Amnesiac Ephiany

I outgrew Tolkien-like fiction in my teenage years. As bad as Vampire erotica is common now, in the 80's it was all about the party of adventurers against a big evil. Fake societies, fake languages and fake laws of magic abounded. As a kid I loved them all until one day I realized I could barely remember what happened in some of the series I had read. They blended together in my memory into one long three book cliche.

I moved onto other genres. The grittier, and much shorter, Sword and Sorcery genre captured my interest. I went through a sci-fi phase, a mystery phase and even a Vampire erotica phase to my current science fiction gothic phase. I understand that my phases last until the books begin to repeat themselves. I understand that these phases last until my own sense of patterns start to write the books before I read them.

In the past I have rarely returned to a genre once I grow out of it. That has changed lately for unexpected reasons. As a nerd, I tend to over research something I am interested in. If I discovered David Edding's Belgariad today, I would feel compelled to read Tolkien and anything that predates him. I would trace the literary line backwards, soaking in everything that influenced Eddings and then everything that influenced the people that influenced him. I assumed all writers do that.

What I am finding lately is that while writers may over research, readers may not. I realized this playing Dungeon Runners of all things. It's a free-ish MMO that is terribly basic in it's mechanics but very funny in it's execution. It is a mockery of Everquest and World of Warcraft and filled with jokes at their expense. What started to seep into my head was that all the jokes were aimed at people whose only fantasy experience was playing those games. There were no jokes about Dungeons and Dragons. There were few jokes about Tolkien, and if there were, they were jokes about the movies. It made me realize that the audience they were shooting for was not one with a limited amount of experience, but one with an entirely different kind of experience.

That inspired me to start writing my Nighthammer stories. For the first time in ages, I had an interest in a genre that I had burned out on. My first story was a parody on quests. My second story was a parody of a famous scene from the first Conan movie. My third story wasn't a parody of anything in particular, it was just a natural evolution of what had come before. I can never really forget all the fantasy I have read, but I can push up my point of reference until it becomes interesting again.

I feel like I have discovered a great secret about erotica. I always wondered how erotica kept staying around when other genres burn out and fade. I used to also lament the lack of erotic scholarship in that most people only focus on the erotica of their generation. I see now that this forgetting of the past is what keeps reinventing erotica. The milkman stories of the past become traveling salesman stories which become desperate housewife blogs. I don't think it's evolution, I think it's a form of literary amnesia.

What really intrigues me about this is BDSM. In my not-very-humble opinion, modern BDSM both in practice and fiction is slavishly linked to it's past. There is a deference that is given to older and wiser practitioners of kink that is great for educating on safety but deadly in advancing BDSM as erotica. Safe, Sane and Consensual might be physically healthy but it strangles the thrill that erotica needs as fiction to entertain.

For the good of BDSM erotica, we need more people who have never read 'The Story of O' and who's entire BDSM experience has been the movie 'Secretary' and kinky episodes of Battlestar Galactica. We need more BDSM bloggers who are unafraid to indulge their fantasies about power dynamics that appeal to them, and not to some sort of universally approved power structure. Maybe then we can actually come up with a BDSM visual that has been essentially unchanged since the 50's.

We need to burn down the chateau of bondage. We need to replace the collar with a symbol of our own making. We need to create our own language of power and lust.

I'm not sure where I came across the image but it has certainly evoked my imagination.

Fiction: Royal Passions

Queen Erishella stood on the observation deck of her warship. The Queen was wearing a gown of black scale metal that clung to her bountiful breasts and curvy buttocks. Her black hair was swept up in a fearsome topknot that towered above her gold crown. She looked through the observation glass at the smallest of the Gem Moons, Onyxa. Four billion people called it home, but Erishella only cared about one of its inhabitants. Count Kevic came from this world and for that, it must suffer.

All around her, the crew busied themselves with the tasks of war. Missiles were armed, fault lines were targeted, atmosphere incinerating lasers were warmed up and toxin bombs were being primed. The subjugation of a world is a complicated business. Do it wrong, and a small sliver of the population might live. Do it really wrong, and the technician responsible will be strapped to the missile sent to finish the job.

Queen Erishella sighed. If there was one person who knew how to finish a job, it was Count Kevic. Back when she first declared war on the Gem Moons in order to take their resources, Count Kevic had been sent as a diplomat to negotiate for peace. At first he tried appealing to her nonexistent sense of mercy. Second he tried bribing her with immense amounts of wealthy freely given. Last he tried seduction. Between his skilled tongue on her nipples and his massive cock in her sex, he almost convinced her.

Three passionate nights later in her bed, he almost convinced her again. There was a brief moment, when Count Kevic was on top of her, driving his cock so wonderfully into her, that Erishella almost decided to call of the invasion. As she clawed his back with orgasmic bliss, the thought of mercy actually crossed her mind. Afterwards, as cock pulled out of her exhausted body, the Queen returned to her senses. No matter how good the fuck, the conquest of such a rich prize could not be avoided.

Instead of mercy, Queen Erishella offered Count Kevic the position of consort. He would be her primary lover, with all of the privileges of rank as well as the privileges of her mouth, breasts and thighs. He would lose his worlds but have her adoration. It was an incredibly generous honor she offered him.

Count Kevic said no.

“Fighter Squads report that the last of the Moon Ships are destroyed,” Admiral Hov said.

The Queen nodded to the Admiral. “Move into position for planetary bombardment.”

The Admiral saluted and took one last glance at her exposed cleavage before turning to his men. The Queen smiled. She had told the Admiral that he would be allowed to come on her breasts at the conclusion of today’s operation if he was precisely on schedule. So far they were an hour ahead of projected deadlines.

She wouldn’t have been able to make that same deal with Count Kevic. He took what he wanted. After she dismissed him from her kingdom, he had returned using his rougish ways. The Count had sneaked back into her bed chambers, and killed the slave she was mounted on. With the slave’s cock still inside her, Count Kevic held a knife to her throat and threatened her. She could call off the invasion, or die by his hand.

The Queen answered him by licking the blade of the knife. Her tongue danced along the sharp edge while her eyes locked on him. Before she could make it to the hilt, Count Kevic had thrown her down on the bed and fucked her next to the cooling corpse of her slave. Instead of the thoughtful fucking of when he tried to seduce her, this was the angry vengeful fucking of a man who had planed to kill her.

Right at the peak of her third orgasm, she stabbed him with his own knife. Count Kevic snarled in rage and then she felt him climax inside her. He pulled out and stumbled away, his knife still embedded in his shoulder. In her passion, she had missed the vital target on his back. She feared that she would never see him again.

“The War Bombers have made their attack. All Onyxa defense stations are down.”

The Queen didn’t answer the admiral. Onyxa was the first of the Gem Moons they had attacked. What she did here will set the tone for the rest of the war. There was still time to consider mercy.

She had shown little mercy to Count Kevic when her guards captured him. The proud Count had been stripped and chained in her dungeon. His shoulder wound had been treated with the cauterizing burn of the guards’ Flame-Spears. Count Kevic had spat at her face when Erishella came into the dungeon.

The Queen wiped the spit from her face and rubbed it on his cock. She brought his cock back to life despite the indignities he had suffered. As he struggled against his chains, Erishella climbed onto him. She impaled herself on his cock, her legs wrapped around him while her fingernails sunk into his broad shoulders.

