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Jocelyn The Wicked Posts

Artist Collaboration with Sketch Lanza!

 NSFW Illustrations only please

My favorite part about the internet are the dick picks sent to my inbox. My other favorite part of the internet is kinky hentai art. I don’t actually like the first thing. If you send me a dick pick, it better be some high quality vector art!

Authors Need Avatars

Since I began writing erotica years ago, I needed a NSFW author avatar of my own. Sure, I had a pretty hot illustration for years, but it wasn’t mine. Yet my own visual art greatness goes only far as picking colors for background gradients.

Scouring the forums of Hentai Foundry, I found a NSFW co-conspirator. The artist, Sketch Lanza, answered my first e-mail quickly. Within twenty four hours, he had a basic sketch that we agreed on. Then, I had a the perfect illustration two weeks later.

Oh, did I mention Sketch Lanza also made sure I had a transparent .png to use? That way, I could resize, change backgrounds, and do all that wonderful stuff for my own sites.

Fast, Cheap, Good

I’ve needed this illustrations for years. But you know what? We all know about the rules of “Fast, Cheap, Good.” You can only pick two. I will never not choose “Good.” Furthermore, this blog is only stretching its wings, so I went with “cheap”.

Two weeks was perfect, honestly. Now, my new Avatar has replaced my old one everywhere, from Hentai-Foundry, Amazon Author page, to my anticipated Patreon.

Thanks for the Art, Sketch Lanza! I hope to check in with you again as Contracts of Skin needs more art.

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Jasmine’s Hazing

Exposed to the hard spattering of raindrops, I had never been smaller than at my grandmother’s graveside. Grandma Carolina Haverton MacKinley herself was small next to my great grandmother, Helen Haverton, who took “Haverton-Gibson” as her married name. Grandma Helen worked her husband, an architect, to found a construction and real estate empire. She began in Portland. Our properties now dominated areas as far south as California’s Sacramento delta. My mother managed it now.

My mother wept at the graveside that year. Grandma Carolina had died a year after our congressman broke his promise to us. Despite protests, he had given rights to a defense contractor to build a factory west of Beaverton. Its disgusting fumes could be seen from our properties. My mother was so incensed that she challenged our representative’s seat the following year. Though it took more than money for a politically inexperienced, single issue, candidate to beat an entrenched politician. He had the support of his good old boys allies that went back to his Ivy league. Dejected, my mother conceded, and contented herself to withdraw our donations.

I knew then, as a shivering middle school girl, that my family would call on me. The terrible weight that I would someday serve Helen Haverton’s legacy confined my heart. One day too I would take over as my grandmother and mother had done. More though, I would have to exceed them. I would need a network as strong as our back stabbing congressmen. Our family and our city needed a Haverton in public service.

That had been my idea. I existed to prove myself and to carry the legacy. To begin, I began college with my long term purpose in mind. I must connect with best, and only the best. Grandma Carolina used to used to quote some old philosopher: ‘Know the fortunate in order to choose them.’ Therefore, the right friends would assist in my goals, but purposes had changed so fast. Pledge week had only been two weeks ago. I ignored every competing sisterhood and walked straight to the oldest one on campus, Phi Gamma Omega. There, I looked straight into the wary, regal, blue-green eyes of one sister.

“Yes?” she said to me.

“Hi,” I said. “Can I ask your name?”

“I’m Morgan,” she said. Her tone spoke so much more. As did her gaze. ‘Why are you talking to me?’ it signaled. ‘Why should I be interested?’ was written on her face. “Who are you?”

I had been nervous then. I fought a little battle in my mind even though there couldn’t be anything to worry about. Grandma Carolina used to tell me that people only know how you act, and never how you feel on the inside. So even when you trembled around that boy you had a crush on or how scared you felt to speak in a group, if you pretended enough, no one would know. Then you’d get what you want.

“I’m the next girl you will invite to this sorority,” I said standing as straight as I could, my face unwavered though my heart thumped inside me.

“Is that so?” said Morgan. “Now why would I do that?”

“My name is Jasmine Haverton Vicinda,” I answered. Morgan’s eyebrows raised. Her crossed arms relaxed to her side, and she prodded her chin.

“As in…” she said.

“Helen Haverton.”

“Okay legacy,” said Morgan. Her attitude changed towards me. Instead of coldness, she offered a sliver of respect. “I’ll sponsor you myself. Though you’re going through your pledging process like any other, do you understand?”

“I think I do.”

“‘Think you do’? There’s no special treatment here,” Morgan said as she glowered towards me. “You will pledge like any other freshmeat. You will do whatever any other freshmeat does. If you don’t do what we want, then you don’t really want to be in.”

“I…” I began.

“Really, it might be best for you to walk away,” said Morgan. Her judgmental facade dropped for a split second. Was she testing me?

What was it I felt in that moment? I think it had been fear. I had been right to be afraid. If I stepped away, I would’ve kept on existing as normal, and joined some other sorority. I’d be partying between studies and giving head to cute boys and maybe a professor. Future lawyers, business magnates, and other influential people would still be among my peers. I could have walked away right then. This sorority was more than a mere power group. I wanted this and I was going to do whatever it took to live up to my name. Everyone named Haverton had done something great. Great-Grandma Helen would be proud.

