Gone Honeymooning

I shall be in Puerto Rico with my wife for a few days. I expect to be back before 2010 but who knows? I might run across pirates and have an adventure.

This trip is our long delayed Honeymoon. We are splurging a bit and flying First Class and staying at a really nice hotel by the beach. We will eat pork chops as big as my head. We will rent a bed on the beach, yes a bed, and lounge around. We shall Honeymoon a lot. Maybe see some more forts and eat a lot of fish.

I want to take a moment and thank my wonderful wife for existing. With her support, I learned how to drive, I got the medication I needed for my anxiety and I did a shit load of growing up. With her unconditional love, she encouraged me to write whatever the fuck I want to write which has made for an amazing two years of productivity.

I can't say enough how much my wife's love has really helped my writing. In the past I would write in ways that I felt would make me more attractive or interesting to me readers. Now that I am in a secure relationship, I can focus on making stories that are entertaining and arousing without worrying about what it says about me. I wouldn't have written Erishella three years ago and I think that is a tragedy.

Lastly, I want to thank my readers who have stuck with me as I go into weird trends and unusual settings. It has been a great year for me personally and I am tickled that so many of you have been having fun as well.

I will see you next year.

Fiction: No Spoilers

Claire Currie closed her bedroom door. Downstairs, her mother and father were watching something on the telly. They were bloated from dinner and egg nog. Claire herself was quite exhausted. She only saw her parents once a year for Christmas and her mother had made all of her favorite foods. Claire was full and ready to sleep but one thing was keeping her awake. She hadn’t opened the gift from her boss yet.

She looked at the bedroom door for a lock. Even though she had grown up in this room, she had never needed the lock before. Claire was happy to see one. She clicked the button and relaxed.

“Being a librarian requires privacy,” Claire said out loud. It sounded like something Mr. Dillon would say. Of course, being a librarian doesn’t require privacy. It was being a librarian for the world’s greatest collection of erotica that made privacy necessary. Mr. Dillon being who he was, Claire fully expected his gift to be an erotic book.

Before she opened it, Claire decided to get properly ready. She stripped off her sweater and blouse to expose her large brown breasts barely contained by her bra. Although she did not have to adhere to uniform standards of the Collection on her vacation, Claire still preferred to. Because it was a Thursday she was wearing an electric blue thong with a matching bra. Claire stripped off her pants and chuckled at how poorly the thing covered her thick black bush of pubic hair. Mr. Dillon would approve.

Nearly naked, Claire sat on her bed and took out the slender package. She stretched out her long brown legs and put the package between her thighs. Mr. Dillon had given it to her right as she was about to climb into the taxi. She had no idea where he was going for his vacation, but Claire knew she would miss him. He was her boss, but he was also the man who stripped, spanked, fondled, humiliated and fucked her.

“Don’t open it till Christmas Eve, Ms. Currie,” he had told her.

Claire had obeyed. She had enjoyed her time with her family but they didn’t understand the erotic nature of her work. They only knew she gathered rare books. Claire had never told them how each and every book was a treasure of smut and pornography.

The last few days had been oddly lonely. They would tell her a funny story about her sister, Madeline, and her two kids. Claire couldn’t exactly respond with the humorous story of what happened when Mr. Dillon brutally fucked her ass while she read out loud from a limerick book. Claire found herself editing out the most interesting parts of her life when she talked to her family. She loved her job but she never realized how much she had to keep to herself.

Now that it was Christmas Eve, Claire couldn’t wait to open her gift and reconnect in a small way with Mr. Dillon. She ripped open the wrapping very carefully. It would be a book, that is for certain, but what kind of rare and fascinating book would Mr. Dillon give?

The book was a cheap paperback from the 60’s. A lurid cover showed a librarian being spanked by a man and a woman. It was titled “The Librarian Whore’. No author was listed.

Claire’ training kicked in. The book was made of inferior pulp. There was water damage on the cover. The publishing company was a cheap outfit that published no remarkable works. Mr. Dillon bought books for the sake of the collection being complete, not because of quality. Claire estimated its value to be barely three dollars.

She was disappointed but she opened the book. Mr. Dillon had written something on the copyright page. Claire was really surprised. Mr. Dillon hated any sort of defacement on a book. Maybe he didn’t consider this cheap piece of shit to be a real book.

“Dear Ms. Currie. Please accept this gift as recognition of your somewhat adequate performance this year. Read and remember Ms. Currie, no spoilers.”

Claire frowned. For this she had been anxious all week? This is what she looked forward to while her dad bored her with stories about politics? Claire thought about her mother’s questions about why Claire didn’t get a nice quiet librarian job back in Britain. At the time Claire couldn’t imagine giving up her job with the Collection but now she was having second thoughts.

“Somewhat adequate performance!” Claire said out loud. It was a perfect imitation of Mr. Dillon’s American accent. To her annoyance, she found herself getting wet at her own impersonation of his voice.

