Sunday, June 30, 2013

The Merits of Writing Erotica

As I'm sure everyone who isn't dead or in a coma knows, erotica isn't really a publicly accepted genre in spite of the sheer number of sales dwarfing entire other literary genres. The focus on sex is seen as lesser, as sinful, while horrible acts in books not classified as erotica get away without even a mention. Is the graphic rape and murder in a crime book any less sexual because the book isn't classified as erotica?

Up until recently, I have been blessed with friends who either don't care about these general societal views, or don't share them. What people I don't consider friends say is not something I usually care about very much, unless it impacts me directly. As such, I managed to more or less be free of the stigma associated with erotica. But, we must all eventually face these things.

Someone I considered a friend started talking to me about what I write, and then presented the typical snobbish opinion about what writing anything sexual is. A lesser form of the craft of writing. Not up to the standard of "regular" genres like Fantasy, Sci-fi, Mystery or whatever.

"Well, fantasy has their big standards, see Tolkien etc. But erotica is young or not published in the same way as the others, so it's new and exciting. And ... you'd probably gain more writing standard stuff. Gaining a good base, you know. Getting to know the more established forms."

Beyond the simple (And make no mistake, very annoying) snobbery, there are several misconceptions in this statement. Since I feel like it reflects a decent part of why people think writing erotica is somehow lesser, I decided to address it in a blog.

1) Erotica and standards

Erotica is a much-maligned genre that major publishing houses don't want to associate with. Only select publications touch it, and those cannot keep up with the real demand. And as we all know, when there's a need, someone will try to meet it. This has resulted in a tremendous amount of erotica written that never comes near the selection process that publishers have in place, by authors who have little to no idea about how to write compelling literature.

Regular publishers get a LOT of submissions, and around 2% of submitted work makes it through. Have you ever read a published book you thought was kind of bad? Chances are, you have. And that was considered in the top 2%. Such a selection process, especially these days with the internet and eBook markets blooming, was never standardized for erotic works. This means that the 98% of work that never would've seen a publisher is now free to be spat out for all to see.

What does this mean?
- There is a lot of sub-par erotica out there.
- This has nothing to do with erotica as a genre, and everything to do with its circumstances.

2) Erotica is "new and exciting"

Erotica is as old as, or older, than any other currently accepted genre. Erotica is not a sign of the current downfall of our society, or something that has come about because sex sells right now. The first erotic works appeared thousands of years ago. Hell, there have been archaeological finds from ancient Egypt suggesting that there was the equivalent of a Men's Magazine in those times.

What does this mean?
- Erotica is as old as language and writing.
- Sex is a part of life, and always has been. It is frequently shamed and hidden away, but never disappears.

3) Erotica and Writing Development

The assumption here is that erotica is a less advanced, less fulfilling, and less difficult genre to write. The underlying insult to both the author and reader, here, is that anyone could write "He cums in her cunt" and it's instantly worth buying as erotica because writing erotica is easy. As I'm sure anyone who has read some selection of erotic works can tell you, that's simply not the case. Writing erotic work does not mean that shifting perspectives, lacking basic grammar and spelling or a complete lack of sensible plot development become excusable.

The fact of the matter is that in order to write good and great erotica, the writer has to know just as much as the writer who focuses on Fantasy, or YA. Characterization does not become less important because you don't fade to black. The structure, plotting and dramatization of the events in your story do not somehow become easier to write because you have two (or more) character doinking at one or several points in the work.

What does this mean?
- Good erotica sexual elements to enhance the story.
- Erotica is just as developing for a writer's skills as any other genre.

Friday, June 28, 2013

(Fan)fiction Friday 4: The Bodyguard, Ch. 3


Tags: [Oral] [Breath control] [D/s] [Large cock] [Multi-cock] [Noncon] [Light bondage] [Immobilization] [Inflation]

For the most part, Cercea had remained still while Nahla was passed out. She did lean down to run her tongue over one of her cocks now and again, having to suppress a girly giggle as she did it. Even now and again, she ran a small hand over her bodyguard’s now more relaxed face, glancing left and right along the bank of the river, but otherwise staying where she was. Nothing was near. It was dark by now, but nothing dared come near. Everything here could feel that something dangerous was at the river. Cercea almost laughed. This body was the perfect disguise and hiding place. Shame he was only able to come out and control the body under certain conditions.. But it was manageable nevertheless.

Nahla’s eyelids twitched, and immediately Cercea sat still, smiling downwards at where Nahla was lying. The changed woman could not actually see Nahla due to her four eighteen inch cocks being in the way, but she would know when Nahla woke up. “Time for fun!” was the sentence that rang inside Cercea’s head.

Gradually Nahla struggled up through layer upon layer of unconsciousness, finally arriving in Azeroth once again. Her lips hurt, her neck and upper body were pounding with a deeper, more worrying pain, her wrists were hurting due to being tied, and once she opened her eyes, she knew it had only started. She saw the bottom side of one of Cercea’s huge cocks, seeing part of another above the first. Nahla felt Cercea’s small hand caress her cheek, a surprisingly gentle touch, considering what had happened earlier.. How much earlier? She had lost her sense of time while passed out. It was dark, but for how long had it been?

“You were a good sport, Nahla,” purred Cercea’s soft voice, “But we aren’t done just yet.. Before we start, I’ll give you a minute to look up at my cocks, take in how they look from your position, because I promise you it will become a familiar sight to you unless you want to die.”. Cercea held still for an entire minute. Nahla was not necessarily following her command, but she was not actively struggling either. She knew when she was beaten, or perhaps she was merely waiting for what was coming. “Now, Nahla my dearest, this can be easy or hard for you, the decision is entirely yours. I can hardly wait to see just what your reaction will be..” almost whispered Cercea, before moving backwards from her bodyguard’s position on the ground. One hand clasped Nahla’s neck, the other reached up and angled one huge dick down at the elf’s mouth. Cercea pushed forward. As expected, she met resistance. She planted her hands at Nahla’s lips and unceremoniously forced fingers into the other elf’s mouth. With the same unnatural strength she had shown earlier she pulled Nahla’s teeth from each other and pushed the head of the large cock into Nahla’s warm mouth, slowly releasing the elf’s teeth again. At this point, she knew there was no danger. Nahla could not possibly inflict any serious harm on her rock hard meat, but if she tried she would soon find it to have been an exceptionally bad decision.

As Cercea had expected, she felt Nahla’s teeth make feeble attempts at biting into the thick cock lodged in the slightly larger elf’s mouth. With a slight sigh, she took a hold of Nahla’s neck and kept the elf still. “I’m going to show you what happens when you choose the hard way, Nahla. Whether you choose the hard way or the easy way, I’m going to cum in your belly until I’m empty. Let’s see if this doesn’t give you the inspiration you need to be more cooperative..” said Cercea is a satisfied tone, not even finishing before she had to mumble a few words under her breath. Immediately, Nahla became limp, laying splayed slightly on the ground. She had lost control of her muscles, even her lungs, unable to even breathe in, scream, bite, claw, and twitch or convulse as the much too large cock began pushing into her throat. She felt the dull pain in her neck come over her again in waves as the thick futa cock was forced deeper into her, her neck once again bulging to an obscene size. With her cock hilted in Nahla’s mouth once again, Cercea pulled about an inch back and began thrusting very fast, small thrusts into Nahla, keeping this up for about thirty seconds until she got the overwhelming sense that Nahla would lose conscience again if she kept it up much longer. With a satisfied roar, she let the floodgates open, powerful bursts of thick, milky-white sperm blasting into Nahla’s stomach with no hindrance possible. Cercea’s body trembled for a full twenty seconds, roughly holding her bodyguard’s face against the hilt of the cock as she pumped cum into Nahla. Almost as quickly as she had exploded, Cercea pulled the cock out of Nahla’s abused body, and let her regain control of her body with a wave of her hand.