“I’ll do whatever it takes, big sister,” I said. “I don’t want to be treated any different.”

Grandma Helen had been one of the first women to attend Granitewell College, a private school on the edges of Portland, back in the early fifties. She helped found the Phi Gamma Omega sorority, and later she met my great-grandfather. My family’s name preceded me. Granitewell begged me to visit by the tenth grade. Great-grandma had forbidden -with uncompromising terms- her daughter to follow in her educational path. My mother told me of the threats Great-grandma had given when she considered applying. Helen Haverton didn’t think anyone could do it.

I had struggled, but I knew my path. I would become the first legacy ever to join the Phi Gamma Omega women. So I had endured high school and all its abuses and applied to only one college. Nothing would stop me. Nothing would stop me from gathering that network of the fortunate. Resolved, I prepared myself for whatever Morgan had in mind.

There had been two other girls pledging that week with me. The big sisters had given us a schedule so strict we had to dodge our classes. When we crossed the antique oak doors of the sorority house, we were stripped of clothes and ordered to be silent. The sisters affixed thin canine collars. Each collar had a little dog tags declaring which big sister owned us for the week. We were shown the messy kitchen, the filthy bathrooms, and cluttered bedrooms. After we scrubbed and vacuumed the house, they threw aprons at us and sent us to cook.

They never told us why we cooked so much. They gave us no notice about the party they had planned. Guests arrived in the evening. We served food to guys I’d seen on campus and girls older than me. The big sisters’s boyfriends gazed at our nudity. Every second degraded us. One boyfriend reached out to Yumi, another pledge, to flick her small breast. His girlfriend slapped his hand away and clarified the no touching rule.

That’s when I knew my big sisters would keep us dirty little pledges safe. They take good care of their own. I’m sure Yumi is happy now. Bristol too. I’m even more so. Safer and happier than you can imagine.

That party had lasted late, and we’d been given cots in the basement. The three of us cleaned the next morning. Yumi had been sweeping the kitchen floor while Bristol and been gathering empty cans, paper plates, and even some random clothes. Bristol looked at Yumi and noticed the bit of jewelry at her neck.

“How come you still get to wear that, there?” she asked.

Yumi touched the pendent that hung from her neck.

“Come on, let me see it,” said Bristol. She stepped over to the kitchen and bugged Yumi.

“My big sister didn’t make me take it off,” protested Yumi.

“But you’re not naked then,” said Bristol teasing. “You get to cover up with whatever that little metal is.”

“You don’t think this is naked?” said Yumi. She stretched her arms out and whipped her black straight hair over her shoulder. Her nips pointed out against the cool air. The contours of hips and stomach shown under the light. “I feel pretty naked.”

Beyond the collar, the only thing on her body was that crucifix necklace.

“I think she looks more naked with it,” I said. “More naked than us.”

“Yeah, that’s probably why your big sister let her keep it,” said Bristol. She twirled back to the cluttered living room.

“So where are you from, Yumi?” I asked.

“Sacramento,” she began. Yumi looked at my chest then diverted her eyes towards my face. Then glanced away again. “Sacramento area anyway. Place called Citrus Heights.”

“California?”

“Yeah… I wanted to come up here, because it’s far?” she said. She checked me out again. Out of curiosity, I rolled my hips in a subtle display. Yumi’s pupils dilated and then she glanced away again. My mother always said use your beauty whenever and on whoever. “I wanted to get in the best sorority I could too.”

She shifted her gaze to our wall of fame. One woman smiled in the robes of a judge. Another woman sat in a director’s chair. A third, smiled in doctor’s scrubs accepting an award for an innovative new surgery technique. This is what the women of Phi Gamma Omega became.

Yumi and I talked more throughout our cleaning shift. I remember thinking how beautiful her light brown eyes were. Her lashes and eyelids hinted at Asian ancestry. I couldn’t place where she might be from though. I only wished that I could have had hair as sleek as hers. Bristol’s eyes were dark blue, and her lashes spoke both come hither and I’ll cut you in the same blink. Her brown hair was held back with a clip that had her name on it. I guess that’s the bit of clothing her big sister let her keep. Metal bars pierced the nipples of Bristol’s full chest. They looked like they could hurt when I saw them. I wanted to bite them too.

“Philosophy,” I said when they asked me what I studied. “Minoring in English too.”

“Oh God, so do you love to study or what? Can’t imagine studying for fun,” said Bristol. “Missing classes must be killing you.”

“I can have fun,” I said. I cared about her opinion of me then. “Besides it’s about finding the right teachers.”

“Oh really? So do you know who is good for freshman English?” said Yumi. “Cause I gotta change my classes and I might get a new instructor.”