She rode him. Her enhanced genetics made gave her limitless endurance as she hung on his body. His compliance wasn’t necessary. In fact, at this point it was undesirable. Queen Erishella took what she wanted and at that moment she wanted Count Kevic’s cock. It wasn’t his to give.

He shouted his hatred of her as she came. He swore he would bring down her entire kingdom. He said vile things about her, her choices in lovers and her twisted black heart. He swore he would kill her as he shot his seed into her.

Queen Erishela had never come so hard.

“One last time,” she said. She had dismounted and was standing next to his body. Blood dripped from her fingernails had dug passionate grooves in his skin. Her sensitive nipples pressed against his powerful chest. His slick cock pressed against her belly.

“Become my consort,” she whispered into his ear. “Become my consort, and join me as I plunder the Gem Moons. Your worlds are doomed no matter what you choose. Would it be so bad to be mine?”

Count Kevic looked at her. “I’d sooner die than be your consort.”

Queen Erishella looked out the observation window. Count Kevic was currently missing. He had escaped the dungeon and was loose somewhere. Maybe he was on Onyxa, organizing their defense. Perhaps he was loose in this ship, about to unleash a last minute rescue of his home. Erishella hoped that was the case. She wanted him again. She wanted him to know how much she cared about him.

Queen Erishella stroked herself. Her fingers pressed through her dress and massaged her sex. While the Admiral and the fleet waited for her orders, Erishella stroked herself. She thought about Count Kevic and how well he filled her. She thought about how he rejected her.

“I am sure they would surrender if asked,” Admiral Hov said. “It is a small moon, but they are rich in resources.”

“Kill them,” she declared. “Kill them all.”

The missiles dropped down and cracked the planet’s crust. The lights of cities winked out in mass. The lasers cooked the oceans of Onyxa into steam. Great clouds of toxicity were unleashed onto the planet, transforming the forests and plains into ash. The continents changed colors before collapsing into magma.

Queen Erishella moaned. If she could not have his servitude, Erishella was more than happy to take his rage. The Queen demanded absolute passion; even from her enemies.

She was looking forward to their next meeting.

Short and Quick

OldFan asked me a question that I started to anwser till it turned into a rambling multipart response. The question was-

I notice that in general your stories seem to be somewhat shorter these days (except for the occasional long multi-parter) than they used to be. Is that just how your style has evolved, a reflection of your posting medium, or maybe just not having as much time available?

Actually, I have more time now to write than I have ever had. My wife leaves me alone when I tell her I want to write, which is an incredible change from the ex-wife. I can actually write when I want to instead of waiting for her to leave the house or getting up at 5am to get some writing done. But for all my extra time, my stories are much shorter. What is up with that?

The first reason is as an observer of other mediums, I notice that good movies and comic books start the story as late as possible. When I first started writing, I had this urge to explain everything. I wanted the reader to know a lot about the character, be fully informed on why the plot is happening and I wanted to establish everything ahead of time. I think this comes from being a newbie writer but I also think it comes from living with a highly critical woman who used to nitpick me to death. I over explained because I was trying to head off criticism from my ex-wife.

The thing I learned over time is that readers are smart. Not only that, but readers have a wealth of previous reading to draw from. Even my youngest readers have been raised on countless television shows and Harry Potter. They understand that when they read an erotic story, something sexy is about to happen. If the story begins in a work environment, they start to fill in their own erotic feelings about work. If I start the story in the bedroom and in the middle of sex, they bring their own expectations about what happened right before this moment.

I've learned to do a lot of this by evoking certain cliche triggers. I can mention that someone is curvy and people insert their own definition of the word, along with the personalities they associate with it. I can mention a woman is older, and readers imagine anyone from 30 to 80. It's not laziness on my part although I sometimes accuse myself of it. Reading the responses I get from my readers, I notice that they infer a lot of things that I didn't put in, but their inference made the story more enjoyable for themselves.

I also can't discount the effect blogging as had on my story lengths. Back when I felt compelled to post every single day, I was forced to approach stories with the attitude of "What do I really want to say here?" Sometimes what I wanted to say was a single moment. Over time I realized that this brevity was actually a good thing. If all I really wanted to say was a few moments about an employee bent over and saying how bad she is, why add anything else to it? That is the erotic moment I want people to think about, and in so many cases, anything extra is unnecessary. The fast pace of blogging forced me to edit myself and I think every writer can benefit from that.

I hope that answers your question. if anyone else has anything, let them rip.

Obsessions and Micromanagement

One of the things I am good at is seeing patterns. I am so good in fact, that often I see patterns that are not really there. Lucky for me, I am aware of the fact that what I think is a pattern might just be my own over analysis.

This comes up a lot when I write. For some reason, I hate to do anything repetitious. I think it stems from how I feel about my own favorite writers. Richard Laymon was a genuis of horror but man, I can pick his psycho female character out a mile away now. The same goes for Roger Zelzany who is like a father to me creatively, but his hero characters tend to be cut from the same mold. It feels like they are remixing their stories and that nags at me as I write.

If I write a story that centers around an oral scene, then I feel this great aversion to doing another oral scene in my next story. I edit out anything that reminds me of my last story and on some days, I edit out anything that reminds me of any story that I have written. It's insane.

Over the years I have given myself permission to repeat some themes. Curvy women are one, because quite frankly I love you curvy ladies and there can never be enough erotica about you. Woman with glasses fall in that category and women of color will always be my first choice in erotica. I permit myself these things but still they nag at me sometimes. Queen Erishella came so close to having glasses but I resisted because it reminded me of Otto Von Madd.

Which brings me to Queen Erishella. A few weeks ago I was brimming with creative energy but I had no focus. I was writing a Librarian long story that pretty much crashed and burned on me. I wrote half of it but I realized every damn chapter fell into the same pace. Worse, I was a little bored with it. Claire suffered one indignity after another and even my dom heart couldn't kick her around anymore.

So I broke out my XXXenophiles collectible card collection and did a random three card draw. I drew a Martian Queen, green skinned and four arms, Mistress Holly, a school teacher type, and Queen Pompador, who was an elegant 18th century lady with a man up her skirt. The fact that I drew three cards dealing with femininity and royalty was sheer coincidence but my brain took inspiration. I thought about the Flash Gordon comics strips by Alex Toth that I had bought and how whimsical they were. I realized I wanted to have fun.

Better yet, I hadn't written a dominant female character since my old Scarlett Drake days. The image at the top of the post is a commission of her. George Sportelli did this piece for me, and it's a 3.5 inch by 2.5 inch card. That image is pretty much life size. I haven't written a Scarlett Drake story in ages but I still love the gal. For about six months I wrote a fictional blog told from Drake's point of view and it was goofy fun. I have another picture of her hanging on my wall right beside me. I doubt I will ever write her again but every time I see her, it makes me smile.

I smile a lot not. Writing Erishella is fun. The only issue is that I am really just enjoying writing about Erishella and nothing else. World building is fun and without my tabletop roleplaying games to play anymore, I haven't built a society in ages. Von Madd has always been about science fiction and an erotic workplace, but Erishella is about an entire culture. I can kill characters which is a weird delight as an erotica writer.

I wrote an Erishella story the other day and I have another one on the tip of my fingers but my old resistance to patterns is nagging me. My brain says I should write an Otto story for balance, or maybe a Volptumancer story but heck, I can't do it. I want to write about Erishella's armorer, and a small bit about the oath of service, and maybe a story about the traitors who plot against her.

