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Jocelyn The Wicked Posts

Miriam Humiliates the Elven Noble

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on August 23, 2025

This story brought to you by /r/DirtyWritingPrompts

The message the elven ambassador exuded with his clothing could not be ignored. Lady Miriam had been reading the subtitles of his resplendent clothing without ogling throughout their conversation. His movements colored the gentle words he shared. His voice was as clear as a bell. The rarest and most unique guest to ever have come to her House of Whipsers. The Elvish ambassador dressed like the eternally cultured, visiting those who lived too briefly to ever truly appreciate it.

Nights with the courtesans always carry the most mundane of political stakes, and this novelty pleased Miriam.

“What you ask will require more than one or two, my Lord,” she said. “None who serve here have ever encountered one who lives as long as you.”

“I understand, Lady Miriam,” he said. “It is so good of you to take the time in this extended negotiation. I hope that all of your kind people accommodate with such civilized empathy.”

“Accommodations are the nature of the House of Whispers,” she put a quill to her lip in thought. “I believe I can convince my escorts to work in a rotation. Thought the cost will be at least five thousand ducats for the time required.”

The ambassador shook his head.

“That is far too much. Already, my entourage has spent so many of our coffers on our long journey,” he said. “And we do not fully know the customs of your land. It is not uncommon among my people to welcome visiting dignitaries with complimentary company on nights of celebration, or upon arrival, you see. Having not known the customs of your great city, I did not expect the same in return. Still, we did not understand the amount of treasures to bring.”

Honey-tongued, vulnerable, and gentle. Did all Elven nobles open with this craftiness? Or was it genuine? Miriam could only treat him like any other noble, and go from there.

“I do not mean to offend, Lord. Only that great cost reflects the majesty of great need.”

Need. That word got him. She could sense the faintest tension in his fingers.

“To see you in such frustration from your long journey -a journey without worthy company- pains me so,” said Miriam. “I fear you will rage like an untamed gnoll if we do not find some agreement soon.”

“Gnolls are filthy,” glowered the ambassador, but he cracked the briefest of smiles. Lady Miriam caught a glint in his eye, too. So Elves were much like human nobles, then.

“My lord, it does occur to me I could discount to four thousand. Though you must agree to additional terms.”

He nodded for her to proceed.

“Gnolls are to be caged. Bound. Sometimes gagged for safety,” began Lady Miriam. The great ambassador leaned in closely to listen.

Later, in the dungeon beneath the House of Whispers, Lady Miriam looked down on the naked ambassador, cock half erect, as he lay on a circular padded disk. Lady Miriam latched the manacles over his wrists and ankles.

“Ready?” She said. He nodded. Lady Miriam turned a wheel on the wall, pulled levers, and the disc tilted up and back, positioning the prone ambassador upright, on his back, or at any angle between.

“That is very comfy,” said the Ambassador.

“Comfy? But this isn’t about you, animal,” said Lady Miriam as she covered his eyes in a leather hood. His cock got harder. “This is for each of the courtesans under my care. This is for their pleasure, safety, and challenge…”

She picked up a gag.

“You’re a pitiful monster who needs taming,” she said. “Declare it.”

“A pitiful monster, who must be subdued and tamed,” he said.

“Perfect. Now shush,” she replied and stuffed his mouth full of the gag. Lady Miriam then opened the dungeon door, and a dozen courtesans entered. Some looked on with surprise. Others whispered to one another. They all went silent when Lady Miriam cleared her throat to speak.

“Ladies, our city has been graced with a special guest. An elf of some great supposed importance.” She said. There were excited whispers. No one in this city had ever seen an elf.

“Each of you will have one hundred and eighty ducats,” she said. “Yet the real gift is him. Suck him. Ride him. Tease him, above all, enjoy him. Only know this, the long-lived elven race may take hours to climax. He would wear any one of you out. That is why I give him to all of you.”

She flicked the ambassador’s cock. Then reached for a box of ducats.

“Therefore, whoever comes to me with his cum on their hands, their lips, wherever… will receive a box of another three hundred ducats. I have but three such boxes.”

The coutesans looked at the box and the Ambassador with excitement. She motioned them forward, and two moved towards the ambassador with curiosity. Lady Miriam stepped away. She shut the dungeon door right as a red-haired courtesan caressed the ambassador’s torso. Another whispered something into his ear.