I didn’t. I didn’t know who had been the right teacher for me. When Yumi said those words, it struck me as to how I had suddenly overlooked the quality of my own Freshman English teacher. Anxiety struck me and it cut deep into my body. I’d researched all the right professors for my first two years, based on every rating system I read online. I’d examined some of the stuff they wrote and published because that’s what I was supposed to do. Though when it came to my Freshman English professor, a professor who would probably determine whether I wrote well or terrible for the rest of college, I had picked who fit in my schedule. I remember this sudden tension in my heart and an urgent need to do something.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“Don’t know?” said Yumi.

“You could check Doctor Ellis,” said Bristol her voice was gentle and her eyes cunning. “She writes for magazines and stuff.”

“Okay,” said Yumi.

I cleaned up in a hurry that day. You see, I had to check for myself too. I left Yumi and Bristol and sneaked my way upstairs.

What I did then was silly. I know that now. Now I don’t stress about my classes or having the right everything. I go to my classes and then return to my cell. It’s simple there. Though right then, I agonized over the perfect teacher. Upstairs I found a computer and connected to my usual rating systems. I read everything I could about Doctor Ellis. I then looked up magazines she’d written in. I sent some to myself to read later. Then, when I read her third book review, Morgan hollered my name from down the hall.

“Freshmeat?” she said bursting through the door way. I had been caught on a computer when she expected me to be cleaning. Trembling and red in the face, I stared at my big sister’s furious expression.

“Pledge, what are you doing?”

“I’m on the internet.”

“And what were you supposed to be doing?”

“Cleaning the house until it sparkles, big sister,” I gulped.

“I see,” said Morgan. She slammed the laptop’s lid shut. “Come with me.”

Morgan took me to her bedroom. She opened a drawer and pulled out a paddle. She then put it back and reached in for another one. Holding the two in her hands she ignored me and then decided on the wider one with leather padding.

“Bend over pledge,” she said. “Turn around. Hands on the bed frame.”

“Yes, big sister,” I whimpered.

The first strike came in a wide, flat impact on my ass. Then my big sister tapped the other cheek. I embraced the second wet leather thud.

“Jasmine Haverton Vicinda,” sneered Morgan. “Did you get excused from cooking with your pledging sisters?”

“No, big sister,” I said.

Another strike came. I choked down a cry.

“Do you get to wear clothes while other pledges stay naked?”

Another hit.

“No big sister,” I said.

Whap.

“Did you get excused from chores with your sisters?”

“No, big sister,” I said.

The next hit hurt. I cried out. Morgan leaned over me. Her hand moved up my chest and her fingers curled around my neck. Her face went straight to my cheek.

“You’re not special, little sister,” she said. “You do what I say, because you told me you would take it. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” I said.

I dared not move my hands from the post. Prone, I took another two firm slaps of the paddle. I’d never been punished before. My big sister loved meting it out. She surprised me when her smooth hands caressed my back, my chest, and legs as I was bent over like that. When her fingers made it to my bare pussy, I winced. The soft pinching she gave my outer lips relaxed me. It made me feel good.

“You will do whatever I want,” she said. Her fingers moved in testing my wetness. I loved every humiliating second of her prodding. When she pulled out, I almost pleaded her to continue. Instead, she put her fingers to my face and had me smell my juices.

“You like the smell of pussy, pledge?”

“Yes, big sister.”

“Would you eat my pussy if I told you to?” she said.

“Whatever you ask, big sister,” I said. I looked up at her, playing the part of the obedient pledge. I had suspected she would demand this, eventually. My anxious heart would not stop me. I would do it. I would do it until my big sister came to prove my dedication. It wouldn’t matter how degrading that would be. I existed for this sorority and all that it promised me. Nothing could humiliate me so much that I would turn my back. I was meant to be here. Morgan wanted it too. My gaze dared her, and even begged her, to drop her panties before me.

Only later did I understand why big sister Morgan wavered, stepped away from me, and ordered me to stand up. Air deflated from my lungs. Almost. We could have done the oral sex and gotten that test over with.

“You’ll eat pussy before you know it, freshmeat. I’d make you eat mine right now, but that’s not on me yet,” she said in a firm tone. Her words pushed down whatever her own cravings were. “We’re getting you pledges dressed up tomorrow night and taking you somewhere special. Then, we’ll see if you have what it takes to join Phi Gamma Omega.”

The next night arrived. Our big sisters had given us all simple instructions: dress in the hottest outfits you can. Though what had they meant by that? Club hot? Formal event hot? Trashy hot? All of those silly thoughts had run through my head as I tried on an outfit, removed it, changed again and then modified the look. I didn’t know what I was going for, and I didn’t know what was happening next. I only knew to get it right.

“Pledge,” said my big sister. She entered dressed in a sorority uniform, a dark sweater vest with green trim. She looked completely official right down to her knee height boots.

“Yes sister?” I turned halfway out of my previous outfit. I must have looked like such a mess. Too many things were complicated right at the beginning of the semester. Maybe it had all been in my head though.

“What are you doing?” Morgan raised an eyebrow at me. “I said put on your sexiest outfit, not a hurricane of half dress. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” I stammered. “I have to look my sexiest. But what is it for? Who is it for? If I’m going to look hot I have to look the right kind of hot.”