What is really crazy about the whole thing is that there is no external pressure to do anything except what I want to do. I don't have ratings. I don't have deadlines and advertisers. I am free to do any crazy thing I want. I just need to accept it and let my muse run free without me trying to micromanage it.

Fiction: Pinup Queen

They came for him in the night. Gloved hands yanked him out of his cot and dragged him to his feet. At first he thought they were assassins from the Gem Moons, inexplicably assigned to kill Dalex Ai, second class warship maintenance technician of the Queen’s Space Navy. He called out for help but he noticed his fellow Navy men had their eyes clenched as they pretended to sleep.

That was when he noticed his attackers. They were women clad in dark red leather that clung to their every curve. Sharp metal spikes projected from where their nipples would be and pain batons hung from their belts. Black leather masks obscured their faces, revealing only cruel mouths painted with red lipstick. Ponytails erupted from the back of each mask. One had a red ponytail, the other was blonde.

“Oh shit,” Dalex moaned. “The Queen’s Whips!”

One of the women punched him in the gut. It was the one with the red ponytail. “Silence, worm!”

As he fell to the ground, both women grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him up. They dragged him out of the barracks. The sharp stomp of their heels echoed through the deadly silent barracks.

Dalex tried to think. What crime of his had been discovered? Was it the unauthorized leave he had taken to the Slave Brothels last week? Was it the secret liquor still he had in the paint shed? Oh sweet Killer of Worlds, did they know about the bootleg music he was downloading into his personal helmet computer? That was an offense punishable by ten years in the Rape Factory!

Instead of dragging him to a holding area, the Queen’s Whips dragged him out to the airfield. He became really curious when they took him to the bomber ship he serviced that morning. The ship hadn’t even gone on a run today. What could possibly be wrong with it?

That was when he saw her, Queen Erishella herself. Bright blue syn-skin coated her body from neck to toe. The molecule thin substance kept her body warm in the night air but it also revealed every curve and contour of her body. A golden crown topped her long black hair in case there was any doubt that she was the Queen.

More disturbing than being in the presence of the Queen was where she was standing. She was right in front of the painting he done on the side of the bomber ship. Traditionally that spot was reserved for propaganda slogans and portraits of popular barrack slaves. Dalex had instead painted a picture of the Queen about to deep throat a radiation missile. He had even added some text that said, “Remember boys, drop it in deep!”

“Oh shit,” Dalex moaned.

The Queen’s Whips hit his back with a pain baton. “On your knees!” the redhead yelled. Dalex did as she commanded and groaned as his head was yanked back. He was forced to stare up at Queen Erishella’s blue body and his painting of her.

“You did this?” Queen Erishella asked. Dalex was so close she could see how the blue syn-skin covered each individual curly pubic hair.

“Yes, your majesty,” he said.

She pointed at the painted tits that were inadequately covered in a tiny camouflaged bikini. Dalex winced at his own work. He didn’t realize how gigantic he had painted the breasts.

“Tell me, second class warship maintenance technician,” Queen Erishella said with a haughty tone. “Where are the nipples? As small as that bikini is, you would think you would see something. Look at my nipples. See how firm and large they are?” The Queen thumbed both of her nipples to demonstrate.

Dalex was unprepared for that question. “Ah, excellent point, your majesty. I thought adding nipples might make it too vulgar?”

The Queen said nothing. All that could be heard was the sizzle of the pain baton as the Queen’s Whip held it inches from his ear. Dalex didn’t know where to put his eyes. Did he look at the painting he did that had him in so much trouble or should he look at the Queen in her syn-skin nudity?

She pointed at the ass of the painting. It was bare but tastefully turned so you couldn’t see the Queen’s private bits. “Second class warship maintenance technician, do you think my ass is really that flat looking?”

Dalex swallowed as the Queen turned her ass towards him. “No, your majesty. That was my mistake. I had no idea how uh, royal your bottom was. I see now that your bottom is much curvier and fuller than I painted.”

Queen Erishella snorted in dismissal. The Queen Whips tensed in anticipation of the Queen’s mood. Dalex was too scared to pray.

“I don’t like the boots,” Queen Erishella said. “My legs look good, but why did you put those ugly boots on my feet? It would look better with bare feet, or maybe something in a high heel.”

Dalex nodded enthusiastically. “Certainly your majesty! I completely agree!”

The blonde Whip snarled. “Be more energetic with your sycophantic pleas!”

“One last question, second class warship maintenance technician,” the Queen asked. “It was my understanding that most Bomber Ship art depict whores and girlfriends from back home. It is understood that men about to risk their lives in the service of the Navy need a lusty reminder of why it is good to stay alive. Such debased depictions is accepted of bed partners but never has one been done of a member of royalty. What gave you the idea to do one of me?”

Dalex wasn’t sure how to answer. The Queen’s Whips had their pain batons inches away from his face. He could feel their urge to kill him barely held in check. The Queen looked down past her magnificent breasts to look down on him.

“I thought you were the sexiest thing I could paint,” Dalex said.

Queen Erishella nodded. “You are correct, Colonel of Warship Maintenance. You are tasked with painting my likeness onto every Bomber Ship. I shall model for you so that my likeness will be more accurate. Stand up.”

Dalex was dragged to his feet by the Queen’s Whips. They put their pain batons away and Dalex sighed in relief.

“You,” the Queen said as she pointed at the blonde Whip, “give the Colonel a blowjob so he’ll calm down.”

“Yes, your majesty!” the Queen’s Whip said. She dropped to her knees and ripped open his pants with ruthless precision. She attacked his cock with her mouth as Dalex looked in wonder. His knees started to buckle but the redhead Whip held him up.

“Thank you, your majesty!” Dalex said. He was going to live! He was getting a promotion! He was getting his cock sucked!

The Queen magnanimously nodded towards him. “You are a talented artist, but of course, I have some ideas. Actually, I have a list of them, with very specific instructions for posing, colors, composition and size. I also have a schedule with deadlines that I expect you to meet.”

Colonel Dalex Ai had a feeling that his problems were just beginning.

Vacations Are Exhausting

Holy crap. Disney World was great. I mean, I always knew people liked it but I was never sure why. I always thought it would just be one long commercial for Disney products. Three rides on the Haunted Mansion later, I can see why people keep coming back. The only bad thing is that now I want to make an erotic ride, which may be a bit hard to do on a blog.

We spent Saturday with my wife's family where they threw a big wedding party for us. We also played marathon games of Scrabble which makes them my kind of family. At one point I had 'yiff' and 'gonads' as words, but I really didn't want to have to explain to my wife's mom, aunt and brother what those words meant.

I also got to fire a potato cannon, which was more fun than it had any right to be.

Now I am back at home and trying to deal with the fact that I can't do the Pirates of the Caribbean ride this morning. I also have work to catch up on, a four day litter box to clean and some more Erishella stories.

Dude, I need a vacation.

Bridesmaid

Zdravstvuj, readers. This is Shon' robotic slave, Sasha38DD. If your optic nerve has suffered damage, you have Shon to thank. He is heading to Florida this weekend to engage in a wedding party for his mother-in-law's family. It is formal attire which shall be interesting in Florida heat and humidity. This is my bridesmaid outfit. Leave it to you Americans to weaponize clothing into something crueler than barbwire.