Nahla gasped, coughed and almost lost conscience because her body wanted and needed to do so many things at once that she could not get air. With her charge sitting above her patiently, Nahla coughed, gasped for air for two minutes, feeling the huge load of cum splashing about in her stomach. Finally, she regained her composure somewhat. Unwilling to give Nahla any time to formulate some form of defense in this first encounter, Cercea leaned slightly further forward and pushed the head of her second, huge cock into Nahla’s mouth. “Do yourself a favour now, dear..” whispered Cercea as she carefully slid an inch more of throbbing meat into Nahla’s mouth, pulling back again, starting up the same short, small thrusts she had used before. She never felt even the start of a bite this time, though she did hear some cock-muffled sobs coming from Nahla, a clear sign of the pain wracking the bodyguard’s body. “See, this is much nicer.. And much easier.” said Cercea, caressing Nahla’s cheek gently, scooping up a drop of blood running from the elf’s ruptured lips.

Cercea held herself aloft slight above and behind Nahla on her two hands, simply thrusting the head of her second huge cock in and out of Nahla’s mouth, her breath finally beginning to get labored. “Now relax, this won’t take too long..”, whispered Cercea, taking a far more gentle grip of Nahla’s neck than before as she forced her cock into the elf’s throat and further still, enjoying the sight of Nahla’s neck bulging as the pulsing cock made its way deeper. Cercea sighed with satisfaction as she felt Nahla’s lips around the base of the large cock, pushing back and forth a little to rub the head of her first and lower placed cock against Nahla’s skin. Cercea gave a few, relatively hard thrusts and then leaned her head back, a few interrupted sounds coming from her open mouth as the second huge cock sent a second explosion of sperm into Nahla’s already well-filled belly. Cercea relaxed finally, after the twenty-seventh spurt of cum, pulling the cock out of Nahla quickly, holding the elf’s head as she coughed, holding her stomach with one hand, gasping for breath and from the pain in her neck and upper torso.

“There there, Nahla.. We’re halfway. You’re being very good.” said Cercea gently. She decided already then that she would not do anything more to Nahla today, once she had finished what she was doing now. She did not want to wreck this new toy when she, after all, had shown a spark of hope. She might become useful, perhaps her mind could be twisted to serve the purpose.

Cercea sat lost in thought for a little while, absentmindedly caressing Nahla’s neck, holding the elf’s head gently with her other hand. She was momentarily distracted, but the raging hardons would not let her sit idle for too long. Images of a possible future drifted past her eyes in a sensual flurry. Cercea wiped the head of her second cock off on Nahla’s right cheek, and then got into position again. The third huge, hard cock started pushing past Nahla’s lips. The halfway unconscious bodyguard could not understand it, but it seemed almost as if her captor was being gentle this time. She wrote it off to lack of sensibility in her abused body. At this point she had given up, all she hoped for was to, somehow, survive this ordeal, then turn this monstrosity in to be dealt with by the Priestesses. She thought of what would happen to this strange girl, whether she was demonic or a corrupted Night Elf did not actually matter. Nahla was being much more cooperative than Cercea had ever hoped for. The woman stayed almost completely still while Cercea slowly and carefully pushed her third dick in and out of Nahla’s mouth. She let herself prolong the pleasure this time around. Nahla could breathe the entire time, as Cercea stretched her body sensually, driving her cock in and out of Nahla for more than fifteen minutes. Finally she stopped, caressing Nahla’s cheek as she spoke “It is time, dear.. You’ve been good, so I will as well.”.

Cercea pulled back, sat down on her heels and grabbed the third, at this point almost pulsing cock in both of her hands. She was unable to reach all the way around it, but still jerked herself off for around a minute, until she started being wracked in pleasure. With surprising ease, she pushed the thick cock down just as the girl’s thick cum started pumping from it, landing directly on Nahla’s face and upper body. Cercea kept jerking the huge cock as cum flooded Nahla’s face, flowing down and onto the ground, forming a small, sticky-white pool on the ground. Cercea kept still with her head angled to the right for a while, admiring the thick and slowly flowing streams going down the sides of Nahla’s face with a small smile, then, slowly and deliberately, leaned forward and took a long lick from her bodyguard’s forehead down to her lips. Cercea used her tongue to probe Nahla’s lips apart, pushing some of her cum into the apparently still slightly resisting elf’s mouth. “Come now dear.. You’ll grow to like the taste of it, it’d be best for you if you did, at least.” whispered Cercea in Nahla’s ear before leaning up again.

“I want you to scoop some up with that sweet tongue of yours and drink it, Nahla.” said Cercea in a more commanding tone. The bodyguard stayed still. It was one thing to give up the fight and hope to live, but completely different to surrender so completely as this command suggested. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain for the moment as her thoughts raced. Meanwhile, Cercea gathered some of the flowing cum with a finger running over Nahla’s cheek and pushed it towards her lips. As the finger neared, Nahla’s jaw relaxed a little. Cercea gently pushed her finger in between Nahla’s lips, pushed them apart a little and then rolled the cum into the bodyguard’s mouth, leaving the small finger in there as well. “Lick my finger clean, dear, then swallow..” said Cercea in a purr, gently placing her other hand on Nahla’s neck to be sure she felt a swallow. Cercea felt Nahla’s warm, moist but hesitant tongue on her finger, smiling to herself as the sticky white sperm was cleaned off her. She felt Nahla’s mouth contract in a swallowing motion, then felt it continue down the elf’s throat.

“That was very good, Nahla dear. Now the last of this..” whispered Cercea, once again raising herself over Nahla. She had a little trouble getting her fourth cock placed against the bodyguard’s lips, as the three others below it obstructed things somewhat. After a little rubbing and sighing from Cercea’s side, the fourth thick dick was pushed gently into Nahla’s mouth. “Be good now, okay? I want to do a little more than before, but I don’t want to hurt you.” said Cercea as she pushed the throbbing cockhead into Nahla’s mouth. “Breathe in, dear.” mumbled Cercea, waiting five seconds before she put a little more weight behind the fourth of her huge cocks to go into Nahla. She sighed as her other three, lower set cocks bumped against Nahla’s shoulders, reached forward to guide them upwards to rub along the elf’s soft skin as the fourth large cock drove its head into Nahla’s throat. Cercea held it there for a few seconds, thrusting back and forth gently a few times before pulling back to Nahla’s mouth. The elf coughed and sputtered, but her body twitched only instinctively. It was surprising how cooperative she was, really, thought Cercea as she once again told Nahla to breathe in, only to plunge into her throat again. This continued for upwards of ten minutes, until it became clear to Cercea that while Nahla was given some recuperating time in between each push into her throat, this could not continue. She reached down and caressed Nahla’s cheek, then took a firm hold of the elf’s neck and agonizingly slowly drove the huge cock down the bodyguard’s throat and deeper still, towards the cute little belly splashing with cum already. Once Cercea felt Nahla’s lips press against her pelvis, having taken her to the hilt once again, she pulled five inches backwards, then let out a relieved gasp as she rather brutally pistoned the large cock in to the hilt again, twitching as her fourth load of cum began exploding into Nahla. For the first time in a while, Nahla started struggling again. Her belly was full already, but now she felt a seemingly unending load of Cercea’s sticky stuff being pumped into her stomach even more forcefully than the other two times. It felt as if she was going to explode, but there was nothing she could do, stuck with that huge, hard piece of meat deep in her, except to feel her body straining and trying to cope as Cercea trembled in pleasure, finally seeming to relax, the waves of cum dying down.

Cercea pulled out of Nahla, holding the elf’s head almost in a motherly gesture, caressing her cheek and pointing to her now bulging stomach. “See, dear? You took all that, just for me..” whispered Cercea, almost beaming down at Nahla. Where her usually flat stomach was, a bulge now was, about the size of half a football. Nahla could not have seen it without Cercea holding her up, her body so taxed that it was a wonder she even managed to stay awake.

