked from accessing the Centauri data banks. The only data files we would be able to access would be those already on our tablets and those on Arkivs still on Lo'Rah. The situation was a diplomatic nightmare. I wasn't above wanting the Lo'Rahni to pay for the unprovoked attack on our facility, but I didn't really want to be stuck on a banned planet.

I turned the water off and wrung the excess from my hair. I stepped out into the cool air of the room, wrapping myself in the fluffy towel, using the ends to dry off the cuffs. Daesha was standing near the bed when I came back into the bedroom. Another tray sat on a small table beside the bed with some fluffy eggs, a few pieces of fruit, and a piece of toasted bread on a plate. A smaller tray sat beside it with bandages and two jars sitting on it.

"Good morning, Mistress, " Daesha said with a small curtsy. "I see you already found the shower. I have brought you breakfast."

I tucked the towel so it would stay in place and took a seat at the little table, gingerly eating the proffered fair. "Thank you. This tastes wonderful," I said, taking a bite of the airy eggs.

She smiled, fins billowing happily. "If you will permit me, Mistress, I can brush your hair for you."

"Um...okay," I said, slightly uncomfortable. I had vague memories of slaves brushing my hair when I was living on the Lo'Rahni ship as a child, but no one had done so since.

Daesha was infinitely gentle, drying and combing until my hair fell in a smooth sable sheet. She then began weaving it into a complex braided knot similar to what Rha'han had done to my hair. I guessed it was some sort of popular style here. By the time she had finished, I had finished my meal.

"Master has bid me to change your bandage and treat your bruises. If you'll permit me, it shouldn't take more than a few minutes." She clasped her hands demurely before her, her voice pleasant, but I  could hear the uncertainty in her tone.

"You can change the bandage, but the other is unnecessary."

Her eyes shifted, then dropped. "Ah...may I speak freely, Mistress?"

I sighed. "I'm not from a planet with slaves. You can always speak freely with me. Please do, actually. And you can call me Selena."

She opened her mouth slightly and closed it a few times. "I'm not sure Master would approve."

"Well, he's not here, so who gives a shit?"

Daesha's eyes widened.

I sighed. "Sorry. If it makes you more comfortable, you can just do it when he's not home and do whatever it is he prefers when he's here."

She looked off to the side, contemplating my request. "I suppose I can do that." She then busied herself with stripping my bandage and cleaning the brand. "I strongly advise you allow me to treat the bruises as well. Master wishes it done and will be displeased if it is not."

"Surely he wouldn't blame you for my refusal."

Daesha arched a scaled brow. "It won't be me he's upset with. Trust me, it would behoove you to acquiesce. It's just a simple ointment. It will make them heal faster." She pressed the edges of the bandage down, forming a seal against my skin.

I gritted my teeth. "Fine."

She let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you...Selena."

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

Friday, October 20, 2017

e[Lust] #99

Elust99 Exhibit A Header

Photo courtesy of Exhibit Unadorned

Welcome to Elust 99-

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


~ This Month’s Top Three Posts ~

Private Eyes
Lust Highway


~ Featured Post (Molly’s Picks) ~

I love a man in a suit
Church Smells, Beliefs and Fornication

~Readers Choice from Sexbytes ~

The House Next Door


*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!

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

Feelings about bisexuality
On scheduling sex
Reasons I Didn't Orgasm That Aren't About You

Erotic Non-Fiction

Wet on the Washer
Alice Takes a Spanking
The GP - Part Two

Erotic Fiction

Rope Tattoo
Taking the Lead
Rites of Passage ~ Part 4
Spanking Desires
How Could I Resist
Summer Smoke
Angel on My Shoulder

Thoughts & Advice on Kink & Fetish

Marks are Memories on the Skin
Him. His cane
Being Naked
A Prickly Situation
Collars in bdsm: Where did they come from?



Sex News ,Opinion, Interviews, Politics & Humor

“What Were You Wearing?”


Elust 88

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Pain Sluts and Brain Squirrels

One thing I see come up a lot online in regards to kink is the subject of mental illness. Whether it's safe to play with someone who has one, or how BDSM doesn't replace an actual therapist, or how you shouldn't use BDSM like therapy.

