Two articles caught my attention in the news today.
The first is about the odious piece of anti-homosexuality legislation being debated in the Ugandan parliament.
The second is about the horrendous murders of sex workers happening out in Long Island. It’s also a surprisingly progressive piece on prostitution from The Guardian (which is odd considering The Guardian is one of the UK’s more progressive newspapers). Obviously the title is a little too sensationalist. Anti-prostitution attitudes didn’t kill those girls, a psychopath did, but it made his (assuming it is a he) work a lot easier. Same as it always does.
Sex workers have always been vulnerable. And always will be while people continue to sit on their moral high horses and try to tell the rest of the world how they should live their lives.
I wonder what it is about our species that makes us feel the need to pry into and interfere with other people’s private behaviour, even when it doesn’t affect us personally in the slightest. It seems simple to me. What happens between consenting adults behind closed doors is their own business. To anyone else: Butt out. It doesn’t concern you. Your opinions, your thoughts and especially your morality are not asked for or welcome.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
Sunday, May 08, 2011
Locked in with a Succubus, part 8
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7.
Now it really heats up. It goes without saying, but if you're not at least eighteen years old, you shouldn't be here. So go now. Don't read another word. I don't want to be responsible for your eyes catching fire and melting in your head.
“My pussy is hungry,” Nicole said, letting her soft hand caress up the underside of George’s cock. “I think it’s time to let her feed.”
George would have been more concerned by her words had his brain not been suspended in a thick fog of pleasure. Nicole looked at his empty, blissed-out state and tutted.
“First we should clear your head a little.”
She rested a palm on George’s forehead. He felt a sudden hot flash and the clouds obscuring his mind were blown aside.
“Wha-ha?” George said. He felt like he’d just woken up from a pleasant dream.
“Too much pheromone,” Nicole said.
She lay next to George and lazily pumped a hand up and down his twitching cock.
“For some of my clients it’s a kindness to have them spend their last moments submerged in a fog of purest bliss,” Nicole said. “I didn’t think that was fair on you. A man should fully experience the moment he loses his virginity.”
“Thanks. How thoughtful,” George said sourly.
Nicole slid on top of him and straddled his midriff. She pinned his arms to the gently rocking bed. She looked down at him and smiled.
“What’s the matter,” she said. “You did say you weren’t against the idea of casual sex, providing the other participant was willing.”
Her tail coiled around his cock and started to pump up and down, keeping him at full hardness.
“And I’m extremely willing,” Nicole beamed.
No, George wasn’t against the idea of casual sex. But this, spread-eagled and straddled by a demon from the pits of hell, wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured losing his virginity.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Nicole said. “I know you’re secretly enjoying this.”
She lay down on him. Her soft breasts rested on his chest. Her arms went around him in an embrace. Her pleasant perfume filled his nostrils.
“I’ll let you into a little secret,” she whispered in his ear.
Her tail continued to masturbate George’s cock. He felt his body respond as his hips started to move up and down in time with her moments.
“I don’t feel pleasure,” she said. “Not in the conventional sense. I only feel the pleasure I give to my sexual partners.”
She leant closer. Her soft lips brushed against the lobes of George’s ear. Her felt her warm breath tickle his skin.
“And I’m very adept at giving them pleasure,” she whispered.
Her tail squeezed his cock. The flat arrow-point tip wrapped over George’s glans like a tight hood. George gasped as it squeezed him. His body shuddered uncontrollably, sending waves flowing outwards across the bed, as the coils of her tail bunched up and stroked up and down his shaft. As much as his throbbing balls wanted to disgorge their contents, the seal around the base of his cock held.
Nicole sat up and laughed.
“Mmm, nice,” she said.
She released the head of his cock. George gasped as he felt the tip of her tail hook and tease the opening to his urethra as it slid off him. Shivers of pleasure ran through his body.
“I’m just a plaything for your pleasures,” he accused.
Nicole sat up. She cocked her head to the side. Her tail continued to give stimulation to his cock.
“Yes, I suppose you are,” she said. The corner of her mouth turned up in a wicked smile. “You’re my little toy and I’m going to play with you all night.”
She reached behind her to fondle his balls.
“How is this different to rape?” George asked.
Nicole put a hand to her mouth and laughed even louder than before. She pinned George’s arms back to the bed and leant down until her nose was brushing his and her empty black eyes were staring right into him.
“Silly boy,” she said. “A succubus never rapes her victims. Rape is sex without consent and a succubus’s victim always gives consent…in the end. They even expire with a smile on their face.”
That wasn’t much comfort to George.
“Don’t worry,” Nicole said. “I’ll push the corners of your mouth down so you look all serious for the undertakers.”
George’s eyes widened.
Nicole ducked down closer. “That was a joke,” she whispered in his ear.
George’s brow furrowed. What did she mean?
Nicole sat back up. She lifted her body up and moved backwards until she was directly above George’s crotch and his bobbing, swollen erection.
“Enough foreplay,” Nicole said. “It’s time my pussy was fed.”
She lowered her body and used her tail to steer George’s erection to the naked cleft of her sex. A mixture of excitement and trepidation flooded through him and he tensed as he felt her weight press lightly against the swollen head of his cock. Her labia, those thick fleshy lips, parted around his swollen glans and he felt the wet folds of her inner sex against the head of his cock.
“It’s still rape,” George said.
His hips twitched. Another orgasm was sent back by the seal Nicole had placed around the root of his cock.
Nicole laughed. “I think your body would beg to differ,” she said.
George’s hips had seceded from the rest of his body. They jerked and flexed of their own accord. Part of him had been waiting—longing—for this moment for a very long time. The little matter of the girl on top of him being a demon wasn’t going to dissuade his body from pushing his manhood up into her juicy, taunting snatch.
Nicole laughed, low and sultry. She had all the control. She rode his clumsy upward thrusts with languid ease. She kept the head of his cock pressed against her moist folds, but didn’t permit him to go any deeper. She wiggled on top of him, teasing him as she ran his swollen glans along the dripping groove of her sex. The tip of her tail curved between his legs and tickled the underside of his scrotum.
“So eager,” she chided. “You should draw out the moment for your first time. Savour it.”
George was more concerned it might also be his last time. His body, of course, didn’t care.
She stopped pinning his arms to the bed and leant backwards, bracing her hands on his thighs. She pressed her hips downwards. George watched her plump labia swell out and engulf the head of his cock. He was inside her, just the tip, but inside her nonetheless. He let out a soft groan as he felt the muscular walls of her vagina contract around the tip of his cock.
Nicole closed her eyes. Her pale white cheeks were tinged with red.
“Mmm,” she purred. “Just a taste to start with. A tiny little suck.”
The lips of her vulva started to move against him. They were sucking on the tip of his cock. Her sex was sucking on the tip of his cock. Like a mouth. George’s head fell back and another involuntary groan of pleasure escaped him.
He felt her juices. Warm and wet, they bathed the helmet of his cock and dribbled down his shaft. Just as with his tongue and lips from when she’d sat on his face, her juices magnified the sensitivity of his skin. His glans felt swollen, enormous; increasing in size until it encompassed his whole world. The warm folds of her sex swept across that world, sucking him and coating his skin in more of her body’s sinful secretions.
“Still feel like rape?” Nicole asked. “You can say no.”
George lay back and stared up into the mirror on the ceiling. Nicole was astride him, in total control. Her black wings were tightly folded up against her back. It felt like a mouth was down there, sucking on the tip of his cock. Such control.
He said nothing.
Nicole looked up and met his gaze in the mirror. Her black eyes gleamed. She smiled.
“Thought not,” she said.
She started to sink down on him, slowly taking him inside her, millimetre by exquisite millimetre. The inside of her vagina was silk. Silk impregnated with perfumed oil. It slid smoothly over his head and hugged the length of his shaft. Nicole sank all the way down on him until she was kissing the base of his cock.
Nicole’s eyes gleamed with triumph as she stared down at him. The succubus had him. He was in her. He was hers.
“Would you have stopped,” George asked, “if I’d said no?”
Nicole cocked her head to one side, thoughtful as she considered his question.
“No,” she answered.
Her vagina convulsed. The walls undulated up and down George’s erection. Inside her, his cock was deluged in thick, warm fluids that sank into his skin and sent his nerve endings wild with pleasure.
George’s head crashed back down on the mattress and he thrashed it from side to side as ecstasy washed through him in a wave.
“But I might have felt a little guilty about it,” Nicole said.
Calm and perfectly poised, she started to move her hips up and down. Her full breasts bobbed with her movements, but the rest of her body was still and composed. The bed rocked and swayed beneath them and Nicole incorporated the undulations into her movements, timing each downward thrust to match the rising crest of each wave.
“Poor little virgin,” she teased. Her pale face was beautiful, radiant, terrible. “Defiled by the evil succubus. You’re my little toy now. Drown in my lusts.”
George was sinking. He still lay on top of the pitching surface of the waterbed, but he was drowning nonetheless. All his thoughts were being crowded out. The only thing left was the sinuous motion of her hips as she smoothly engulfed his cock within her silken sheath again and again.
“Drown little virgin,” Nicole whispered. “Give yourself up to my lusts.”
George writhed beneath her. His own body was betraying him. His hips began to push up and meet her thrusts, driving his manhood deep inside her warm vagina.
There was something at the end of the tunnel of her sex, he realised dimly—a pad of flesh that was hot and lusciously soft. As Nicole’s thrusts grew longer and deeper, the head of his cock nudged up against it. It felt…pleasant. The tip of George’s cock came away with nice tingling sensation and a desire to bury it deeper into that thick soft cushion.
Nicole came down hard, pushing George’s erection all the way up inside her vagina. His cock pressed against that soft obstruction and suddenly it came alive. Soft, hot, moist flesh ballooned around the fleshy helmet of George’s cock and engulfed it—absorbing it almost—in a tight muscular grip.
Nicole gave a sharp intake of breath. She paused. Her vagina contracted—hard—around George’s shaft, trapping him in a tight, fleshy vice. Her eyes widened.
“Oh crap,” she said.
Uh oh. To be continued...
Now it really heats up. It goes without saying, but if you're not at least eighteen years old, you shouldn't be here. So go now. Don't read another word. I don't want to be responsible for your eyes catching fire and melting in your head.
“My pussy is hungry,” Nicole said, letting her soft hand caress up the underside of George’s cock. “I think it’s time to let her feed.”
George would have been more concerned by her words had his brain not been suspended in a thick fog of pleasure. Nicole looked at his empty, blissed-out state and tutted.
“First we should clear your head a little.”
She rested a palm on George’s forehead. He felt a sudden hot flash and the clouds obscuring his mind were blown aside.
“Wha-ha?” George said. He felt like he’d just woken up from a pleasant dream.
“Too much pheromone,” Nicole said.
She lay next to George and lazily pumped a hand up and down his twitching cock.
“For some of my clients it’s a kindness to have them spend their last moments submerged in a fog of purest bliss,” Nicole said. “I didn’t think that was fair on you. A man should fully experience the moment he loses his virginity.”
“Thanks. How thoughtful,” George said sourly.
Nicole slid on top of him and straddled his midriff. She pinned his arms to the gently rocking bed. She looked down at him and smiled.
“What’s the matter,” she said. “You did say you weren’t against the idea of casual sex, providing the other participant was willing.”
Her tail coiled around his cock and started to pump up and down, keeping him at full hardness.
“And I’m extremely willing,” Nicole beamed.
No, George wasn’t against the idea of casual sex. But this, spread-eagled and straddled by a demon from the pits of hell, wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured losing his virginity.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Nicole said. “I know you’re secretly enjoying this.”
She lay down on him. Her soft breasts rested on his chest. Her arms went around him in an embrace. Her pleasant perfume filled his nostrils.
“I’ll let you into a little secret,” she whispered in his ear.
Her tail continued to masturbate George’s cock. He felt his body respond as his hips started to move up and down in time with her moments.
“I don’t feel pleasure,” she said. “Not in the conventional sense. I only feel the pleasure I give to my sexual partners.”
She leant closer. Her soft lips brushed against the lobes of George’s ear. Her felt her warm breath tickle his skin.
“And I’m very adept at giving them pleasure,” she whispered.
Her tail squeezed his cock. The flat arrow-point tip wrapped over George’s glans like a tight hood. George gasped as it squeezed him. His body shuddered uncontrollably, sending waves flowing outwards across the bed, as the coils of her tail bunched up and stroked up and down his shaft. As much as his throbbing balls wanted to disgorge their contents, the seal around the base of his cock held.
Nicole sat up and laughed.
“Mmm, nice,” she said.
She released the head of his cock. George gasped as he felt the tip of her tail hook and tease the opening to his urethra as it slid off him. Shivers of pleasure ran through his body.
“I’m just a plaything for your pleasures,” he accused.
Nicole sat up. She cocked her head to the side. Her tail continued to give stimulation to his cock.
“Yes, I suppose you are,” she said. The corner of her mouth turned up in a wicked smile. “You’re my little toy and I’m going to play with you all night.”
She reached behind her to fondle his balls.
“How is this different to rape?” George asked.
Nicole put a hand to her mouth and laughed even louder than before. She pinned George’s arms back to the bed and leant down until her nose was brushing his and her empty black eyes were staring right into him.
“Silly boy,” she said. “A succubus never rapes her victims. Rape is sex without consent and a succubus’s victim always gives consent…in the end. They even expire with a smile on their face.”
That wasn’t much comfort to George.
“Don’t worry,” Nicole said. “I’ll push the corners of your mouth down so you look all serious for the undertakers.”
George’s eyes widened.
Nicole ducked down closer. “That was a joke,” she whispered in his ear.
George’s brow furrowed. What did she mean?
Nicole sat back up. She lifted her body up and moved backwards until she was directly above George’s crotch and his bobbing, swollen erection.