Upstairs, Lady Miriam enjoyed a civilized bottle of wine while the ambassador screamed and moaned below.

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Kink is Anti-fascist. We have Herd Immunity.

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on August 23, 2025
In one of my local communities, a new person outed herself -if even indirectly- as a Trump supporter. Last time I saw her at an event, not many people talked to her and she left. Interestingly enough, there was no public scolding. No coordinated ‘cancelling’ and now hash tag. It was simple. She voiced qualified support for some of the administration’s practices, and then found herself unwelcome in the community. Why did this happen?
I’m generous when I say ‘conservative.’ I honestly think in 2025, after a decade of this bullshit, if you support the GOP, you are at best a Fascist sympathizer. You’re Nazi curious. You know the leopards will never eat your face. You’ve caught yourself a mild case of fascism, and now -perhaps without even knowing it- you’re spreading it to your community.
But it won’t work so well in BDSM communities.
Fascism, among other qualities, believes in a world of slaves and masters. Its violence is non-negotiable. Its hierarchies are rigidly enforced. Roles are essentialized. There is no spectrum of gender. Empathy is considered a liability, as it would lead to moral thinking outside of whatever the master wills. BDSM, by contrast, weaponizes many things authoritarians fear: enthusiastic consent, mutable power dynamics, and empathy.
Consider the following:
  1. Consent Culture as Herd Immunity – Dungeons enforce ongoing, revocable consent like epidemiologists track viruses. This creates social antibodies against coercion. When ‘no’ is sacred, tyranny can’t take root. If a dungeon is run well (yes, I know that’s a qualifier!) they have a policy to deal recognize consent violations, and address consent violations. Fascism cannot even do the first thing.
  2. Power Fluidity vs. Fixed Hierarchies – Even in 24/7 dynamics, submission is chosen daily. Unlike fascism’s rigid castes, our roles shift with negotiation. Tonight’s Domme is tomorrow’s rope bunny – a living rebuke to essentialism. The famous assumption that man = dominant and female = top doesn’t work well in the communities I’m in. Groups that essentialise power on gender (or anything else) don’t find many willing subs.
  3. Aftercare as Collective Care – We ritualize emotional (and empathetic!) processing post-scene. Fascism demands suffering without catharsis; we transform pain into connection. The pleasure of the sadist dom is also caring for the sub. Fascists only want to see others suffer.
Kink spaces are literal laboratories of resistance. Every negotiation teaches skills to dismantle oppression: articulating needs, respecting boundaries, and wielding power ethically.
In developing these emotional muscles and institutionalized habits, we also develop a sense of who does not have them. More importantly, those who might work against them. This is why a person who outs themselves as a boot licker will quickly find themselves incompatible within the community. There need be no direct canceling or collective effort. The ‘conservative’ will find themselves unwelcome, unable to get what they’re after, and discover the exit door on their own.
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Project 2025 Doesn’t Know What Pornography is, but it Sure Hates Trans People.

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on October 23, 2024

I heard that Project 2025 wants to ban pornography. As a producer of smut myself, I had to check it out to see if it was as mean as it sounded. You can find the text relating to porn in the document. It’s on page 37.

Here’s the quote:

Pornography, manifested today in the omnipresent propagation of transgender
ideology and sexualization of children, for instance, is not a political Gordian knot
inextricably binding up disparate claims about free speech, property rights, sexual
liberation, and child welfare. It has no claim to First Amendment protection. Its
purveyors are child predators and misogynistic exploiters of women. Their product
is as addictive as any illicit drug and as psychologically destructive as any crime.
Pornography should be outlawed. The people who produce and distribute it should
be imprisoned. Educators and public librarians who purvey it should be classed
as registered sex offenders. And telecommunications and technology firms that
facilitate its spread should be shuttered.

There were a few other references to pornography, but most of it is in the early pages.

As you can see, Project 2025 weirdly associates ‘Pornography’ with transgender people.

When I think of porn, I think of opening up a nice book with blunt depictions of a career woman extracting business secrets from a competitor’s sales rep while she extracts his orgasms. Or I might think of a relaxing, sensual, sunshine-lit scene of two lesbian women in a silken sheet bed. I might also think of an eight-foot tall demon, with literal fire behind his pectoral muscles, making use of a submissive who only now understands the costs of the deal she made.