Morgan raised her hand to shush me.

“Which outfit makes you feel the hottest?”

I stared at the mish mash of outfits resting on my bed. Morgan sighed.

“Okay, well the tube top is going to go. We won’t use that one,” she said. She took my dark green top and pushed it aside. “This single long dress? Yes, it’s hot and sleek, but it’s not working for what’s planned tonight.” She pushed that back into the closet. “I like this skirt.” She said tossing it to one side of the bed. “But we’re getting rid of this belt you have with it…”

Morgan went through my clothes one at a time, never asking once what was what. After a few rounds, she had me down to two items of clothing. My pastel colored, asymetrical dress. She picked a belt out for me to accentuate my waist, then tied the look together with a coat I’d brought from home. Picking this out would have kept my manic head spinning in circles for hours. She had made snap decisions in a matter of seconds.

“There,” said Morgan. “You’re sexy. Make-up too?”

The outfit worked, and I knew what tiny bit of eyeliner and lip stick I needed to complete this look.

“I know what to do for makeup,” I said.

“Good,” said Morgan. “By the way, you’re not wearing those cotton panties either. You got something hotter right?”

“Umm, in my suitcase still?”

Morgan opened it and went through my collection of lingerie bottoms.

I came down out of my room to the group of big sisters, the other pledges. I remember feeling embarrassed at being so late. I could tell by how the other uniformed big sisters eyed me that I’d taken way too long to dress. Bristol looked me over. She wore a tight top that emphasized her perfect cleavage and tight daisy dukes to match. Yumi wore a black pleather skirt with a white top that showed her shoulders. She kept her crucifix in between her perfect collar bones.

“You look good there, Jasmine,” said Bristol.

“Thanks,” I said. “Sorry for making everyone wait.”

“You can pick faster next time,” said Morgan. “Any last minute adjustments, pledges? Are you at your hottest?”

“Will we be… outside?” said Yumi.

Morgan and the other big sisters looked at her outfit.

“Yeah, she could use a jacket too,” said another big sister. Yumi looked at them unsure.

“Yes, Yumi, go upstairs and be quick,” said another sister. Yumi scampered upstairs to her room. She returned down with a wind breaker.

“Perfect. Sisters, remove their collars,” said Morgan. “You freshmeat bitches? Come to the garage.”

We walked down the hill outside our Sorority house, around a parking lot, and to the garage shed. The wet asphalt glistened against the yellow of the night’s street lamps. The cloud cover hid the sky as always. Rain was light tonight. The shed itself? It frightened enough with its old peeling paint and its walls covered with decaying vines. The sisters opened it. Inside there was a windowless van. Morgan opened the back doors to reveal a pristine interior of metal as clean as a mortician’s table. A row of seats with constricting seat belts awaited us.

“Get in bitches,” commanded one of the sisters. The Haverton women needed political power someday. Remembering that, I refused to hesitate. I sat down and buckled myself in. Yumi and Bristol followed me. The doors closed with a clunk. We were in darkness except for the pale blue of the interior light. Even the window to the driver’s seat in front had been closed. The engine hummed and the van moved.

It might have been minutes. It might have been hours. I don’t remember anymore. The van bumped over potholes. We had a sense that we traveled on a highway. All throughout that ride, my heart pounded. Not so much out of being scared, although I had been that too. No, my heart beat out of confusion at what I had went through. Less than an hour prior I had stressed about small things like what to put on. Later, I was getting driven in a cage of a van, yet I existed in simplicity.

“Where are they taking us?” said Bristol. Her eyes darted around, as if looking for a tiny crack of light, or a window, or anything. Bristol couldn’t handle confinement too well. Maybe that’s why she hadn’t been chosen in the end.

“I don’t know,” said Yumi.

“Do you?” said Bristol. She said pointing at me. “Your grandma or someone is up on wall. I’ve seen her!”

“I don’t know… Bristol,” I said.

“Yes you do,” she insisted. “Come on! Tell us what they’re going to do!”

“I honestly don’t know!” I declared. I raised my hands up in protest.

“We’ll be safe, Bristol,” said Yumi. “We’re almost done. I know it. Don’t you?”

“But where are we going?” said Bristol. Slight beads of sweat appeared at her neck.

“Bristol,” said Yumi. She took Bristol’s hand and held it, “We’ll be full sisters soon. Don’t you want that?”

Bristol calmed down.

“You know I never left my state before coming out here,” said Yumi. “I almost didn’t want to come all the way up here either. I thought I’d attend a community college, then go to the same UC my sister did, forty minutes from home.”

“You got nervous and went anyway,” I said.

“Thanks,” smiled Yumi. “I wanted to explore the northwest. So I’m here.”

“Alright,” said Bristol calming down. “Okay. I can’t wait for air.”

I reached out for Bristol’s other hand. She took it and squeezed. The tension in her diffused between all three of us. Nervous and unburdened, we rode in silence.