She started to read. The book was precisely the drivel she was expecting. It was about a librarian named Regina. On the very first page, Regina was seduced by a young college boy and was already on her knees. There was barely two sentences describing Regina but the blowjob was worthy of two pages of description.

Claire turned the page. At the top of the next page was more of Mr. Dillon’s handwriting. The message was brief and to the point.

“Suck something appropriate for five minutes.”

Well now. Claire’s mood brightened considerably. Something appropriate? Perhaps Mr. Dillon meant her nipples. She glanced down at the page and saw that the blowjob was still continuing in the story. Claire felt that Mr. Dillon was referring to cock. That was not readily available. What would her strict boss consider as an adequate substitute?

She looked around her bedroom. Sitting on her nightstand was her brush. The handle was quite thick. Not cock thick, but it would do.

Claire took the brush and slipped it into her lips. The irregular shape was a challenge but Claire was up to the task. She had a lot of practice when it came to sucking. Mr. Dillon thought face fucking was good way to wake up on a Saturday morning. Claire relaxed her throat and let the brush handle slip all the way in.

Three minutes went by so slowly. Claire licked and sucked with the same enthusiasm she would give Mr. Dillon. As she sucked, she found herself actually interested in what happens to Regina next. As her own cunt grew wetter, Claire hoped Regina got some satisfying sex soon.

When the three minutes were up, Claire removed the brush. She made sure to suck every bit of moisture from it as it left her lips. She imagined every drop of spit was Mr. Dillon’s seed.

Claire picked the book back up. She started to flip through the pages to see how much more writing Mr. Dillon had added. A split second later, Claire remembered his instructions and stopped. No spoilers. She had thought that was just a comment on Mr. Dillon’s usual policy on spoilers but now she knew better. She would have to find out what else Mr. Dillon had in store for her the old fashioned way.

Claire leaned back in her bed. She spread her legs wide and resisted the urge to touch herself. The thong was pressing hard against her wet sex. Her nipples tingled with arousal against her bra. It was Christmas Eve and Claire Currie was horny enough to fuck an entire college of men.

“Please let there be stroking,” she whispered. “Please let there be a little spanking. Please let there be an orgasm.”

Claire smiled to herself. This was proving to be a worthy gift after all. It was a gift worthy of an erotic librarian.

She read all night long.

Baroness Gift

I picked up this sweet Holiday Theme sketch of the Baroness from ebay. It was a little gift to myself for making it through another year without any major breakdowns.

Drawn by the fearsome Frelncr, I can't recommend his work enough.

Ho Ho Arr

This is a rather poor picture of a really awesome Christmas gift. A friend of mine took this image off my blog and sent it to an artists on Etsy who made it the cover of a really nice writing notebook.

That is the power of the Internet right there. Scarlett Drake was a character of mine from City Of Heroes, drawn by an artists on Deviant Art and turned into a cover by an artist on Etsy. My friend used my blog to look through my images and pick one she thought would suit me best.

Such a gift would have been impossible ten years ago. I am tickled.

I will have a new Librarian story out Wednesday and then I shall be gone from Christmas till the New Year. I'll be Puerto Rico with my wife and my new notebook.

What Did We Learn This Week, Shon?

I learned that Isabella Ardigo is one hot lady. A Penthouse Pet in April 1979, I had forgotten all about her till I was going through some archives. When I saw her again I was taken back to my youth and how fascinated I was by this lady. Exotic, beautiful and cold, I see a lot of her in some of my current characters.

I learned that when I am really stressed with work, my favorite game to unwind is a free game you can download on the Internet. Spelunky is an old school platformer game that randomly creates the level every time you play. That means 50% of the time it is hilariously unfair and the other 50% of the time, you are doing high-fives with yourself because of your awesome skills.

I learned that an Ipod Nano rocks. 8 gigs on a device the size of my finger?

I learned that I still have a capacity for crude humor. I am enjoying Apocalypse Lane way too much. It is a web cartoon about a bunch of mutated losers. The main character is a foul mouthed three-legged cat named Cuddles. If you only watch one episode, watch the Poker Night one.

I learned that there are still sexy music videos out there that i haven't seen.



I learned that even though I haven't even published my Choose Your Own Porn story yet, I am itching to write another one. I suspect it comes from the fact that I gave up tabletop role-playing games to focus on my writing. Players always want to supply their own lines of dialogue damn it. In my Wizard's Harem story, I got to create a sexy adventure and do all the cool hero dialogue. I want to do that again. The next adventure will take place on a space pirate ship and feature a submissive woman. I just have to clone myself and start writing it.

Most of all, I learned that December is a fucking busy time to try to get any real writing done.