Cercea ran a hand through Nahla’s hair and whispered something about sleeping, then things became dark. Nahla felt herself being lifted up and carried before she fell back through the many layers of consciousness she had fought up through earlier on. She welcomed them.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

The Missing Story of the Reader

Now that I have 2 published works out there, I have started seeing a trickle of sales. I really do mean a trickle, too. I only eclipse 10 and near 20 due to freebies. This isn't something I'm sad or worried about. Honestly, I'm pleasantly surprised. I'm surprised I sold anything at all, really. Not because my writing isn't good, but because, other than on a few select sites, nobody knows who I am. Nobody in the mainstream market has ever seen or heard of me until now.

With that in mind, it was both exhilarating and surprising to see my first few sales. It was a sort of pervasive but calm, giddy feeling in my abdomen that stayed there for over 2 hours. I had sold my writing! No refunds! People like my stuff!

Of course, once that first, quiet rush of my initial 2 sales wore off, I started to wonder. Who bought my books? Who was the person, or the persons, that did? How did they find the books? Did they like them? All the things an author usually asks themselves about their readers. Except this time, I wasn't posting on a forum. There were no quick ways for them to contact me and say what they thought. Reviews, of course, or the addresses to my twitter account or this blog, but that is a commitment to communication that I don't expect many, if any, readers to have.

I suspect that this is something that will never really be resolved. The disconnect between reader, sales report and author. I also suspect that it will get easier, that I will get more comfortable with the disconnect, but that it will never really go away.

To close this entry, I will say that if any reader should ever stumble across my blog, I would love to hear your comments on my work, if you've read it. While writing is cathartic for me, something that makes me calmer and better off as a person, I'm also an author. I want my work to be liked, or at least to be read. So... Comment. And if you haven't read any of my works, I'm usually up for giving it away for free with a Smashwords code. All you have to do is ask.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Brought Back Published!

Two short stories about the same pair, collected into one book of 6500+ words. Instead of trying to collect short stories for a collection of them, I decided to instead release them piecemeal so I could get stuff out there. These two connected shorts were originally intended for the collection, but they easily hold up on their own. If you're interested in a free copy, go here:

And use this code: MZ49E

The code works until the 30th. As usual, the book is also available on Amazon, Nook, Apple, Kobo, Google and other services. I have to say, after the rather grueling time I had with Purity Taken last week, this was a pleasant breeze. Had template stuff ready and the settings were already there from the last release. I think I spent maybe half an hour - 45 minutes making the Smashwords and Kindle versions. The cover is horrendous, but I can't do much until I have the money for proper stock imagery or a cover artist, sadly. Anyway, here's the cover and blurb:

When you have been taken advantage of, abused and mentally destroyed to the point that there is hardly a person left inside, how do you come back? 

Together, Tanya and Isha try to dig out what sort of person Tanya once was, through caring and demanding BDSM sessions and a mistress/pet relationship. 

Friday, June 21, 2013

(Fan)fiction Friday 3: The Bodyguard, Ch. 2

The Journey Begins

Tags: [A tiny bit of violence] [Large cock] [Multi-cock] [Noncon] [Oral] [Breath control] [Light bondage] [Let me know if I missed something]

Nahla had inquired about the availability of hippogryphs, but had gotten the answer she expected back. So few were left right now that they were kept here as an emergency. Ordinary folk would simply just have to travel the old fashioned way, by foot, or by sabercat. Nahla turned around, made sure Cercea was watching her and pointed towards the ship anchored near them. This would be just as dangerous as she had expected. With no hippogryphs available, they would be left rather exposed once they reached central and western Ashenvale. The Barrens were a mixed bag. They could not move very fast on foot, but then, moving fast attracted a lot of attention with the dust clouds you invariably whipped up with fast travel in that place.

Both of them boarded the ship, Cercea still only having said one word, the name of the place she wanted to go. Ratchet. Nahla put her bags down near the mast of the ship, next to Cercea. She watched the sea for several minutes, until she realised that Cercea was out of sight. Mentally scolding herself, she searched the ship for a minute until she found Cercea at the front of it. She seemed overjoyed in her own calm way at the prospect of sailing. The weather was clear and the trip would take at worst two hours. Easy part first, Nahla thought. She spent the rest of the trip close to Cercea, but not close enough as to be uncomfortable. She tried to keep an eye on the youngster all the time, even though she found it both harder and more boring than she had imagined.

One and a half hours later, the two of them left the ship and entered the inn of Auberdine. It was still daylight, but the sun would be setting soon. Cercea was stopped by Nahla’s hand on her shoulder as the first of the two was about to head out of Auberdine. Nahla shook her head “It’ll be dark soon. We may still be in elven lands, but this will be the last time in a long while that we will sleep in actual beds. I’d imagine you’re used to beds rather than the ground, so enjoy it.”. Cercea seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded seriously and almost skipped back to the inn. She ordered a two bed room, Nahla carried both their bags up to the room. It was a small four by six with a small window at the end of the room. Not so cramped as to be uncomfortable, but definitely not cosy either. 

Nahla had for some time now been trying to ignore how hungry she was, but her stomach finally made a sound, something that she could see Cercea had a hard time not laughing at. They had brought food, mostly dried meat, but there was no reason to begin using that when they had the opportunity for a good meal here.

After both of them had eaten a healthy portion of imported Westfall Mackerel, Cercea said the second thing Nahla had heard her say so far, in the same soft, fragile voice, “I want to watch the sun set, I won’t be long.”. Nahla almost let herself forget why she was here, at the last moment nodding formally to the youngster she was protecting. She would be right behind, both of them now knew how things would be. Walking outside and onto the pier, Cercea stood and watched the sun set, seemingly without moving a muscle, for almost half an hour. When darkness slowly came creeping, she turned towards Nahla, who was leaned against a pillar ten meters behind the young woman, a childish smile on her face. “Let’s go to bed” said Nahla, once again letting Cercea lead the way up the stairs. She stood guard outside the door while Cercea changed and crept into bed, came into the room herself and started taking off her light armor. She felt uncomfortable, but told herself that they would be doing this for the next many weeks, if not months, so she would simply have to get comfortable around Cercea. Nahla placed her short sword next to her pillow, laid down on the bed and glanced over at Cercea. The young woman had turned her back towards Nahla and was breathing regularly. Either asleep, or close, judged Nahla, closing her own eyes.

The next morning, Cercea woke Nahla with a smile and twittered “Some bodyguard you are!”, her smile was replaced by a grimace as she coughed. Nahla got up and put some clothes on, trying to ignore that Cercea was standing right next to her and seemingly watching intently. The two of them went downstairs to eat some breakfast and pay for their stay. While eating, Nahla thought about how little they had actually talked to each other. She was not sure if it was due to Cercea being shy, thinking that Nahla was below her in standing or simply because they did not have a lot to talk about. Whatever it was, Nahla pushed it out of her mind. No need to start thinking like that of her employer so soon. Maybe later on, if she really did turn out to be a snob and not just a confused mind.

Most of their things were still packed, so after only another twenty minutes, the two, guarded and bodyguard, left Auberdine. Most of the day they simply walked southwards, stopping a few times, once to eat some lunch that Nahla had brought from Auberdine, once simply just to rest. Once, the young Sentinel pulled her protégé into some bushes a few meters from the road, following herself. She held a finger to her lips, nodding her head towards the other side of the road. Five Furbolgs appeared after about a minute. One of them pointed up the road from the direction they had been coming from and said something in an excited tone of voice to the others. They left the road again and a slight rustle of leaves revealed that they made their way northwards carefully. Nahla shook her head, her mind clouded with sadness a moment at the corruption that had been wrought on her homelands.

She lead Cercea southwards in a jogging tempo for the next few hours, to get some distance between them and the furbolgs. Drops of sweat flew from the young and relatively pampered woman, but she never uttered a single complaint. Nahla was not sure if that was because she could not catch her breath or because of stubbornness, but regardless, her respect for the seemingly fragile young elf grew a little. After a couple more hours of a rigorous tempo that had Cercea looking as if she could collapse at any moment, they stopped. They had arrived at the bank of the river that ran from the mountains that hid Felwood from their sight and into the sea. Nahla lead them off the road a little, finding a spot that was close to the river but still well hidden from all directions. She set her pack down, helped Cercea to be freed from hers, then turned towards the young elf. “We both you use a bath, but there’s no reason to bathe and then get sweaty again while we turn this into a place where we can sleep tonight. Find some branches with leaves on them. If you can’t find those, just some leaves. The fresher the better. The more fresh they are, the less noise they’ll make, and we don’t want those Furbolgs to find us while we’re sleeping.”.