To Be continued

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Wickedly Reviewed: Futanari Farms Mounted and Milked by Bobbi Mare

 

Futas make Hucows out of lost Men

When it comes to taboo futanari erotica, be careful what you wish for. This book is delightfully depraved: two lost males meet a farm full of futas. What’s the danger? First, these futas run a special kind of dairy farm. Second, lots of futa on male sex here. Third, futas can’t be resisted.

Real world coronavirus crisis, and imaginative world building from author Bobbi Mare set the stage. Futanari semen can cure anything. But it must be processed through humans with the right kind of diseases. Sounds like there might be break down in production right? There aren’t many males lining up for the position. Thankfully, these futanaris don’t need anyone to be willing.

Hapless, COVID-19 infected, males Ben and Shane are lost in the Canadian countryside, unable to return to home. They’re ‘rescued’ by a farm full of sexy futanari. Irresistible pheromones work mind control on anyone the futas encounter. Well, almost anyone. Some men can resist, and the futanari have ways around that too.

Consequently, the futas completely mind wreck one male. He submits to futanari cock in every hole. Next, his body grows milk able breasts, and they dress him up as sissy cattle. The futas milk his teets and his dick because he’s a male hucow now.

The other? It doesn’t matter that the futas can’t control his mind. They have plenty of other ways to turn him into a humiliated little piggy, and harvest the  cum they ejaculate into him.

Like I said, be careful what you wish for.

This story was hot and filthy. It’s one of the most fun 12k word reads I’ve purchased recently. Enjoy!

 

About the Author

Author of nasty, naughty, trashy, taboo erotica.

As a mature sissy who grew up with the Nexus, Beeline, and Reluctant Press paperbacks, and who matured through Transformation, Forced Womanhood, and the Visions of Fantasy She-Male magazines, I have a lifelong love of erotic transgender and fetish fiction.

Submissive sissies in pretty outfits and erotic bondage is my signature theme, but within my fiction you can also expect to themes of find forced feminization, breast growth and breastfeeding, oral and anal penetration, chastity and castration, butt plugs and pegging, stunning shemales and fabulous futanari, big black stallions (both literally and figuratively), pony boys and pony girls, massive cocks with huge loads, and other deviant delights.

If you are not at least 18 years old, with an open mind and an insatiable sexual curiosity, then you probably shouldn’t be reading my bio, much less my stories. 

Bobbimare.com

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Wickedly Reviewed: “Roommates” by Soie Minou

This is a story of an angry, isolated, futa and her new roommate Evy.

The set up towards romance flows at a great pace. Evy, the narrator, gets to know the harsh, curt, Julienne that she shares an apartment with. It is an interesting enough set up that you want to read on to find out why Julienne is anything but a people person. At the same time, it’s fun to see the surprise sexual attraction that Evy has for Julienne

I enjoyed the accidental, and entertainingly awkward, moment when Evy discovers why her roommate is always wearing baggy pajama pants.

Also, the naughty bits are quite hot.

Good read. Will read more.

 

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Futanari’s Truth or Dare

The hot California sun hung in the sky so much brighter than the overcast northeast. It’s perfect though. I can finally purchase a home and be free of the frustration of New York rent. Driving around from potential home to potential home with my long lost friend Alina made it even more familiar. She opened the white door of a large home after undoing the keypad. Gesturing me inside, she indicated to the curved stair case, the recent remodel, and the wood paneled floor.

“Now let me tell you, this is one of the few California homes with a basement,” she said. I followed her into the kitchen. Granite counter tops. Nice.

They call it the golden state for the dry grass fields as much as that gold rush a long time ago. I’d flown away from Rancho Cordova and every other sleepy Sacramento suburb over a decade ago. Trading western wine country for northeast ivy leagues and a law degree changed me in more ways than one. Nonetheless, I’m still as ambitious as ever, hornier than normal, and mostly human.

When you get a chance to practice law for a state governor you don’t turn that down.

Alina walked with firmer confidence these days. Her heels clopped on these wood floors and her skirt fit her well. A necklace dangled below her neck, near her breasts, in subtle professional beauty. Her sleek auburn hair was held back in a cute business bun. Damn it had been too long since I’d spent more than a few hours with her. We weren’t raised in the tech bro part of California or the glammy movie start part of California either. We grew up surrounded by flat fields, suburbs, and cattle. It must’ve been a few weeks after high school graduation when we camped up by the rivers. Four of us had been skinny dipping and Alina and I swam off together. Reclining on a boulder near a tree we shared the pain of change together. Alina enrolled at a local community college. I’d gotten my bags packed for the northeast. We’d known each other since the sixth grade and that summer felt like the last we’d ever see one another.

When we a found quiet space down stream, Alina asked me to join a game of truth or dare. I chose dare. She dared me to kiss her, and she dared with a look as if she’d been thinking about it all day. “If we don’t do it now, when will we ever do it?” she teased. I hadn’t ever thought of our friendship that way, and she was right. So I pecked her lips once, and found myself wanting more. We snogged a second time, discovering what our tongues and lips could do. Our connection electrified both our bodies that day, and we made out naked under a hot central valley sun. It was the first of many heedless make outs. Those make outs tempted me. They tempted me to toss away my future and explore more of a life with her. Yet that summer of experimental lust remained only that. I had a life to attain.