I, personally, have OCD with a social phobia and periodic depression. I've had them for all of my post-pubescent life. Due to my brother's disastrous history with the local mental healthcare, I didn't see a psychiatrist until I was in college. It was a shit psychiatrist too. Charged $300 for a 10 minute appointment to promote a therapy I couldn't possibly afford. I finally started getting my meds from a physician, but it wasn't until last year that I found a doctor that finally put me on the right medications.

But, I've been in the lifestyle since 2010. I've been in the scene since early 2011.  And, I have to say, BDSM has done way more for me psychologically than doctors ever have.

Prior to entering the scene, I was an antisocial virgin with acute physical paranoia. I only had a handful of friends and I didn't like anyone touching me who wasn't a close family member. When I was still going to church, my preacher once touched me under the chin and I had to fight real hard not to instinctively take a swing at him. I was terrified of people. Well, I still kinda am sometimes. And, Lord knows, I didn't touch anyone if I could help it.

Discovering masochism and the community was a Godsend, honestly. And it makes sense, because I used to cut as a teenager to help deal with the untreated depression. But that first flogging? Everything just clicked. The nausea subsided, my brain finally stopped screaming at me, the tension headache I'd been nursing just bled away. It was bliss.

I have always been my happiest when I'm getting beaten regularly. Even during my long distance relationship, I had play partners in the scene who took care of my masochistic needs and I was happy. I wasn't depressed. I still had my OCD, but I wasn't laying around staring at the ceiling all day with no energy for anything.

For the last 8 months or so, I've been without regular play, and its been a rough go of it, I assure you. Probably some of my lowest months, well, ever. Major life events have triggered it, sure, but I was without what I now realize was self-medication. The best kind, really. Forcing my brain to produce its own chemicals without drugs.

Now, I am medicated, but even so, the last two parties I've attended, I've gotten a beating. And I noticed, after that first one in a long time, my mood jumped way up. I still wasn't as energetic as I used to be, but things definitely improved. I cleaned out my car for the first time in months. (It was pretty gross in there, by the way). I cleaned my room for the first time since I'd moved. Things were just...better.

This weekend was great. I had a friend stay over, we went to another kink party. I beat her. I got a great beating from someone I'd never played with before. I had an orgasmic piece of chocolate cheesecake yesterday at lunch. I am riding high.

I also started a new medication this week, but I haven't been taking it long enough for it to take effect, so this is all the masochist fix working.

People say not to use BDSM as therapy. But honestly, why not? Finding this community has done more for me than the medical profession ever has. And there are so many with similar issues in the scene. We can talk about different medications and psych issues without fear of judgement or stigma. There are others here that know the row you hoe.

I'm not saying eschew therapists entirely. For many issues, that's obviously not a good idea. But, honestly, kink is my therapy. I don't have panic attacks when people touch me anymore. I have more than 4 friends. I actually leave my house and do things with other humans. I'm still awkward as fuck, but I'm always going to be that way. I still don't have the best self-esteem, but I'm way better than I was when I came into all of this.

I have my pills, but honestly, BDSM, masochism, this community. This is my wonder drug.

Saturday, October 14, 2017

Star Talker: Part 16: Feral Passions

There was an oddly alluring combination of fear and fury in her expression as she looked down at his improvised rigging. She tried to draw her knees together, but the few centimeters she managed weren't enough to shield herself. Rha'han tilted his head, considering her, watching the trickles of fear being swallowed up by the anger. He plucked a midnight blue sash from a drawer and tied it around her head, taking away her sight. Every muscle in her body tensed as if readying for battle.

She jumped slightly as he drew the tongue of the crop gently up the length of her thigh. He whispered calming nonsense as he continued the trail of the leather across her body, as if speaking to a spooked animal. Her breathing slowly returned to a somewhat normal rhythm, although her chest still heaved with long deep breaths. He circled her, using the crop like a paintbrush to draw the letters of his name in Klotharan calligraphy all over her body. She stretched her fingers in the chains, curling them into fists, and releasing them. Slowly, she relaxed, shivering occasionally when he trailed over a sensitive spot.