I don’t think “Transgender person exists in library book”

Do the big brains at the Heritage Foundation not know what pornography is? Someone, please help me understand!

(I suspect they probably do, and enjoy it quite a bit. How long before there’s another scandal like Falwells pool-boy cuckolding?)

Maybe these remarks are uncharitable. The entire context of this section of Project 2025 was about defending the family. Of course, the family is about gender, schools, and ‘critical race theory’. This section of Project 2025 alludes to problems of divorce, out-of-wedlock childbirths, and fatherlessness. It’s quite thin on solutions, but most of the problems they seem to think are about gender and race. There is no evidence here that the writers of Project 2025 gave empirical consideration to why divorces may happen, or why children may be born outside of a nuclear family, or why that happens so often for black children. (If you studied that last thing, you might be guilty of ‘critical race theory’ after all).

It’s almost as if the Heritage Foundation thinks the threat to families is… people who are not cishet or who support something called ‘critical race theory’. So maybe the solution for them is making trans people invisible.

This highlights the “stupid, but dangerous” nature of conservative thinking. In their document, they openly threaten ‘librarians and educators,’ which starkly reveals their deep-seated hostility towards knowledge. They lament perceived threats to their narrow definition of ‘family,’ presuming to possess a solution to what they see as societal decay. But what is their solution beyond scapegoating here?

Their focus on blaming trans people distracts from grappling with the real issues at hand—such as the complex causes of divorce, the challenges faced by single mothers, and the realities of childhood outside the nuclear family. Unable to confront these complicated problems, their scapegoating will only intensify, leading to further suffering for trans individuals.

Conservatives can only ever exacerbate the very issues they claim to want to resolve.

This, among other reasons, is why republican talk of ‘defending the family’ always sounds fascistic. There are policies that would improve the lives of nuclear families, but the republican party is not likely to support or understand them. Certainly, trans people are no threat to the nuclear family. If anything, republicans are.

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The Greatest Book Launch I ever Blundered

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on July 7, 2024

I finally finished my book after a stroke of wild inspiration: what if an exhibitionistic anarchist developed an obsessive fixation on a futa cop? After writing the story, and gathering feedback from friends, I did what any aspiring author would do—I sat on the manuscript for about ten months.

When it came time to give it a cover, I knew it deserved something unique, not just another AI-generated image. Enter one of my favorite Hentai artists, Evulart, who provided a custom cover along with additional versions. (You can check out the artwork on their Deviant Art here.)

Everything was meticulously planned. Weeks in advance, I had crafted my keywords and polished the blurb to perfection. The countdown began for the big cover reveal. All I needed to do was upload the manuscript.

But, being the genius that I am, I managed to upload the wrong manuscript.

Yes, you read that right. Instead of my latest masterpiece, I accidentally uploaded the manuscript of a previous book I had published. And to make matters more spectacularly disastrous, I had also splurged on a new-release give away advertising slot. Hundreds of eager readers jumped on the opportunity, downloading what turned out to be the wrong book.

Thankfully, I deactivated my Twitter (or whatever elon is calling it now) account beforehand, so no one can yell at me. Unfortunately, my saving grace came in the form of an email from Amazon, notifying me of the mix-up. This is where the story takes a turn into the realm of absurdity. Absurd and EVIL.

My first e-mail came in the robotically informative text of:

Hello,

Thank you for your email regarding the following book(s):

B0D7WDBN7R/Futa Cop’s Roadtrip Brat

We do not allow changes to the contributor or title of your book without a clear disclaimer about this change at the top of your book description. Without a disclaimer, these changes can be misleading to customers because the book’s metadata does not allow a customer to tell whether they might have already read the previous version of that content.

To consider your book for publication, please add the following disclaimer at the top of the description field: “Previously published as The Punished Nonpartisan by Saragona, Jocelyn .”

Please reply to this message when the changes are completed.

My reply to this message was equally pedantic. I explained that I had uploaded the wrong manuscript and had since corrected it.

My next e-mail from from Kindle unlimited came in the next day. By this time some one had already dropped a generous two star rating of my new book.