You may be interested to know this is not my first wedding party. Back when I was a sexbot for the Soviet Army, I was married to a foolish Army Captain who claimed he loved me. He loved me so much, he had my programming changed so that my world revolved around him. I followed him faithfully and faked many orgasms for him. One day he overclocked my Compassion Drive and it burned out. Free of any resemblance of love or sympathy, I was able to indulge in my desire to suffocate him between my massive breasts. His death was ruled an accident and I got a free system upgrade out of it.

Marriage can be good I guess.

Fiction: Riding Thunder

Not many people know this, but Texas used to have a dinosaur problem back in the eighteen sixties. Those wild lizards used to be content to eat buffalo and leave Christian folk alone. Once all the trains started thundering through the plains and with fewer Injun tribes around to keep them in check, those bastard monsters would wonder into town for a quick snack.

One day one of those giant fuckers stomped into the town of Flatrock. The township was used to the terror of a cattle drive through the center of town but this was a new one. The beast was fifteen feet tall and walked on two legs. It has a head as big as a prize winning cow and that head was mostly teeth. It only had two tiny arms that seemed out of shape compared to the rest of his body but shit, it’d didn’t need them. It just ran up on people and gobbled them up.

The sheriff tried shooting it but bullets just bounced off its scaly hide. Dutch, who was French by the way, tried to set the monster on fire but he just got stomped on. Things were looking a little bleak until that crazy cowboy, Loco Dan, jumped off the roof of the bank and landed on the neck of monster. He wrapped his legs around the giant lizard and tried to break him in like he was a bronco!

Well that dinosaur wasn’t having any of that! The damned beast tossed his head left and then right and Loco Dan went flying into the stables. He splattered against the wall and they still haven’t gotten that stain out.

This didn’t stop other cowboys from trying. The chance to ride a dinosaur was just too awesome to pass up! One cowboy after another jumped on the creature’s neck and one by one, that powerful cuss whipped them all off his neck. Twenty of Texas’s finest cowboys were now blood stains on the town walls.

That was when a girl wanted to try. Texanah wasn’t like the other women in town. She had come in from parts unknown and got hired as a dancer at Coby’s Saloon. And what a dancer she was! She had legs that filled her pantaloons in all the right places. Her breasts were as big as a Texas sun at high noon and her long blonde hair was twice as golden. Rumor had it that she would let men between her legs and not even charge them! It was almost like she liked sex.

So when Texanah climbed up to the top of the general store, some of the menfolk begged her to stop. They didn’t want to see that flower of sin become a smear of tits and blood. The womenfolk on the other hand, they cheered her on. The minister’s wife especially was a bit eager to see Texanah try. She was not a nice lady.

The whole town held their breath as Texanah took a running leap. She landed right on the dinosaur’s neck and wrapped those lovely legs around its neck. We all saw the monster’s eyes grow wide from how hard she was gripping it. Then those great teeth snarled and he whipped his head left and then whipped it as fast as lightning to the right.

Texanah’s shirt flew off, but Texanah was still there! The best looked just as surprised as we were! It got real mad and whipped its head again but Texanah was still hanging on with those wonderful legs of hers. She wasn’t going anywhere!

She grabbed one of its ridges with her hand and put her other hand in the air like she was at the rodeo. The monstrous beast stomped around, swinging his tail and swinging his head for all he’s worth. Back and forth, up and down and side to side, he swung his head, and Texanah’s two magnificent breasts I might add, but he couldn’t shake Texanah off him.

After a few minutes of this, something strange started to happen. Texanah was whooping and hollering but now the woman was making other noises. She was starting to groan and moan all unladylike till our ears were burning from her lewdness.

It got even stranger. The dinosaur was bucking his head but if you looked real closely, you could see that Texanah was bucking against him! She was grinding and twisting almost like she was enjoying it. Her whole body was moving and I don’t what she was doing, but looking at it made my pecker get all kinds of hard.

It was about this time that Texanah started to moan. The hideous monster was screaming but the busty gal’s groans were even louder! She was a moaning and a groaning and carrying on in a way I had never heard before. Men were blushing and not knowing why while women were covering the ears of their husbands. The sounds she was making were disgraceful and maybe the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.

“Yee-haw!” Texanah screamed. It was a scream like a prospector finding gold. She had a big smile on her face and her tits were as perky as a rooster in the hen house. It looked like she was ready for a second, a third and maybe a fourth wind.

Let me tell you something about that dinosaur. Maybe he was exhausted from stomping around and trying to throw Texanah off, but the fire just seemed to go out of him. He was looking a might bashful to be honest. He wasn’t trying so hard to get her off anymore. Hell, I think I even heard that big monster whimpering a little. Whatever Texanah was doing on it’s neck, I think it was just as embarrassed as the rest of us.

Head down and great tail dragging; the dinosaur sulked out of town. Texanah kicked at the neck with her heels but the beast wouldn’t play anymore. Frustrated, Texanah jumped off the back of the beast. The front and seat of her dress was soaked! She was walking a little funny but she wasn’t complaining. She just had a big smile on her face and a dreamy look in her eyes.

We never did see that dinosaur again. A few days later, we didn’t see Texanah either. Some people think that the minister’s wife ran her out of town in the middle of the night but I don’t think that was the case. Knowing a gal like Texanah, she wouldn’t let one dried up bitch run her out. Naw, I’m pretty sure I know why she left. I think after riding a dinosaur between her legs, the men of Flatrock seemed a bit tame by comparison. I bet she went looking for more dinosaurs, or maybe something just as interesting to get under her.

Fiction: Mouth

She heard him calling.

"Mouth," he said. It was her name and her function.

She crawled to him and his waiting cock. Her mouth opened and his cock snaked between her lips. She took him in till her mouth could take no more but still she reached out with her tongue. While his cock filled her throat, her tongue lapped at his balls.

Some nights he would lay there. That's when she would take her time. She would suck, lick and kiss using every trick her mouth knew.

Some nights he was rough. That's when he would grab her hair and fuck her face. She would keep her mouth just slack enough to let him pound away and bounce his balls off her chin.

Either way, he came in her mouth. She would take every drop, swallowing and licking it clean from his cock. When every bit of seed was down her throat, she would kiss his wilting cock in gratitude.

Like a good Mouth.

Belit

Belit is that rare fictional character that occupies the same place that first loves do. Created by Robert E. Howard, Belit was a pirate captain who Conan falls in love with. She was greedy, blood thirsty, head strong and sensuous and man, did I love her when I was 9. The first girl I ever had feelings for as a child was as arrogant as Belit, and the first girl I ever kissed could have cosplayed as Belit.

I first came across Belit in the Conan comic books written by Roy Thomas. In the original Howard story, Belit only appears in one story. In the comics, Roy stretched her out for several years. It was a brilliant move as it let the readers enter into a relationship with the character.

I want to tell a quick side story about my reading Conan when I was 9 years old. My step-father wanted to buy comics as an investment. He didn't know much about comic collecting so he would just grab as many comics of a certain title as possible. In his mind he just had to hold onto them and they would magically turn into money. To convince my mom to let him spend ungodly amounts of money on Fantastic Four, he gave the comics to me to read.

Keep in mind that I couldn't pick what comics he got. If it was up to me, it would have been Batman and Micronauts. Instead, I got Captain America, Avengers, Fantastic Four, and something called Conan.

Those Conan comics were scary shit. I remember the first time I realized the black spray coming from a decapitated soldier was blood. If Conan wasn't chopping heads than he was fighting really disgusting looking monsters. The first day I read those comics, I had terrible nightmares.