“Enough foreplay,” Nicole said. “It’s time my pussy was fed.”
She lowered her body and used her tail to steer George’s erection to the naked cleft of her sex. A mixture of excitement and trepidation flooded through him and he tensed as he felt her weight press lightly against the swollen head of his cock. Her labia, those thick fleshy lips, parted around his swollen glans and he felt the wet folds of her inner sex against the head of his cock.
“It’s still rape,” George said.
His hips twitched. Another orgasm was sent back by the seal Nicole had placed around the root of his cock.
Nicole laughed. “I think your body would beg to differ,” she said.
George’s hips had seceded from the rest of his body. They jerked and flexed of their own accord. Part of him had been waiting—longing—for this moment for a very long time. The little matter of the girl on top of him being a demon wasn’t going to dissuade his body from pushing his manhood up into her juicy, taunting snatch.
Nicole laughed, low and sultry. She had all the control. She rode his clumsy upward thrusts with languid ease. She kept the head of his cock pressed against her moist folds, but didn’t permit him to go any deeper. She wiggled on top of him, teasing him as she ran his swollen glans along the dripping groove of her sex. The tip of her tail curved between his legs and tickled the underside of his scrotum.
“So eager,” she chided. “You should draw out the moment for your first time. Savour it.”
George was more concerned it might also be his last time. His body, of course, didn’t care.
She stopped pinning his arms to the bed and leant backwards, bracing her hands on his thighs. She pressed her hips downwards. George watched her plump labia swell out and engulf the head of his cock. He was inside her, just the tip, but inside her nonetheless. He let out a soft groan as he felt the muscular walls of her vagina contract around the tip of his cock.
Nicole closed her eyes. Her pale white cheeks were tinged with red.
“Mmm,” she purred. “Just a taste to start with. A tiny little suck.”
The lips of her vulva started to move against him. They were sucking on the tip of his cock. Her sex was sucking on the tip of his cock. Like a mouth. George’s head fell back and another involuntary groan of pleasure escaped him.
He felt her juices. Warm and wet, they bathed the helmet of his cock and dribbled down his shaft. Just as with his tongue and lips from when she’d sat on his face, her juices magnified the sensitivity of his skin. His glans felt swollen, enormous; increasing in size until it encompassed his whole world. The warm folds of her sex swept across that world, sucking him and coating his skin in more of her body’s sinful secretions.
“Still feel like rape?” Nicole asked. “You can say no.”
George lay back and stared up into the mirror on the ceiling. Nicole was astride him, in total control. Her black wings were tightly folded up against her back. It felt like a mouth was down there, sucking on the tip of his cock. Such control.
He said nothing.
Nicole looked up and met his gaze in the mirror. Her black eyes gleamed. She smiled.
“Thought not,” she said.
She started to sink down on him, slowly taking him inside her, millimetre by exquisite millimetre. The inside of her vagina was silk. Silk impregnated with perfumed oil. It slid smoothly over his head and hugged the length of his shaft. Nicole sank all the way down on him until she was kissing the base of his cock.
Nicole’s eyes gleamed with triumph as she stared down at him. The succubus had him. He was in her. He was hers.
“Would you have stopped,” George asked, “if I’d said no?”
Nicole cocked her head to one side, thoughtful as she considered his question.
“No,” she answered.
Her vagina convulsed. The walls undulated up and down George’s erection. Inside her, his cock was deluged in thick, warm fluids that sank into his skin and sent his nerve endings wild with pleasure.
George’s head crashed back down on the mattress and he thrashed it from side to side as ecstasy washed through him in a wave.
“But I might have felt a little guilty about it,” Nicole said.
Calm and perfectly poised, she started to move her hips up and down. Her full breasts bobbed with her movements, but the rest of her body was still and composed. The bed rocked and swayed beneath them and Nicole incorporated the undulations into her movements, timing each downward thrust to match the rising crest of each wave.
“Poor little virgin,” she teased. Her pale face was beautiful, radiant, terrible. “Defiled by the evil succubus. You’re my little toy now. Drown in my lusts.”
George was sinking. He still lay on top of the pitching surface of the waterbed, but he was drowning nonetheless. All his thoughts were being crowded out. The only thing left was the sinuous motion of her hips as she smoothly engulfed his cock within her silken sheath again and again.
“Drown little virgin,” Nicole whispered. “Give yourself up to my lusts.”
George writhed beneath her. His own body was betraying him. His hips began to push up and meet her thrusts, driving his manhood deep inside her warm vagina.
There was something at the end of the tunnel of her sex, he realised dimly—a pad of flesh that was hot and lusciously soft. As Nicole’s thrusts grew longer and deeper, the head of his cock nudged up against it. It felt…pleasant. The tip of George’s cock came away with nice tingling sensation and a desire to bury it deeper into that thick soft cushion.
Nicole came down hard, pushing George’s erection all the way up inside her vagina. His cock pressed against that soft obstruction and suddenly it came alive. Soft, hot, moist flesh ballooned around the fleshy helmet of George’s cock and engulfed it—absorbing it almost—in a tight muscular grip.
Nicole gave a sharp intake of breath. She paused. Her vagina contracted—hard—around George’s shaft, trapping him in a tight, fleshy vice. Her eyes widened.
“Oh crap,” she said.
Uh oh. To be continued...
Thursday, May 05, 2011
I’d like to vote to have less of a vote, please
Tomorrow (or most likely today when this goes up), Britain is holding a referendum on whether to change its voting system from a First Past The Post system to an Alternative Vote system. Now this is a complicated issue, with many politicians on all sides of the political spectrum weighing in with complex opinions.
Essentially though, it boils down to this:
Essentially though, it boils down to this:
- A. Yes. I would like my vote to have more of a say in who governs me.
- B. No. I don’t want my vote to have more of a say in who governs me.
Monday, May 02, 2011
Locked in with a Succubus, part 7
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.
“Relax. There’s no escape now,” Nicole whispered in his ear. “Mmm, I like to let my victims melt with pleasure. Then I slurp them all up like delicious ice cream.”
George remembered why he should be afraid.
“Still frightened?” Nicole asked. “My my, you are a troublesome client.”
She slid an arm underneath his body, grabbed his arm and pulled, spinning George around until he lay on his back with Nicole on top of him. The waterbed sagged beneath him, comfortable but also a prison.
He saw again her horns and those empty black eyes.
Still frightened? You betcha.
“People will notice if I go missing,” he said. “They know I’m here.”
Nicole put an elegant hand to her mouth and laughed.
“I hope you don’t play cards for money,” she said. “You don’t bluff well.”
She pulled off her panties.
“Of course Miss Kitson knows you’re here,” Nicole said. “She did send you to me after all.”
George’s eyes widened. Why would Miss Kitson do that?
“Now shut up and soak in my pheromones for a while,” Nicole said.
She shifted position until she was crouched above his face and facing his feet. George got an extreme close-up view of the shaven lips of her pussy. George might not have had sex, but he’d still seen his share of porn films. Nicole’s labia seemed plusher and somehow more comfortable looking than the girls he’d seen in those films. They tugged at him with a primal urge and his cock twitched to life as the image of slipping it between those cushioned lips entered his thoughts.
“That’s more like it,” Nicole said as she bent down to caress his erection with her hand.
Her labia twitched, gaping hungrily to reveal a glistening red tunnel. George shivered. The girls in the films he’d watched had never been able to do that. No human was able to do that.
Nicole laughed at his fear. “Just wait, in a moment this lovely rock-hard cock is going to be inside there. Then my sweet little cunt will suck all that fear right out of you. As well as everything else,” she added with a wicked laugh.
George didn’t get a chance to protest. Nicole sat down, smothering his face in the soft flesh of her ass. The bed rocked and swayed beneath him as she ground her body against him. He felt the moist folds of her sex rub against his nose and mouth. Something slender and whip-like wound around his throat.
He couldn’t breathe. Her ass covered his face like a pillow, blocking off his airways. Her warm juices dribbled onto and between his lips. Each drip set off firecrackers of sensation across his nerve-endings. The opposite of a numbing agent, her fluids heightened the sensitivity of whatever skin they came into contact with. George’s lips and tongue fizzed with pleasure. Nicole laughed wickedly and wiggled her body on top of his face.
George still couldn’t breathe. Her tail tightened around his neck like a noose. His mouth and nose were smothered between her ass cheeks. He started to feel light-headed.
Nicole waited until he was on the verge of passing out—George had no idea how she knew; she just knew—and lifted up her ass. Grateful, George took a deep breath—
—and nearly choked on an overpowering, musky scent. It surrounded his head in a cloying cloud and—with his lungs starved for air—George was helpless as he drew the heady perfume into his body. His first instinct was to cough out the corrupted air, but he had no chance to do that as Nicole was already sitting back down on him, smothering him back between the luscious curves of her ass.
The scent was like a fine liqueur—the first taste abrasive, but after that becoming smooth, warm, pleasant; something to crave. Tendrils of perfume twined up his nostrils and wrapped his brain up in soft cotton wool. He felt like he was floating up in the clouds. The bed, so soft and comfortable beneath him, felt like a big fluffy cloud.
The next time Nicole raised her ass George was eager to inhale more of her sweet-smelling musk. He felt it rush down through his body like a head of steam. The pressure built up beneath his manhood and it swelled up even harder until it was throbbing with need.
“Mmm yes,” Nicole purred. “Drown in my lust.”
She folded her body down on him until her breasts were resting on his midriff. Long, skilful fingers touched, prodded and flicked his erection. They crawled down between his legs and tickled through the hairs on his testicles. George’s sigh of pleasure was cut off—smothered—in the descending folds of Nicole’s sex.
A soft hand wrapped around the base of George’s cock. Soft, full lips kissed the tip. Just a light peck for the first, second and third touch. For the fourth, the lips remained there, pressed against the swollen mushroom head of his dick. They slowly sucked, drawing the tip into her mouth like a strand of spaghetti. A quicksilver tongue lapped up the pre-cum drooling from the opening to his urethra.
George groaned into her smothering pussy. His body twitched.
“A-ha,” Nicole released his cock and scolded. “Not yet.”
She pursed her lips and blew on the tip of George’s cock. Something—it felt like a smoke ring or bubble of energy, yet tangible—rolled down the outside of George’s shaft. It settled at the root and cinched tight, choking off George’s premature orgasm before it even started. Dammed, the pleasure backed up and cascaded through George’s writhing body.
“You don’t come until I say you can come,” Nicole said, her voice as soft and as authoritative as an old-fashioned schoolmistress.
Her warm lips enclosed the head of his cock and gave another teasing suck.
“And I’m not letting you come until you’re buried deep inside my hungry vagina,” she released his cock to say.
Her warm breath flowed over and teased the throbbing head of his cock with maddening swirls. Nicole dipped her head forward and took another teasing suck, going deeper this time, letting the head of George’s cock rest on her moist, fleshy tongue. One hand pumped the base of his cock while the fingers of the other fondled and toyed with his balls.
George writhed and squirmed beneath her, battered by waves of sensation crashing through his body. He was helpless as she used her fingers and mouth to play him like a virtuoso musician. Unused to the touch of a woman, he felt the desire to come rise in him again and again, only to crash into and be repelled by the choke around the root of his penis.
Nicole shifted position, climbing off his face. George was finally able to take a breath untainted with the odour of her sex.
“My pussy is hungry,” Nicole said, letting her soft hand caress up the underside of George’s cock. “I think it’s time to let her feed.”
To be continued...
“Relax. There’s no escape now,” Nicole whispered in his ear. “Mmm, I like to let my victims melt with pleasure. Then I slurp them all up like delicious ice cream.”
George remembered why he should be afraid.
“Still frightened?” Nicole asked. “My my, you are a troublesome client.”
She slid an arm underneath his body, grabbed his arm and pulled, spinning George around until he lay on his back with Nicole on top of him. The waterbed sagged beneath him, comfortable but also a prison.
He saw again her horns and those empty black eyes.
Still frightened? You betcha.
“People will notice if I go missing,” he said. “They know I’m here.”
Nicole put an elegant hand to her mouth and laughed.
“I hope you don’t play cards for money,” she said. “You don’t bluff well.”
She pulled off her panties.
“Of course Miss Kitson knows you’re here,” Nicole said. “She did send you to me after all.”
George’s eyes widened. Why would Miss Kitson do that?
“Now shut up and soak in my pheromones for a while,” Nicole said.
She shifted position until she was crouched above his face and facing his feet. George got an extreme close-up view of the shaven lips of her pussy. George might not have had sex, but he’d still seen his share of porn films. Nicole’s labia seemed plusher and somehow more comfortable looking than the girls he’d seen in those films. They tugged at him with a primal urge and his cock twitched to life as the image of slipping it between those cushioned lips entered his thoughts.
“That’s more like it,” Nicole said as she bent down to caress his erection with her hand.
Her labia twitched, gaping hungrily to reveal a glistening red tunnel. George shivered. The girls in the films he’d watched had never been able to do that. No human was able to do that.
Nicole laughed at his fear. “Just wait, in a moment this lovely rock-hard cock is going to be inside there. Then my sweet little cunt will suck all that fear right out of you. As well as everything else,” she added with a wicked laugh.
George didn’t get a chance to protest. Nicole sat down, smothering his face in the soft flesh of her ass. The bed rocked and swayed beneath him as she ground her body against him. He felt the moist folds of her sex rub against his nose and mouth. Something slender and whip-like wound around his throat.
He couldn’t breathe. Her ass covered his face like a pillow, blocking off his airways. Her warm juices dribbled onto and between his lips. Each drip set off firecrackers of sensation across his nerve-endings. The opposite of a numbing agent, her fluids heightened the sensitivity of whatever skin they came into contact with. George’s lips and tongue fizzed with pleasure. Nicole laughed wickedly and wiggled her body on top of his face.