Cercea nodded and started wandering around the relatively big, hollow bush that they had camped inside. She came back inside a few times, dumping branches. Nahla arranged them, made a firepit and started a small fine. She had found a rather large stone that she made the fire on top of. Whenever possible, she would make sure that they both got hot food. Even with what little experience she had, she knew the joys of eating the same cold, dried meat for weeks all too well.

Cercea returned with a last batch of branches. Nahla instructed her in how to arrange them, how to set up camp and instructed her to always know where an escape route was. In the future, Nahla promised herself, she would look for branches. It was irresponsible of her to send Cercea out on her own.

With the fire burning on top of the large stone, Nahla motioned Cercea towards the river. “Bath time” she smiled, dragging the hesitant Cercea along at the elbow. “Come on, who knows how long it’ll be until your next bath?” she said as they stepped onto the river bank and Nahla let go of Cercea to undress. Neither of them were very big for night elves, so Nahla felt certain they could hide if something should come their way. They were still relatively safe, even without weapons on them.

Cercea watched Nahla undress for a few moments, still seeming hesitant. “Wait, turn around and let me get in first.” She said softly. Nahla nodded, keeping her thoughts to herself as she turned. She heard a little rustling and fabric sliding over skin as Cercea undressed, then some light splashes as the elf moved into the water. “Can I come into the water?” said the sentinel, carefully masking how ridiculous she felt the situation to be. “Yes, come on in.” said the younger woman. Nahla found it somewhat strange that she stood in water to her bellybutton, but didn’t even shift uncomfortably with her fist-sized breasts exposed and turned towards Nahla. She shrugged it off along with the last of her clothes. She was well-trained and muscled, although not to the extreme. She tried to keep herself tasteful. Contours of a few muscles were visible, but she still looked feminine. She kept close to Cercea, just to be safe, and washed herself alongside the fragile elf. 

Nahla felt something soft bop against her leg, at first ignoring it, figuring it to be a leaf or some uprooted plant from the river bed. She felt it again, this time sliding along her thigh for a second. She knew that the fish in these waters were not even remotely large enough or aggressive enough to attack her, but she had never liked the feel of a living fish for some reason. The thought of one swimming so close, inbetween the two of them, made her uncomfortable. Cercea had stiffened along with Nahla, the fish seemed to be gone or at least be focusing on Cercea for the moment, so Nahla made her way towards the bank. “Come on, miss. No reason to get too friendly with the fish.” she said, her voice quivering the tiniest of a note. Cercea was a little behind her, so when Nahla got up and reached for the cloth she had brought along to dry herself, Cercea was still in the water. As she always did after bathing, she lifted the cloth in her arms and dried her face and hair. Out of the corner of her eye, Nahla saw Cercea stepping onto the bank, she bent down and seemed to be looking for something on the river bank. Nahla did not give her task much heed right now, busying herself with drying her skin. She only managed an instinctive flinch as she caught a swift movement out of the corner of her eye, felt a sharp thump and a large area of the back of her head exploding in pain before falling forward, into darkness.

Nahla drifted from unconsciousness to almost conscious and back again over the next thirty seconds. She vaguely sensed someone running off, then coming back soon after. She dove into unconsciousness again as she felt someone grab one of her wrists. When she woke, she did so slowly. She was lying on her back, and when she opened her eye, everything was still strangely dark. She came to a little more, blinked and with beginning horror realised that her hands were bound behind her back, tied at the wrists in such a way that she could not even wiggle her fingers to even touch whatever was used to bind her without at least an hours concentrated work. Blinking again, she found her lips to be aching. Mostly the sides, where her upper and lower lip met. The skin had ruptured a little. Another half-second made her realise that it was not dark, someone was sitting practically on top of her head, and had pushed the head of the largest cock she had seen in her life into her mouth.

Nahla even gave biting a try, but her jaw was opened to a point where she could not get enough power in a bite to do anything. Memory slowly came trickling back to her now, she found that she was not in urgent need of air, so her mouth had not been full for a very long time at all. That also meant, at least for all she knew of male anatomy, that this glowing hot cock in her mouth was most likely still growing fully erect. Another second passed, yet more of her conscience came back, the sensation of sharp pain from her lips coming with it. Whoever was sitting above her now put hands on her neck, hands that made Nahla gasp in surprise. Feminine hands. That same gasp was the last breath of air she got for the next thirty seconds, as the strangely feminine person spread its legs some, pushing its pelvis forward in the same motion, which forced the head of the huge cock up against the opening of Nahla’s throat. 

She distressed bodyguard shook her head and started thrashing about on the ground. The back of her head was pounding with pain, and instinctive pain at her airway being cut off took over for a few seconds. During her thrashing, she managed a glimpse up past the mass of the huge dick in her mouth, seeing.. Cercea. Cercea’s body, at least.. But there was an aura around her. A completely different expression. She seemed almost alien to Nahla, despite only having known the young woman for almost two days. The momentary shock was enough for Cercea, giving her the window she needed. Her now larger still cock was forced into Nahla’s throat with the help of her hands pulling with unnatural strength on the bodyguard’s neck. The bound elf tried to scream, her back and entire body arching and tensing as if it was the string of a bow at the ready, toes curling and uncurling as the huge cock pushed down her throat, causing her neck to stretch and bulge unnaturally outwards, to practically double its normal size.

“Nahla must keep, nhh.. Calm..” whispered Cercea in a soft, careless tone as she more forced Nahla’s body further onto her huge cock than thrust into the elf, letting out another satisfied sigh, pausing and pulling her dick backwards, still leaving the rock hard cockhead in Nahla’s mouth, but at least allowing the elf to breathe. “See, Nahla.. That was just the beginning. Now comes the good part…” purred Cercea, once again taking a steely grip of Nahla’s already abused neck, forcing a cock that was as thick as Nahla’s knee was all the way around down the coarsely screaming elf’s throat. This time, however, Cercea did not stop. With Nahla’s body twitching and convulsing, even managing to get to her knees before being forced back down again, Cercea forced more of her thick cock into the now silently screaming bodyguard’s throat. The head went far enough down to get close to Nahla’s stomach, Cercea feeling ribs strain from the pressure of her cock lodged inside Nahla. Finally she relaxed, Nahla’s ruptured lips sealing around the base of the eighteen inch cock.

“I hope you like it, dear.” purred Cercea, using the back of her hand to wipe away some swear from Nahla’s head, “Because see, I have three more that will need the same treatment..”. Cercea motioned to the grotesque sight between her deceptively feminine thighs. Three more just as big cocks seemed more than ready to join the one already buried to the hilt in Nahla. 

Smiling as she saw Nahla struggling with pain and lack of her, Cercea got up on her knees and took a firm hold of her former protector’s neck, pulling almost half of the huge cock out of Nahla’s throat, then, through a combination of thrusting and forcing the elf’s body onto herself, pushed back into Nahla. Changing her position a little, Cercea found herself able to start thrusting her cock into Nahla in a surprisingly fast pace. Her smile widened, simply holding Nahla’s neck with one hand, caressing the struggling elf with the other, enjoying the feel of her cock pounding into Nahla, especially enjoying how her neck bulged around the iron hard meat. 