He snapped it up between her legs to strike her damp and swollen lips. Selena cried out, squirming in her bonds. Rha'han smiled at the sound. She sounded startled, but not pained. He landed a few more pops, just hard enough to sting a bit, but nothing too hard. Her breath quickened. He snapped the leather across each delicate nipple, watching the small globes bounce with the impact. She gasped. He did it again and capped it off with another slap of her sex. She was panting again, fidgeting restlessly. He flicked the crop low on her ass several times, watching the skin there blush pink to match the bruises forming from the paddle.

Her hushed whimpers filled the silence around them, meshing with the snaps of the leather to create a rather enticing melody. He kept a steady rhythm, striking with varying intensity, always in a different place, always returning to the heat at her core. She was panting now, muscles flexing and straining, reaching for something she couldn't quite grasp. He drew the leather gently up the length of her slit, stopping just over the bundle of nerves nestled beneath the lips.

She sucked in a breath. "Please," she said, the plea barely above a whisper.

He stepped closer, laying two of his large hands on each of her hips. "Please what, miiyah?"

Her jaw tensed and ticced. She let out a long, slow breath. "If you make me say it, I promise I will murder you in your sleep."

He barked a laugh and detached her cuffs from the chains. She groaned as he eased her arms back down to her sides, massaging her upper arms to restore blood flow. Tossing the crop aside, he knelt and released her ankles. He scooped her up into his arms as he stood and carried her to the bed. He tossed her onto it. She bounced a bit, flailing as she fell. He climbed atop her, forced her thighs open with two of his hands and plunged into her heat.

She moaned as he moved within her, turning her head back and forth, still blinded by the sash. She lifted her arms, reaching out for him. He grabbed her arms below cuffs and pinned them firmly to the bed, continuing his wild thrusting. She pushed against his arms, but her efforts were weak. He could feel her hips rocking with him, the muscles of her sheath contracting around his cock. Her slightly parted lips caught his attention. He captured her mouth with his, devouring those lips, plundering her with his tongue. She responded enthusiastically, biting his lower lip sharply, sucking it into her mouth, scraping it with her teeth as he pulled free of her. He growled, kissing her more forcefully. She met him stroke for stroke, ravaging his mouth as he ravaged hers. He released one of her wrists to get better leverage. Her arm shot up and she wrapped his hair around her fist, yanking hard as she bit his lip again.

He lifted up to shove the sash off her face. Her eyes were glowing galaxies awash with feral passion. She pulled at her other hand. He released it, and it joined the other to tangle itself in his braids, pulling his head back down so she could swallow him up once again. He reached down between them and found that bead of flesh that drove women crazy. She moaned into his mouth as his fingers danced around it. He could feel her abs twitching, her thighs straining, the movement of her hips becoming more erratic as she chased the high which he was pushing her into. She came with a long, loud moan, muffled by the press of his lips. Her body convulsed around his squeezing around his length, her body brushing against every bit of him. He slipped a hand around her throat and lifted up to look her in the eyes as he moved faster, chasing his own high. She clawed at his hand, but her gaze never wavered from his, the black holes of her pupils nearly consuming the entirety of her galactic pools.

He grunted his release, milking himself with her body with slow strokes. He rolled off of her, wiping the sweat from his brow. She gulped in air, panting, sinking into the bed. She grabbed the sash and wiped beads of sweat from her own face.

She turned to look at him, eyes still dark. "That was interesting."

He jerked his head toward her, eyes narrowing. "Impudent little she-beast."

He dragged them both up to the nest of pillows at the head of the bed and pulled her against his chest, wrapping his lower set of arms firmly around her middle, preventing any escape. "Go to sleep. If you don't try to kill me in my sleep, I might let Daesha treat those bruises in the morning." 

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

Masturbation Monday

Sinful Sunday

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

30 Days of Kink: 3&4: The Masochism Tango

Day 3: How did you discover you were kinky?
Day 4: Any early experiences that, in retrospect, hint at your kinks?

I've always been a masochist. Back when I was knee-high to a grasshopper, it manifested itself exclusively in oddly fucked up fantasies inspired by scenes in movies or strangely spanking-filled vintage cartoons. Seriously, there are a lot of old cartoons with spanking. Merry Melodies, you are some kinky bastards.