George still couldn’t breathe. Her tail tightened around his neck like a noose. His mouth and nose were smothered between her ass cheeks. He started to feel light-headed.
Nicole waited until he was on the verge of passing out—George had no idea how she knew; she just knew—and lifted up her ass. Grateful, George took a deep breath—
—and nearly choked on an overpowering, musky scent. It surrounded his head in a cloying cloud and—with his lungs starved for air—George was helpless as he drew the heady perfume into his body. His first instinct was to cough out the corrupted air, but he had no chance to do that as Nicole was already sitting back down on him, smothering him back between the luscious curves of her ass.
The scent was like a fine liqueur—the first taste abrasive, but after that becoming smooth, warm, pleasant; something to crave. Tendrils of perfume twined up his nostrils and wrapped his brain up in soft cotton wool. He felt like he was floating up in the clouds. The bed, so soft and comfortable beneath him, felt like a big fluffy cloud.
The next time Nicole raised her ass George was eager to inhale more of her sweet-smelling musk. He felt it rush down through his body like a head of steam. The pressure built up beneath his manhood and it swelled up even harder until it was throbbing with need.
“Mmm yes,” Nicole purred. “Drown in my lust.”
She folded her body down on him until her breasts were resting on his midriff. Long, skilful fingers touched, prodded and flicked his erection. They crawled down between his legs and tickled through the hairs on his testicles. George’s sigh of pleasure was cut off—smothered—in the descending folds of Nicole’s sex.
A soft hand wrapped around the base of George’s cock. Soft, full lips kissed the tip. Just a light peck for the first, second and third touch. For the fourth, the lips remained there, pressed against the swollen mushroom head of his dick. They slowly sucked, drawing the tip into her mouth like a strand of spaghetti. A quicksilver tongue lapped up the pre-cum drooling from the opening to his urethra.
George groaned into her smothering pussy. His body twitched.
“A-ha,” Nicole released his cock and scolded. “Not yet.”
She pursed her lips and blew on the tip of George’s cock. Something—it felt like a smoke ring or bubble of energy, yet tangible—rolled down the outside of George’s shaft. It settled at the root and cinched tight, choking off George’s premature orgasm before it even started. Dammed, the pleasure backed up and cascaded through George’s writhing body.
“You don’t come until I say you can come,” Nicole said, her voice as soft and as authoritative as an old-fashioned schoolmistress.
Her warm lips enclosed the head of his cock and gave another teasing suck.
“And I’m not letting you come until you’re buried deep inside my hungry vagina,” she released his cock to say.
Her warm breath flowed over and teased the throbbing head of his cock with maddening swirls. Nicole dipped her head forward and took another teasing suck, going deeper this time, letting the head of George’s cock rest on her moist, fleshy tongue. One hand pumped the base of his cock while the fingers of the other fondled and toyed with his balls.
George writhed and squirmed beneath her, battered by waves of sensation crashing through his body. He was helpless as she used her fingers and mouth to play him like a virtuoso musician. Unused to the touch of a woman, he felt the desire to come rise in him again and again, only to crash into and be repelled by the choke around the root of his penis.
Nicole shifted position, climbing off his face. George was finally able to take a breath untainted with the odour of her sex.
“My pussy is hungry,” Nicole said, letting her soft hand caress up the underside of George’s cock. “I think it’s time to let her feed.”
To be continued...
Friday, April 29, 2011
Riddles and Validations
A little bit of tubthumping I did over at The Self Publishing Revolution.
Riddle me this:
What’s the difference between a self-pubbed author who sells X copies and a trad-pubbed author who sells X copies?
(I haven’t, by the way, but if you’d like to help me achieve this goal and have a liking for weird, kinky horror, please feel free to mosey on over here…)
It’s easy to be insecure as a writer. There aren’t finishing lines to cross first, opponents to punch out or teams to score more points than. As with most creative endeavours, where quality is subjective, it’s hard to tell if you’re any good or not.
Acceptance with a publishing house gives validation, or so the argument goes (although Joe Konrath refers to it as an example of Stockholm Syndrome). It’s a stamp of approval. Get that deal—and the advance—and a writer can say with authority, “Yes, I am a real author!”
The problem with self-publishing is the ‘published’ part is always going to come with air quotes. If any old oik can shove their badly written mush up onto Amazon, then ‘being published’ no longer feels like an achievement. For that reason self-publishing is often pushed aside and treated as a special case. If the author had to do it themselves, they probably weren’t good enough to be published in the first place. I think many of us have held this view at some point and some almost certainly still do. Check the membership guidelines of professional writers' organisations like the HWA and SFWA and you’ll see very clear stipulations on what does or doesn’t count as a valid publication for obtaining active membership.
Now that the ebook explosion has burst the dam, how important is the traditional stamp of approval?
As validation goes, that stamp is only a proxy when you think about it. To use a simple fantasy analogy, it’s an entrance exam granting permission to go and slay the dragon. Congratulations! You passed. But you still have to go and kill that dragon…
If someone else decides to skip all those stupid trials, goes straight to the dragon and hacks its head right off, are they any less of a dragonslayer?
In this case the dragon—and true validation—is finding an audience, whether it is small and distinguished or massive and lucrative.
What happens when more and more writers choose to go it alone, not because they aren’t good enough, but because it makes more economic sense than signing away a huge chunk of their royalties? Clauses like this (from HWA’s active membership requirements)
will cease to make any sense. As will references to 5¢/word rates and minimum advances.
Riddle me this:
Person A gets a $5,000 advance from an accredited publisher, but only goes on to sell a couple of hundred copies. Person B makes $10,000 a month selling 99¢ self-published ebooks on Amazon. Which one is the professional author?
(I’m not trying to bash the HWA, by the way. I was a fresh-faced wannabe member a while back and I found them helpful in terms of market information and discovering new writers I hadn’t read before.)
Which leads us back to the original question:
What’s the difference between a self-pubbed author who sells X copies and a trad-pubbed author who sells X copies?
My gut says the answer is this:
Riddle me this:
What’s the difference between a self-pubbed author who sells X copies and a trad-pubbed author who sells X copies?
(I haven’t, by the way, but if you’d like to help me achieve this goal and have a liking for weird, kinky horror, please feel free to mosey on over here…)
It’s easy to be insecure as a writer. There aren’t finishing lines to cross first, opponents to punch out or teams to score more points than. As with most creative endeavours, where quality is subjective, it’s hard to tell if you’re any good or not.
Acceptance with a publishing house gives validation, or so the argument goes (although Joe Konrath refers to it as an example of Stockholm Syndrome). It’s a stamp of approval. Get that deal—and the advance—and a writer can say with authority, “Yes, I am a real author!”
The problem with self-publishing is the ‘published’ part is always going to come with air quotes. If any old oik can shove their badly written mush up onto Amazon, then ‘being published’ no longer feels like an achievement. For that reason self-publishing is often pushed aside and treated as a special case. If the author had to do it themselves, they probably weren’t good enough to be published in the first place. I think many of us have held this view at some point and some almost certainly still do. Check the membership guidelines of professional writers' organisations like the HWA and SFWA and you’ll see very clear stipulations on what does or doesn’t count as a valid publication for obtaining active membership.
Now that the ebook explosion has burst the dam, how important is the traditional stamp of approval?
As validation goes, that stamp is only a proxy when you think about it. To use a simple fantasy analogy, it’s an entrance exam granting permission to go and slay the dragon. Congratulations! You passed. But you still have to go and kill that dragon…
If someone else decides to skip all those stupid trials, goes straight to the dragon and hacks its head right off, are they any less of a dragonslayer?
In this case the dragon—and true validation—is finding an audience, whether it is small and distinguished or massive and lucrative.
What happens when more and more writers choose to go it alone, not because they aren’t good enough, but because it makes more economic sense than signing away a huge chunk of their royalties? Clauses like this (from HWA’s active membership requirements)
With the sole exception of comic books, self-published work can not be used for qualification purposes. "Self-published work" is defined as written material disseminated by the author (for example, email or electronic publications, publication on the author's Web site, or printed publications sold on consignment or solely by the author), or written material whose basic publication costs are defrayed in whole or in part by the author.
will cease to make any sense. As will references to 5¢/word rates and minimum advances.
Riddle me this:
Person A gets a $5,000 advance from an accredited publisher, but only goes on to sell a couple of hundred copies. Person B makes $10,000 a month selling 99¢ self-published ebooks on Amazon. Which one is the professional author?
(I’m not trying to bash the HWA, by the way. I was a fresh-faced wannabe member a while back and I found them helpful in terms of market information and discovering new writers I hadn’t read before.)
Which leads us back to the original question:
What’s the difference between a self-pubbed author who sells X copies and a trad-pubbed author who sells X copies?
My gut says the answer is this:
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Locked in with a Succubus, part 6
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.
“Then I’m sorry to disappoint you,” George said. “I only run that line to make the ladies think better of me. Do you honestly believe a man can get to thirty-four—in this day and age—without ever having sex?”
Nicole chuckled. She leant over him until his eyes were staring up into hers. Their emptiness was a hole that threatened to tug out his soul and reel it up into limitless black depths.
“Cute bluff,” she said. “Not very effective when I can see it clearly for myself.”
“How?” George said. “It’s not like I have a hymen or anything. What’s the difference between spunking my load into a woman’s vagina or the palm of my hand?”
“We know,” Nicole said.
She dipped her head and sniffed George’s chest. Her cheeks reddened and she sighed in pleasure.
“Here.” She took his hand and pressed the palm against her crotch. “Do you think this happens around every man?”
George’s eyes widened. The fabric of her panties was completely sodden. He felt the cleft of her sex beneath. He drew his hand back in alarm as he felt her vulva move independently against his hand. Like a mouth.
Unabashed hunger shone in Nicole’s eyes.
“I want so much to shove your hard cock in my pussy and suck and suck and suck,” she said, her supple lips coming together in a luscious pout.
As much as the prospect thrilled George, he knew it would be too much for him. She’d be too much for him. Her passion would incinerate him like a moth in a candle flame. He had to get away.
Nicole started to undress him, first peeling off his jumper and vest from his unresisting body. As she moved down to his trousers George felt flickers of life return to his limbs. The paralysis, or strange state of blissful enervation, was wearing off. He rolled over and kicked out blindly as Nicole tugged at his trousers and underwear. The bed rocked and swayed with violent motion as he struggled beneath her.
His trousers came away and with them Nicole. Naked now, George crawled across the wildly pitching surface of the bed. He reached out with a hand, found the hard rim of the bed, started to pull himself towards it.
A warm weight settled on his back. Nicole lay on top of him, her soft breasts squashed against his back. George stopped squirming.
“It’s really not possible for a man to fight a succubus from this position,” she whispered in his ear. “Not when he’s naked and she’s on top of him. Not when her naked flesh is pressed against his.”
George’s mouth gaped open and he released a little sigh. Her skin felt so good against him—warm and smooth like silk. He felt a pleasant buzz wherever she came into contact with him, a luxurious tingle which left the rest of his skin hungering to experience the same pleasure.
“It takes the fight right out of them.” Nicole dripped honeyed sin into his ear. “It’s pushed aside as all those illicit little desires come bubbling to the surface.”
George gave another soft little groan. His thoughts were submerged beneath a deluge of pornographic images. Full pouting red lips; eyes gleaming with lust; ripe, round breasts with perky erect nipples; glistening pink pussies—all calling out to him, hungry for him. George struggled to hold on as the torrent threatened to wash his mind away.
Nicole came closer. Her soft lips brushed against his ear. “I can satisfy all of them, every last filthy one of them,” she whispered in his ear.
George shivered beneath her.
She ran a claw lightly over the skin of his shoulder. “What? Doesn’t that appeal to you?”
It did, but his terror of the consequences more than outweighed the stirrings he felt in his balls. It was so unfair.
“Being a virgin at thirty-four is bad enough,” George said. “Now I get to be savoured as a delicacy by a devil because of it. Whatever happened to punishing the deserving sinners?”
Nicole’s finger tickled down between his ass cheeks.
“We wouldn’t be considered evil if we only targeted the bad people,” Nicole said. “Do you consider this to be punishment?”
She lightly kissed the back of his shoulder. Her hand cupped his balls and gently pumped. A warm burst of pleasure washed over George’s body.
“Oh, but you do,” Nicole said. “You tremble like prey. You smell of fear like prey. If I fuck you like this I’ll surely eat you all up like prey.”
She straddled the small of his back and sat up. Out of the corner of his eye George saw her tail loop around the handle of one of the exotic bottles sitting on a bedside shelf. Her tail lifted it up and brought it back to her.
“I think we’ll wear away all those fears with a sexy little massage,” Nicole said.
George heard her work the pump handle of the bottle. He felt a cool liquid splash across his back. It didn’t remain cool for long as her skilful hands started to rub and knead it into his flesh. She pushed her hands up either side of his spine and then across his shoulders, spreading a pleasant little buzz in her wake. They moved up to his neck and she used her long fingers to work out the knots in his muscles. The fragrant aroma of the massage oil tickled his nostrils.
“My, so much tension,” she said. “Have you ever been massaged before?”
“No,” George replied.
Nicole squirted more oil onto his back and danced along his spine with her thumbs. She pressed down with her palms and slid them out to George’s sides, smoothing out the flesh beneath them. A nice feeling of warmth permeated through the muscles of his back.
“You were never tempted to pay a visit to one of those naughty little massage parlours?” Nicole asked.
Her hands glided up to the back of his neck and rubbed behind his ears with soothing circular movements.
“I was always curious about what went on in those places,” George replied. “Miss Kitson suggested I go in and find out. We had a little joke about it.”
He paused.
“I thought about it,” he admitted, “a little, but it was never going to happen. You never know where the girls are from, whether they’re on drugs, crazy, under duress. Not worth the risk. Even if it went fine, I’d still feel like I cheated.”