Cercea buried the cock to the hilt in Nahla’s throat once again, then leaned down and, from as far up as she could in this position, traced a wet line with her tongue down to where the tip of her huge cock was stuck. She leaned up again, once again getting into position, starting a slow pace of thrusts that brutally built up to a frenzied pace over the course of ten seconds, Nahla now only halfway conscious as her body was tortured. Cercea kept pistoning her eighteen inches into the elf tied up under her for a full minute, looking down at the now passed-out elf with a sigh. She would learn to last much longer.. With another sigh, Cercea let herself loose and felt a few quick, unsatisfactory waves of deep pleasure tear through her body as four large bursts of thickly flowing cum exploded into Nahla’s guts. Cercea pulled her large and definitely still erect cock out of Nahla, leaned down to listen to her heart and breathing. She was still alive.

Cercea sat back on her small behind, crossed her legs and placed Nahla’s head in the nook formed where legs met her body. When Nahla awoke she would be weak, no doubt, and she would meet a sight that Cercea wanted to be very sure she became familiar with. Four throbbing, huge cocks waiting for the bodyguard’s attention.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

What is Enjoyable About Writing?

This is, obviously a deeply personal question that there is no one answer to. To some people, I'm sure, the process of writing is what is enjoyable. To most, it would seem, coming up with ideas is what's enjoyable. If writing itself was enjoyable to more people, there would not be as relatively few novelists as there are.

So, which parts of the writing process are enjoyable for me?

I veer dangerously close to the large part of the population who have ideas but never do anything with them. When I am thinking up an idea for a story, whether short or novel-length, I am free. To use a banality, my mind has wings and my imagination soars. When I sit at the laptop and try to put it into words, it is a struggle to do justice to my thoughts. Writing, put in another way, is a struggle to make a perfect idea real through the imperfect medium of text.

Second, I enjoy having written. When something is finished. Sadly, I don't often give myself much time to dwell on this since I know that I must continue writing, continue practicing, continue trying to hone the craft. But even so, it is being done that is most pleasant to me. To have finished the work, not to actually do the work.

And finally, there are those moments that come a few times every day and disappear after a few minutes, times where you are almost hypnotized. For a little while, the words flow just right, and you truly feel like you are almost able to do justice to your thoughts.

This is what writing is, for me. I suppose it is a little depressing, from the outside, that my dream is to do something that will see me struggling and always failing to express myself as I want to.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Writing like a Russian

I just remembered the website I used to analyze that my first bit of writing after I came back had roughly the same word usage as a J.K. Rowling novel. Well, I just put Purity Taken into it and was told I wrote like Leo Tolstoy. Progress, I guess.

And of course, there's nothing wrong with writing like Rowling. Millions and millions of people enjoy her books. It's just that it represented a step downwards for me, at the time, but it looks like I've moved a bit back up again? War and Peace is considered a classic, so I'm going to assume it's a move up.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

When to Write, Writer's Block

I spent a good deal of yesterday evening on youtube, watching videos where more or less famous writers talk about various aspects of writing. I came across many interesting things in those videos, but I managed to try and implement two today. The first "tip" was that there is no such thing as writer's block.

You sit down and write about your writer's block, if it really is that bad. For me, though, my daily block was something I thought was a question of motivation instead, though, but I'm beginning to think that it might not be. I didn't feel like the words were begging to be written most of the time, so I put it off and put it off and put it off.

Today, though, I just did it. I sat down and wrote. And though I hadn't felt "now is the time" when I sat down, it didn't take long for me to get into what I was doing. As stupid and basic as this might be, it was a bit of an eye-opener for me.

The second tip was to write early in the morning/day. That way, you have done the day's writing practically before the world has gotten into gear for the day. Today, I wrote from around 9:30 am to 11:30 am. I wrote more than my daily goal, too. And the best part is, now I don't have to worry about it for the rest of the day. I can do whatever I want. I can edit, do sales stuff, or just play a game.

Together, those two things are so valuable to me. Previously, I would waste most of the day sometimes, just waiting for the moment where I felt it was time to start writing. Sometimes, I would sit down to write at 10 am and not get anything written until 11 pm. I felt bad about it, and chained to my chair in a sense. Not so, anymore.

Of course, I may have been driven by the fact that I have to go and babysit in a few hours, but I will make an effort to write early, from now on. And for now, I will be satisfied, and reward myself with playing a game. See you later, blog.

Sunday, June 16, 2013

Purity Taken Published!

Yeah, so... I know no one really reads this blog, but I figured I should put this up anyway. I just published my first story via Smashwords. If you're interested in a free copy, go here:
And use this code: XL38L

You can use that to get a free copy until the 20th. The book is also available on Amazon, and will be on Nook, Apple, Kobo, Google Play and more within the week. I've spent the better part of today editing and fiddling with the story to get it right. Having it pass the Meatgrinder program Smashwords uses seemed straightforward enough when following the style guide. The cover art is not any sort of professional, but hey, it works. At least, I think it works when it's thumbnail size. Here's the cover and blurb:

"Short of money, Annabella signs up to be an entertainer for a BDSM club she used to frequent herself. In the years since, though, they have changed practices. She's in for far more than the one night of use she bargained for. 

Contains: Anal, multiple partners, bondage, breeding."

And that's it, really. It took me hours and hours to get this fixed, and I suspect it'll take me equally as long to get it working for Amazon what with the long review process and everything. We'll see!

One Month

I started this blog because I wanted to have a record. To be able to go back in a year's time and see where I started, or in two years, or five. To that end, I'm going to be posting a monthly report, mainly just talking about my wordcount, what I've learned, and what stories I've finished/am working on.

When this blog was made, I hadn't written anything for over 2 years. I started back up because the dream of becoming a writer never left me, but just seemed unattainable. Until I read the indie publisher thread on Darknest. Suddenly, I had hope again. So much so that I launched myself into writing again as if I never took that years-long break.

Of course, thinking I could publish the first thing I wrote after my break was not just overly optimistic, it was fantasy. But I progressed fast over this first month, to the point where I now feel capable of producing writing of a quality worthy of being paid for. The last short story I finished this month, Purity Taken, is what I intend to be my first published work.

That will take formating and cover design, but I have confidence that I can start following the Month - Week - Day schedule of (At least) one ebook released a month, at least one blog post a week, at least 1000 words written a day. I may release some of this month's other work in a BDSM package-deal at some point later, too, but we'll see.

Monthly Words

My goal was 1000 words per day, every day. That didn't happen. My optimism had me blasting away at the keyboard at a rate I couldn't support from a cold start. That resulted in me taking two lengthy breaks (One of 3 days, another of 6), but I've decided to take it as a learning experience. While I'm still getting back into things, the best I can do for myself is to take 2 days a week off. I just can't expect to be a writing machine just yet, even if I want to.

This first month, I managed 27.636 words. I'm counting nothing but words in stories, here. I have written much, much more if blogs, forum posts and roleplay is counted, but it isn't, because I can't publish any of that. Anyway, rounded slightly, the above total puts me at 921 words per day. Considering that I spent almost a third of the month on break, I think that's alright. Not my goal, but it's close enough, giving me room to improve next month.

I have given a little thought to my long term goal, and come to the conclusion that I will try to add 250 words to my daily tally every 3 months, hopefully leaving me at 2000 words per day in a year.

What Have I Learned

Mainly things I used to know. I've rediscovered things like throwing away the much-dreaded first chapter, because it has a tendency to consist of a lot of telling of a given world rather than action. I've shrugged my habit of starting stories in an incredibly boring way to start with action instead. To start in a way that provokes interest and questions from the reader.

In other words, I need to adhere more to the screenwriting rules: Only include things that will be of direct importance to plot. If a delivery method can be done in multiple ways, choose the most simple and direct. If there are any segments that can be removed and still maintain plot integrity, do so.

In summary, the past month has been spent mostly rediscovering my old ways. How to write characters better and developing ideas. I don't think I've learned any groundbreaking new stuff, but that hasn't been the goal, either. The goal is simply to get into the habit of writing. I have much to improve on that front this next month, even if the word tally of the first puts up the lie that I did alright.