Fiction: A Princess Carol

Once upon a time there was a wonderful Island. The temperature was always warm and by royal decree, the rain fell only at night unless there was a wet t-shirt contest. The coconuts were always juicy and the fish leaped into the boats so they could be fried with wonderful spices. The sun always shined unless it was Christmas Eve. On that day, snow was permitted to fall and turn the Island into a Winter Paradise.

Nobody liked Christmas more than the beautiful Island Princess. She received gifts every day of the year because she was so pretty, but on Christmas she got the really good gifts. She received jeweled flowers to put in her long black hair. She would get a new grass skirt made of exotic grasses to go around her lovely hips and firm ass. Christmas was when she would get her new coconut bra to go over her massive royal breasts. The coconut bra would be adorned with precious gems and have spectacular support.

Yes, the Island Princess loved Christmas not because it was a happy time of year or because of good will towards commoners. She loved it because it was when she got really good gifts. That is what Christmas meant to her.

One Christmas Eve, the Island Princess was waiting in bed for Santa to come. She was counting dolphins in her head when a terrible noise alarmed her. The Island Princess sat up in bed and let the blanket fall from her bare chest.

A shimmering white form was at the head of her bed. It was a handsome man carrying massive heavy chains. The Island Princess could see right through him. He was a ghost!

“Who are you? And why are you disturbing my sleep?” the Island Princess commanded.

“I am the Island Prince of four hundred years ago!” the ghost moaned. “I was once like you. I was the most handsome Prince the Island had ever seen! I was selfish and always demanded more gifts for Christmas. I never once gave to the poor or let a pauper take my place so we could learn a valuable lesson. Now as punishment, I must go through the afterlife carrying these heavy chains made from my own selfish desires!”

The Island Princess looked at the handsome Ghost Prince. He wore nothing but chains across his broad chest and masculine thighs. Chains were wrapped around his powerful arms and across his big shoulders. A giant padlock covered his manhood but it could not cover all of it.

“Wow, you really are quite handsome,” the Island Princess said.

The Ghost Prince hesitated. “Uh, thank you. But be warned! I have come to tell you that you will be visited by three ghosts! Umm, would you mind pulling the blanket over your breasts? It is hard to focus when you are like that.”

The Island Princess cupped her breasts in her hands. She covered her nipples but the way she squeezed her breasts just drew attention to how plump they were. It didn’t help that she was pouting her lips as well.

“Three ghosts?” The Island Princess said. “Are they as handsome as you?”

“What?” the Ghost Prince said. “Uh, no. The Ghost of Island Christmas Past is a slender woman with a hook nose. The Ghost of Island Christmas Present is a big fat man with a beard. The Ghost of Island Christmas Future is all in shadows because his final reveal will be a big psychological surprise so I don’t want to spoil it.”

The Island Princess rose up to her knees in bed. The blanket fell away to reveal her lack of sleeping underwear and her abundance of pubic hair. She lowered her chin in a coy manner. “I’d rather talk to you,” she said.

The giant padlock rang as something hard slapped against it. The Ghost Prince blushed.

“It is very important you talk to them,” the Ghost Prince said. “They will teach you the true meaning of Christmas. They will show you the sad story of Fat Jim, a child on your island who eats who overeats and needs proper exercise equipment that your riches could provide. You will see your past and how your selfishness has caused people on the Island to eat too many sweet foods. You will feel bad for the child and even cry when you find out he dies choking on fried fish. It will change your life.”

“Sounds boring,” the Island Princess said. She yawned and removed her hands from her breasts to cover her mouth. “Can’t you tell them to go bother someone else? I bet my cook could do with a good morality lesson. She is always so mean to me when I send back her desserts.”

The Ghost Prince looked at the naked Princess. “Uh, I don’t know. You don’t want to end up like me. You know, covered in chains and haunting people.”

“I don’t know,” the Island Princess said. “It looks kind of sexy.”

The Island Princess reached out and touched his chest. To her surprise, he was solid. She ran her fingers over his firm chest and down to his hips. The Ghost Prince jumped back.

“Wait! I really need to get the three ghosts here,” he said. “Really, you’ll like the lessons. There is time travel and Fat Jim is really cute.”

“Not as cute as you,” the Island Princess said. She reached under his giant padlock and grabbed his cock. Still on the bed, the Island Princess got down on all fours and took the Ghost Prince’s cock into her mouth.

The Ghost Prince moaned. He moaned so loud, that he woke up the whole Palace. The Island King hid under his bed for fear that the Americans were finally invading to take all of the Island riches.

The Island Princess sucked. Her full lips wrapped around the ghostly cock and as tight as a clam shell. She ran her tongue over the perfect cock that was worthy of her mouth. The Island Princess swallowed every inch of his cock; her lips nibbling until she felt his ghostly balls on her chin.

“Oh!” the Ghost Prince moaned. “Wow, it has been a long time. Oh yes, grab my ass! By the volcano! Where did you learn that trick with your tongue?”