George didn’t know why he was so forthcoming all of a sudden. He felt odd again. Fogged up. The scented oil smelt extremely pleasant and Nicole’s hands were supremely skilled at working out the kinks and knots in his muscles.
“Miss Kitson did book a masseuse for me one time,” he said. “Not this type,” he added hastily, “a sports masseuse.”
“Sports masseuse?” Nicole queried.
“Yeah. I hurt my knee and Miss Kitson sent a girl round to look at it. A pretty young oriental woman. Really pretty, actually. She had me strip down to nothing but a towel and I was really embarrassed she’d see I had an erection.”
Nicole paused. She chuckled at a joke only she understood.
“Of course she’d try Arisa first,” Nicole murmured. “The weaver and the serpent aren’t reliable enough and she definitely couldn’t send you to the Scottish village.”
“Arisa, yes, that was her name,” George said, surprised Nicole knew it also. “Lovely girl. Had a really nice smile. We never went through with the massage in the end. Something cropped up at the last minute and she had to leave in a hurry. Some kind of family emergency. At least that’s what she said. I think she took one look at my hairy back and legged it.”
Nicole laughed at another private joke.
“I think you have a very nice back,” she said, straightening her arms and rubbing her hands over his shoulder blades. Her sultry voice drifted over him like a warm quilt.
“We never did get round to making another appointment,” George said wistfully.
“A shame,” Nicole said. “I hear Arisa gives a very pleasant body-to-body massage. Truly enveloping.”
Her fingers kneaded the muscles of George’s neck and shoulders.
“And lucky,” Nicole added. “I hear she’s also quite the maneater.”
She bent down low, sniffed the back of George’s neck and murmured contently. George felt the wetness of her sex where it rubbed against the small of his back.
“I’m not without my own talents,” Nicole whispered in his ear.
She lay down on top of him. Her arms went around him, her thighs squeezed against his sides and she squashed her soft breasts against his back. The pleasant tingle of skin-to-skin contact was all around him. Ripples of pleasure ran out across his skin from where her nipples pressed against his flesh. Her heat—and lust—enfolded him. He soaked in it, drew it in through his skin in a form of osmosis. Nicole murmured. She held him tighter. The flow of pleasure increased. George felt trailers of fire race through his blood vessels. He moaned as he felt the heat settle in his balls. They felt bloated—overripe—and the desire to plunge his cock into a soft, snug orifice and relieve the pressure grew overwhelming, shouldering aside other thoughts.
“Relax. There’s no escape now,” Nicole whispered in his ear. “Mmm, I like to let my victims melt with pleasure. Then I slurp them all up like delicious ice cream.”
George remembered why he should be afraid.
To be continued...
“Then I’m sorry to disappoint you,” George said. “I only run that line to make the ladies think better of me. Do you honestly believe a man can get to thirty-four—in this day and age—without ever having sex?”
Nicole chuckled. She leant over him until his eyes were staring up into hers. Their emptiness was a hole that threatened to tug out his soul and reel it up into limitless black depths.
“Cute bluff,” she said. “Not very effective when I can see it clearly for myself.”
“How?” George said. “It’s not like I have a hymen or anything. What’s the difference between spunking my load into a woman’s vagina or the palm of my hand?”
“We know,” Nicole said.
She dipped her head and sniffed George’s chest. Her cheeks reddened and she sighed in pleasure.
“Here.” She took his hand and pressed the palm against her crotch. “Do you think this happens around every man?”
George’s eyes widened. The fabric of her panties was completely sodden. He felt the cleft of her sex beneath. He drew his hand back in alarm as he felt her vulva move independently against his hand. Like a mouth.
Unabashed hunger shone in Nicole’s eyes.
“I want so much to shove your hard cock in my pussy and suck and suck and suck,” she said, her supple lips coming together in a luscious pout.
As much as the prospect thrilled George, he knew it would be too much for him. She’d be too much for him. Her passion would incinerate him like a moth in a candle flame. He had to get away.
Nicole started to undress him, first peeling off his jumper and vest from his unresisting body. As she moved down to his trousers George felt flickers of life return to his limbs. The paralysis, or strange state of blissful enervation, was wearing off. He rolled over and kicked out blindly as Nicole tugged at his trousers and underwear. The bed rocked and swayed with violent motion as he struggled beneath her.
His trousers came away and with them Nicole. Naked now, George crawled across the wildly pitching surface of the bed. He reached out with a hand, found the hard rim of the bed, started to pull himself towards it.
A warm weight settled on his back. Nicole lay on top of him, her soft breasts squashed against his back. George stopped squirming.
“It’s really not possible for a man to fight a succubus from this position,” she whispered in his ear. “Not when he’s naked and she’s on top of him. Not when her naked flesh is pressed against his.”
George’s mouth gaped open and he released a little sigh. Her skin felt so good against him—warm and smooth like silk. He felt a pleasant buzz wherever she came into contact with him, a luxurious tingle which left the rest of his skin hungering to experience the same pleasure.
“It takes the fight right out of them.” Nicole dripped honeyed sin into his ear. “It’s pushed aside as all those illicit little desires come bubbling to the surface.”
George gave another soft little groan. His thoughts were submerged beneath a deluge of pornographic images. Full pouting red lips; eyes gleaming with lust; ripe, round breasts with perky erect nipples; glistening pink pussies—all calling out to him, hungry for him. George struggled to hold on as the torrent threatened to wash his mind away.
Nicole came closer. Her soft lips brushed against his ear. “I can satisfy all of them, every last filthy one of them,” she whispered in his ear.
George shivered beneath her.
She ran a claw lightly over the skin of his shoulder. “What? Doesn’t that appeal to you?”
It did, but his terror of the consequences more than outweighed the stirrings he felt in his balls. It was so unfair.
“Being a virgin at thirty-four is bad enough,” George said. “Now I get to be savoured as a delicacy by a devil because of it. Whatever happened to punishing the deserving sinners?”
Nicole’s finger tickled down between his ass cheeks.
“We wouldn’t be considered evil if we only targeted the bad people,” Nicole said. “Do you consider this to be punishment?”
She lightly kissed the back of his shoulder. Her hand cupped his balls and gently pumped. A warm burst of pleasure washed over George’s body.
“Oh, but you do,” Nicole said. “You tremble like prey. You smell of fear like prey. If I fuck you like this I’ll surely eat you all up like prey.”
She straddled the small of his back and sat up. Out of the corner of his eye George saw her tail loop around the handle of one of the exotic bottles sitting on a bedside shelf. Her tail lifted it up and brought it back to her.
“I think we’ll wear away all those fears with a sexy little massage,” Nicole said.
George heard her work the pump handle of the bottle. He felt a cool liquid splash across his back. It didn’t remain cool for long as her skilful hands started to rub and knead it into his flesh. She pushed her hands up either side of his spine and then across his shoulders, spreading a pleasant little buzz in her wake. They moved up to his neck and she used her long fingers to work out the knots in his muscles. The fragrant aroma of the massage oil tickled his nostrils.
“My, so much tension,” she said. “Have you ever been massaged before?”
“No,” George replied.
Nicole squirted more oil onto his back and danced along his spine with her thumbs. She pressed down with her palms and slid them out to George’s sides, smoothing out the flesh beneath them. A nice feeling of warmth permeated through the muscles of his back.
“You were never tempted to pay a visit to one of those naughty little massage parlours?” Nicole asked.
Her hands glided up to the back of his neck and rubbed behind his ears with soothing circular movements.
“I was always curious about what went on in those places,” George replied. “Miss Kitson suggested I go in and find out. We had a little joke about it.”
He paused.
“I thought about it,” he admitted, “a little, but it was never going to happen. You never know where the girls are from, whether they’re on drugs, crazy, under duress. Not worth the risk. Even if it went fine, I’d still feel like I cheated.”
George didn’t know why he was so forthcoming all of a sudden. He felt odd again. Fogged up. The scented oil smelt extremely pleasant and Nicole’s hands were supremely skilled at working out the kinks and knots in his muscles.
“Miss Kitson did book a masseuse for me one time,” he said. “Not this type,” he added hastily, “a sports masseuse.”
“Sports masseuse?” Nicole queried.
“Yeah. I hurt my knee and Miss Kitson sent a girl round to look at it. A pretty young oriental woman. Really pretty, actually. She had me strip down to nothing but a towel and I was really embarrassed she’d see I had an erection.”
Nicole paused. She chuckled at a joke only she understood.
“Of course she’d try Arisa first,” Nicole murmured. “The weaver and the serpent aren’t reliable enough and she definitely couldn’t send you to the Scottish village.”
“Arisa, yes, that was her name,” George said, surprised Nicole knew it also. “Lovely girl. Had a really nice smile. We never went through with the massage in the end. Something cropped up at the last minute and she had to leave in a hurry. Some kind of family emergency. At least that’s what she said. I think she took one look at my hairy back and legged it.”
Nicole laughed at another private joke.
“I think you have a very nice back,” she said, straightening her arms and rubbing her hands over his shoulder blades. Her sultry voice drifted over him like a warm quilt.
“We never did get round to making another appointment,” George said wistfully.
“A shame,” Nicole said. “I hear Arisa gives a very pleasant body-to-body massage. Truly enveloping.”
Her fingers kneaded the muscles of George’s neck and shoulders.
“And lucky,” Nicole added. “I hear she’s also quite the maneater.”
She bent down low, sniffed the back of George’s neck and murmured contently. George felt the wetness of her sex where it rubbed against the small of his back.
“I’m not without my own talents,” Nicole whispered in his ear.
She lay down on top of him. Her arms went around him, her thighs squeezed against his sides and she squashed her soft breasts against his back. The pleasant tingle of skin-to-skin contact was all around him. Ripples of pleasure ran out across his skin from where her nipples pressed against his flesh. Her heat—and lust—enfolded him. He soaked in it, drew it in through his skin in a form of osmosis. Nicole murmured. She held him tighter. The flow of pleasure increased. George felt trailers of fire race through his blood vessels. He moaned as he felt the heat settle in his balls. They felt bloated—overripe—and the desire to plunge his cock into a soft, snug orifice and relieve the pressure grew overwhelming, shouldering aside other thoughts.
“Relax. There’s no escape now,” Nicole whispered in his ear. “Mmm, I like to let my victims melt with pleasure. Then I slurp them all up like delicious ice cream.”
George remembered why he should be afraid.
To be continued...
Friday, April 22, 2011
Close, but no Earth Day goodies for me
The winners of Literotica's 2011 Earth Day contest were announced yesterday. My internet connection has been lousy all week (which is why this is a day late), but I was able to log in and find out I'd finished outside the top three.
Don't Fuck The Flowers did a lot better than I expected considering it's a weird erotic horror story with a bad ending and some highly dubious humour. At one point, right before the cut off, the story was in second place, although I think this was more a quirk of the anti-cheating measures Literotica has in place. It finished 5th, about .01 off third place in score.
I was surprised by how close it came. Traditionally, slushy feel-good stories come out on top. People like nice endings. I enter freaky kinky horror stories that are more likely to squick out than please the average reader because... well, that's just the way I am. :)
Thanks to everyone who read and voted. Hell-Space is turning into a nice little playground for me. I have a word file filling up with snippets and story ideas, so expect me to return there again in the future.
Don't Fuck The Flowers did a lot better than I expected considering it's a weird erotic horror story with a bad ending and some highly dubious humour. At one point, right before the cut off, the story was in second place, although I think this was more a quirk of the anti-cheating measures Literotica has in place. It finished 5th, about .01 off third place in score.
I was surprised by how close it came. Traditionally, slushy feel-good stories come out on top. People like nice endings. I enter freaky kinky horror stories that are more likely to squick out than please the average reader because... well, that's just the way I am. :)
Thanks to everyone who read and voted. Hell-Space is turning into a nice little playground for me. I have a word file filling up with snippets and story ideas, so expect me to return there again in the future.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Locked in with a Succubus, part 5
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.
The plot thickens...
“I’m a succubus. I guess Inari neglected to tell you that,” Nicole said. “And you appear...” she turned a key in the door, locking it with a click “...to be locked in with me.” She turned to George with a predatory smile on her face. She hung the key around her neck like a pendant and dropped it down into her bosom.
George flailed out with his arms and legs. His attempts to get away were hampered by the rocking motions of the bed beneath him.
“I love this bed,” Nicole said. “Aside from being extremely comfortable, it’s also quite difficult to get out of.” She smiled, showing off two long fangs. “Perfect for my more surprised guests.”
She crouched and jumped. A downward thrust of her bat wings boosted it into a graceful leap that took her right onto the bed and astride George’s body. The bed rocked and swayed with the force of her landing. George lashed out with his arms and legs and tried to buck her off him.
“So lively,” Nicole said. “You should save that energy for later. You’ll need it.”
She whispered words so alien they slipped from George’s ears before his brain could register them. She leaned over George’s struggling form, pursed full lips and exhaled a breath. It took form—a giant peach-coloured heart—and expanded to cover George’s face and upper body. He gasped as it sank into his body. Pleasant energy flowed into him in a wave. It felt like he’d been dipped in warm honey. His legs stopped kicking. His arms fell back against his sides. He felt relaxed. Languid.
“That’s better,” Nicole said. She settled down astride his stomach.
She noticed George’s gaze hovering in the vicinity of her exposed chest.
“Like what you see?” she said. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up and accentuating her cleavage.
George hadn’t seen anything like them, at least not in the flesh. They were gorgeous—big, round, soft. They were better even than the perfectly sculpted examples he’d seen while surfing for porn on the internet. They didn’t need the elaborate tattoos to be eye-catching.
He couldn’t look away. He didn’t know why. He felt strange—clouded, horny.
“How about I give you a closer look,” Nicole said, her voice low and dirty.