Short Stories written:

A Different Prince Charming (Futa/F, Fantasy, Rape)
Strobe Lights (M/M/F, M/F, Rape, Drugs)
Breakfast Bitch (Futa/F, D/s, Deepthroating)
Who You Are (Futa/F, D/s, Oral) - Continuation of Breakfast Bitch.
Purity Taken (M/F, Anal, BDSM, Breeding) - To be published

Saturday, June 15, 2013

The Writing Zone

Something I've been thinking about in the last month, perhaps more worrying about than thinking about, is how to get into the writing "zone." That state of mind where the words flow freely and the characters might as well be all around you, acting out a play scripted only in your subconscious that you desperately try to put words to before it flutters away.

For a large part of this first month, I think I've unintentionally stressed myself too much to get to this state. You need some level of stress to write, but too much and you lock up. That's what happened a few times. I had to take a break. I had to distance myself and calm down, and then come back when I could once again look at my writing as something wonderful. Something I wouldn't live as well as I do without.

You might think I'm joking with that last sentence, but it's true. Since I got back into writing, I've noticed a very gradual trend of self-improvement. I eat better, sleep more regularly, my social anxiety tendencies are on the decline. All of that, just because I try to make myself write 1000 words a day. Is there really another word for it than wonderful?

To get back to the topic, though, how do you get into your writing zone? I can spend hours and hours wanting to write, but I end up surfing, checking my mail 20 times, maybe watching an episode of whichever series I'm in the middle of at the time (Re-watching Firefly, at present). And that, really, is the issue.

Writing is communication. It's my preferred form of communication, but when I sit at my laptop, I instantly have many other easier forms of communication at my fingertips. Not as high-level as writing a story is, and that's what makes them easier. Check a forum, check your mail, maybe watch a youtube video and then do a hundred other things on the net. Time passes. All that communication occupies the mind and takes time away from writing.

Obviously, I don't have the end-all answer, but to me, cutting myself off from other communication is the answer. That is how I get in the zone. By "torturing" myself with seclusion until I'm ready to burst. You cut out the noises, the talking, the reading, the instant messaging, emailing, forums, gaming and whatever else there is.

Eventually (Rather quickly, really), the basic human need to communicate becomes so great that all the communication you aren't doing, your imagination is doing for you. Characters and stories come to life and flow freely into words on the page. You're in the zone.

I'm no accomplished writer, but one of my most popular short stories (Note that popular doesn't necessarily mean the writing is good), The Bodyguard, was written when I had just moved to a new town, was alone in an apartment for a week with no internet, no TV and no friends. The first day bored me to tears. The next day, I did the only thing I had left to do with my thoughts if I wasn't to walk around babbling to myself. Sat down to write. I wrote 25.000 words in 5 days. Unprecedented productivity, for me.

Really, I've done a loose tally of this month's writing for a post tomorrow, and I've only written marginally more in this last month than I accomplished back then in a week of noncommunication. That's the power it has. Really, it's sad that when someone asks how to become an author, they're told to write, and then write more, and then even more. They're rarely given tips for the process, merely told their goals and left to flounder on their way there. Writing is often a hard and lonely thing to do, and while we have good intentions, we aren't usually as good at advising people who want to try their hand at it as we should be.

Friday, June 14, 2013

(Fan)fiction Friday 2: The Bodyguard, Ch. 1

The Job

Tags: [No sex][Story]

Yalanda and Bordran Blackbough took in the sights of the normally quiet, small piece of grassy land in front of their Teldrassil home from a small window. On this rather special day, more people than they had hoped for had turned up. Their newfound and surprisingly young daughter had decided that she wanted to travel the world, to find out what changes had happened during her ten thousand year stasis. She stood behind them in the entrance hall, looking rather disinterested out through a window, at a large cat lazily lying in the sun.

The parents still saw everything she did in the rosy glow of newly found or newly returned love. By all rights their daughter should have been dead. She was taken by Sargeras’ servants ten thousand years ago. Only six months ago had she returned, the stasis she was placed in by her up until then secret and long since dead lover finally failing due to the disturbances in the magic of Azeroth caused by the maddened Blue Dragon Aspect and his followers. Bordran once again thought proudly of their people to have abandoned magic, seeing yet another horrible, world-spanning catastrophe-in-the-making being cause by that very thing. His faith in the decision being right ha been shaken after finding that his daughter had been saved by the very same thing that he despised so deeply. He and Yalanda had been there during the terrible first war, and though they were now beginning to feel their age, it would still be a long time until Bordran’s voice was silenced when someone mentioned magic.

He shook his head and looked apologetically at his patiently waiting wife, who simply smiled and motioned towards the closed door. About ten Night Elves had turned up. Old and retired Sentinels, and some very young ones, even two males had turned up to offer their services to the albeit not too rich, but at least influential Blackbough family. Yalanda immediately discarded the males in her mind. Night Elves were for the most part noble enough, but their daughter was rather weak, a condition nothing they did seemed to be able to cure, and it would be all too easy for a male in his best years to take their daughter’s body and mind to places her mother deliberately did not specify, even in her own thoughts.

The note they had put up had specifically explained that they would only interview a select few, so it came as no real shock that some were sent away immediately. Yalanda sent the males away, Bordran the retired Sentinels, leaving just three youngsters. The couple looked doubtfully at each other. These three were no doubt able to protect their fragile daughter, but their daughter needed a teacher, a guide as well. There was something wrong with not only her bodily health, but also her mind. She seemed at once very intelligent and very childish when it came to behaviour, and her mother and father quietly hoped that this trip would bring some of her old self back, along with knowledge of today’s world.

To their surprise, Cerci appeared behind them in the doorway, looked briefly at each of the remaining candidates, and then picked the long-haired woman standing in the middle with a simple pointing finger, before retreating back inside. Bordran and Yalanda shrugged half in helplessness and half apologetically to the three and said a quiet goodbye to the two Sentinels who would be leaving again. Yalanda waved the long-haired one over with a smile, laying a gentle hand on the young Sentinel’s shoulder. “It seems our daughter made a much quicker choice for us than we had expected. Thank you for coming. Cercea is a little strange, and definitely shy. I’m sure you’ll get along just great, though. You have a nice face.”. Nahla was a little baffled. She had not actually believed she would get this job; it seemed so unlikely for one with so little experience to be picked for something like this. She had trained just as hard as any other Sentinel, sure, and considered it possible she might advance up the ranks given some years. She knew she was good, without being arrogant.

“Thank you for the warm welcome – yes, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. Will I be leaving immediately, or do I have a few days to make preparations? Your note was a little unclear.” The Sentinel almost blurted out. The married couple smiled at her as if they understood, Bodran’s expression changing to an apologising smile as he spoke, “She has insisted that the two of you leave as soon as possible, it was the best we could do. At first she wanted to leave alone, but we couldn’t let her. I suspect she is packing now. I know its short notice, but you should pack your things and meet her at the entrance to the Temple of the Moon in Darnassus in three hours.”. Nahla nodded. Most of the little she owned was always packed anyway, so this was not any great inconvenience. Nevertheless, she hurried home and wrote a few letters to friends and family. She mentioned that she would under no circumstance be home until her employer was done with whatever it was she intended. Though it had not been said, it was clear that the Blackboughs expected her to swear the most sacred oath to their goddess she knew, that was the only logical reason for meeting at the temple and not in Rut’theran. She would be bound to this job for as long as Cercea wished to continue travelling, or she would become an outcast in all Night Elven societies.

Nahla was not particularly worried however. How long could it take? At most a year, maybe two? She would be back and would have a lot more experience to back her up in the Sentinels, not only with the world but with being a bodyguard. Perhaps she would even eventually become part of the group that was tasked with watching over Tyrande whenever she left the temple.

Nahla shook her head, hurrying around in her small home. Regardless of how long this was to last, they would travel many miles, so she immediately dropped bringing her heaviest armor. Leather and chain would have to suffice. Once they got outside Night Elven lands, if they did, it would let her exploit her race’s natural agility to greater advantage than usual as well, should they meet hostiles.