As I aged, I ran into my first bout with depression and I started exploring physical masochism in the form of minor cutting. Well, I say cutting, it was more like thin line abrasion. I would basically scratch lines in my skin with sewing needles, straight pins, or whatever small sharp things that were available and then swipe it with alcohol. I only used a knife once, the very first time. I still have a small scar from that one. I think that's the only scar that's still visible.

I'm sure that particular choice was inspired by my brother, who engaged in self-mutilation for attention when he was a teenager. He even got himself intentionally kicked out of a detention facility because they weren't equipped to deal with self-harm.

But I found it to be a way to relieve the mental shitstorm I was dealing with. I've always been a silent seether. I'm largely non-confrontational, often to a fault. It most situations, I'm flight, unless it's a physical altercation and I hit primal space, then I'm solidly fight and I will attack whatever limb I can reach.

I remember my first flogging, my first beating of any kind really. That weekend was awkward as hell. I was anxious and nauseated pretty much the entire time, but the two beatings I got were the brief moments of peace in that. The nausea faded. The headache disappeared. Everything relaxed. It was absolutely wonderful. I was instantly addicted, although it would be a good while before I was able to do that sort of thing regularly.

I know tops often lament when a bottom is stoic or doesn't make enough noise. I've always been a quiet one, but pain is relaxing to me. I want to lose myself in the sensation, give into the peace of the impact. Now, if it's a more relaxed, casual scene, I'll happily tell you to go fuck yourself if you land a good hit. I'm nice like that. But the more intense or connected scenes I have, the more I slip into the silence of just experiencing the sensations. I'm much the same way with sex, too. I've had to work on making noises, because it doesn't come naturally to me.

I don't know that I would call it subspace. I'm still fully conscious of my surroundings. But I do tend to be very focused on the sensation or lost in thought amidst it. So I find it insanely distracting and mildly irritating to get asked questions in the middle. It's why I hate counting strokes. It ruins the experience for me. I can't go anywhere if I gotta think.

I need a beating right now in the worst way. If I could get a daily dose of it, I'd be all over that shit. The pills aren't doing a great job right now. I haven't gotten a chance to flex my masochistic muscles much at all in the last several months. I can feel the tension in my neck and shoulders, the tightness in my chest. I need to go until I've cried it all out and need to slip into that exhausted coma, preferably in someone's arms.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

30 Days of Kink: Day 2: The Big List

Day 2: List your kinks.
This list certainly isn't comprehensive, but it is extensive, I think. And in alphabetical order! You're welcome.


belly dancing
brat play
breast spanking/whipping, nipple play
breath play
butt plugs
candle wax play
consensual nonconcent
corporal punishment
device bondage
domestic servitude
face slapping
gags (cloth, bit)
glass dildos/plugs
gloves (leather, work)
hair play
hair pulling
kitten play
leather toys
mind fucks
OTK spanking
paddles (some)
power exchange
primal play
rape play
remote control devices
riding crops
sensation play
sensory deprivation
slave bells
temperature play

Curious About:

fucking machines
vampire gloves
hair bondage
water bondage
abduction play
anal hooks
extended captive role play

Sunday, October 1, 2017

Under the Sea

Under the sea
Under the sea
Darling it's better
Down where it's wetter
Take it from me!

A bit of an abstract interpretation of the theme, but I was super excited about my new mermaid Pusheen. So enjoy some mermaid hair with a cute little Mewmaid. And obviously, I'm not taking part in the competition, but I hope you enjoy it just the same. Good luck to the rest of you sexy folks!
Sinful Sunday

Saturday, September 30, 2017

Summer Smoke

Busy with a comic convention this weekend, so here's a bit of flash fiction while I finish writing the next installment of Star Talker. I got a bit Hemingway with the style of this, but I hope you enjoy it.

I stared across the yard watching the wind stir up a flurry of packing peanuts strewn across the road, the remnants of some haphazard box that had flown from an unsuspecting truck bed. It was just after daybreak, but not quite sunrise. The sky was a dreary gray, spattered with darker clouds that might converge into rain later. It was still tolerable, the sticky heat of late summer still sleeping.

I leaned back on the rough wood steps of the porch and took a drag off my stolen cigarette. The smoke burned the back of my throat and I coughed a bit. I’d never smoked before, but I’d seen it enough in movies to give it a go. If this wasn’t an “I need a cigarette” moment, I couldn’t say what one actually was. I sighed, coughing again.