The Island Princess said nothing but she let her tongue do the talking. She moved her hips back and forth as she sucked; knowing the Ghost Prince would watch every sway of her bottom. She took the Ghost Prince’s hands and placed them on her breasts so that the otherworldly phantom could feel what a real woman felt like. Finally, the Island Princess looked up at the Ghost Prince with her big brown eyes. The gaze of the Island Princess has melted lesser men, but having their cock in her mouth was a rare bonus.

The Ghost Prince climaxed. The Island Princess swallowed every spectral drop because he was a Prince after all.

When he was finished, the Island Princess laid back on her bed.

“You know,” The Island Princess said, “if the other Ghosts don’t come by that would give you all night to stay with me.”

The Ghost Prince looked down at his heavy chains. “You are probably right. You would look sexy in chains.”

The Ghost Prince climbed into bed. They had sex all night long. The three Ghosts of Christmas got tired of waiting and ended up haunting a bar instead. Fat Jim spent the night dreaming of the Christmas cake he knew was waiting for him under the tree.

And that is the story of how the Island Princess did not learn a damn thing about the true meaning of Christmas.

Your Commemorative Plates

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Status Report

Zdravstvuj, readers. This is Shon's robotic sex blogging slave, Sasha38DD. Shon asked me to post a status report for him as his capitalistic ass is too lazy to do it himself. He spends most of his time sitting around playing Tropico 3 while I give him titjobs, so what can you expect?

The Choose Your Own Porn adventure is currently awaiting final editing and a magnificent cover. 'Prisoner of the Wizard's Harem' should be on sale on Lulu sometime in January. I think the book should be given away free to those who need porn the most, but Shon says he has to meet something called 'overhead'.

Also in January, 'Cell Phone Slave' should be available for downloading or printing. It is around 200 pages which surprises even me. Plans were made to include other stories with 'Cell Phone Slave' but I prevailed upon him not to. Despite Shon's lack of talent, people seem to like this story. It would be best to preserve his rare success by itself.

Shon plans to produce two Christmas stories before Christmas. In Russia, we only had one Christmas story and it was the story of how Lenin abolished a holiday designed only to help the commercial toy industrial complex.

Starting in January, Shon will premiere a second blog based on a fictional character's survival in a zombie apocalypse. Despite barely creating three posts a week for this blog, Shon has created content to be posted daily on the other blog. Stalin's fist! It is as if he was a real writer.

He is also working on a sequel to 'Wolf Inside' that he plans to release in February but that is ridiculous. It is a seven part story and he has two parts done, but with the holidays around the corner, who can expect an American to be productive?

It appears that I am being summoned. Shon wants me to help him play Left4Dead 2. He always orders me to annoy the Witch so it won't get him first. I just hope he doesn't expect me to play while wearing the mistletoe pasties again.

Fiction The Queen's Pet

Selane Danic, second daughter of the Count of the Gem Moon of Sapphiran, was not afraid. She felt she should be. The vile armies of Euphoria were laying waste to her world and the Citadel was under siege. The Wicked Queen Erishella was here herself, which meant she wanted to personally survey the rape of Sapphiran and her people.

That would explain the multitude of dead bodies around her. Selane, along with her sisters, cousins, unmarried aunts and distant blood relations of feminine gender, had been gathered to this last stronghold. Here they were to wait for the outcome of the war, and in case of certain defeat, commit suicide before the terrible Euphorian soldiers had a chance to disgrace them.

“I shall mourn you sister,” Romas, her bother, had said to her. “I shall fight with my last breathe against the Euphorians. We can not possibly win but at least their sick Queen will not get a chance to plunder the flower of Sapphiran womanhood.”

That was an hour ago before Romas had left to defend the front gates. Selane looked down at the vial in her hand. Her sisters had already taken the poison and died quite peacefully. Her aunts had taken it and looked magnificent in their death gowns. Even the quasi-noble cousins had passed on rather than risk defilement.

Selane puts her poison away. She walked to the thick doors made of alien steel. She typed on the lockpad and keyed in the two hundred digit sequence. The lock chimed open.

The doors opened to reveal a rather confused looking army. The soldiers lowered the drilling lasers they had brought with almost sheepish looks on their faces. When they saw the floor filled with corpses behind her, they took a step back from her in fear.

Selane was about to say something when the army parted before her. Queen Erishella marched towards her, surrounded by a squad of bodyguards. As she stepped past her soldiers they dropped to their knees in submission.

It was easy to see why. Erishella was in full regalia. Gold armor clung to her body as if it had been painted on. Gold discs covered her nipples while a golden version of the Skull Throne adorned her abdomen. She walked barefoot with gold bands circling her thighs and calves. Her curly black hair fell about her body like a shroud. Even though it was technically a battlefield, the Queen’s near nakedness made her appear as a Goddess among the carnage.