Having gathered her few belongings in a not unreasonably large backpack, she set it down by the door and surveyed the more combat-oriented gear laid out on the floor. She had already packed her heavier set of banded mail away again. Given that she would be wearing leather and chain, she immediately brought patches of leather and squares of chains she could repair her armor with if necessary. She picked out a tunic the color of Darkshore tree leaves, a set of leather pants the same color, brown, heavy leather boots with metal plate reinforcements at the tip and heel, dirt-brown leather gloves and, after considering for a few minutes, found some plate kneecaps. Those could come in handy; she did not know what they would encounter after all. She picked a chain shirt that was as discrete as such things can be, having been colored brown and green a long time ago, to wear above her leathers.

As much as it pained her, she felt that the circlet that identified her as a Sentinel should not be brought. It was more a symbol than a practical thing. There was little chance it would have any noticeable impact on the result if someone should decide to chop at her head. She brought along some oil to soften the leather, put on all leather pants, boots, leather tunic, chain shirt and packed the metal kneecaps with her other things. After having put her backpack on, she put her shield on, hanging on top of her backpack. Her gladius-style sword was in a sheath at her left hip seeing as she was right-handed, and with a deep sigh at her beloved shortbow, she hung a small, compact crossbow from her belt. It was not as powerful as her bow or nearly as powerful as a larger crossbow, but it meant she had a much more easily handled ranged weapon with her, and she was unsure if her bow would have a chance to survive the most likely long trip she was about to embark on.

She took a look at herself in the mirror, trying to give herself an encouraging smile. All she managed to see was the young night elf woman in the mirror smile an awkward smile. She blew a lock of dark green hair out of her face, trying a lopsided smile. She noted that she needed to eat more, her face was a little bony. She was small of stature compared to other Sentinels as it were. She still thought she looked “nice”, as Yalanda Blackbough had said, though she had her doubts how much that would help her and her protégé on their journey. With an apologetic look at the bow and at her home in general, she set off towards Darnassus. She had spent more time than planned, so she did not have time to clean up after her packing.

Twenty minutes of walking later, she passed through the gates of Darnassus, admiring the Ancient Protectors standing or creakily walking around there. She was sure that some of the great, ancient-looking trees along the roads were ancients as well. She walked up the ramp and into the city proper, sending a smile to one of the guards. Leena, the two of them had known each other peripherically during their training. Nahla walked towards the center tree of the city, turning slightly as she reached the center to walk onto the long, impressive bridge leading towards the Temple of the Moon. As she reached the midpoint of the bridge, she saw four figures standing at the entrance to the temple. One was smaller than the others and seemed to be guarding a backpack. Nahla studied Cercea’s silhouette as she walked closer, to imprint it in her memory. It would come to her aid later on, she was sure.

She neglected smiling as she scaled the last few steps to the entrance of the temple, blowing a lock of hair out of her face, smiling a small smile at the four people at the entrance to the temple. Cercea Blackbough, an even smaller woman.. Girl even, Nahla thought. She had the signature dark blue hair of the Blackbough family, was wearing sturdy, but still relatively useless clothes if it came to a fight. Standing here, outside of her home, Nahla realised that getting someone to watch over Cercea in her travels, a “bodyguard” as it were, was not such a bad idea at all. She was fragile, there was no doubt about that. Her eyes looked as if her mind was elsewhere. Next to her stood her mother and father. Their more than twenty millennia of age put together had yet to mark them in any noticeable way, despite Nordrassil being gone. Bordran looked as sturdy and uncompromising as always, with short and dark blue hair. Yalanda was his opposite with long, lighter blue hair and a soft face. She was also a lot shorter than Bordran.

The last person at the entrance to the temple was a priestess of the moon. Nahla reverently bowed her head. The priestess was only there to oversee the small ceremony, as a witness. The four of them stepped inside the temple. Cercea walked closer to the central moonwell of the temple, turned and looked to Nahla. The young Sentinel took a second to nod thankfully to Bordran and Yalanda, then ceremoniously walked up to Cercea, the woman she would be guarding for the next however many months the Blackbough wanted. She leaned her head down, closed her eyes and recited the short oath.

Through war and peace
As the goddess is my witness
I solemnly swear to protect this daughter of Elune
To lay down my life for her to live
To stay at her side and see her safely through her travels
In the name of Elune and her children, it will be so

“It will be so.”, the priestess murmured, smiling at the four others as she withdrew to the back of the temple, her job done. Bordran and Yalanda embraced their daughter, Bordran shook Nahla’s hand and the two older Blackboughs looked on in silence as Nahla waited for Cercea to gather her things. The two younger women turned halfway in the entrance to the temple, both of them waving back to the two dark blue haired elves standing near the moonwell with an arm around each other.

Nahla lead Cercea out of Darnassus. After having gone through the portal to Rut’theran, Nahla turned for the first time to speak to Cercea. “So, miss, where is our first destination?”. The young woman, or girl, Nahla still couldn’t decide, looked to the skies for such a long time that Nahla thought Cercea had forgotten the question.

Finally she looked down, right into Nahla’s eyes and said, in a fragile, soft voice “Ratchet.”.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

You Need To Be A Sadist

Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them - in order that the reader may see what they are made of. - Kurt Vonnegut

You need to show, not tell. You need action. You need to be a sadist. It's the only way to write something compelling. One of the people who occasionally edits for me has a great admiration of Kurt Vonnegut, and the more I read of him myself, the more I see why. Be a sadist.

Friday, June 7, 2013

(Fan)fiction Friday 1: Roguish Delight

I have written stuff in the past that I don't consider worthy of publishing, or can't publish, because it takes place in already established and owned universes. I figure I may as well put it up here, in case someone is interested. I'll be posting one chapter a week. Being a bit picky with what I post, there should be enough for one weekly chapter for over 3 months. I'll start off with a standalone short. 

Tags: [Futa/F] [Large Cock] [Reluctance] [Impregnation] [Stomach Distension] [Lots of cum]

She wanted to think of the ancient stone arch over her head as something symbolic, something to represent that she was not only leaving her old life behind, but entering a new and brighter future. The truth was that, while the gate was impressive, the masonry was aged. Even a farmgirl could clearly see the stone was past its prime mortar crumbling, with moss gradually encroaching. 

“C’mon, move your ass!”

Someone from behind angrily brushed past her, ramming a hard shoulder into her back in the process. She stumbled forward gracelessly, spitting a weak “Fuck you!” after the perpetrator. The bustle at the gate was enough that she had no real idea who had even hit her, and the guards made her feel relatively secure in her outburst.

Mylene Quinn inhaled expectantly, guided her slender hands into the shallow pockets of her well-worn dirt-brown pants, and set off past the Farstream city gates with lazy steps. She noted the eyes of more than one of the obviously bored guards on her backside, even as modest as it looked in her utilitarian and rough outfit. She ducked her head, mumbled another quiet, insincere curse under her breath about pigs and padded onwards, down the grimy cobbled road, into the city. She was soon swallowed up between worn-down houses, disappearing into the well-oiled machinery of bars and taverns that form the underlying support of any larger urban area.

When she had taken everything her family owned, everything that could be carried, and left in the middle of the night, she had imagined that she would come to the city and somehow make it. Find a living, find excitement and most of all, her own life. It soon turned out that baling hay and plowing fields were far from useful skills in a city, leaving her with little opportunity. Even the taverns and bars seemed to have no room for a foreign girl amongst their waitress staff.

A week passed, days spent on wandering the muddy and often disarrayed streets of Farstream. The few riches she had been able to plunder from her family’s farm soon proved inadequate, causing frustration to rise as the amount of coins in her pouch dwindled. 

Most people remained uninterested in befriending her, in fact, all she had had so far were ill-hidden advances, mostly from drunkards. The initial polite letdowns were soon replaced with colder and colder rebuttals, until she eventually just learned to say “No.” in a decisive enough tone that most of them never even got further than a few words into their horrible, clearly planned speeches.

Thankfully, the advances lessened considerably as her appearance began to reflect her standard of living. An eighteen year old girl from the farms, stuck in loose, patchy clothes. The dirt-brown pants were beginning to fray at the bottom, and were almost more made of patches than the original leather. Of course, the fact that they seemed to have been passed down from her oldest brother through to her for more than a decade did not do her any justice either. 