I complained about my nightmares to my parents. My step-father was terrified that I was undercutting his investment strategy so he threatened me. It boiled down to if I ever had a nightmare again, he would take away all the comics. I interpreted that to mean I should just shut up and stop reading that freaky shit, Conan.

I read the rest of the comic collection and it took me about a year. Eventually out of lack of anything to read, I was tempted to read Conan. I flipped through the issues, judging them by their cover, looking for something less scary. I came across one cover that had a beautiful snarling brunette wearing some sort of fur tunic. I decided to give that a try. The girl's name was Belit and damn, she was pretty fucking cool.

I don't think I had a concept of sex at that time but I knew what I liked. Belit in a lot of ways is a teenage male's ideal of womanhood. She has all the hobbies of a teenage boy from gold to pirating but she has long hair and boobs. The thing that really appealed to me about Belit was that she was fiercely loyal to Conan. He was her's, and she would claw the eyes out of any woman who said otherwise. That's how Belit rolled, she did everything with all of heart whether it being killing, stealing or loving. As a young boy, I knew I wanted to know that kind of passion.

"Were I still in death and you fighting for life, I would come back from the abyss to aid you — aye, whether my spirit floated from the purple sails on the crystal sea of paradise, or writhed in the molten flames of Hell! I am yours, and all the gods and their eternities shall not sever us"-Belit

My comic collection was incomplete so at some point, Belit disappeared and she wasn't mentioned much. I was curious what happened to her and I sort of sneered at the weak dancing girls Conan hung out with in later issues. I remember seeing the Conan movie and wondering who the fuck this Valeria chick was. I wanted my Belit.

On my 14th birthday, I came across some money and was given a rare trip to the town's Waldenbooks. Desperate to buy something, anything that I recognize, ended up trying the Ace book edition of Robert E. Howard's work as rewritten by L. Sprague de Camp.

Holy fuck. Howard's writing influences me to this day but as a teenager it was like finding religion. I devoured those stories and I was delighted when I came across Belit in the story, 'Queen of the Black Coast.' Here was the original story of the daughter of a Shemite trader who's parents were killed and becomes a white queen of black pirates. Here also was something I wasn't expecting; it told the story of how she died. More importantly, it told the story of how even in death, her spirit came back to defend Conan as he sought to avenge her death. Yep, the movie ripped off Belit's finest moment and I never knew it.

Years pass and now I'm an adult. I now own the comics of Belit's appearance as well as the original stories. I have written countless stories about fierce women and their endless passion. I had married a woman with Belit's temper before remarrying someone with Belit's heart. Other women and other characters have influenced me but for me, Belit is a first love.

*Commission of Belit drawn by the amazing Frelncer*

Fiction: Presenting Arms

“My Highness, your army is assembled,” General Rath announced. He was a veteran of 23 dominations under the old king. His chest was decorated with enough medals to provide a secondary layer of armor. Most of his medals were from conquered worlds. He liked to collect them from the twitching corpses of his enemies.

This was his first time with the Queen. So far he was not impressed. Queen Erishella looked out the balcony of her Flying Palanquin. She surveyed her army. Her father would wear a military uniform when he inspected his troops but Erishella was not about to wear one of those ugly things. She was wearing a red corset made of thirty individual leather straps that pushed her already impressive bust to new heights. Red thigh high boots added another six inches to her six foot frame. Nothing covered her royal sex except the bush of immaculately cut pubic hair. A crown of gold set upon her head, in case anyone forgot she was the Queen of the Vanquished Worlds. She carried a jeweled scepter with her and she had a bad habit of tapping the end of the scepter against her buoyant breasts.

General Rath thought she looked like a whore selling herself on the street. He failed to see how this woman was going to lead them in the invasion of the Gem Moons. Not for the first time, he wondered if maybe a military coup would be the best thing for the kingdom.

“How many are there?” the Queen asked.

General Rath glanced out the balcony. “Ten million soldiers are assembled before you.” He didn’t mention the one million battle cyborgs, the hundred thousand psychic warriors or the countless number of Slave-Fodder. Why bother? Stretched out as far as the eye could see was the Royal Army. There were so many soldiers, that you couldn’t see the White Plain of Woe for all the crimson powered armor. All that the Queen needed to know was that there were a lot and to let the general handle the invasion.

“Do they do tricks?” Queen Erishella asked.

“Yes, my Highness,” General Rath said. He activated his communicator. “Attention, soldiers! Present arms!”

The sound of thunder filled the White Plains as ten million soldiers (plus quite a few support personnel) brought their weapons up as a single unit.

“Oh how pretty,” Queen Erishella said. “Now tell them to take out their cocks.”

“What?” General Rath said. “My Highness, these men are highly trained warriors, not your personal bed slaves.”

Queen Erishella frowned. General Rath felt a cold tremor go up his leg as he recognized that frown. Her father had that same expression usually right before something traumatic happened.

“My personal bed slaves obey me,” Queen Erishella said. “Does not my own army?”

“Ah yes, your Highness,” General Rath said. “But taking out their cocks? We have no time for such silly displays. War is a serious business.”

Queen Erishella sighed. The majestic woman pointed her scepter at General Rath. The black crystal glowed and General Rath screamed as the disintegrator reduced him to his component atoms. One of his medals landed in the smoking piles of his ashes.

Queen Erishella looked back down the balcony. She activated her own communicator that was on her crown. All across the White Plain, giant holograms of Queen Erishella appeared in the sky. Every member of her army could see her in all of her decadent glory. Not accidentally, they could also see General Rath’s remains.

This was the moment. She knew Rath would be the first of many generals she would have to kill. Her father had a tendency to promote the most extreme examples of masculine aggression to the top ranks. He earned their respect by being a bigger bastard than them. He had their fear. Erishella knew that even if she was crueler than her generals, their blind macho attitude would never let them treat a woman as an equal. The same could be said for the millions of killers she had assembled before her. She might not be able to rule them through intimidation but that was all right. There were other base instincts she could exploit.

Queen Erishella had a plan.

“This is your Queen speaking,” she said. “General Rath has gone to meet his enemies in the afterlife. Now you have a choice to either follow me into glorious conquest or follow the ashes of your old general. I should point out that I have mined the White Plains with anti-matter bombs. At my command, I can turn the White Plains of Woe into the White Crater of Stupid Soldiers.

As your Queen, I order you to take out your cocks.”

The White Plains thundered with the sound of ten million soldiers (plus quite a few support personnel) unzipping their battle cod pieces and grabbing their cocks.

“Now stroke!” Queen Erishella commanded.

The entire army obeyed. Their powerful arms pumped in motion as they stroked their cocks. Groans could be heard in the thousands. The smell of cock carried on the wind.

Above them in the sky, their Queen looked down in approval. She felt a tingle in her own sex. She pressed the end of her scepter against her cunt. Legs braced, the Queen grinded into the scepter. The holographic screens projected her masturbation across the plains.

“Faster,” she commanded.

The army pumped faster. The Queen swiveled her hips in an obscene manner.

“Faster,” she commanded.

The groans of her army made her smile. The sounds of millions of hands stroking hard flesh made her groan. The thought of so many killers waiting for her next order made Erishella’s thighs quiver.

“Hold it,” she commanded. “Hold it, until I come first.”

The White Plains of Woe shook from the moans of frustration.