She folded her body over George’s until he felt the soft pillows of her breasts against either side of his face. Nicole twisted her body, playfully buffeting him with the heavy, soft flesh of her boobs. George couldn’t think straight. Too fogged up. A strange desire came over him for Nicole to press down harder, to bury him in the soft valley of her cleavage, to smother him completely in her tits.
Nicole sat up. One arm was folded beneath her breasts. Her other hand rested on her chin.
“Hmm, I wonder,” she said.
She bent down again. This time she wrapped her arms around the back of his head and squashed his face tight up against her chest. The warm flesh of her boobs pressed tightly against his face. It felt good until George realised he couldn’t breathe. His nose and mouth were completely smothered by her flesh. He tried to squirm out. Nicole wrapped her arms more tightly around his head, keeping his face wedged up in the soft valley of her cleavage.
It should have been easy to throw her off. She was smaller, lighter than him.
He couldn’t. It wasn’t because she possessed excessive strength or anything like that, but rather his had deserted him. He didn’t have the energy to break her grip.
Nicole shifted position, relaxing her grip long enough to allow him a shallow breath, one filled with the spicy perfume of her body. Then she pressed back down again, smothering him in the warm space between her breasts while the waterbed rocked and undulated beneath them. She played the game for a while, each time seeming to take longer and longer between allowing George breaths, until he thought he must pass out for sure.
She stopped and sat upright. George opened his mouth and gasped in the air his lungs craved. Nicole straddled him, a contemplative expression on her face. She reached behind her and stroked a hand along the noticeable bulge in George’s trousers.
He was hard? Why was he hard?
“I thought so,” Nicole said. “I had a feeling I wasn’t too far off with the first room.”
The first room—that dungeon? What did she mean?
“Mmm, this is going to be fun,” Nicole said. “I really enjoy playing the wicked seductress. It’s been a while since I could really cut loose with all of my talents.”
“What do you want with me?” George asked.
Nicole gave him a predatory smile. “I’m a sex demon. Take a good guess.”
She bent over and ran the moist tip of her tongue up George’s cheek.
“Mmm, a truly delicious virgin and a well-matured one at that,” she said.
“What does my virginity have to do with anything?” George asked.
“Claiming a man’s virginity is a succubus’s greatest prize,” Nicole said. “The older the virgin, the greater the pleasure. At your age, you’re quite the hot commodity in the succubus world. I’m going to savour this.”
Nicole ran a long black fingernail down George’s chest. Her other hand gave his balls a teasing squeeze.
“Then I’m sorry to disappoint you,” George said. “I only run that line to make the ladies think better of me. Do you honestly believe a man can get to thirty-four—in this day and age—without ever having sex?”
To be continued...
The plot thickens...
“I’m a succubus. I guess Inari neglected to tell you that,” Nicole said. “And you appear...” she turned a key in the door, locking it with a click “...to be locked in with me.” She turned to George with a predatory smile on her face. She hung the key around her neck like a pendant and dropped it down into her bosom.
George flailed out with his arms and legs. His attempts to get away were hampered by the rocking motions of the bed beneath him.
“I love this bed,” Nicole said. “Aside from being extremely comfortable, it’s also quite difficult to get out of.” She smiled, showing off two long fangs. “Perfect for my more surprised guests.”
She crouched and jumped. A downward thrust of her bat wings boosted it into a graceful leap that took her right onto the bed and astride George’s body. The bed rocked and swayed with the force of her landing. George lashed out with his arms and legs and tried to buck her off him.
“So lively,” Nicole said. “You should save that energy for later. You’ll need it.”
She whispered words so alien they slipped from George’s ears before his brain could register them. She leaned over George’s struggling form, pursed full lips and exhaled a breath. It took form—a giant peach-coloured heart—and expanded to cover George’s face and upper body. He gasped as it sank into his body. Pleasant energy flowed into him in a wave. It felt like he’d been dipped in warm honey. His legs stopped kicking. His arms fell back against his sides. He felt relaxed. Languid.
“That’s better,” Nicole said. She settled down astride his stomach.
She noticed George’s gaze hovering in the vicinity of her exposed chest.
“Like what you see?” she said. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up and accentuating her cleavage.
George hadn’t seen anything like them, at least not in the flesh. They were gorgeous—big, round, soft. They were better even than the perfectly sculpted examples he’d seen while surfing for porn on the internet. They didn’t need the elaborate tattoos to be eye-catching.
He couldn’t look away. He didn’t know why. He felt strange—clouded, horny.
“How about I give you a closer look,” Nicole said, her voice low and dirty.
She folded her body over George’s until he felt the soft pillows of her breasts against either side of his face. Nicole twisted her body, playfully buffeting him with the heavy, soft flesh of her boobs. George couldn’t think straight. Too fogged up. A strange desire came over him for Nicole to press down harder, to bury him in the soft valley of her cleavage, to smother him completely in her tits.
Nicole sat up. One arm was folded beneath her breasts. Her other hand rested on her chin.
“Hmm, I wonder,” she said.
She bent down again. This time she wrapped her arms around the back of his head and squashed his face tight up against her chest. The warm flesh of her boobs pressed tightly against his face. It felt good until George realised he couldn’t breathe. His nose and mouth were completely smothered by her flesh. He tried to squirm out. Nicole wrapped her arms more tightly around his head, keeping his face wedged up in the soft valley of her cleavage.
It should have been easy to throw her off. She was smaller, lighter than him.
He couldn’t. It wasn’t because she possessed excessive strength or anything like that, but rather his had deserted him. He didn’t have the energy to break her grip.
Nicole shifted position, relaxing her grip long enough to allow him a shallow breath, one filled with the spicy perfume of her body. Then she pressed back down again, smothering him in the warm space between her breasts while the waterbed rocked and undulated beneath them. She played the game for a while, each time seeming to take longer and longer between allowing George breaths, until he thought he must pass out for sure.
She stopped and sat upright. George opened his mouth and gasped in the air his lungs craved. Nicole straddled him, a contemplative expression on her face. She reached behind her and stroked a hand along the noticeable bulge in George’s trousers.
He was hard? Why was he hard?
“I thought so,” Nicole said. “I had a feeling I wasn’t too far off with the first room.”
The first room—that dungeon? What did she mean?
“Mmm, this is going to be fun,” Nicole said. “I really enjoy playing the wicked seductress. It’s been a while since I could really cut loose with all of my talents.”
“What do you want with me?” George asked.
Nicole gave him a predatory smile. “I’m a sex demon. Take a good guess.”
She bent over and ran the moist tip of her tongue up George’s cheek.
“Mmm, a truly delicious virgin and a well-matured one at that,” she said.
“What does my virginity have to do with anything?” George asked.
“Claiming a man’s virginity is a succubus’s greatest prize,” Nicole said. “The older the virgin, the greater the pleasure. At your age, you’re quite the hot commodity in the succubus world. I’m going to savour this.”
Nicole ran a long black fingernail down George’s chest. Her other hand gave his balls a teasing squeeze.
“Then I’m sorry to disappoint you,” George said. “I only run that line to make the ladies think better of me. Do you honestly believe a man can get to thirty-four—in this day and age—without ever having sex?”
To be continued...
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Encouragement for all Erotica Writers
Zowie! Go Selena Kitt! Or should that be $elena Kitt.
Selena Kitt started off eXcessica publishing and is now doing very very well out of erotica ebooks. Success well deserved, I'd say. Selena was ahead of the curve when she set up eXcessica. Back then it was to have the requisite stable of writers to get work up with Fictionwise. Of course, then Amazon came along with the Kindle and ebook publishing mushroomed into a huge market.
It's encouraging news and indicative of how much the ebook revolution has opened things out. I wonder how many more Amanda Hockings, Joe Konraths, Selena Kitts and M.E. Hydras will emerge in the new world of epublishing.
Okay, maybe not that last dude. Should be locked up in the nuthouse if you ask me. Writes those horrible stories...
Selena Kitt started off eXcessica publishing and is now doing very very well out of erotica ebooks. Success well deserved, I'd say. Selena was ahead of the curve when she set up eXcessica. Back then it was to have the requisite stable of writers to get work up with Fictionwise. Of course, then Amazon came along with the Kindle and ebook publishing mushroomed into a huge market.
It's encouraging news and indicative of how much the ebook revolution has opened things out. I wonder how many more Amanda Hockings, Joe Konraths, Selena Kitts and M.E. Hydras will emerge in the new world of epublishing.
Okay, maybe not that last dude. Should be locked up in the nuthouse if you ask me. Writes those horrible stories...
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Locked in with a Succubus, part 4
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.
Time to start turning up the heat...
“Would you like a little tour of my house of sin?” she whispered. “I’m sure you must be curious to see how a high-class escort plies her trade.”
George was, actually.
“Why not,” he smiled.
Nicole looked at her wine glass. It was still full.
“It would be a shame to let this go to waste. Here,” she said, passing him the glass.
Well, it would be a shame, George thought. Before he knew it, he’d tipped the glass back and poured the whole contents down his throat.
“Heh, seems like you really like it,” Nicole said. “Why don’t you bring the bottle with you?”
Whoa, George thought as bubbles of light-headedness trickled up through his brain. He was probably going to regret this come tomorrow morning. Against his better judgment he picked up the bottle anyway. Damn stuff was so moreish.
Nicole led him through the back of her house. It seemed a lot larger than it had looked from the outside. And deeper. She led him down some steps and into a maze-like basement area. The first door Nicole opened led to a very odd room. It looked like a cross between a medieval dungeon and a fitness suite. There were stocks and full-sized crosses covered in black padding. A cage big enough to hold a man if he was on his hands and knees stood in the far corner. A variety of whips and floggers were mounted on the walls.
“Is this your...?” George asked.
“Yes, it’s my dungeon,” Nicole answered. “I bring naughty boys here and teach them some discipline.”
She looked at George and smiled. The bright red colour of her lips contrasted with her pale complexion.
“Have you been a naughty boy?” she asked.
“No no no!” George said, backing away with his hands up. He was thankful Nicole was still wearing her large shades. He suspected he’d be quite unnerved by the look she was giving him right now.
Nicole doubled up with laughter.
“That room was scary,” George said once they were back in the corridor. “Do people really pay you to tie them up and beat them?”
Nicole nodded. “People in power often have their day-to-day lives filled with hard choices. I think sometimes they enjoy ceding that power to someone else.”
George looked at her as if she was speaking Swahili. He shook his head.
“Diff’rent strokes for diff’rent folks,” he said.
They continued on through Nicole’s lower floor. She skipped the next door, but opened the one after it. Now this room was more like how George expected a tart’s boudoir to be. The lighting was low and soft. The walls were hung with heavy black velvet drapes. A huge circular bed took up most of the centre of the room. It was covered in glossy black silk sheets and plush black pillows. An apothecary’s dream of bottles and vials stood on the back shelves.
“This is my relaxation room,” Nicole said.
“Is that a waterbed?” George asked.
“Yes,” Nicole answered.
He pushed down on the edge of the bed and watched the surface sway with wet sloshing sounds.
“Can I?” he asked.
“Be my guest,” Nicole smiled.
“I’ve always wanted to find out what one of these felt like,” George said.
He put the wine bottle down, took off his shoes and dived backwards onto the bed. The bed rocked and swayed beneath him, waves lifting his body up and down. He grinned as he stared up at his reflection in the mirror on the ceiling.
“Yes, I think this is the right room,” Nicole said, looking about her.
George lifted his head up, puzzled.
Nicole took off her coat and hung it on a peg next to the door. Her body was even more gorgeous than George had imagined. She was curvaceous around her chest and ass, but there wasn’t an ounce of spare fat anywhere else. George knew this because he was seeing a lot more of Nicole’s body than he was entirely comfortable with. Beneath her coat she wore a skimpy black bra, panties, thigh-length fishnet stockings, and that was about it.
Her skin was the biggest surprise. She was covered from head to toe in black tattoos. It was an unusual design; George hadn’t seen anything like it before. It looked as if a mad scientist had scribbled all over her body in black pen, covering every inch of her exposed flesh in bizarre symbols and pictograms.
Nicole hadn’t finished disrobing. The bra went next. The mad designs continued across the ample swell of her breasts. Her left breast was decorated with a complex whorl that spiralled all the way down to the pink disc of her areole. George thought she didn’t really need additional help to draw the gaze to the perfect curves of her bosom.
His mouth gaped open. She was topless. Why was she topless?
“Uh...I thought you said Miss Kitson hadn’t given you any money.”
Nicole looked at George and smiled. “She hasn’t.”
Her skin wasn’t the biggest surprise.
She finally took off her shades and shook out her hair. A chill ran through George. What was that at her temples? Horns? And her eyes—god, her eyes—where were they? He saw now why she always wore those dark glasses. There were two empty black wells where her eyes should be. Nicole stretched her shoulders and a pair of black bat wings erupted from her back. A black tail—slender as a whip and ending with a spade-like point—unfurled down the back of her legs.
“Ah, much better,” she said.
She smiled at George. It was the same elegantly angled face; the same full, kissable lips; the same gorgeous contours of her body. Her features should have been perfect, but they also came with horns, wings, tail and those unsettling empty black eyes. It turned her beauty into something horribly wrong. Sexy into perverse.
“W-w-what are you?” George asked.
“I’m a succubus. I guess Inari neglected to tell you that,” Nicole said. “And you appear...” She turned a key in the door, locking it with a click. She hung the key around her neck like a pendant and dropped it down into her cleavage. She turned back to George. A predatory smile was on her blood-red lips. “...to be locked in with me.”
To be continued...
Time to start turning up the heat...
“Would you like a little tour of my house of sin?” she whispered. “I’m sure you must be curious to see how a high-class escort plies her trade.”
George was, actually.
“Why not,” he smiled.
Nicole looked at her wine glass. It was still full.
“It would be a shame to let this go to waste. Here,” she said, passing him the glass.