Hello,

Thank you for your email regarding the following book(s):

B0D7WDBN7R/Futa Cop’s Roadtrip Brat

We do not allow changes to the contributor or title of your book without a clear disclaimer about this change at the top of your book description. Without a disclaimer…

Yeah, you get the idea it was the same message. Hoping I was speaking to one of the remaining biological flesh brains at Kindle, I sent a reply that was like this:

Please let me allow me to add some context.
My first manuscript upload did not match this book description. It was for a another book of mine, which triggered this whole “content review” issue.
I have since replaced that manuscript with the correct manuscript, which matches the book description.
It would not make sense to change the book description right now, especially since this book was published less than a week ago. Please let me know if this explanation helps close the matter.

It did not close the matter. This went on for two more kafkaesque iterations. My last e-mail was a list of rhetorical questions of “why do you act as if you are not reading my replies?” typed with my angry fists. Eventually, Kindle politely said that my book was correct, available, and there was nothing more for me to do.

There is now one five-star review on it though. 🙂

So if you please, dear reader, consider downloading my blunder, Futa Cop’s Road Trip Brat. It will be free again in a few days, or on Kindle Unlimited, the supportive friend of smut authors everywhere!

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How the WGA strike sent me to the Library

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on May 30, 2023

The Writer’s Guild of America has taken a bold step by striking against the studios, and it fills me with immense joy to witness the delay of Stranger Things. For those who may be unaware of the details, let me provide you with a summary as reported by the Nation:

  • Writers asked for 2% additional revenue, Studios offered .004 percent instead (that’s two leading zeros!)
  • Production budgets increased by 4% over the last decade, and writers’ pay decreased by 23 percent with an inflation adjustment
  • Writers asked for a total of $429 million for 20k members, studios profits are at $30 Billion with $780 Million to CEO pay

The studios are in the wrong. This is not up for debate. The Universe is speaking. It is speaking for the unions.

It’s vital to remember that these concerns reach beyond the realm of entertainment. This is a battle fought for the rights of all of us grinding for a fair paychecks. As we stand in solidarity, let us draw inspiration from the wise words of the lovable himbo Rom: “Workers of the World Unite, you have nothing to lose but your chains.”

How do we help the WGA?

I was in college in Los Angeles when the last time the writer strikes against the studios. It was an extraordinary experience, filled with a vibrant energy that only creative professionals can bring. The strikers showcased next-level dad joke game with slogans like “we write, you wrong” and “unfair is unfunny.”

Now I’m up in San Jose, with an office job, and wondering what the rest of us can do to help. Then I thought to myself, if boycotts over beer cans can make things worse, then boycotts are still effective. We can even do it better. No bullets or bad beer necessary!

I cut off Hulu. Then I cut off HBO and the two other streaming services I was paying for. I’m not paying for content right now. Not while the strike is going on.

As an unintended consequence, I got some of my brain back too.

Oh no! I have spare time?!

This memorial day weekend, I would’ve normally relaxed with my partner (also boycotting) and streamed. Distracting ourselves, we tried playing our Switch. It worked for a bit, but long story short we needed something different, and something random.

I’m almost sad to admit it, but I entered a public library for the first time in at least two years.

I found that my card was active, and picked up a random book on the Tudor dynasty and a book from Karen Marie Moning, an author I once loved and had long forgotten about.

It’s been a bit too long since I’ve enjoyed library books.

So big thanks to WGA and the universe for putting that together. I hope studios get the message the universe is sending them too.

Art Credit to J.J. Lendi

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How I Changed my Mind About Sex Work

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on March 7, 2023

At this point in my life, I strongly support the decriminalization of sex work. For too long, society has stigmatized and criminalized sex work, ignoring the fact that it is a legitimate profession that provides a valuable service. Decriminalization would help to remove the stigma and provide sex workers with the legal protections and human rights they deserve.

But I hadn’t always been this way. Growing up, I had always equated sex work with desperation, sex trafficking, and abuse. While my inner exhibitionist was fascinated with many women who worked in porn, the contradiction between enjoying sex work on film yet also disapproving of it off-set never occurred to me.

This started to change during my second year of college. One girl I knew from my apt complex -we’ll call her Alyssa- worked off campus. She worked out of state. She flew out to Vegas to dance about a few weekends per semester, and never once had a problem with her monthly expenses. Alyssa had been one of the prettiest, nicest, girls I knew that year. She even invited me to get into dancing with her. I contemplated it for a time, but only a time. I was to chicken to go through with it.