The screen door creaked as it swung open behind me. I glanced back to see Jack shuffle out the door, his pajama pants dragging the ground in his bare feet. He took a seat beside me, staring out at the whirling white bits of Styrofoam, not looking at me.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” he said, tapping a fresh pack of Marlboros into is palm and plucking out one for himself.

I silently held out the lighter, which he took wordlessly.

I took another drag and looked up at him sideways. He was annoyingly beautiful in all his gruffness. Lines of sun and age marked his skin, giving it character. His eyes, still small with sleep, all but glowed in the dim morning light, a lovely shade of gray that sent me into a veritable trance when I stared too long. He reached up and scratched his goatee, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air.

He finally shot me a sidelong squint as I coughed again. “You ever smoked before?”

“No,” I said, defiantly taking another puff.

He snorted, picking at some lint on his pants. “Why now then?”

I shrugged. “Well, I’m already on the road to self-destruction, might as well set the car on fire while I’m at it.”

He pursed his lips. “If we’re at that point, we might need something a bit stronger than nicotine and arsenic.”

I blew out a puff of smoke, failing miserably in an attempt at a smoke ring. “Save your good intentions for someone else’s road to hell, yeah?”

He leaned back, the wood creaking as he did so. I snuck a glance at his bare chest, admiring the dark hair there.

“I take it you regret last night?” he said.

I stared off into the trees, eyes unfocused. “I was talking to Sheila the other day.”


“She asked me how much I fucking hate myself.”

He was quiet for a moment. The crackle of burning tobacco was oddly loud in the silence of the muggy early morning. “Do you?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t figured that out yet. I’m pretty damn broken. I know that much.”

“How so?”

I looked at him, sucking in a deep breath, fighting off the urge to touch him. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

He furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to feel about that.”

Another puff. Another cough. “I’m not sure how I feel about anything anymore.”

He snatched the cigarette from my fingers and ground it out into the little ashtray that lived on the porch. “You’re done with that.”

I coughed again. “Let’s go inside. My ass is numb and I’m starting to sweat.”

He rose with a groan, bones cracking, and followed me through the door. Add a little gasoline and the explosion would be spectacular.

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

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

30 Days of Kink: Day 1: My Kinky Self

I've decided to give the 30 Days of Kink a go, although, they aren't going  to be consecutive. So here's day one for you. This is my kinky self.

In the land of kinky labels, I have a fairly extensive collection. It's a daunting list to rattle off in quick introductions and I usually just stick with slave/pet/little when I'm trying to be quick about it. I'm going to try and break the list down.


I struggled over whether to tackle first between primal and submissive, as both of those color everything else, but I guess the best choice would be submissive, as that is a vital part of every other label. I have a rather submissive personality. I can be assertive if I'm annoyed, but I'm largely passive in most interactions. I'll usually cede to others in many interactions. Sometimes it can be a bit of a detriment, trying to please others to my own disadvantage. But, this is the first label I ever identified with, and even as I've gotten more specific about how that is expressed, it's still the umbrella under which everything else falls. With the right partner, it's an instantaneous response.


I added this one to my list a few years ago when I learned about what it was on Fetlife. Because the submissive aspect informs everything else, I identify as primal play. I'm under no illusion that I'm a predator. I'm about as scary as a fluffy duckling. However, I do enjoy wrestling and rough play with a partner, biting, scratching and all sorts of primal sex. Around others, it largely manifests itself in being able to feel dominant or submissive energies from people. Some people just feel one or the other to me, regardless of whatever label they identify with. I've met d-types who don't feel dominant, and I've met s-types who do. I have to say, that being able to sense dominant energy from a man plays a large part in my attraction. The primal aspect also shows up in forming opinions of people almost instantly, much like our animal pets do. I have encountered people I instantly dislike and I don't really have a reason at first. They just "smell funny" for lack of a better phrase. Of course, this works in the opposite too. I can instantly like a person without really knowing them, just from the vibes they put off.


This one fits somewhat under the primal classification, and I think partly with the Little aspect. This isn't something I've really done much of, besides some small things in my most recent relationship. I mostly identify as a human primal, but I don't mind a bit of kitten play. I have cats. I love cats. Cats are awesome. Also, meowing is fun.