Well, it would be a shame, George thought. Before he knew it, he’d tipped the glass back and poured the whole contents down his throat.
“Heh, seems like you really like it,” Nicole said. “Why don’t you bring the bottle with you?”
Whoa, George thought as bubbles of light-headedness trickled up through his brain. He was probably going to regret this come tomorrow morning. Against his better judgment he picked up the bottle anyway. Damn stuff was so moreish.
Nicole led him through the back of her house. It seemed a lot larger than it had looked from the outside. And deeper. She led him down some steps and into a maze-like basement area. The first door Nicole opened led to a very odd room. It looked like a cross between a medieval dungeon and a fitness suite. There were stocks and full-sized crosses covered in black padding. A cage big enough to hold a man if he was on his hands and knees stood in the far corner. A variety of whips and floggers were mounted on the walls.
“Is this your...?” George asked.
“Yes, it’s my dungeon,” Nicole answered. “I bring naughty boys here and teach them some discipline.”
She looked at George and smiled. The bright red colour of her lips contrasted with her pale complexion.
“Have you been a naughty boy?” she asked.
“No no no!” George said, backing away with his hands up. He was thankful Nicole was still wearing her large shades. He suspected he’d be quite unnerved by the look she was giving him right now.
Nicole doubled up with laughter.
“That room was scary,” George said once they were back in the corridor. “Do people really pay you to tie them up and beat them?”
Nicole nodded. “People in power often have their day-to-day lives filled with hard choices. I think sometimes they enjoy ceding that power to someone else.”
George looked at her as if she was speaking Swahili. He shook his head.
“Diff’rent strokes for diff’rent folks,” he said.
They continued on through Nicole’s lower floor. She skipped the next door, but opened the one after it. Now this room was more like how George expected a tart’s boudoir to be. The lighting was low and soft. The walls were hung with heavy black velvet drapes. A huge circular bed took up most of the centre of the room. It was covered in glossy black silk sheets and plush black pillows. An apothecary’s dream of bottles and vials stood on the back shelves.
“This is my relaxation room,” Nicole said.
“Is that a waterbed?” George asked.
“Yes,” Nicole answered.
He pushed down on the edge of the bed and watched the surface sway with wet sloshing sounds.
“Can I?” he asked.
“Be my guest,” Nicole smiled.
“I’ve always wanted to find out what one of these felt like,” George said.
He put the wine bottle down, took off his shoes and dived backwards onto the bed. The bed rocked and swayed beneath him, waves lifting his body up and down. He grinned as he stared up at his reflection in the mirror on the ceiling.
“Yes, I think this is the right room,” Nicole said, looking about her.
George lifted his head up, puzzled.
Nicole took off her coat and hung it on a peg next to the door. Her body was even more gorgeous than George had imagined. She was curvaceous around her chest and ass, but there wasn’t an ounce of spare fat anywhere else. George knew this because he was seeing a lot more of Nicole’s body than he was entirely comfortable with. Beneath her coat she wore a skimpy black bra, panties, thigh-length fishnet stockings, and that was about it.
Her skin was the biggest surprise. She was covered from head to toe in black tattoos. It was an unusual design; George hadn’t seen anything like it before. It looked as if a mad scientist had scribbled all over her body in black pen, covering every inch of her exposed flesh in bizarre symbols and pictograms.
Nicole hadn’t finished disrobing. The bra went next. The mad designs continued across the ample swell of her breasts. Her left breast was decorated with a complex whorl that spiralled all the way down to the pink disc of her areole. George thought she didn’t really need additional help to draw the gaze to the perfect curves of her bosom.
His mouth gaped open. She was topless. Why was she topless?
“Uh...I thought you said Miss Kitson hadn’t given you any money.”
Nicole looked at George and smiled. “She hasn’t.”
Her skin wasn’t the biggest surprise.
She finally took off her shades and shook out her hair. A chill ran through George. What was that at her temples? Horns? And her eyes—god, her eyes—where were they? He saw now why she always wore those dark glasses. There were two empty black wells where her eyes should be. Nicole stretched her shoulders and a pair of black bat wings erupted from her back. A black tail—slender as a whip and ending with a spade-like point—unfurled down the back of her legs.
“Ah, much better,” she said.
She smiled at George. It was the same elegantly angled face; the same full, kissable lips; the same gorgeous contours of her body. Her features should have been perfect, but they also came with horns, wings, tail and those unsettling empty black eyes. It turned her beauty into something horribly wrong. Sexy into perverse.
“W-w-what are you?” George asked.
“I’m a succubus. I guess Inari neglected to tell you that,” Nicole said. “And you appear...” She turned a key in the door, locking it with a click. She hung the key around her neck like a pendant and dropped it down into her cleavage. She turned back to George. A predatory smile was on her blood-red lips. “...to be locked in with me.”
To be continued...
Thursday, April 07, 2011
Officially good enough to be plagiarised
Some people have a lot of nerve.
A few days ago I got an anonymous email through Literotica’s feedback system (thanks, whoever you are) asking if I was posting chapters up on DeviantArt.com under a different username. I followed the link and found a gallery with the first eight chapters of my Succubus Summoning 101 series.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen my stories crop up elsewhere on the internet. It’s the nature of the beast. If you post something up where everyone can see it, it’s inevitable the same work will be reproduced elsewhere. As long as my name’s still on the top and no-one’s milking it for cash, I’m usually content to turn a blind eye. Often it’s extra advertising and the stories are already available for people to read for free online anyway.
This is the first time I’ve ever had someone else try to claim my work as their own and that’s a whole damn different ball game. When they’ve already picked up fanart for my original characters you know this shit has to be sorted out damn quickly. Obviously, I couldn’t resist leaving the odd sarcastic comment or three, especially a “Please tell, I’m curious to know myself”, in response to their answer of “All will be revealed in time,” when someone asked what Verdé’s plans were.
Sadly, DeviantArt gives page owners the ability to hide comments, which rather spoiled my fun somewhat.
Fortunately, I also frequent the Monster Girl Unlimited forums, where a good proportion of the members also have DeviantArt accounts…
I’m not sure whether DeviantArt terminated the account after it was reported, or the plagiarist de-activated it themselves once they realised it was impossible to maintain the pretence anymore. Either way it was gone by the time I got back from work.
I wonder how they thought they could get away with it in the first place. One google search to the wrong place by any of their fans would have blown the deception wide open. It’s a little mortifying to think they managed to get eight chapters up without anyone actually noticing, and that the chapters hadn’t really picked up many comments either. Take that knee in the soft and squishy parts, ego. Big time infamous succubus writer, ha!
Oh well.
I suppose I was lucky. It was only a case of someone trying to impress their circle of friends on an art site. Other writers from Literotica are still struggling to get stolen work pulled down from amazon’s ebook store.
A few days ago I got an anonymous email through Literotica’s feedback system (thanks, whoever you are) asking if I was posting chapters up on DeviantArt.com under a different username. I followed the link and found a gallery with the first eight chapters of my Succubus Summoning 101 series.
It’s not the first time I’ve seen my stories crop up elsewhere on the internet. It’s the nature of the beast. If you post something up where everyone can see it, it’s inevitable the same work will be reproduced elsewhere. As long as my name’s still on the top and no-one’s milking it for cash, I’m usually content to turn a blind eye. Often it’s extra advertising and the stories are already available for people to read for free online anyway.
This is the first time I’ve ever had someone else try to claim my work as their own and that’s a whole damn different ball game. When they’ve already picked up fanart for my original characters you know this shit has to be sorted out damn quickly. Obviously, I couldn’t resist leaving the odd sarcastic comment or three, especially a “Please tell, I’m curious to know myself”, in response to their answer of “All will be revealed in time,” when someone asked what Verdé’s plans were.
Sadly, DeviantArt gives page owners the ability to hide comments, which rather spoiled my fun somewhat.
Fortunately, I also frequent the Monster Girl Unlimited forums, where a good proportion of the members also have DeviantArt accounts…
I’m not sure whether DeviantArt terminated the account after it was reported, or the plagiarist de-activated it themselves once they realised it was impossible to maintain the pretence anymore. Either way it was gone by the time I got back from work.
I wonder how they thought they could get away with it in the first place. One google search to the wrong place by any of their fans would have blown the deception wide open. It’s a little mortifying to think they managed to get eight chapters up without anyone actually noticing, and that the chapters hadn’t really picked up many comments either. Take that knee in the soft and squishy parts, ego. Big time infamous succubus writer, ha!
Oh well.
I suppose I was lucky. It was only a case of someone trying to impress their circle of friends on an art site. Other writers from Literotica are still struggling to get stolen work pulled down from amazon’s ebook store.
Sunday, April 03, 2011
Locked in with a Succubus, part 3
Part 1. Part 2.
“I’m a prostitute,” Nicole said, absolutely straight-faced and without a hint of shame. “Men pay money to have sex with me.”
Her directness completely threw George off.
“Well...um...”
“Does that bother you?” Nicole asked in a voice that sounded as if it had been dipped in honey.
“No...um...I mean if you’re...um...happy...if it’s what...”
He held out his palms.
“I’m not judging,” he said.
Oh dear. George knew he was making a hash of it and tried to rally.
“I mean, if you look at it a certain way, I do the same thing with the people I go and visit,” he said. “We’re both giving people a bit of company. Only I don’t have to do the...uh...physical side of things...”
George ran aground.
“I’m trivialising it, aren’t I? It’s not the same at all. I’m not forced to...uh...do those...uh...other things...”
Dear oh dear. Keep on digging why don’t you, George.
Nicole didn’t seem to be taking any offence. She laughed at his discomfort. That was good, he supposed.
“It’s fine,” Nicole said. “I get paid well and I enjoy the work.”
Understanding suddenly dawned on George. There could be another reason why Miss Kitson had sent him here.
“Um...Miss Kitson, she didn’t give you any money to...”
“To do what?” Nicole asked, affecting an air of deceitful innocence.
“Oh, nothing,” George said.
It must be the wine, causing his tongue to flap like a flag in a gale.
“Nothing?” Nicole said. She raised a pencil-thin eyebrow.
Her sunglasses made it impossible to tell, but right then George fancied she was staring right through him with a piercing stare. She examined him, no trace of emotion on the flawless mask of her face.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you,” she stated.
“What,” George protested. “Me? No...of course not. I mean...I’ve had my share...I know what it’s...” he blustered. “Yes,” he admitted. No point lying; she’d see right through it anyway.
“I thought as much,” Nicole smiled. “I saw how uncomfortable you looked whenever I stood close to you. You’re shy around women.”
“Yes,” George admitted. “Don’t make a big thing about it, okay.”
“I’m not judging,” Nicole said, smiling as she held out her palms.
George realised he’d used the same response when she’d told him she was a prostitute. He laughed.
“Another glass?” Nicole asked.
“What?” George looked down. He’d managed to empty the glass without realising it. “Oh, yes please.”
Nicole refilled his glass and walked back to her seat, leaving behind a swish of her musky scent. It really was rather fine, George thought as he started on a second glass. Fruity, bubbly...vital, somehow. Really moreish. He’d have to be careful he didn’t drink it too quickly, in case it went straight to his head.
He noticed Nicole still hadn’t touched her glass.
“You’re not drinking?” he asked.
“I don’t drink wine,” she answered. “I do love the aroma of a freshly popped bottle, though.” She picked up the glass and swirled it beneath her nose, savouring the aroma. “Especially a vintage brimming with such youthful vigour.”
George smiled and shook his head. Beautiful, delightful and very odd.
“How old?” Nicole asked.
George realised she’d gone back to the other topic. “Thirty-four,” he answered with a grimace.
Nicole’s supple red lips formed a perfect ‘o’. She sat back in her chair.
“Really?” she said.
George nodded.
“I always thought it would be one of those things that would just...you know...happen one day. And, well, it didn’t. Or rather it hasn’t.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Nicole said. “It’s admirable to wait so long for that certain special person.”
George’s expression became pained.
Nicole raised an eyebrow. “You’re not waiting for someone?” she said.
“I’m not against the idea of sex for a bit of fun,” George said. “It’s the deception I don’t like. You know how it is. Some blokes will say anything to get in a girl’s knickers. And then they’ll kick them out of bed the next morning without so much as a how-d’you-do. There’s the other stuff as well—getting them drunk, getting them vulnerable—”
“Paying for it,” Nicole interrupted.
“Paying for it,” George repeated. “Drugging the poor lasses if they’re desperate and ratbag enough. Raping them.” George shook his head. “I’m not going down that route,” he said. “I’d rather go without than resort to tricking or forcing the girl.”
Nicole made circular motions with her finger on the table. “So you’re not against the idea of casual sex, so long as the other participant is willing.”
“Oh no,” George said. “I’m not one of those no-sex-before-marriage types. Not that I’ve got anything against them,” he hastily added. “I’m fine with the idea of sex for fun, with the right precautions of course. It’s just I’m a bit...well...crap around girls as you noticed. And I’m not exactly a prime specimen of manhood. Let’s face it, there’re easily hundreds of blokes a girl at a nightclub would rather take home first before getting to me.”
George paused. Nicole didn’t appear to be paying attention. Hard to say with her sunglasses—why was she still wearing them?—but she looked like she was staring into space. George watched as she ran a moist pink tongue over her supple red lips. He caught a whiff of her musky perfume again. Stronger this time.
“Sorry,” Nicole said, snapping out of her sudden trance. “Daydreaming.”
Had her pale cheeks picked up a red tinge?
“Um, Miss Kitson, she didn’t...?”
“No, Inari has not given me any money,” Nicole said with a smile.
“That’s a relief,” George said. “She has some very strange ideas sometimes. About what she thinks people need.”
Nicole leaned forward towards George.
“Does it disappoint you Inari hasn’t given me any money to have sex with you?” she asked.