Later that year, I noticed that Alyssa no longer maintained serious relationships with men. This was also the year the housing crisis made any work anywhere bad for people our age, and I can remember almost trembling about my own future loans. On the other hand, Alyssa continued to work. Eventually, she confirmed to a few of us what we had suspect. She had moved on to work more lucrative -significantly so- than merely dancing.

Alyssa kept her work quiet for her safety and privacy, but what she didn’t have any shame about it. Once, we talking about the business side of her work, I said “it sounds like capitalizing on empathy.” She agreed that it was, as sometimes clients simply loved to talk. Alyssa had access to a place to work, that was legal, and safe. It was not without its drama, for sure. But it didn’t fit the stereotypes in my head about what I thought sex work was.

I researched and wrote about sex work for an ethics class that year. I still agree with many things I wrote back then.

First and foremost, decriminalizing sex work would improve the safety and health of sex workers. Remember how I wrote that Alyssa had been safe? Everyone deserves to have safe place of business, no matter what kind of work they do. By removing the threat of arrest, sex workers would be more likely to report abuse and exploitation. This would lead to better working conditions and health outcomes for sex workers. Decriminalization would also allow sex workers to access healthcare services without fear of being penalized, leading to improved health outcomes for both workers and the broader community. Allowing sex workers to feel safe is not fundamentally different than OSHA standards enforced in any other profession.

Secondly, decriminalization would help to reduce stigma and discrimination against sex workers. By recognizing sex work as a legitimate profession, society can begin to break down the harmful stereotypes that have long been associated with sex work. This can lead to a more inclusive and accepting society that values the contributions of all workers, including sex workers. Someone recently noted on reddit: why do we destigmatize sex workers, but still stigmatize their clients? Let’s be clear on that point too: destigmatizing sex work destigmatizes their clients as well.

Thirdly, decriminalization can empower sex workers by giving them more control over their work and lives. Sex workers would be able to negotiate safer working conditions and better pay, and have the ability to refuse clients or types of work that they are uncomfortable with. This can lead to improved mental health outcomes and higher levels of job satisfaction.

Finally, decriminalizing sex work can have significant economic benefits. Criminalizing sex work is costly, with expenses associated with police enforcement and court costs. Decriminalization can also generate tax revenue, as sex workers would be able to work legally and pay taxes like other workers. This can help to alleviate some of the financial burden placed on taxpayers. Furthermore, it is fair for an industry that requires regulation, to be taxed for that regulation. Preventing crime through regulation of sex work is my favorite version of “defund the police.”

The decriminalization of sex work is a feminist issue that deserves our attention and support. By supporting the decriminalization of sex work, we can help to improve the safety, health, and human rights of sex workers while also having positive economic and public health benefits. It’s time to embrace a more inclusive and accepting society that supports the rights of all workers, including sex workers.

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A Succubus Meets her Meal’s Super Nice Mom

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on January 23, 2023

I wrote this one during the pandemic from an online writing prompt. Enjoy.

I entered. I charmed. I did the girl on top position because I like it when their eyes roll in the back of their heads as they eject their cum. Even more, I love seeing their veins turn blue, then purple, then glow as I siphon vitality from them…. all the while they smile and say things like “I love you so much baby…” or other clumsy talk like that.

And this pandemic? Best thing ever. Everyone is lonely as hell, disconnected, and living like livestock in isolated boxes. No more drama when I pick up a guy from a bar and then run into an angry girlfriend -or even boyfriend!- when I hunt in the same spot later! Nope, everything is good. I could even sleep against my naked human pet for the night.

I do love snuggles!

At least that’s how it went when I snuggled against my twenty-seven or so odd guy in a house in Glendale. He woke up looking famished, pale, and moaning.

“Hello baby,” he purred.

“Hi handsome,” I said. “Nice snuggling. I need a shower. Can you stand up?”

“uhhh… wait.. how did we…?”

I covered his lips with a kiss, exuding life back into him, and reactivating my charm over him. A bit of color turned back into his skin. I rolled out of bed.

“I need a shower. Then you will make me food. With coffee. I take half a teaspoon of sugar.”

“Breakfast, yeah… good.” He said. He stumbled out of that queen size bed of his, and I walked away into the master shower. Bathing off the night’s grime, I contemplated the old days of fucking a man to death and being done with it. It was a simple era, for a wilder time. Now, it was the decision of the infernal conclave that such ravenous consumption be avoided because the exposure risk was too high. Manservants were better than mancorpses too. Although it is still frowned upon to enter into relationships with humans. That also would increase risk of discovery.