I am a masochist through and through. I'm not a pain slut, by any means, but I enjoy pain. Spanking is my favorite. Within any dynamic I participate in, I would expect this to be an essential feature. I'd consider myself a middling masochist. I'm not a complete lightweight, but nor am I capable of handling the types of pain several of my friends seem to enjoy. I also enjoy some forms of mind fuckery and many aspects of force play, which I would consider to be aspects of the masochistic part of me. Those would be the kinds of emotional masochism I'm into. I am not, however, into humiliation and degradation.


This is a rather new label for me. I've struggled with it, as it can be rather polarizing, and a lot of my experience with littles online has been less than, um...I dunno, appealing? I don't regress. I don't have an "age." The little part of me is not a separate entity. It's just another aspect of my personality that meshes with everything else. I enjoy coloring, cartoon movies, stuffies, and collecting toys like vintage Polly Pocket sets. But the little part is just the youthful parts of my personality. The desire to be cared for. The habit for cutesiness, although I refuse to do baby talk, as it annoys the shit out of me. Honestly, this is still an aspect I'm exploring, and I'm not sure I have a concrete concept of what this is for me yet.


I say I identify as a brat, although I hesitate to do so very often around others because of the general negative view of brats in general. However, as I've mentioned in other posts, my concept of brat is different. This is a form of play for me, a way to initiate certain types of play with a specific headspace. I make sure that my partner is cool with this, and if they tell me to knock it the fuck off, I will. And it never involves deliberate disobedience.


This was the second primary label I identified with before finally settling on pet. It's one of my primary labels. I fall into the Total Power Exchange/Total Authority Transfer (TPE/TAT) side of things fairly naturally in a relationship. I don't really think in terms of choice. I assume I don't have one unless explicitly stated. I have limits, but I try to only make things limits if I find them physically, psychologically, or spiritually damaging. If I have or use a safe word, it's more just a way of communicating a problem exists rather than indicating a full stop. When I first came into the scene, I was very much against being a slave. I was certain it wasn't something I wanted to be, but that was before I knew much about any of the labels available. The epiphany moment came when a friend said "You might as well just go ahead and call yourself a slave. You do everything he says anyway." And that's been part of my labeling since. I'm not high protocol at all. In fact, the primal side of me hates protocol, but obedience, service, force? Yeah, totally my thing.


This is my primary label and has been for about five years now. The definition I came up with five years ago, to paraphrase, was a type of slave, but with lots of physical affection and affection in general, including petting and cuddling, cute mannerisms, etc. I want to serve, but I also want to serve as a companion and an object of affection and care. I think pet still fits now, even with the addition of new labels. I feel that it's likely even more accurate now, as I think it conveys, at least to me, the ideas of slave, primal, and little all wrapped up in one neat little package. I have the concept of TPE, but also the ideas of primal and little in there as well. Although, I find I have to make sure and state that by pet, I don't mean that I want to walk around on all fours and eat exclusively from a cat bowl. I'm not that kind of pet, despite the kitten thing I mention above. I might do kitten play, but I don't identify as a kitten specifically. The other labels overshadow that entirely.

Saturday, September 23, 2017

Star Talker: Part 15: A Pound of Flesh

She was delightfully wet. Rha'han admitted that it could be remnants from their encounter in the bath, but something told him she was enjoying his attentions on some level. He felt her body clench around his fingers when he spoke, even as the flash of irritation sparked in her eyes. He stroked that sensitive spot inside her, squeezing her throat a little harder, and that spark was quickly glazed over with arousal. Her breath quickened and she squirmed.

He withdrew his fingers and released her throat. Selena sagged in the chains with what he would like to believe was a sigh of disappointment. Her thighs tightened and she wrapped her hands around the chains extending above her. She was beautifully exposed, every bit of her softness available for his exploration. He sat the paddle aside for the moment, and stepped behind her. Silently, swiftly, he unraveled her braid and wove it into one of the popular knots the women of Klothar were so fond of lately. He pinned it in place, leaving her back completely exposed.

She looked back at him, a dark brow lifted slightly. "You do hair too?"

"I do a lot of things, as you will soon see."