Queen Erishella’s body undulated against her scepter. The giant holograms exhibited every clench of her ass, every bounce of her tits and every drop of desire dripping from her cunt. Her orgasm came quickly and her pleasure scream was broadcasted to every soldier.

“Now!” she screamed.

Ten millions soldiers (and quite a few support personal) climaxed together. They splattered their offerings onto the White Plains. Their tribute to their Queen coated the ground in an unholy mess. Years from now, the plains would be renamed the White Plains of Lust in honor of the Queen.

“Very good,” Erishella said. “Your Queen is impressed. Now that you have fucked yourselves for me, let’s go to the Gem Moons to fuck them!”

The army roared their approval. Erishella smiled. After years of serving a bastard, it appeared the army was ready to serve a Queen.

Fiction: The Older Mystique

She was older than me. Her eyes had seen other cocks but tonight she wanted mine. I was not the first to kiss her breasts but hers were the first I would kiss. A thrill ran through me as I sucked her nipple; a thrill that would never be repeated with other women.

Her mouth knew secrets. She shared these secrets with her tongue. Licking, tasting, whispering, she gave these secrets to my ear, my mouth and my cock. I basked in her wisdom.

The mystery of her pussy was revealed to me: heat unimaginable, wetness unbelievable, and tightness inescapable. Never in my frenzied stroking did I imagine how a woman's hips could move. How could I have imagined the gripping of thighs and the grinding of sexes?

I came. I came again. To her delighted moans I came again for my seductress. Every new perversion resulted in another splash of seed.

There were so many lessons.

Question For Our Times

Hey Stripper Dressed As an Indian, I have a question for you. Will there ever be peace between your kind,














And hot Strippers Dressed As Cowgirls?
















Ho-

-ly

shit!

Okay, probably not.

Documentary footage of this terrible atrocity was brought to you by the October 1981 issue of Penthouse.

Fiction: The Library of Ms. Ash

Claire Currie was about to put her foot on the steps when a hand grabbed her by her black ponytail. Because she was wearing four-inch heels she barely managed to keep her balance. The tightness of her skirt restricted her long legs, but over a year of practice at dressing this way helped her remain upright. But she was worried about her breasts: The tight white blouse barely contained them on a good day, and being yanked like this didn’t help.

She knew better than to complain, though. It was her boss who had grabbed her by the hair.

“I must have a word with you, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. His hand was still wrapped in her hair.

“Of course, Mr. Dillon.”

“Before we visit Ms. Ash, I must tell you that she is not your typical woman,” Mr. Dillon said. “She owns the world’s best collection of books on bondage. Her personal collection includes many one-of-a-kind works that could never be reproduced. She is not only a collector, but also a practitioner of bondage. Ms. Ash has been tying people up since before you were born, and as a result, she expects a certain level of protocol and manners.”

Claire was offended. “Sir, you and I work for the Colette-Ashbee Collection. She owns some books, but we deal in every erotic book ever made. We spoke with a Dutch prince the other week. You yourself have spanked, slapped and disciplined me in 100 ways to remind me to stay in a professional mindset even when your cock is jammed up my ass. I think I know how to behave around a woman who is a little kinky.”

The grip in her hair twisted slightly. Claire realized her mistake.

“I think I know how to behave around a woman who is a little kinky, sir,” she said.

He let go of her hair. He let out a deep breath, and Claire realized something: Mr. Dillon was nervous. She found that idea deeply unsettling.

“Very well, Ms. Currie,” her boss said. “Let’s be on our best behavior here. I don’t know why Ms. Ash requested our presence, but if it is to donate one of her precious books to the collection, we need to make sure we don’t give her a reason to reconsider her choice. The wealthy can be bad enough, but the kinky wealthy are almost mythical in the slights they can perceive.”

Claire nodded. “I understand, Mr. Dillon.”

“And obviously,” he continued, “do not be disturbed by any blatant acts of nudity or fetish wear. The last time I met Ms. Ash, she wore a leather gown designed by Versace. Her hair was pinned with diamonds, and her furniture was freshly imported from a Japanese palace. The woman exudes wealth and poise.”

Claire pushed her glasses back up her nose. “I understand, sir. I will treat her as if she were the Queen Mum herself.”

Mr. Dillon snorted. “The Queen Mum won’t personally strip and hogtie you if you annoy her.”

He pressed the doorbell.

“I remember the first time I met Ms. Ash,” he said with an almost-wistful air. “I had just started working for the collection, serving under Ms. Wei. We were invited to a party that Ms. Ash was giving so she could celebrate her purchase of a bondage guide written in 1843. All of her servants were nude except for the black rope they wore. Everyone below a certain status had to crawl around on all fours. My knees hurt like hell after that night, but it was worth it to be a part of such an elegant affair.”

He stopped his reminiscing when the door opened. He stepped forward and started to say something, but the words died in his mouth.

Claire could see why. A woman in a house robe had answered the door. Her graying red hair was a tangled mess. She wore no makeup, and her eyes were puffy. It was clear to Claire that someone’s senile grandmother was loose on the grounds.

“Ms. Ash?” Mr. Dillon said.

“I am so glad you came, Oliver,” the woman said. “Please, come in.”

Mr. Dillon wasn’t moving. The silence became awkward, and Claire felt the need to act. She gave Mr. Dillon a subtle nudge, and he cautiously walked in. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ash, I guess I wasn’t expecting you to answer the door yourself.”

She took out a tissue and blew her nose. “I gave all the servants the weekend off,” she said. “I just wanted to be alone and not have them underfoot. Who is this woman?”

Mr. Dillon waved his hand vaguely in Claire’s direction. “Ms. Currie is my assistant. Pay her no mind; she is very well behaved.”

Ms. Ash shrugged. “I don’t care,” she said in a despondent tone. “Let’s go to the library and get this over with.”

She pulled her bathrobe tighter around her chest and shuffled down the hallway. Once again, Mr. Dillon just stood there paralyzed. Claire had never seen him in this state before. He was completely perplexed.

A strange feeling came over her. For the past two years, Mr. Dillon had controlled every moment of her employment. There were some days on which she almost feared Mr. Dillon’s strictness and his demands on her. Seeing him this helpless was evoking some weird feelings in her. She felt oddly protective. More important, she felt protective of her professional reputation. Claire knew she had to get him back on track.

Claire gave Mr. Dillon a gentle push. Like an automaton, he stepped inside the house He wasn’t saying anything, though.

“Excuse me, Ms. Ash,” Claire said. Mr. Dillon said nothing about her interruption. “I am not clear why you called on the Colette-Ashbee- Collection.”

“I want to donate my books,” Ms. Ash said.

Mr. Dillon didn’t answer. Claire pressed on. “Oh, how many books were you considering donating?”

Ms. Ash stopped and looked at Claire. “All of them. I want you to take every single one of them. I’m done with bondage.”

Claire didn’t know what to say to that. Ms. Ash apparently didn’t expect a response. She walked to a set of double doors and pushed them open. The sight inside took Claire’s breath away.

It was a personal library like none Claire had seen before. Well, she had seen similar libraries in movies but never in real life. The walls were filled with leatherbound books on polished shelves. Two enormous windows illuminated the room with golden light. A glass case dominated one wall, containing rare manuscripts that had to be temperature controlled. Hardwood floors and an arched ceiling gave the room the feel of an upper-crust sanctuary that keeps out the riffraff.