George recoiled. That directness again. He guessed it came with her profession, but it sure made him feel uncomfortable.
“No...um...I mean you’re...um...really beautiful and I’m sure you’re very...um...good at what you do...”
Good golly, could he dig himself any deeper?
George took a deep breath.
“I’m sure it would be very pleasant,” he said, “but it wouldn’t feel right. I’d always know you only did it because you were paid to. It would feel like cheating, like it didn’t count.”
Nicole smiled at his tongue-tied stammering.
“It’s fine. I understand perfectly,” she said.
“You do?” George said, letting out a sigh of relief. He looked down at his ratty old jumper. “Besides,” he said. “I must be way below your usual clientele. Who are they?” he asked. “Lawyers? Politicians? Football stars?”
Nicole regarded him with an enigmatic little smile.
“Is that the writer in you?” she said. “Digging for interesting stories.”
George blushed. “Sorry. Mustn’t pry.”
Nicole leaned right across the table. Conspiratorial.
“Would you like a little tour of my house of sin?” she whispered.
To be continued...
“I’m a prostitute,” Nicole said, absolutely straight-faced and without a hint of shame. “Men pay money to have sex with me.”
Her directness completely threw George off.
“Well...um...”
“Does that bother you?” Nicole asked in a voice that sounded as if it had been dipped in honey.
“No...um...I mean if you’re...um...happy...if it’s what...”
He held out his palms.
“I’m not judging,” he said.
Oh dear. George knew he was making a hash of it and tried to rally.
“I mean, if you look at it a certain way, I do the same thing with the people I go and visit,” he said. “We’re both giving people a bit of company. Only I don’t have to do the...uh...physical side of things...”
George ran aground.
“I’m trivialising it, aren’t I? It’s not the same at all. I’m not forced to...uh...do those...uh...other things...”
Dear oh dear. Keep on digging why don’t you, George.
Nicole didn’t seem to be taking any offence. She laughed at his discomfort. That was good, he supposed.
“It’s fine,” Nicole said. “I get paid well and I enjoy the work.”
Understanding suddenly dawned on George. There could be another reason why Miss Kitson had sent him here.
“Um...Miss Kitson, she didn’t give you any money to...”
“To do what?” Nicole asked, affecting an air of deceitful innocence.
“Oh, nothing,” George said.
It must be the wine, causing his tongue to flap like a flag in a gale.
“Nothing?” Nicole said. She raised a pencil-thin eyebrow.
Her sunglasses made it impossible to tell, but right then George fancied she was staring right through him with a piercing stare. She examined him, no trace of emotion on the flawless mask of her face.
“You’re a virgin, aren’t you,” she stated.
“What,” George protested. “Me? No...of course not. I mean...I’ve had my share...I know what it’s...” he blustered. “Yes,” he admitted. No point lying; she’d see right through it anyway.
“I thought as much,” Nicole smiled. “I saw how uncomfortable you looked whenever I stood close to you. You’re shy around women.”
“Yes,” George admitted. “Don’t make a big thing about it, okay.”
“I’m not judging,” Nicole said, smiling as she held out her palms.
George realised he’d used the same response when she’d told him she was a prostitute. He laughed.
“Another glass?” Nicole asked.
“What?” George looked down. He’d managed to empty the glass without realising it. “Oh, yes please.”
Nicole refilled his glass and walked back to her seat, leaving behind a swish of her musky scent. It really was rather fine, George thought as he started on a second glass. Fruity, bubbly...vital, somehow. Really moreish. He’d have to be careful he didn’t drink it too quickly, in case it went straight to his head.
He noticed Nicole still hadn’t touched her glass.
“You’re not drinking?” he asked.
“I don’t drink wine,” she answered. “I do love the aroma of a freshly popped bottle, though.” She picked up the glass and swirled it beneath her nose, savouring the aroma. “Especially a vintage brimming with such youthful vigour.”
George smiled and shook his head. Beautiful, delightful and very odd.
“How old?” Nicole asked.
George realised she’d gone back to the other topic. “Thirty-four,” he answered with a grimace.
Nicole’s supple red lips formed a perfect ‘o’. She sat back in her chair.
“Really?” she said.
George nodded.
“I always thought it would be one of those things that would just...you know...happen one day. And, well, it didn’t. Or rather it hasn’t.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Nicole said. “It’s admirable to wait so long for that certain special person.”
George’s expression became pained.
Nicole raised an eyebrow. “You’re not waiting for someone?” she said.
“I’m not against the idea of sex for a bit of fun,” George said. “It’s the deception I don’t like. You know how it is. Some blokes will say anything to get in a girl’s knickers. And then they’ll kick them out of bed the next morning without so much as a how-d’you-do. There’s the other stuff as well—getting them drunk, getting them vulnerable—”
“Paying for it,” Nicole interrupted.
“Paying for it,” George repeated. “Drugging the poor lasses if they’re desperate and ratbag enough. Raping them.” George shook his head. “I’m not going down that route,” he said. “I’d rather go without than resort to tricking or forcing the girl.”
Nicole made circular motions with her finger on the table. “So you’re not against the idea of casual sex, so long as the other participant is willing.”
“Oh no,” George said. “I’m not one of those no-sex-before-marriage types. Not that I’ve got anything against them,” he hastily added. “I’m fine with the idea of sex for fun, with the right precautions of course. It’s just I’m a bit...well...crap around girls as you noticed. And I’m not exactly a prime specimen of manhood. Let’s face it, there’re easily hundreds of blokes a girl at a nightclub would rather take home first before getting to me.”
George paused. Nicole didn’t appear to be paying attention. Hard to say with her sunglasses—why was she still wearing them?—but she looked like she was staring into space. George watched as she ran a moist pink tongue over her supple red lips. He caught a whiff of her musky perfume again. Stronger this time.
“Sorry,” Nicole said, snapping out of her sudden trance. “Daydreaming.”
Had her pale cheeks picked up a red tinge?
“Um, Miss Kitson, she didn’t...?”
“No, Inari has not given me any money,” Nicole said with a smile.
“That’s a relief,” George said. “She has some very strange ideas sometimes. About what she thinks people need.”
Nicole leaned forward towards George.
“Does it disappoint you Inari hasn’t given me any money to have sex with you?” she asked.
George recoiled. That directness again. He guessed it came with her profession, but it sure made him feel uncomfortable.
“No...um...I mean you’re...um...really beautiful and I’m sure you’re very...um...good at what you do...”
Good golly, could he dig himself any deeper?
George took a deep breath.
“I’m sure it would be very pleasant,” he said, “but it wouldn’t feel right. I’d always know you only did it because you were paid to. It would feel like cheating, like it didn’t count.”
Nicole smiled at his tongue-tied stammering.
“It’s fine. I understand perfectly,” she said.
“You do?” George said, letting out a sigh of relief. He looked down at his ratty old jumper. “Besides,” he said. “I must be way below your usual clientele. Who are they?” he asked. “Lawyers? Politicians? Football stars?”
Nicole regarded him with an enigmatic little smile.
“Is that the writer in you?” she said. “Digging for interesting stories.”
George blushed. “Sorry. Mustn’t pry.”
Nicole leaned right across the table. Conspiratorial.
“Would you like a little tour of my house of sin?” she whispered.
To be continued...
Thursday, March 31, 2011
No fish were hurt in the writing of this story...
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Sunday, March 27, 2011
Locked in with a Succubus, part 2
Here's part 2 of the little mini-serial I'm running here. Part 1, the introduction, is here.
This was a nice place, George Mead thought as he walked up the steps to the front door. Elegant Georgian terraced housing stretched right up the hill. A quiet street. Posh without being ostentatious.
He rang the bell and was surprised by the woman who answered. She was younger than he’d expected, and far more attractive.
“Nicole?” he asked.
“Yes,” the woman replied. “And you must be George. I was told to expect you.”
She was gorgeous. Delicate high cheekbones, luscious red lips and pale white skin on a face that could easily grace the cover of a fashion magazine. Her jet-black hair was cut in a stylish bob with wings to frame those perfect features. Her figure was hidden by an elegant white fur coat. Her eyes were also hidden; she wore a large pair of black sunglasses. They looked very chic.
Absolutely gorgeous. She could have been a French film star, or a perfume model. What was he doing here?
“That’s right,” George said. “Miss Kitson sent me.”
Nicole didn’t seem so thrilled. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement. George thought he was about to get a door slammed in his face.
“I bring wine,” he said, holding a bottle aloft with a cheerful grin.
The bottle was Miss Kitson’s idea. It was also her bottle. George didn’t have a clue on the quality. There wasn’t even a name on the bottle, just a label featuring silhouettes of sylph-like women dancing around oversized bunches of grapes on a plain yellow-gold background.
It overcame Nicole’s reticence. She looked at the bottle and her cold hostility thawed into a warm smile.
“Come inside,” she said.
George tried to place her accent. He didn’t think it was French, although it had a similar sensual eroticism. Brazilian?
“Let me take your jacket,” Nicole said as he crossed the threshold into a neat little hallway.
“Er, thanks,” George said.
He let her help him even though he didn’t really need the help. Was it him, or was she standing a little closer than was entirely necessary? She seemed to linger a little over helping him remove his garment. Odd girl, George thought as he watched her hang his jacket up next to the door. Extremely beautiful, but odd.
She picked up the bottle of wine and examined the label. Her supple lips turned up in a smile.
“Will you join me for a glass?” she asked.
“Sure,” George replied. It was why he was here after all.
He followed her through into a large kitchen-slash-dining room. For all her glamorous appearance, Nicole’s house looked surprisingly normal, bland even. Her kitchen was so clean and tidy George wondered if she’d ever prepared a meal in it. Nicole opened a cupboard and brought out a pair of pristine wine glasses. She popped open the wine bottle and took in the released aroma with a murmur of pleasure. George caught a whiff of something both fruity and spicy. Nicole poured out two glasses, but instead of passing one to George, placed both on the table instead.
She pulled out a chair and motioned George to sit on it. Again, she seemed to linger a little longer than was necessary behind him. This time George felt a strange prickling sensation on the back of his neck. What an odd girl.
Nicole moved away, leaving behind traces of an exhilarating musk that crackled up George’s nostrils. Nice perfume. She sat opposite from him, her eyes still hidden behind big black shades.
The wine was an odd colour, George thought as he examined his glass. He’d thought it was a white, but it was yellower than any white he’d ever seen, almost like sparkling honey or amber. It must be a specialist brand. That would explain the label.
“I hope this isn’t really expensive,” he said.
“Why?” Nicole asked.
“It’d be wasted on me,” he said. “I’ve got no palette to speak of at all when it comes to wine. It’s all grape juice gone off to me.”
Nicole laughed.
In truth, George didn’t really like wine, but he took an experimental sip anyway. It would be rude not to drink it.
Mmm, that was nice, really nice. It was sweet rather than dry and made his whole tongue come to life, like there was a wild party kicking off in his mouth. He took another sip—bigger this time—and relished the fizzing sensation as it slipped down his throat. Delicious. He took a gulp. He could drink this all night, or at least until he fell out of his chair.
Nicole swirled the glass under her nose. Her nostrils dilated as she savoured the aroma. She didn’t drink.
“How do you know Inari?” She asked.
“Miss Kitson? I’m sort of her odd-job man,” George answered. “I do a bit of gardening here, mend a few wires there. That kind of thing. I help her out with her psychiatry work sometimes.”
“Really,” Nicole said, leaning forwards. Her wine glass was in her hand, but she still hadn’t touched a drop.
“Well...” George started. “I say help out, but really it’s just talking to people. And listening. Miss Kitson sends me out to visit people and I talk to them and listen to their stories. They’re usually old dears, poor things. It’s sad really. Their husbands are long dead, the family doesn’t give a toss, so they’re left on their own. I go over, have a cuppa with them and try and cheer them up. That’s all people need sometimes—someone to talk to. I don’t need any fancy certificates to do that.”
George looked at Nicole.
“I thought that’s why Miss Kitson sent me here, but you don’t exactly look...”
“Old,” Nicole finished for him with a smile. “I’m not lonely either,” she added.
Her smile held extra meaning.
Of course, George thought. A girl as pretty as her would never lack for male attention. It didn’t mean she always had someone to talk to. Being beautiful wasn’t always a guarantee against feeling isolated and separated. Maybe that was why Miss Kitson had sent him.
“But do you ever get a chance to talk?” George asked.
Nicole cocked her head to the side, as if George had said something which had genuinely surprised her. She looked at him and then laughed. It was light-hearted laughter, nothing malicious or mocking about it, more like she was laughing at herself for missing something obvious.
“It’s very noble,” Nicole said, “giving up your time to talk to those lonely old dears.”
“I like it,” George said. “I’ve always wanted to be a writer. To be good at that you have to get out there and hear what people have to say. Some of these people, the things they’ve seen throughout their lifetimes, the stories they know...It’s fascinating. I never understand why they get abandoned when they have such tales to tell. It’s tragic.”
Nicole looked at George with an impish smile. “I can give you some stories,” she said. “Did Inari ever tell you what I do for a living?”
“Um no, I don’t believe she did,” George said. He wondered what was coming next.
“I’m a prostitute,” Nicole said, absolutely straight-faced and without a hint of shame. “Men pay money to have sex with me.”
To be continued...
This was a nice place, George Mead thought as he walked up the steps to the front door. Elegant Georgian terraced housing stretched right up the hill. A quiet street. Posh without being ostentatious.
He rang the bell and was surprised by the woman who answered. She was younger than he’d expected, and far more attractive.
“Nicole?” he asked.
“Yes,” the woman replied. “And you must be George. I was told to expect you.”
She was gorgeous. Delicate high cheekbones, luscious red lips and pale white skin on a face that could easily grace the cover of a fashion magazine. Her jet-black hair was cut in a stylish bob with wings to frame those perfect features. Her figure was hidden by an elegant white fur coat. Her eyes were also hidden; she wore a large pair of black sunglasses. They looked very chic.