I left that August. Alina did two years at the community college, before she married… well we’re not saying his name. Loser.

“I’ll be honest, I absolutely love this house myself,” she smiled. “I might move out of my apartment into here if you don’t buy it, Caitlyn!”

“Is that so? Maybe you should. It would make you-know-who, absolutely jealous,” I said.

Alina waved her hand.

“Oh please, I might want to stab him in the eye sometimes,” she laughed, “but you know what they say? ‘Success is the best revenge.'”

“Especially with alimony,” I added.

“Hmm? Oh Caitlyn I didn’t take as much as you think, you-know-who only just now got a full time job again anyway,” she added. “I sell houses and I’m doing fine.”

Warming inside, I looked to Alina for any hint of lust in her eyes. There’s no hiding mine. As a mostly human, I’ve learned I can have nearly anyone I want, whenever I want. A lot changes in a decade after high school, and me? Oh I had been changed in ways I’d never dreamed. Alina blushed ever so slightly. Glamoring her would have been easier than the time I seduced that sexy track star when I started law school. No way though. I didn’t want Alina like an animate doll dancing to my bidding.

“Shall we check out that basement, Caitlyn?” Alina spoke, cutting the tension.

“Yes.”

We entered the basement. Our shoes touched bare concrete. Alina showed me around the space, describing the possible uses of a nice open basement. She drew my attention to the air ducts above us, noting that this basement could even be air conditioned if I needed it. It was strange though, that a duct apparently dead ended into a wall. Looking even more closely at the dust on the ground, I noticed patterns that didn’t quite make sense.

“What’s beyond this wall?” I said.

“Hmmm?” said Alina. “Solid bedrock. There’s no danger of mold.”

I knocked on the wall. It reverberated like a muted drum.

“You sure?”

Running my hands all over the wall triggered a discovery. Painted over with drywall, a gear’s jagged teeth touched my fingers.

“Look!” I pointed.

Alina examined it, brushed away the dust and then her breath exhaled in excitement. She opened a dusty cabinet on the other side of the basement and pulled out a huge metal wheel. Its hub fit perfectly on the gear, and we turned it together. Something clunked, startling us both.

“That was loud!” Alina said.

“Are you scared?”

“No way!” she said. She sounded not as a real estate professional, but as my excited school friend two weeks after graduation. We cranked the wheel with all our combined strength, and a recessed bookshelf swung open. There was another room.

I took Alina’s hand and we walked through. Darkness greeted us, and I fumbled for a switch. Scones glowed on the walls and illuminated a room decorated like an old world wine cellar. Though this room? It had too be at least the size of the basement itself. A metal framed canopy bed invited us further in. It had metal loops and holes for all the wonderful things I could imagine. Wooden beams in that all too familiar tall x-shape leaned to the side, complete with cuffs. Inspecting them, I found the old furred leather in surprisingly good shape. There was a cabinet, more fetish furniture, and a treasure chest in the room.

“Oh.. Umm… wow!” said Alina. Her face. I could see the excitement on her face before she forced herself back into the manner of a sales professional. “Caitlyn, I had no idea. I’m sure we can get all this cleared out.”

“Why would we do that?” I said smirking.

“It’s naughty and not expected,” she said.

“It’s part of the house Alina,” I said raising my chin. “Though how can I know this works without a proper appraisal?”

“What do you mean?” said Alina. Her gaze already glinted with excitement. She couldn’t hide that from me. I stepped over to her, and touched her shoulder, her necklace, and let my finger wander down towards her breasts. She didn’t stop me.

“I think we need to inspect this room more fully,” I teased. “You want to help me out? Maybe lean against that cross there.”

Alina’s smile was coy, and her eyes glimmered in the soft sensual light of the secret play room. She nodded.

“On my back or my chest?” she demurred.

“You choose,” I said.

Alina took off her jacket. She turned, letting me look at the shape of her chest and waist under the tight button top she wore. She leaned chest first onto that cross. After inspecting the collection of toys in the treasure chest, I picked out a paddle and flogger to begin.

“Been ages, Alina,” I said. I swatted her with my palm and she liked it. Spanking her brought out the other side of me. The not quite human side. “Do you remember that time we went camping?”

“Yes!” she sighed. She gripped the edges

“Do you remember truth or dare?”

I swatted her again for good measure.

“Uh-huh,” she sighed.

“Okay truth or dare?” I asked.

“Dare!”

I hoped she’d say that.

“Get out of the rest of your clothes,” I said. Alina nodded. She unbuttoned her top, kicked off her shoes, and removed her skirt. All that was left was the lace of lingerie that made my own pelvis throb with heat. Fuck, I didn’t expect to tell her how much I’d changed, but it would happen today. I knew it. Alina had a tempting body. The tone of her stomach rolled with each breath. Touching her, I found her skin smooth and tight.