“You didn’t commit suicide,” Queen Erishella said. “I want to know why.”

Selane looked behind her. “I was curious to see what they were afraid of.”

Queen Erishella nodded. “And what do you think?”

It never occurred to Selane to lie. “Whatever you wish to do to me has to be more interesting than living as a Count’s daughter.”

Erishella laughed. “What is your name, Count’s daughter?”

“Selane,” she said.

“I shall give you your own name as a gift,” Erishella said. “You may keep it. My second gift is your life. What do you say to that?”

Selane looked at the army and then looked back at the Queen. “Is there a third gift?”

“Clever girl,” Erishella said. The Queen turned to a sergeant.

“Take Selane here to Chief Scientist Xor,” Erishella said. “Tell him that she is a candidate for my pet project.”

The sergeant saluted and grabbed Selane by the arm. Brutality from someone other than her father was a new experience to her. She realized she had made the right choice.

~~~

Selane had never endured an examination like this. She was naked and strapped down to a table. Chief Scientist Xor kept poking, pinching and fondling her. Was this indignity? Selane liked how it made her heart beat faster.

“Nice blonde hair,” Chief Scientist Xor said. He wasn’t speaking to her. The strange man was speaking to a computer that spoke back to him in a female voice.

“Hair analysis show that her hair is naturally that shade of yellow,” the computer said.

“Good, good,” Chief Scientist Xor said. “Breasts are plump and firm. A monthly injection of Firma-fluid should keep them that way. Her tongue has only a salivation factor of four. We can correct that in surgery. How deep is her penetration?”

Selane gasped. Something warm and long had entered her sex. She cried out as it filled her and then kept going. Just when she thought she couldn’t handle anymore, the violation retracted.

“A nine on the Depth Scale,” the female voice reported.

“Excellent,” Chief Scientist Xor said. “We won’t need to do surgery there at least. It will give me more time to work on her anal sculpting. Sedate her now.”

Something sharp poked Selane. She winced in pain. To her surprise, Chief Scientist Xor stroked her face.

“Stay calm,” he said. “I am about to do my greatest work yet.”

~~~

The hood was pulled off of Selane’s head. She blinked as she tried to take in her surroundings. It was an opulent bedroom. It was larger than most throne rooms back on Sapphiran. The bed alone was large enough to hold ten people.

Erishella stepped from behind her. She dropped the hood to the floor. Like Selane, the Queen was naked too. Despite their common nudity, Selane couldn’t help feel the superiority radiate off the Queen.

“Good evening, Selane,” Erishella said.

Selane tried to answer but all that came out of her mouth were soft squeaks. True panic gripped her as she tried to talk. Her throat felt fine but all the sound she could make was these delicate quiet sqeaks.

“You no longer need your voice,” Erishella said.

Selane could only squeak in acknowledgment.

She felt Erishella’s hand touch her bare back. A thrill of pleasure rippled over her body. The panic over losing her voice vanished instantly, replaced by a feeling that was similar to contentment, but far more satisfying.

Selane didn’t know what it was but she wanted more of it.

“Liked that, did you?” Erishella asked. The Queen stood in front of her.

Selane nodded.

Erishella reached out and placed her finger on Selane’s nipple. Slowly, she drew her finger around the nipple and then down the curve of her breast.

Selane sighed happily. She pressed herself into the Queen’s finger and when the queen moved her hand away, Selane stepped forward to follow her hand.

“Greedy girl,” Erishella said. “Your body has been rewired to release endorphins when touched. Subliminal blocks prevent you from receiving pleasure from anyone but me. Would you like to be petted some more?”

Selane squeaked in urgency.

Erishella turned around and walked towards the bed. Selane tried to follow without being told. Something within her couldn’t let the Queen walk away. She wondered if it was something they did to her brain. After the experience of being touched, Selane didn’t think they needed to.

As soon as she took her first step, Selane felt her legs give way. She tried to stand back up, but her legs refused. It was if she had forgotten how to walk. Selane squeaked in frustration but the Queen ignored her.

Selane could crawl though. Her arms and knees allowed her to crawl forward. She was conscious of how her hips swayed as she crawled. Her breasts swung back and forth as she crawled, bouncing together with quiet collisions.

Queen Erishella sat on the edge of her bed. She parted her legs and ran her fingers along her thick bush of pubic hair. The Queen looked down at Selane.

“Have a taste,” the Queen demanded.

Selane crawled between the Queen’s legs. She had made love with her handmaidens like all noblewomen of Sapphiran, but this was different. As soon as her face came near the Queen’s sex, the scent overwhelmed her senses. Her mouth watered and her own sex ached with need.

She looked up at Erishella, her eyes asking the question she will never articulate.

The Queen was through with explanations. “Now!” she growled.

Selane did as she was commanded. She parted the thick pubic hair. Her tongue reached out to lick the first drop of desire from the queen’s cunt.