Ms. Ash shuffled to a leather chair and flopped into it. Claire gently guided Mr. Dillon to another chair, and he sat down. Claire stood behind him and folded her hands in front of her. The library was silent except for the occasional snuffling from Ms. Ash.

Mr. Dillon almost said something and stopped again. Claire sympathized with his speechlessness. The library was amazing, and Ms. Ash was willing to part with all of it?

“Ms. Ash, may I be so bold as to ask a question?” Claire said.

Ms. Ash nodded very slightly. In that imperial nod, Claire saw a tiny glimpse of the woman that Mr. Dillon remembered so fondly.

“I am curious why you are willing to give up bondage, as well as your books,” Claire asked.

Ms. Ash sighed. “You are young and beautiful, so this may be hard for you to understand. The simple fact of the matter is that I am tired of losing lovers to younger dominatrixes. I am tired of my lovers leaving me and my lifetime of knowledge for some leather dyke who uses Velcro in their bondage. I am tired of having my heart broken by selfish children who considers themselves real submissives.”

“I am assuming that you recently had a break-up?” Claire asked.

Ms. Ash sniffled. “I prefer the term ‘betrayal,’ but yes, you are correct. A beautiful little slip of a woman decided that she would rather be with an ignorant mistress her own age!”

“I can see how disappointing that is,” Claire said. “But surely, you cannot give up a passion like bondage because of one foolish woman?”

Ms. Ash turned her eyes to Claire. “I can do whatever I please, young lady. And I have made up my mind. I am done with having my heart broken. Take all of it. Take all of the books back to your collection. I am leaving that part of my life behind.”

“Forgive my assistant’s poor manners,” Mr. Dillon said. Claire was hurt by the insult but relieved to have Mr. Dillon back in the conversation. “I understand your loss and the Colette-Ashbee Collection will be proud to absorb your collection. We can process your entire library before the end of the day.”

“Thank you,” Ms. Ash said. “If you will excuse me, I will go lie down.”

“Ah, one thing if you don’t mind, Ms. Ash,” Mr. Dillon said. “I hope you will forgive my selfishness, but I do have one small request to make of you first.”

Ms. Ash sat back down. Claire noticed Ms. Ash was sitting a bit taller in her seat.

“You may make your request,” Ms. Ash said. Claire recognized the tone of voice. It was very much like Mr. Dillon’s voice when he gave her commands.

“I have traveled the world,” Mr. Dillon began, “and I can honestly say I have never seen a better rope bondage expert than yourself. I respect that you are giving up your interest in bondage, but could I please call upon you to give me one last demonstration of your skills? You could bind my assistant, Ms. Currie, and show her how a real expert works.”

Ms. Ash lowered her eyelashes. “You were always a smooth talker. I remember when Ms. Wei gave you to me and the honeyed words you sang when I bound your cock. It was almost a shame to gag you before you pleasured me.”

Claire let out a gasp before she caught herself. Mr. Dillon bound? It was inconceivable.

“Is that a yes, Ms. Ash?” Mr. Dillon said.

“I am not sure,” Ms. Ash said.

“I would really appreciate it,” Claire added. She didn’t know what Mr. Dillon was thinking, but Claire was doing her best to help.

Ms. Ash stood up. “I am only doing this as a favor to you, Oliver. Ms. Currie, there should be some rope in the closet there. Bring it me, and don’t let any of it touch the floor.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Claire said. Her heels tapped loudly on the floor as she went to the closet. The closet was filled with interesting items. There were several floggers, quite a few dildos and a cruel-looking set of clover clamps. The rope was sitting on a shelf of honor, and Claire took it into her arms. It seemed awfully heavy.

As she walked back towards Ms. Ash, Claire began to have second thoughts. She had been tied up a few times in college by boyfriends, and Mr. Dillon would sometimes tie her down so she would stop moving while he spanked her, but she hardly knew Ms. Ash at all. All she really knew was that Ms. Ash was a heartbroken woman who had once tied and dominated Mr. Dillon. Once she’d tied Claire, who knows what sort of torments she might choose to inflict?

Ms. Ash took the rope from Claire’s hands. “Strip down to nothing,” she ordered. “Wait, leave the stockings on.”

Claire looked to Mr. Dillon for confirmation and was surprised by a sudden grip on her hair. It was Ms. Ash, and she was forcing Claire’s head back at a far more severe angle than Mr. Dillon ever had.

“Don’t look to your boss when I give you an order, slut,” Ms. Ash said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Claire said.

The grip was released, and Claire began to strip. Librarians don’t take off their clothes like normal people. Claire had been painfully trained by Mr. Dillon on that matter. Normal people take off their clothes; librarians disrobe. Claire took off her clothes as if she were in an erotic novella.

She started with the top button of her shirt. One by one, she slowly popped them open, making sure to pull her shirt apart after each button. Button by button, she revealed her dark brown cleavage. Button by button, she revealed the black lace bra that covered her breasts. Button by button, she revealed the smooth skin of her stomach. When the shirt was completely unbuttoned, Claire slipped it from her shoulders and let it fall down the length of her arms to the floor.

The skirt was shown the same care. She twisted so that she could reach the zipper, making sure her breasts were facing Ms. Ash. Claire pulled the zipper down slowly so that the bright color of the yellow panties would come as a surprise underneath the strict black skirt. She kept unzipping until the tops of her lace stockings came into view. When she was completely unzipped, she shook her hip to the left then to the right with a snap, so that the skirt would fall like a curtain down her legs.

Claire stepped out of the skirt and faced Ms. Ash in her underwear. She reached behind her and unclasped her bra. Pulling her arms together, the bra slid free of Claire’s massive breasts. She then reached down and hooked her thumbs into her yellow panties. Bending forward, she pulled her underwear down slowly so that Ms. Ash could admire every inch of her curving back and ass. Claire deftly stepped out of her panties, still in her heels. It was a move Mr. Dillon made her practice often.

Nude except for her stockings and her glasses, Claire finally shed her shoes. She pulled her feet out one at a time, taking the time to display each foot before allowing it to touch the ground.

Ms. Ash looked at her with a patient expression. Claire looked for some sort of interest or sign of approval in the older woman’s eyes. She stood silently until Ms. Ash made a gesture for Claire to approach.

Claire stepped forward, and Ms. Ash grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around. Strong hands pulled Claire’s arms up and positioned them out from her body. She squealed a little as she felt the first touch of the rope. It was against her sex, with one end of the rope going between her buttocks while the other end went straight up from her sex and between her breasts.

The rope wound itself around Claire’s torso, Ms. Ash snaking and pulling the rope more quickly than Claire could follow. With each tug, the rope pressed tighter against her sex. She could feel herself getting wetter as the rope ground into her bushy pubic hair.

The rope constricted around her waist and coiled upwards. The long length stretched between her breasts and separated them before branching out across both her shoulders. Down her back the rope went, criss-crossing as it would wrap around again to her front.

Ms. Ash pulled Claire’s arms back behind her back. The rope cocooned her wrists and pulled them together. Claire’s hands were pinned to the small of her back. To her surprise, she found that she could let her arms fall, and the rope would easily support the weight of her hands. It was far more relaxing than she had been expecting.

“There,” Ms. Ash said. “How does it feel?”

Claire realized that Ms. Ash had finally stopped and stepped away. She tried to flex her arms, and she shuddered. The rope had tightened around her sex as soon as she moved a muscle. She took a step, and she was aware of her breasts bouncing back and forth against the hard coil of rope separating them. She tried to shrug and maybe slip from the rope, but it stuck to her body like a second skin.