So I did want most succubus did. Hunt. Fuck. Eat sustainably. Disappear the next morning leaving a man with nothing but a backache and a memory of some wild dreams. I’ll have him eat me out before I say goodbye and put him to bed again.

“Oh, what do you mean you have a guest?” A matronly, happy voice called out from downstairs. I Froze. Dammit. No. We can’t be discovered. We know what happens in the old days when we get discovered. I had to play it cool.

I came down in a borrowed bathrobe with my hair slightly damp. Before me walked in my previous night’s meal’s mother. She looked in her 50s, wearing a covid mask, carrying in groceries in one arm, and leading the sweetest-looking chocolate lab I’d seen in ages. The dog’s happy hopping stopped when he saw me. It didn’t growl but it got in between mom and me.

“Hey… I’m Kelsey,” I said. I’d nearly forgotten the name I’d given my food last night.

“Oh my,” she said smirking. “So sorry to come in at such a bad time. I’m Tricia. So nice to meet you!”

She fumbled with the dog leash and proffered her hand. Her handshake came so soothing, as did the cheeky smile she offered as she did. Hmm… I could tell she had been Tommy’s mom. She had the same chin and the same happy glint in her brown eyes. Different hair. Tommy had gotten those dark curls from his dad I guess.

“Oh I feel like I’m intruding,” I said. My words were laced with my charm and watched her eyes. The suggestion would take effect. I need her to let me leave and figure this out. The dog barked. “Maybe I’ll be off in a minute.”

“Oh don’t be silly, I’m not about to see Tommy’s first bit of company in almost three years leave out in nothing but a borrowed bathrobe!” She jeered at me. Wait. Why did she jeer? How could she jeer? “Not with an empty stomach either. So you sit down right over there, and tell me all about yourself.”

“Uhh… not much to say…” I was stunned. I couldn’t figure it out. Charm didn’t work. Was it the dog? I didn’t know.

“Well, how did you two meet?”

“we… uuhhh…” Tommy scratched his head. Confused and bewildered, we couldn’t remember because it hadn’t really happened. I’d drifted through his window like a ghost and took solid form when I was ready to fuck. I can do that because men get charmed easily in their sleep. Shit. That charm could wear off any second.

“Tinder!” I stuttered.

“Yeah… it was Tinder.” nodded Tommy. The dog barked again. At me.

“Oh! Let me get Yannie out back,” said Tricia. It gave me the time I needed to think. As soon as she passed the sliding door, I yanked Tommy by the heft of his morning t-shirt and pressed my mouth to him with a deep, lewd, kiss, and forced my tongue deep into the warm cave of his mouth. I had him as susceptible as a blank lump of clay. I could do anything to him. I could make him do anything and believe anything after that case. This was more than a kiss of enthrallment. This was the kiss of enslavement. In the old days, we’d wipe a man of anything except his willingness to fuck us or fight for us… but I couldn’t do that. It would break his mom’s heart.

“Tommy,” I said. “You with me?”

“Yes… I love you baby… so much,” he began.

“Alright, Tommy. Let’s start a story. I’m going to tell you how we met.”

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Gender Bending the Wooden Ship Sailor

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on December 23, 2022

It began as a reward for violence. A token for my duty, and nothing more.

My captain picked up that wicked trinket between London and St. Augustine’s Bay. An ordinary ring. A ring of common tin. My captain had been swindled into believing it silver. After he repaid the merchant in blood, he tossed the trinket to me. I had aided him in that unpleasant but necessary affair of honor.

I wore it. It was a prize for duty. It was only when we crossed the equator, under the light of a full moon that the being in the ring spoke to me. She, or it, I still do not understand, appeared to me like a trick of Saint Elmo’s Fire one cold night on the deck. She was a woman who was as beautiful as the harlots who the Mohammedans hide from the Englishmen. Removing her veil, she spoke to me, and stated a rote words: “you’ve awoken the pact. What is your first wish?”

I wished for her at that moment. Any sailor would. She was finer than all the doxies that wait at the ports. She was even more breathtaking than the aristocrats and duchesses who sometimes call on us. But thinking her a siren of legend, I dare not touch the temptress for fear of going into the ocean. But wishes she said she could grant, per the terms the pact hammered into that ancient ring centuries ago. Laughingly, I told her I wished for my own ship.