A thrill ran through her. The liquid she licked was a brief drop of wonder. It tasted delicious. It tasted like the greatest food ever.

Selane had to have more. She buried her face in Erishella’s pubic hair. Her fingers parted the Queen’s lips so that her tongue could dive deep into the pool of flavor. Selane’s lips sealed over Erishella’s nether lips as she tried to taste every inch of the Queen.

The Queen groaned and grabbed Selane’s hair. The Queen was cruel with her fingers as she grabbed thick handfuls of Selane’s blonde hair in her fists. Selane whimpered at the pain in her scalp but she didn’t stop licking.

She couldn’t imagine a pain that would make her stop.

Licking the Queen was doing curious things to Selane’s body. Her own sex was flushing with desire. Every lick she took of the Queen’s cunt was sending pleasure to her own sex. Usually licking her handmaidens aroused her, but this was different. This wasn’t arousal, this was pleasure. Selane’s sex was stimulated by eating the Queen.

Selane licked faster. Her tongue savored the Queen’s clitoris. She alternated being eating the Queen and showering her sex with kisses. The Count’s daughter shamelessly held onto the Queen’s thighs as she tried to lick every delicious fulfilling drop.

Selane climaxed. Her body trembled with the strange orgasm. Without a single touch on her sex, she had climaxed harder than she had in her entire twenty years of life. The Queen’s grip on her hair kept her licking, although Selane would have gladly kept licking on her own.

Queen Erishella came soon afterwords. Powerful thighs gripped tightly around Selane’s head. The Queen screamed her orgasm with a regal passion.

Pride flushed within Selane. She was grateful that she was able to give the Queen a small measure of what she herself felt.