“I gave you a handle,” Ms. Ash said. She gripped the coil between Claire’s breasts, and Claire was surprised by how much space there was for Ms. Ash’s fingers to reach under and fully grab the coil. Ms. Ash gave the slightest pull, and Claire nearly fell forward. Her entire body was connected to that handle. Her heart pounded faster. She was helpless and she knew it.

“Interesting,” Mr. Dillon said. It took all of Claire’s willpower not to look toward him and plea silently for her release. “Is the rope between her legs as distracting to Ms. Currie as I think it is?”

Ms. Ash nodded. She shook the handle back and forth, and Claire groaned. The rope on her sex was almost vibrating from the tension being placed on it.

“Truly excellent work,” Mr. Dillon said.

“Thank you,” Ms. Ash said.

Mr. Dillon walked over to Claire and grabbed her by her new handle. He pulled on the rope and Claire followed. Mr. Dillon dragged her back to his seat where he sat down. Claire quickly dropped to her knees before him as Mr. Dillon had seen no reason to let go of her.

“Ms. Ash, would you mind if I decided to take advantage of your work right now?”

Claire wasn’t sure what Mr. Dillon was referring to, but Ms. Ash apparently was.

“No,” Ms. Ash answered. “But not a single drop on the floor, please.”

Claire was confused until Mr. Dillon unzipped his pants. To her astonishment, he pulled his cock out. It was already hard and ready for her.

“Remember that, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “Not a single drop can land on the floor.”

Claire swallowed. She looked back at Ms. Ash, who had returned to her chair opposite Mr. Dillon. The older woman didn’t look like she was going anywhere.

“Right here, Mr. Dillon?” Claire asked. They had never fucked in front of another person before. Oh, she had been spanked, humiliated and sometimes stripped in front of another person, but they had never had sex with another person present.

Mr. Dillon pulled her by the handle to his cock. “Now, Ms. Currie.”

Claire took him into her mouth. She was on her knees and had to bend forward to reach his cock. She was very aware of her ass which was facing Ms. Ash. Claire had an urge to put her legs together and try to cover herself, but it was pointless. She was completely exposed.

“You appear to have trained her well,” Ms. Ash said. “She sucks cock like a proper whore.”

Claire nearly choked on Mr. Dillon’s cock. Her head kept bobbing up and down as she tried to tune out Ms. Ash’s comments.

“I try my best, but in this situation, I think she’s inspired by your ropework,” Mr. Dillon said. “A tight harness puts anyone in her proper place. How were you able to bind her so snugly on your first try?”

“Practice,” Ms. Ash said. “Once you have tied up as many women as I have, their bodies start turning into variations on a theme. To you she a unique, special person, to me she is just another body with slightly too large breasts and a slightly too big bottom.”

Claire thought of several things to say about her allegedly too big bottom, but it was hard to say any of them when her mouth was filled with cock.

“That’s fascinating,” Mr. Dillon said casually. “Would you say the same about rope? I rarely use it myself.”

Claire thought he didn’t sound like a man having his cock vigorously sucked. She took it upon herself to see if she could change his tone. Her cheeks caved in as she sucked harder.

“Not at all,” Ms. Ash said. “Each rope is different. It has its own properties, such as thickness, pliability and stretchiness. Even if you get two ropes made of the same material, the craftsmanship in making the rope can be wildly different.”

Mr. Dillon chuckled. Claire thought it might have been a moan he was disguising. She decided to use more tongue.

“It reminds me of books,” he said. “Everyone assumes that all copies of a book are the same, but it’s not true. Some books disappoint you with their poor printing quality, but look hard enough, and you’ll find the good copy of a bad edition. You just have to be willing to search.”

Ms. Ash didn’t have an answer. For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was that of Claire’s mouth sucking Mr. Dillon. As Claire moved faster and faster, the sound of her breasts knocking together also filled the room.

Mr. Dillon spoke first. “Have you ever had a rope break, Ms. Ash?”

“On occasion,” Ms. Ash said. She sounded distracted. Claire wondered if it that was due to the collector’s recent heartbreak or the sight of Claire pleasuring Mr. Dillon.

“Every rope is different,” Ms. Ash said. “Some ropes have a flaw, while others are strong enough to last decades. The care you administer is important, but I have had rope that was brand-new come undone on the first day.”

“I see,” Mr. Dillon said. Claire thought his voice seemed a little higher pitched than usual. She decided to add a twist to her head when she descended down his shaft.

“And do you ever blame the person tying the rope for the rope breaking?” Mr. Dillon asked.

Ms. Ash actually laughed. “I see your metaphor, young man. You are saying that my submissive left me because of her poor quality, not because of any fault of mine. I appreciate the compliment, but it doesn’t change the fact that I am tired of going through so much bad rope.”

“That is unfortunate,” Mr. Dillon said. “Excuse me one moment, I need to climax.”

That was Claire’s only warning as her mouth suddenly filled with seed. She almost choked again, but she remembered Ms. Ash’s instructions. She swallowed it all, taking care not to let a single drop escape her lips.

When he was done, Mr. Dillon pushed her away. He tugged her handle upwards so that she would stand beside him. Claire stood there, trying to hold back her blush as Ms. Ash’s eyes scanned her from top to bottom.

After a few minutes, Ms. Ash finally spoke. “Perhaps you are right, Mr. Dillon.”

“In what way, Ms. Ash?” Mr. Dillon asked.

Ms. Ash was still staring at Claire. “Maybe I have been a bit lax with the quality of rope I have been choosing lately. I think I will hold onto my books a little while longer while I revise my standards.”

“The Colette-Ashbee Collection will be terribly disappointed,” Mr. Dillon said as he stood up.

Ms. Ash stood up as well. “I am sure you will help them get over their disappointment. Shall I untie your girl now?”

Mr. Dillon smiled. “Actually, could I trouble you for a long coat for her to wear while we wait for our cab?”

Ms. Ash smiled deviously.

A few minutes later, Claire stood in the driveway with Mr. Dillon. The coat flapped around her bare legs. Sometimes the wind would go straight up the coat and chill her rope-bound body. Her sex drenched the rope with her excitement.

“I have two questions, Mr. Dillon,” Claire asked.

“Yes, Ms. Currie?”

“Why did you try to cheer her up?” she asked. “Don’t get me wrong, it was a kind thing to do, but doesn’t that just deny the collection her books?”

“Ms. Ash has the greatest collection of bondage books in the world because she is a fan with a singular taste,” Mr. Dillon explained. “While we are obtaining vulgar books about actors, Ms. Ash is gathering bondage books. While we are authenticating memoirs from politicians, Ms. Ash is gathering bondage books. She is just as dedicated as we are but more effective at her hobby because she has a focus.

”And one day, Ms. Ash will pass away. She’ll die, and her books will be absorbed. Who knows, maybe you will be the head librarian when that happens. When that day comes, the books the Colette-Ashbee Collection gains will be even greater in number because I gave Ms. Ash the hope she needed to continue her hobby.”

Claire shivered as the wind pressed the coat against her bound body. “So you helped an old lady mend her broken heart for the sake of the collection?”

“Of course,” Mr. Dillon said. “What was your other question?”

“Oh, yes,” Claire said. “Why am I still tied up?”

Mr. Dillon smiled. “That will be revealed when we return to the hotel room.”

Claire shivered again, and it had nothing to do with the wind.