“Pretty sexy bra just for work,” I said with a knowing smirk. I unclasped it at the front and let it fall to the floor. Her nipples pointed out hard. “I’m guessing its pretty, functional too, yes?”

Alina leaned back to the cross.

“It’s my turn to ask?” she said.

“Naturally. Dare,” I said.

“Hit me with those toys,” she said.

I strapped Alina in at her ankles and wrists. Her long back and the cheeks of her ass faced me. Something though, didn’t quite work. I undid her bun and brushed her hair to the side of her face. My friend, beautiful in her exposure, trusted me so. It took effort to keep my secret from showing itself, and I took out my own tension with a paddle first. Each impact on her cheeks made Alina cry in pleasure. Moaning drove me even more wild and more wet within. That’s when I went at her back with a flogger. My lashing began with a light touch, then a strike. Each whap I made harder than the previous strikes. Alina yelped out and the echoes excited me more.

 

“Are you okay?” I said. I pressed my breasts to her back, and held my head over her shoulders. “I could beat you harder, or softer all night.”

“I like it. I like at that strong,” she confessed.

“Okay, truth or dare.”

“Truth.”

“How many clients have you fucked to close a deal?”

“At least six.”

“At least? You mean you don’t know for sure?”

“Some were just for fun,” sighed Alina.

“Naughty!” I chided her. “When did you become such a slut?” I delivered further beatings to Alina. The pressure within my pelvis grew even more unbearable. Still, I controlled my excitement, and took a break. Hanging there, with pants of pleasure, Alina relaxed. Perspiration and faint marks from the toys shown on her back side.

“My turn?” she whispered.

“Certainly. I’ll take a dare.”

“You get naked now too.”

I unbound my submissive friend, and turned her around. I yanked off her panties, letting the glistening mounds of her pussy free before me at last. Then I strapped her to the beams once more. Looking to me with a hazed stupor, she whispered, “strip, Caitlyn.”

“Here’s a bonus truth for you,” I said as I pulled off my top, and got rid of my bra. “Things changed quite a bit back east. I changed.”

I undid my skirt. Every single slip of cloth tingled against my skin and my soaked panties tickled when I removed them. Alina, still confined, looked to me with craving. I dove to her, held her cheeks, and pushed my tongue into her. So tense. I was so damn tense. I couldn’t hold it back any more. Covering my pussy, I took a step back.

“Ready?” I said.

“For?” Alina said bewildered. All it took was one wiggle at my own clit. My lady dick emerged in a violent upward thrust from on top of my own pussy. Oh it felt so good for it to finally come out. Alina’s eyes looked to it in shock, and her mouth hung upon as if hungry. Saliva dripped from her lip. She gazed back at me, and bucked her pussy forward.

“You’re not scared?” I said.

She shook her head.

“Then get fucked,” I replied.

I pressed my breasts to Alina’s. I sleeved myself inside of her sopping tight wetness, making her gasp in shock. He dripping within marinated my stiff lady cock and I slipped in and out slowly. We ceased to be lawyer and realtor now. We had become as we should have been so long ago: vigorous, reckless, lovers.

“Fuck me, Caitlyn,” she stammered.

“Yes,” I said. My arms curled around the beams. I locked lips with Alina once more and she pushed her tongue to mine in a lustful struggle. Then I banged my hips in and out so hard that the cross began to shake. My Alina, my long lost friend, moaned for me and I for her. Each of us exhaled harder. Her milky breath brushed against my hair and she pulled at her cuffs.

“I’m going to come,” she whispered. Her pussy constricted around my girl cock.

I hammered her harder. Gushing, that unmistakable hot gushing, of her fluids splashed. She shook her restraints which each spasm and she grunted as the pleasure overwhelmed her body. Though I could not, and I would not relent. My cock smashed into her aching smooth softness until spittles of cum released with the spasms of my own orgasm. Kissing Alina manically again, I slid out. She hung there, worn out and I stumbled to stand myself.

“Truth or Dare, Alina,” I said while unbuckling her wrist restraints.

“Truth.”

“Did you know this room was here? This whole time?”

“I knew the previous owner had left something,” she said. “I knew what she had been into.”

“Curious though she left so much to play with,” I chided. Alina’s arms fell around my shoulders, and I held her for a short moment.

“So are you going to make an offer or are you passing on this house?”

I laughed with her. The released her completely from her the cross.

“Oh I’m definitely buying this,” I declared. “I think this will be the first of many delightful nights in the basement.”

We got back into our clothes and then groomed ourselves in a closet mirror.

“Hey Caitlyn, truth or dare,” Alina said in a crisp business tone.

“Truth, and you want to know how I got the lady dick don’t you?”

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Quarantine in Los Angeles: Where Would You Be Right now?

In the years before the lonely apocalypse, I expressed my love of leather in the form of corsets, boots, chokers and everything I would wear to the Southern California Ren Faire. As you surely know, coming weekends are canceled. For we have all sworn oaths of solitude until this plague passes over us. We are left to only listen to the prophets in our podcasts denounce our rulers like the prophets of Israel decried their kings.