A few wishes and more voyages later, the merchant company promoted me. A ship was mine. After more crossings at the equator, I found myself the expected heir of a great estate. It depended only on my marriage to an eldest daughter of a respectable family. I would no doubt take the place as the eldest son for terms of inheritance. As was my duty, I would no doubt honor her father with many grandsons. Perhaps my days at sea were behind me.

It was on the land, in the room of mansion meant to be mine someday, that my wish granter appeared as she often did, again out of the light of a full moon. Her skin glowed in the light my bedroom candles, contrasting with the pale night sky. The flowing of those oriental robes shimmied down her body like a slow waterfall. More and more, her beautiful skin showed to me, my phallus tented upwards as firm as the masts of the ships I’d captained.

“Wisher”, she spoke. “I have fulfilled my pact. Now you will fulfill wishes of mine.”

My night clothes whisked off my body. The bones in my body shifted in a sudden wrench of pain. Hair disappeared from my chest. The curves of my shoulders softened and weakened. Why did she weaken me?

“I will make you quite beautiful..” she whispered. The generous breasts of a woman grew from my chest. A prickle of the wind triggered a mad sensation. My nipples… they grew harder, and it felt both sinful and good.

This vixen from the ring now stood naked and regal before me. The hairs of her womanhood tantalized me, that enticing triangle. I covered my hands over my manhood.

“I am to be married!” I declared. I didn’t recognize that soft voice that spoke it. “To give children. To family… to be a worthy heir…”

“You are already married. For you bound yourself to me upon wearing that ring…”

She raised her hands lifting me off my feet and floating me in the air. My body continued its change. She sculpted me to her pleasure, making me gasp and wheeze as my soul struggled to adapt to this new body. My throbbing member remained, and I clinged to it, as if my last raft in a turbulent ocean.

“What’s you have is also mine. This house. This fortune,” she chided. “Even that aristocrat’s daughter who is to be given to you.”

Her hands caressed my changing skin. That unexpected touch felt so much… more… than anything else that had touched me. It was if a layer of hide had always been on me, and every doxie who I lay with had never touched beyond it. Now, as she caressed me, it was as if I was naked for the first time.

It was enough to make me forget my duties.

“And I would never take heirs from you,” she said. My manhood slipped away between my hand. I screamed no, only to have my hands touch a soft slit instead. Curious, I opened myself, and found a treasure I never knew I wanted.

“Oh is it that nice?” smirked the woman of the ring.

“Yes!” I sighed. That soft voice. It hardly bothered me now. Fingering myself, and listening to myself, I felt a spell cast on my mind. My mind would soon match my new body, and I welcomed it.

“Now look here,” declared the woman of the ring. Her magic yanked my hands away from my groin. Then I saw her. She had taken it from me. She had taken my phallus and now it belong to her. It rose from her groin now, as strong as a cannon.

“I promise you, our little bride will have many children,” she purred. “Now lie back, wisher, and spread your legs for master.”

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Wickedly Reviewed: Futa Teaches Catholic Coeds Collection 1 by Reed James

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on January 31, 2022

Reed James Futa Teaches Catholic Coeds is a story of a reticent futanari teacher, mixed with a subtext of blackmail, and tied together with racial fetish. The story begins with Miss Zoey, a teacher struggles to keep her cock down while she teaches ethics to a room full of Catholic college girls. More than that, Miss Zoey is placed in charge of a dormitory. It includes Bella and Selena. The head nuns assure all that no lesbianism occurs here… I’m sure it doesn’t headmistress. Yes. Of course. No one would ever suspect such a thing.

Femme Dom shares her Submissive with a Futa Teacher

Miss Zoey begins her journey when she accidentally discovers two of her students breaking the rules in the bathroom. Bella moans as her master Selena treats her to oral sex. There’s little doubt that Selena is the dominant, as she eats pussy like she owns it and Bella declares herself a slave. It’s enough to give Miss Zoey an out of control erection, and can’t stop stroking.

That’s when Bella and Selena announce that they knew they were being watched. They insist that Miss Zoey play and Selena is confident, naked, and smelling of orgasm. Before this night’s done, Miss Zoey risks her job, but she can’t resist sharing a slave with Selena. Selena takes charge all the way, commanding Miss Zoey to fill Bella with cum.