Rha'han placed a chair beside her and took a seat, taking up the clear paddle again. Selena tried to put distance between them, but the chains weren't long enough to give her much room to maneuver. Rha'han laughed and landed a pop on the swell of her ass. The depression of her flesh that was easily seen through the paddle enchanted him. She yelped and twisted away. He smacked the side of her thigh, eliciting a second yelp and a frustrated growl.

"That fucking hurts," she said through gritted teeth.

Rha'han snorted. "It's supposed to. Keep moving, though. I like the idea of painting all of you a nice shade of pink."

He smacked her thigh again, and she hopped around, muttering darkly in that strange language again. Her ass came back into range, and he landed two sharp pops before she could twist away. She did a full turn and he landed a blow across the front of both thighs. She cried out, but it sounded more angry than pained. He gave her ass a slap with one of his left hands. She shrieked and kicked at him again. He caught her ankle and planted her foot on his knee. She stilled, panting slightly with her efforts. A hint of tears glistened in her eyes.

"Surely you remember what happened the last time you tried to kick me. It wasn't that long ago," he said.

Her eyes shifted back and forth between the paddle and her thigh. He laid the paddle against her thigh and tapped it lightly a couple times. Her muscles tensed in anticipation. He slid the rounded edge of the implement between her dewy lips and slid it back and forth, grazing it over her clitoris. She gasped, eyes closing, a moan falling from her lips. She tried to hold it back, he could tell, but she failed. He smiled, continuing his work. He moved it slower, summoning the softest of whimpers from her. Her pelvis began rocking slightly, reaching for more sensation.

Pop! The paddle landed sharply against her thigh, a red outline swiftly blooming on the surface of her skin. Another primal shriek rent the air and she flailed, trying to pull her foot from his grasp. He held on, calmly waiting her out. She finally gave up, panting heavily, tears trailing down her cheeks.

"What is the point of this?" she said.

He gently caressed the rosy imprint on her thigh. "Well, among other things, it amuses me. And, as I have mentioned, I'm exacting my pound of flesh for your behavior today."

She blinked slowly, leveling him with a baleful glare. "You took me as a prisoner of war. Did you really think I was going to be compliant?"

He continued stroking her softly. "Most prisoners, once captured, typically are. It's the safest course of action. Self-preservation and what not. But you aren't. You don't fear for your safety. You never did after we took you."

She yanked on her foot again. "You're not my first Lo'Rahni captor."

He smirked. "But the first to have you like this."

Selena licked her lips, her face unreadable. "That is true."

He prodded her sex with the paddle again. "And I think part of you likes that."

Her eyes narrowed. "I could do without that thing," she said, glaring pointedly at the paddle.

"That's fine," he said, setting it aside. "We can switch things up a bit."

He let go of her foot and stood up. He wanted something with a little more precision anyway. There were more delicate targets he was in mind to punish. He plucked the crop from the armory he'd laid out on the shelf. The leather tongue at the end of the flexible rod was long, but sufficiently stiff. He turned back to find Selena balanced on one foot, rubbing her thigh with her other foot.

"You have remarkable balance," he said with admiration.

She dropped her foot, head snapping up. "Lots of practice." Her gaze traveled to the crop in his hand. "What is that?"

"It's a tool for herding livestock. Open your legs."

Her eyes widened briefly, then narrowed. She defiantly crossed her ankles. "No."

He shrugged. "That's fine. If you'll excuse me for a moment."

He laid the crop down and left the room, strolling down the hall to his training room. Weights and benches were arranged neatly around the space. Weapons hung on the walls in cases, his military issued pulse guns, the battery of blades he wore in full battle gear, and the large curved sword used in close combat. He opened one of the cases and pulled out a set of electronic restraints sized for males, took the bar from one of the weight racks, and went back to the bedroom. Selena stood where he'd left her, frowning intently at him. The confusion in her eyes was adorable.  He knelt at her feet, setting the bar on the ground. He snapped the an e-cuff around each ankle, forced her legs wide and secured them to the bar.

"You want me to tell you what I want instead of forcing you to do it. I tell you what I want, you refuse, and I'm still left forcing you to do it," he said with a dramatic sigh. He gave her ass a playful smack as he moved to retrieve the crop. "Now, where was I?"

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

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


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

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



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,
to forever circle your brilliant glow,
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