Sigh.

Were I at the Ren Faire, I’d probably spend all my money on pewter things again. Yes, I have problem. It’s pretty much the only material I love as much as leather. Now, don’t tell me it has lead in it because it bloody well doesn’t. The Pewter-smiths of Fellowship Foundry swear it. I have at least a dozen articles of pewter jewelry but my biggest manic splurge ever was this:

Fellowship Foundry

In my defense, I didn’t spend all the money for these. My primary and I split the cost, naturally. We came upon this pair shortly after we realized we’d been together for a year and half. Day jobs, Los Angeles housing, and honestly our preferences have kept us in living separately. Nonetheless our fun glasses have never failed to entertain when we share nights together.

The first weekend we had them we watched a train wreck in slow motion. Neither of us had seen any episodes of Game of Thrones season eight yet. Our pirate glasses remained ever full as we mourned and drank to the wake of our favorite show. Another time, we brought our glasses to a our first Dungeons and Dragons table top night (again, in the before time), and sipped red wine as if it was the blood of the enemies in which we trampled upon (I played a Barbarian. Deal with it).

Now? Well thanks to quarantine we still raise glasses to another, toasting through digital screens as we play remote games or simply catch up on our new hermit reality. We hope for our beloved Ren Faire next year.

As always small business vendors suffer the worst right now. So please, raise glass, take a shot, drink some ale for Fellowship Foundry.

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Quarantine in Los Angeles: Wear Whatever You Want

Before the lonely apocalypse, I worked in an office. There, I developed a mild case of C.R.O.W. disorder (that’s “Corned Rabid Office Worker” see this book for more details), which in hindsight wasn’t so terrible. I didn’t worry that I might die by groceries or if Donnie the Neckbeard sneezed in my face again.

Yet at said C.R.O.W. disorder inducing offices -including some education related ones- I must obey a dress decorum. As kinky as I am, as outgoing as I am, I won’t stride into work in a pleather mini skirt and my Demonias. Now working at home I can wear pretty much whatever I want, but how do I telegraph that I’m kinky if there’s no one to send a stealthy signal too?

One cloudy November before the lonely apocalypse, I attended an art convention and met Kevin of Geeky and Kinky. Kevin loves what he does and these pins are his only job. Sadly, he’s had to cancel events because of the Corona Virus. Online sales though? They’re still going strong.

Subtle, small, yet completely unambiguous, his enamel pins like the one above signal your kink to a vanilla social environment . Looking to get to the “what are you into?” icebreaker question in a hurry? I’m into a submissive ranger today. What are you into?

Now when in those offices, one still needs to practice discretion. Something too blatantly kinky might get you sent to HR. Maybe your plan to scare that one guy away backfires and instead encourages Donnie the Neckbeard. One must strike a happy medium.

The Mistress D pin fit well with my otherwise vanilla work outfits. It’s crystal clear about who I am, yet tame enough that I never had a meeting with HR Mommy.

It attracted the right kind of people. In the office, one of the graphic designers noticed it, and she asked me about it. We hadn’t really talked too much before since we worked on different floors. Yet that week we had a candid, honest, and kinky conversation during an off site lunch.

She always said she’d play sometime, because she’d never played too much with anyone. We texted a few times and our schedules never matched.

Maybe now, in our mutually lonely apocalypse, it will finally be the time for her meet Mistress D.

Happy quarantine, Los Angeles.

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Quarantine in Los Angeles: This is Our Life Now

Less than ten minutes ago, my phone buzzed like it was an amber alert. “A kidnapped child?” I thought to myself wondering what monster would do such a thing in a time like this. An anxious part of me screamed to turn on the news, or perhaps don my gas mask, hazmat suit, and dare to go outside scouring license plates like a obsessive suburban mother doing her neighborhood watch.

That buzz was announcement from the city: stay at home. COVID-19 is terrible. Listen to the mayor of Los Angeles. Listen to the CDC. Subtext: ignore the mad resident of the White House.

This is my life now. I’m safe. I’m drawing a paycheck. I’m even working from home, and still like everyone else I am absolutely sad.

We’ve all been cancelling trips. Avoiding nights out. Missing friends. Missing family. I personally haven’t seen a soul other than my primary in the last week and half. Oh wait no, I did see the mail man. He waved at me through the window of my apartment yesterday. How’s that for a boring dystopia?

Yet through it all the one thing I worry the most is not my own job, but the communities and people that have made Los Angeles my home over the last decade. Every small business that I’ve supported, and independent artist I’ve know is having their lives up fucked up here.

So what should I do? I think I’ll support them.

This blog is all about erotic content, but you’ll posts about communities that are adjacent to a kinky life. Think of them as product reviews. If you got some change to spare during this insanity, support some some business.

Coming up, Geeky and Kinky pins.

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Hello world!

Hello World,

This is my first post on a soon to be literary porn site.

 That’s what happens when Corona Virus shuts down our life. You return to all those projects that you couldn’t do before. So… with that said, let’s get to some real stuff soon.
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