The Queen pulled Selane up to her. Together, they crawled under the covers. Selane fell asleep clutching Erishella’s thigh.

~~~

A sound awakened Selane. She opened her eyes and looked up. The bedroom was dark, but she could smell something. She realized what she was smelling was someone other then Erishella.

“Selane, is that you?” a voice said.

Selane lifted her head. There, clad in back and wielding a small pistol. She nodded her head in response to the question.

“Selane, it’s me, Romas,” the voice said. “By the Gem Moons, I had no idea you had been captured before committing suicide!”

“Romas!” Selane thought to herself. How had her brother made it to the flagship of the Queen? What glorious adventures must he have had to make it this far?

“Stay quiet, sister,” Romas said before she could show him that she could not in fact, speak. “One burst of plasma to the Bitch Queen’s head and the war will be over.”

One burst of plasma. One melted skull and Selane would be free. She would become a rare commodity in Sapphiran as one of the few women left with noble blood. Many great men would court her. She would be housed in a great palace with handmaidens to wait on her.

Selane pointed at the pistol and held out her hand.

“Of course,” Romas whispered grimly. “After all you have suffered; it is only fitting that she die at your hands.”

He handed her the pistol. She looked down at it and wondered how something so small could be so powerful. A single burst of plasma.

Selane shot her brother. She aimed for the chest so she would guarantee she would not miss. The bright light blinded hurt and prevented her from seeing her brother turn to ash.

A firm hand took the pistol away. Another hand touched her thigh and she moaned from the bliss. The fingernails gripped her thigh deep enough to draw blood, but all Selane felt was pleasure.

“Good pet,” Erishella said. “Very good pet. Maybe I should capture another noblewoman and give you a playmate.”

Selane purred.

Guest Post by The Island Princess

Mahu readers! This is the Island Princess! 'Mahu' is what people say instead of 'Hello' on my island. The translation is complicated but it spells out to "Greetings person, how will we work together to make the Island Princess happy today?"

That horrible person Shon Richards asked me to make a post for him today. He says he has a lot of work to do but I suspect he just wants to masturbate while watching me type. I get that ALL the time! You have no idea how many naughty people masturbate while I am doing innocent things like walking, swimming, bathing and shaking my tits. It is disgraceful!

Since I have this moment to talk to you filthy foreigners, I wanted to ask you a question. Why doesn't Shon write more about me? I am the most beautiful Princess the Island has ever seen! I have royal breasts, luscious black hair, my skin is baked brown by the sun and my ass never quits. You would think Shon would write about me all the time. He writes more about that wicked witch Erishella and that isn't fair! I came first!

What is with Shon and royal characters anyway? Why write about a Queen when you have a Princess to write about?

I want everyone to petition Shon to write more Island Princess stories. I deserve a Christmas story! If I don't get a Christmas story, then I will throw a tantrum! I will stop wearing the really short grass skirt and you know what? No more topless sunbathing. You heard me! You'll have to masturbate to some ugly woman who isn't a Princess. We'll see how much of that you can take!

I also would like to take this moment to make fun of the readers in America who do not have universal health care. I live on an Island in the middle of nowhere and wear a grass skirt, and even we have universal health care. Get with the times people!

Portrait by George Sportelli, who didn't masturbate when he did this but I bet he wanted to.

Tastes

I don't read as much porn as I used to. Fuck, I hardly read any these days.

I do watch a lot of mysteries and not the CSI forensic hunt stuff. I watch mysteries where you have to talk to people, figure out their dynamics and understand motives. Not that I don't enjoy forensic science, but people-mysteries are about people, and people have sex.

I do watch a lot of science fiction because I enjoy entertainment where anything is possible. I like people visit a new planet and encounter something odd. The explanation could be anything. Was there a planet wide transporter accident? Did a super virus convert everyone to dust? Is it time travel? When anything is possible, the brain expands to try to anticipate it.

I do read a lot of game design blogs. I don't know if I am just lucky, but I have yet to find a blog by a game designer where he sits around and talks about the things he wishes he was doing. He fucking does things. It is damn inspiring. Blogging sometimes comes across as an exercise in procrastination while game designers treat their blog as their record of progress.

I watch a lot of history shows. I used to think that nothing was interesting unless there were some Elves and Dwarfs but shit, real history is ten times more brutal. Learn about the history of United States fruit companies enslaving third world countries and you have a world of BDSM you are never going to see on Fleshbot.

I've stopping read comic books because it occurred to me that they are more interested in making me buy the next big crossover than they are with telling a good story. Stick to the good stories. Life is too short.

I do watch comedies because we all need to laugh. Especially pornographers.

I do read a lot of blogs about horror movies. The horror movie blog world is very introspective, almost more so than porn. They discuss their guilty pleasures. Not the guilty pleasures that get you a hundred profile hits on Fetlife, but the guilty pleasures that make people go "And I used to respect that guy!" Horror bloggers write about their passions and I find them more real than a lot of sex blogs.

As for porn, I don't read that much. I should. The trick to being a good writer is reading and absorbing what you like. I go through phases where I will read a sex blog and then you can almost measure the moment that their enthusiasm fades and they start writing more of what people liked in the past. There is a line where they stop writing about what interests them, and they try to deliver what they think people want.

What people want is you. They want the thing you are excited about because excitement is infectious. I do not write Erishella because I think people were in the mood for my flights of flash Gordon fancy. I can pretty much guarantee there was no demand for it, but because I loved the idea and because I had ideas from watching history, science fiction and movies, I ran with it. I think people like it but what is more important is that I love it. Happy me.

Fiction: Oral Tradition

Mr. Dillon checked his watch. It was 8 p.m. He had been cataloging erotic books for the last hour and half. His assistant, the lovely Ms. Currie, had been carefully cleaning the leather-bound editions of “Story of O” that they had acquired this morning.

He noted that she had her back to the hotel clock. It made him smile. He knew she did it to prevent herself from checking the clock every other minute.

Ms. Currie loved story time.

Mr. Dillon swiveled in his chair to face her. He unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out of his boxers. Like a good librarian, Ms. Currie made no comment until called upon.