Absolutely gorgeous. She could have been a French film star, or a perfume model. What was he doing here?
“That’s right,” George said. “Miss Kitson sent me.”
Nicole didn’t seem so thrilled. Actually, that was a bit of an understatement. George thought he was about to get a door slammed in his face.
“I bring wine,” he said, holding a bottle aloft with a cheerful grin.
The bottle was Miss Kitson’s idea. It was also her bottle. George didn’t have a clue on the quality. There wasn’t even a name on the bottle, just a label featuring silhouettes of sylph-like women dancing around oversized bunches of grapes on a plain yellow-gold background.
It overcame Nicole’s reticence. She looked at the bottle and her cold hostility thawed into a warm smile.
“Come inside,” she said.
George tried to place her accent. He didn’t think it was French, although it had a similar sensual eroticism. Brazilian?
“Let me take your jacket,” Nicole said as he crossed the threshold into a neat little hallway.
“Er, thanks,” George said.
He let her help him even though he didn’t really need the help. Was it him, or was she standing a little closer than was entirely necessary? She seemed to linger a little over helping him remove his garment. Odd girl, George thought as he watched her hang his jacket up next to the door. Extremely beautiful, but odd.
She picked up the bottle of wine and examined the label. Her supple lips turned up in a smile.
“Will you join me for a glass?” she asked.
“Sure,” George replied. It was why he was here after all.
He followed her through into a large kitchen-slash-dining room. For all her glamorous appearance, Nicole’s house looked surprisingly normal, bland even. Her kitchen was so clean and tidy George wondered if she’d ever prepared a meal in it. Nicole opened a cupboard and brought out a pair of pristine wine glasses. She popped open the wine bottle and took in the released aroma with a murmur of pleasure. George caught a whiff of something both fruity and spicy. Nicole poured out two glasses, but instead of passing one to George, placed both on the table instead.
She pulled out a chair and motioned George to sit on it. Again, she seemed to linger a little longer than was necessary behind him. This time George felt a strange prickling sensation on the back of his neck. What an odd girl.
Nicole moved away, leaving behind traces of an exhilarating musk that crackled up George’s nostrils. Nice perfume. She sat opposite from him, her eyes still hidden behind big black shades.
The wine was an odd colour, George thought as he examined his glass. He’d thought it was a white, but it was yellower than any white he’d ever seen, almost like sparkling honey or amber. It must be a specialist brand. That would explain the label.
“I hope this isn’t really expensive,” he said.
“Why?” Nicole asked.
“It’d be wasted on me,” he said. “I’ve got no palette to speak of at all when it comes to wine. It’s all grape juice gone off to me.”
Nicole laughed.
In truth, George didn’t really like wine, but he took an experimental sip anyway. It would be rude not to drink it.
Mmm, that was nice, really nice. It was sweet rather than dry and made his whole tongue come to life, like there was a wild party kicking off in his mouth. He took another sip—bigger this time—and relished the fizzing sensation as it slipped down his throat. Delicious. He took a gulp. He could drink this all night, or at least until he fell out of his chair.
Nicole swirled the glass under her nose. Her nostrils dilated as she savoured the aroma. She didn’t drink.
“How do you know Inari?” She asked.
“Miss Kitson? I’m sort of her odd-job man,” George answered. “I do a bit of gardening here, mend a few wires there. That kind of thing. I help her out with her psychiatry work sometimes.”
“Really,” Nicole said, leaning forwards. Her wine glass was in her hand, but she still hadn’t touched a drop.
“Well...” George started. “I say help out, but really it’s just talking to people. And listening. Miss Kitson sends me out to visit people and I talk to them and listen to their stories. They’re usually old dears, poor things. It’s sad really. Their husbands are long dead, the family doesn’t give a toss, so they’re left on their own. I go over, have a cuppa with them and try and cheer them up. That’s all people need sometimes—someone to talk to. I don’t need any fancy certificates to do that.”
George looked at Nicole.
“I thought that’s why Miss Kitson sent me here, but you don’t exactly look...”
“Old,” Nicole finished for him with a smile. “I’m not lonely either,” she added.
Her smile held extra meaning.
Of course, George thought. A girl as pretty as her would never lack for male attention. It didn’t mean she always had someone to talk to. Being beautiful wasn’t always a guarantee against feeling isolated and separated. Maybe that was why Miss Kitson had sent him.
“But do you ever get a chance to talk?” George asked.
Nicole cocked her head to the side, as if George had said something which had genuinely surprised her. She looked at him and then laughed. It was light-hearted laughter, nothing malicious or mocking about it, more like she was laughing at herself for missing something obvious.
“It’s very noble,” Nicole said, “giving up your time to talk to those lonely old dears.”
“I like it,” George said. “I’ve always wanted to be a writer. To be good at that you have to get out there and hear what people have to say. Some of these people, the things they’ve seen throughout their lifetimes, the stories they know...It’s fascinating. I never understand why they get abandoned when they have such tales to tell. It’s tragic.”
Nicole looked at George with an impish smile. “I can give you some stories,” she said. “Did Inari ever tell you what I do for a living?”
“Um no, I don’t believe she did,” George said. He wondered what was coming next.
“I’m a prostitute,” Nicole said, absolutely straight-faced and without a hint of shame. “Men pay money to have sex with me.”
To be continued...
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Other online authors with stories like me
Here's some links for some similar online writers. I suspect most of these might already be familiar. Feel free to add any I've missed in the comments.
I'll start with the general:
Literotica
Biggest sex stories site on the web? They have everything. My stories lurk in the Erotic Horror section. They also have Non-human and Sci-Fi & Fantasy categories for people that like happier endings. I usually check either the Last 30 days Top list for horror or enter "Succubus" into the story search every so often to see if anything interesting popped up. The quality is as you'd expect for an amateur writers site, but there are some gems to be found.
MonsterGirlUnlimited
Monster Girls galore. They have a fanfic section with lots of stories in progress. Kenkou Cross's Monster Girl Encyclopedia is the primary influence despite my best efforts to hijack the forum to my own nefarious purposes. A place to go if you like stories where the girl doesn't end up killing the boy at the end.
Eka's Portal
And for those of you that prefer Girl eats Boy, there's Eka's Portal. It's predominantly a Vore site, but there's a slight overlap for lovers of sexy, predatory females. Some of my stories (Flesh Pitchers of Prague, Wrapdance) fall into this overlap and I post them up there every so often. There's other writers/artists tackling similar themes. 4ofSwords(used to be ohida) runs a regular writing group thread I keep meaning to submit stories to, but never get around to doing.
Lost Boy's Other-Worldly Story Links
Quite possibly dead. Updates very rarely nowadays. It does have a fantastic collection of good stories. This was the first place I blundered into when searching for succubus fiction on the net.
And the writers:
mjm202036
The first writer I stumbled upon, so it's all his fault. His Castlevania fanfic got the idea of a succubus perfectly I thought. She kills through sex and in a way that feels more concrete and realistic than a nebulous energy/spirit/soul/aura drain. Both his Lustful Summoning and Succubus Ranch series are highly recommended. He's been a little quiet of late, so go prod him.
Oblimo
It's Always Time is a great goo (slime) girl story that features a fairly clever plot alongside all the messy sex. I haven't heard much of him of late, but if he's still out there he should probably stick the story up on amazon and make some money from it (hint hint).
4OfSwords
Likes a sexy female pred. Ranges from vamps to full-on vore. Damn good artist as well.
Xxxecil
Boobs! Gigantic Boobs! Boobs of the apocalypse! Always fun.
AJ Watson
Some good fantastic femdom-y succubus-y type stories. Also needs prodding.
Bobsamade
Borrowed Verde's garden and filled it with some fascinating creations.
There's others I've undoubtably missed or not got round to finishing yet such as Galloglaich's Cemetery Summons series and bashfullyshameless's Angels, Demons and Alex series (nominated in Literotica's sadly pointless and horribly abused end of year awards). As well as others I'm too tired to remember as yet another blog post has ballooned into a huge essay. Feel free to mention any I've missed in the comments. I'm always on the lookout for new and interesting succubus stories.
Happy reading!
I'll start with the general:
Literotica
Biggest sex stories site on the web? They have everything. My stories lurk in the Erotic Horror section. They also have Non-human and Sci-Fi & Fantasy categories for people that like happier endings. I usually check either the Last 30 days Top list for horror or enter "Succubus" into the story search every so often to see if anything interesting popped up. The quality is as you'd expect for an amateur writers site, but there are some gems to be found.
MonsterGirlUnlimited
Monster Girls galore. They have a fanfic section with lots of stories in progress. Kenkou Cross's Monster Girl Encyclopedia is the primary influence despite my best efforts to hijack the forum to my own nefarious purposes. A place to go if you like stories where the girl doesn't end up killing the boy at the end.
Eka's Portal
And for those of you that prefer Girl eats Boy, there's Eka's Portal. It's predominantly a Vore site, but there's a slight overlap for lovers of sexy, predatory females. Some of my stories (Flesh Pitchers of Prague, Wrapdance) fall into this overlap and I post them up there every so often. There's other writers/artists tackling similar themes. 4ofSwords(used to be ohida) runs a regular writing group thread I keep meaning to submit stories to, but never get around to doing.
Lost Boy's Other-Worldly Story Links
Quite possibly dead. Updates very rarely nowadays. It does have a fantastic collection of good stories. This was the first place I blundered into when searching for succubus fiction on the net.
And the writers:
mjm202036
The first writer I stumbled upon, so it's all his fault. His Castlevania fanfic got the idea of a succubus perfectly I thought. She kills through sex and in a way that feels more concrete and realistic than a nebulous energy/spirit/soul/aura drain. Both his Lustful Summoning and Succubus Ranch series are highly recommended. He's been a little quiet of late, so go prod him.
Oblimo
It's Always Time is a great goo (slime) girl story that features a fairly clever plot alongside all the messy sex. I haven't heard much of him of late, but if he's still out there he should probably stick the story up on amazon and make some money from it (hint hint).
4OfSwords
Likes a sexy female pred. Ranges from vamps to full-on vore. Damn good artist as well.
Xxxecil
Boobs! Gigantic Boobs! Boobs of the apocalypse! Always fun.
AJ Watson
Some good fantastic femdom-y succubus-y type stories. Also needs prodding.
Bobsamade
Borrowed Verde's garden and filled it with some fascinating creations.
There's others I've undoubtably missed or not got round to finishing yet such as Galloglaich's Cemetery Summons series and bashfullyshameless's Angels, Demons and Alex series (nominated in Literotica's sadly pointless and horribly abused end of year awards). As well as others I'm too tired to remember as yet another blog post has ballooned into a huge essay. Feel free to mention any I've missed in the comments. I'm always on the lookout for new and interesting succubus stories.
Happy reading!
Monday, March 21, 2011
A new manyeyedhydra mini-serial starting here!
It’s time to try and boost readership of this blog. Plus I haven’t posted any original stories up on the internet for a while. A while back someone asked for a bone. Well my friend, here’s a nice juicy one for ya.
I have an ulterior motive for this (besides the obvious if-you-like-this-then-go-buy-my-books). There’s a short story I’ve been working on since Christmas that keeps juddering to a halt. By breaking it up into nice bite-sized chunks and posting them up here, I might start to feel enough deadline pressure to get the damn thing finished. Readers baying for new chapters often has that effect.
Er, Succubus Summoning 201. Shhhh!
The story will start proper next Sunday, but in the meantime here’s an introduction to whet the appetite. It goes without saying all work is copyright me (as in M.E. Hydra). Reproduce it elsewhere and I’ll send Nÿte round to tear out your twitching soul. Also, if you happen to have found your way here despite being less than eighteen years old, please leave now. You might be safe for the first chapter or so, but sooner or later the story will head off into areas that will make your hormone-riddled brain implode and I really don’t want to be landed with the clean-up bill.
Anyway—
“What do you want, Inari?”
The woman seemed irritated by the intrusion.
“Why me? I told you I don’t want to get involved. I’m not one of your game pieces.”
The girl paced. Her delicate nostrils flared with anger.
“Gift?”
The girl paused. Suspicion and anger gave way to surprise.
“Really? How old?”
She heard the answer. Her full red lips curled up in a predatory smile. Her cheeks flushed bright red.
“Oooh...”
To be continued...
I have an ulterior motive for this (besides the obvious if-you-like-this-then-go-buy-my-books). There’s a short story I’ve been working on since Christmas that keeps juddering to a halt. By breaking it up into nice bite-sized chunks and posting them up here, I might start to feel enough deadline pressure to get the damn thing finished. Readers baying for new chapters often has that effect.
Er, Succubus Summoning 201. Shhhh!
The story will start proper next Sunday, but in the meantime here’s an introduction to whet the appetite. It goes without saying all work is copyright me (as in M.E. Hydra). Reproduce it elsewhere and I’ll send Nÿte round to tear out your twitching soul. Also, if you happen to have found your way here despite being less than eighteen years old, please leave now. You might be safe for the first chapter or so, but sooner or later the story will head off into areas that will make your hormone-riddled brain implode and I really don’t want to be landed with the clean-up bill.
Anyway—
* * * *
Locked in with a Succubus
A phone rang in an innocuous little terraced townhouse. It was answered by an extremely attractive woman in a chic white fur coat.“What do you want, Inari?”
The woman seemed irritated by the intrusion.
“Why me? I told you I don’t want to get involved. I’m not one of your game pieces.”
The girl paced. Her delicate nostrils flared with anger.
“Gift?”
The girl paused. Suspicion and anger gave way to surprise.
“Really? How old?”
She heard the answer. Her full red lips curled up in a predatory smile. Her cheeks flushed bright red.
“Oooh...”
To be continued...
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