Bella loves being used.

Futa Seduces another Student … or Else

As strong as this first scene was, it wasn’t until the next section of the book that I got hooked. Miss Zoey gets a blackmail letter, with orders to seduce a Japanese student, Hikaru. Zoey naturally suspects Selena, but it isn’t made clear at this point in the book that it’s her. The previous night’s hot threesome could’ve occurred loud enough for anyone to hear.

But as reluctant as she is to obey, Zoey seduces the student, who is surprisingly eager to have her first experience with a Futanari. These scene had lavish description of oral sex:

I licked my lips as her spicy musck filled my nose. Dewdrops beaded on her curls…I nuzzled her bush. Her curls spilled over my face…My lips explored deeper and deeper until I found her hot vulva. Juicy and delicious. I licked out and stroked a tight slit.

I loved the dew.

The story continues with scenes of exhibitionism and Miss Zoey’s guilty lust. Selena commands Miss Zoey to stroke herself in a hallway. Later, Bella ambushes miss Zoey with insistent submission: miss Zoey simply must accept oral, right there. Now.

The rushed exhibitionism, the blackmail, are the only things that can make miss Zoey stop thinking, and have fun.  Every sex scene in this story book comes as juicy surprise in which the only thing that holds back Miss Zoey from connecting with her students is herself. The scenes in this book are hot and occur at about the right frequency expected for a short erotic work.

Download. Enjoy. Have some fun reading the word porn.

Bonus points if you dare to read it to yourself in an undergrad classroom.

Reed James is a thirty year-old guy living in Tacoma, WA. “I love to write, I find it freeing to immerse myself in a world and tell its stories and then share them with others.” He’s been writing naughty stories since high school, furiously polishing his craft, and finally feels ready to share his fantasies with the world.

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Wickedly Reviewed: Gasping for Ghosts by Juno North

Published by Wicked Jocelyn on November 10, 2021

Multiple ghosts get more than curious about a curious ghost hunter.

Supernaturally Playful Predators

Ghosts aren’t nice. They’re not exactly evil. They’re only doing what ghosts do in this story: That’s preying upon a lone ghost hunter until she convulses with unexpected orgasms. Not a shred of clothing covers her from the icy air. Perhaps, maybe, she’s even joined the ghosts to play with them forever. Or maybe that’s this reviewer’s mind looking to far into it. You never know.

The story begins with a group of ghost hunters, among them is Ashley who is here for a good fright.

The group explores a house that has long been abandoned and is rumored to have once been a brothel. Now, it is a place of cold footsteps and rumors of sex so great that a wealthy man died happy. The story takes off when our ghost hunters split the group. That’s when Ashley discovers a room of mirrors, and its four posted bed. She hears the sound of the thunder outside, and the increasingly intrusive and hypnotic sounds ghostly lesbian sex. She ignores the crackles of her radio as the ghosts climax.

Ghosts will do what Ghosts will do

Like a hawk going after a stray mouse, the spirits use Ashley with pure amoral instinct. Ashley is touched and groped. Her clothes are unzipped. They expose her breasts to the chill air, and through it all Ashley offers no resistance. Next, the ghosts bring her into the bed, and she is restrained at her hands and her feet, and looks at her nude and vulnerable self in the mirrors around the room. The only warmth she feels is the wet hot mouths that kiss her skin, and even bite at her. Haunted toys float in the room, and penetrate her without patience. Then, Ashley only falls deeper into the paranormal euphoria. The lesbian specters -and at least one masculine one- use her until she forgets why she came to this place.

But does she join them? As in “play with us. Play with us forever.”?

The Hot Take

Gasping for Ghosts is a quick, one scene, one handed read of supernatural ghost erotica. I enjoyed this short immensely because it tickled my mind control kink. The story hits the beats of supernatural horror well, complete with its haunted house, strange sounds, and protagonists who make those juicily bad decisions. Juno North knows her audience well, and writes the perfect story for those of us who love a sexy paranormal story with a kink of supernatural mental domination.

About Juno North: Juno North writes saucy stories to share her love of the wilder side of life with her readers. At various times in her life she’s been a door to door saleswoman, a roller derby announcer, and the live musical act at a popular burlesque show.

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