“Ms. Currie,” he said.

Ms. Currie calmly put away the book she was cleaning. She wiped her hands and put away the cloth she was using. She rose from the chair and walked over to Mr. Dillon with quiet grace. In a single fluid motion, she dropped to her knees before his cock.

“That was very professional,” Mr. Dillon said. “However, in the future, you might want to not smile so much. It makes you look like an eager cocksucker.”

Ms. Currie’s smile didn’t falter. “I will keep that in mind, Mr. Dillon.”

“Your blouse,” he said.

He loved this part, though he would never have admitted that to her. Vanity could so ruin a librarian — more quickly even than television. Ms. Currie slowly unbuttoned her blouse. Button by button, the white blouse opened to reveal her dark skin and her impressive cleavage. The shirt opening widened to unveil the lacy bra that held in her epic breasts. Because it was a Saturday, the bra was a deep purple.

The blouse came off, but the bra stayed. When she moved, her breasts jiggled within their lace confines. If Mr. Dillon were an artist instead of a librarian, his gallery would have been filled with pictures of Ms. Currie’s breasts.

She looked up at him over her glasses. Ms. Currie was waiting for him to begin.

“Today’s history lesson takes place in 1928,” Mr. Dillon said. That was Ms. Currie’s signal to place her hands behind her back and lean forward. She opened her mouth and reached out with her tongue. His cock bobbed before her, but she guided him in with her tongue. She took his entire length into her mouth.

“A rare scroll, called the Tale of the Snake, had been discovered in Cairo,” Mr. Dillon continued. “It had been discovered by one of the many British archeologists who were looting Egyptian tombs at the time, but because of its pornographic nature, the prudish British discoverer left it to one of his native assistants. That assistant, a Mr. Mubarak, was holding onto the scroll and refused to sell it to the collection.”

Mr. Dillon paused for effect. He also paused because Ms. Currie was licking the ridge of the tip of his cock. Her full lips formed a seal that was quite delightful.

“So the librarian of the Colette-Ashbee Collection decided to go to Egypt personally to try to acquire the scroll. As I said, it was 1928. Who was the librarian of the time?”

Ms. Currie mumbled an answer without taking his cock out of her mouth. Months of practice allowed Mr. Dillon to understand her answer.

“Correct, it was Ms. Tamara Furtunatov,” Mr. Dillon said. “And what a fine woman she was; a Russian scholar and a relentless procurer of books. She came from a time when the collection hired only women with fortitude and excessive talent, not the mere college graduates we hire now.”

Ms. Currie glared at him from behind her glasses. The glare was tempered by the way her cheeks were sucked tight against his cock.

“Anyway,” Mr. Dillon continued, “Ms. Tamara Furtunatov traveled to Cairo and appealed personally to Mr. Mubarak. Her pleas fell on deaf ears, for he would not allow the Tale of the Snake to leave the country. Ms. Furtunatov did, however, negotiate to be allowed to copy the scroll, so that the Colette-Ashbee Collection could at least have a copy. She was forbidden from photographing it, so she had to copy it by hand.”

Ms. Currie tilted her neck back and forth, stroking his cock as her head swiveled. Each turn of her head also made her breasts jiggle wonderfully within her bra. Mr. Dillon wanted to reach down and squeeze them, but he resisted. He needed to get on with the story.

“There was a condition,” he continued. “Mr. Mubarak would allow Ms. Furtunatov to work on it only during the day. When night fell, she had to make love to him. She was allowed to continue work the next morning.”

Ms. Currie stopped her fantastic head movement and looked up at him.

“Oh, I know,” Mr. Dillon said. “We are librarians, not prostitutes. We never trade sex for books. Ms. Furtunatov felt that this did not break that rule, for she was not receiving a book; she was merely receiving the chance to copy a book. It is my understanding that the owners of the Collection were not amused, but they agreed with her logic.”

Mr. Dillon looked down at his assistant. “Keep that in mind, Ms. Currie. There are rules, but there is also a book of erotica to be gained. There is no higher goal.

“From what I have read of Ms. Furtunatov’s journals, her days of transcribing the scroll were an ordeal. They were not translated, so she was literally redrawing the hieroglyphics of the scroll. It was only her superb training in Egyptology that allowed her to perform such a feat. Even so, it was very slow going. She was barely able to copy one-twentieth of the scroll on the first day.”

Ms. Currie was burying her face in Mr. Dillon’s lap. His cock was at the back of her throat. Her nose and chin were resting in his pubic hair. He could feel her breath so close to him. His cock was completely encased in her wonderful mouth.

“Her nights were worse. Mr. Mubarak was a demanding lover. Every night, he consumed a strange liquid that gave him the ability to fuck for hours. He was also fond of her ass and would fuck it for hours. Ms. Furtunatov wrote that his cock was enormous in comparison to her bottom’s entry, so you can imagine what that was like.”

Ms. Currie whimpered a little.

“Oh, please,” Mr. Dillon said. “My fucking of your ass last night was nothing. It lasted barely an hour. Ms. Furtunatov had to endure an entire night of her bottom being violated. Besides, your round ass is much better suited for such activity. Ms. Furtunatov had a notoriously small bottom.”

Ms. Currie choked on his cock. Laughter was an occupational hazard for a librarian. She composed herself and kept sucking.

“After three days, Ms. Furtunatov made a discovery,” Mr. Dillon said. “She realized that some of the hieroglyphs were anachronistic. They were from the wrong dynasty. After a little research, she deduced that the entire scroll was a fraud.”

Mr. Dillon paused for effect. He could tell by the slowing of Ms. Currie’s tongue that she was digesting this information. He waited till she looked back up at him over her glasses.

“Ms. Furtunatov said nothing to her host. She continued transcribing the scroll and submitting to Mr. Mubarak for another 22 nights. When she was finished, she sent her findings to the Collection. She also walked with a limp for about three months.”

Ms. Currie looked up at him. She was expecting some sort of explanation.

Mr. Dillon was too focused on his immediate orgasm to give her one. He grabbed the back of her head and pushed her down on his cock. He held her by her bun as she sucked harder. When he climaxed, he allowed himself a satisfied groan as he emptied himself down her throat.

Ms. Currie was skilled enough to wait till she had drained every drop. When he was finished, she pulled his cock out.

“Mr. Dillon, why did she stay?” she asked. “If the scroll was a fake, what was the value of copying it?

“Because, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “It was still erotica. Written today or written centuries ago, all erotica has value.

“Except maybe that shit they write on the Internet.”

Ms. Currie smirked at that. “Thank you for today’s story,” she said.

Mr. Dillon waved it away. “You are welcome. The oral tradition is still the best.”