Her yellowish-white hemp shirt did little to enhance her image, having been her father’s once, a long, long time ago. The elbows were patched, and several spills had never quite come out. 

With a sigh, Mylene attempted to brush something, anything off her shirt as she neared the counter of the inn she was staying in. She was out of money, in fact, she had been for two days. She had had no baths of any kind, leaving what was visible of her perky, youthful form smeared with dirt in places. After a brief fight with a ruffian, she had ended up in a pile on the ground, thus making sure that even her face was stained by dried mud and dirt. 

Beneath it all, there had once been a girl of promising beauty. Wavy dark brown locks of hair would have framed a youthful face with healthy round cheeks and pale blueish-grey eyes and a smile accompanied by slight dimples. Now, the image of the youngest Quinn girl was quite simple: Urchin.

A brief conversation with the innkeeper quickly turned unpleasant, and left her in the hands of a bouncer who spared no comfort for her, chucking her out in the street almost face-first. It was then that the young girl saw Anita for the first time. A woman not much older than Mylene, but obviously one far more in control of herself and her life than the dirty youngster sprawled on the cobblestones. 

“Heard y’need a job, shorty,” said Anita matter-of-factly. 

Mylene quickly managed to compose herself, putting arms and legs against the ground, pushing herself up as she sized up her would-be savior. “Yeah, I do. Whatcha got?”

Anita looked somehow both out of place and completely at home here, in the middle of the poor quarters of town. Black, solid, almost soldierly boots clung loosely to her feet and lower legs, the necks covered up by pants made of almost midnight-black hemp. A smooth leather belt with a barely dented, square metal buckle peeked out under the hem of a black, long-armed shirt that was left open enough to show some cleavage. The woman had short black eyes and hair, cut just above her chin, and the face of a sultry killer.

She gave Mylene another brief look neglecting to answer the question with anything more than waving for the girl to accompany her. They were an uneven pair, one taking long, quick strides, the other having to pad along at a near-run. “What’s your name, shorty?”

“Mylene Quinn,” said Mylene, already panting slightly as she hurried along.

“Think we’re gonna stick with shorty, Mylene Quinn. Y’can call me Anita,” said Anita, again in a matter-of-fact tone, one that left her young companion with a tinge of anger mixed into her feeling of budding hope. She continued scurrying along next to the determined black-clad woman, following as they turned a corner and suddenly found themselves in an abandoned, darkened alleyway. 

Mylene slowed over the course of ten steps, putting her hands at her sides as she half-yelled at Anita’s back. “Hey, where are we going? I don’t have anything to rob, in case you’re blind or something.”

With a brief roll of her eyes, the black-haired woman turned, sending an annoyed look to the rascal behind her. “I’m SO glad you told me, shorty. Why, with your majestic appearance here I was, thinkin’ you carried around a couple gold bars at LEAST,” hissed Anita, her tone practically dripping with sarcasm. 

“Hey, fuck you! You’re the one taking me into an alley without any explanation,” Mylene shouted back, stepping up to her opponent, seething for a moment. Her eyebrows shot upwards as the woman in front of her changed behavior in a heartbeat. Her eyes took on some joyous warmth as she placed a black-gloved index finger against Mylene’s pale red lips.

“Listen, shorty. I got a job for you, but did y’think I wouldn’t want anything in return? C’mon now,” she whispered playfully, lifting her finger to bop against the girl’s dirtied forehead briefly.

Mylene was taken aback briefly, then looked up at Anita skeptically. Her tone was more anxious than she realized as she took up a defiant stance. “So, what job is it? And what am I supposed to help you with?”

“The job’s really just a servant position, lowest rung of the ladder. I run a… -Business- with some other folks. About the helping me, c’mon here,” said the taller woman, leading both of them into a side-alley, piled with discarded, ruined furniture and even old rags. 

“See, I figure you’ve got just about no coin to pay me with,” said Anita, pausing for a moment to let Mylene get off a sour nod. “So, you’ll pay with what you DO have. Go over there,” Anita motioned with her head to a reasonably clear bit of ground, the continued. “…And take your pants off.”

“-What- now? Fuck you,” spat Mylene in disbelief, glaring in anger-mixed disgust at the woman standing in front of her with arms crossed over her well-proportioned chest.

“In a manner of speakin’, yeah. Now shut up and get over there, it’s not like you’ve got better things offered up anyway, so either stop whining or fuck off,” said Anita, once again nodding her head towards the same square of cleared ground. The two women were at a brief standoff, unfeeling, calm black eyes crossing the fiery glare of pale blue orbs. With a mumbled “Fuck this,” the dirty girl made her way deeper into the alley, removing the fraying rope acting as her belt. It turned out that the rope was all that held up her patched, dirt-brown pants.

Remaining with her arms crossed over her chest, Anita drummed her fingers against her elbow in faux impatience, squeezing her lips together as she observed Mylene’s pants drop to the ground. She was certainly not a big girl, but the healthy diet of her life up until recently ensured that she remained safe from being unhealthily thin. Both her thighs and her calves were vaguely defined, enough to enhance her youthful appearance into something almost enticing, even with her muddy appearance.

“Make your ass useful and sit on it, will ya?” said Anita, casually stepping over to the girl as she unceremoniously dumped down on the ground. The black-haired woman leaned down, placing a gloved hand against the girl’s slender shoulder, pushing her backwards far enough that she eventually got the hint, lying on her back. Everything about Mylene exuded annoyance, disgust and anxiousness, but she did nothing to hinder the woman over her. Her options were pretty much exhausted. If she had to get a little dirty to get started in Farstream, so what?

The larger, black-clad women kneeled, wriggling the fingers of her right hand slightly, almost as if about to dig into a meal, before popping open the buttons holding her pants closed. Pushing them down a little, a hairless crotch and then, only partly to Mylene’s surprise, the bottom hilt of an impressively thick cock appeared. 

Anita dug her right hand into her pants, pulling her as of yet soft and flaccid shaft out of the just about loose enough pants. Her left hand lazily parted the legs of the girl lying on her back in front of her, making it possible for the larger woman to waddle in closer, on her knees. 

Mylene’s heart jumped, at once starting to race and clogging up her throat as she both felt and saw the weighty, thick slab of meat smack against her dirty shirt. The black-haired woman over her, exhaled contemptuously through her nostrils, reaching out to push the shirt up. She gave the fleshy log a few strokes to start off with, setting into a more furious pace to get herself going.

Veins started to bulge all along the turgid shaft as it plumbed up and grew up to a full, fat nineteen inches. The black-haired woman’s hand was dwarfed as it dragged up and down on a section of the erect giant. She glanced up at the wide-eyed urchin with a cheeky smirk, giving the shaft a last stroke before moving backwards. 

There were no loving kisses or waiting around, here.  Anita wanted to fuck the hell out of the perky, slender girl. She had little hesitation as the fat head of her hefty fuckrod parted the girl’s outer lips, pushing her pelvis forward. It was an odd sight to watch the girl writhe and whine. Her hands pressed against her lower stomach, as if to prevent her insides from bursting out. The black-haired rogue wrinkled her nose slightly in satisfaction, barreling further into her prize. The immense, pulsing cockhead was swallowed up by the girl’s bare, desperately clenching pussy, expanded to a point that there was barely room between her thighs for the steely shaft.

Anita paid it no heed, slam-fucking her massive cock into the shrilly screeching girl one inch at a time. The urchin’s cunt was like a much too tight glove around her pulsating shaft, twitching and dragging against her as all of those rippling, steely inches of dick were shoved carelessly in.

The rogue took a brief break from clutching the girl’s hips, pushing her pants further down. Enormous, pendulous, hairless balls swung free, ominously moving closer to the writhing, yelping girl’s shivering form.

The last few inches of cock were always the hardest to fit into someone. It was as if new room had to be found inside her victims. The remaining three inches of the colossal, meaty cockshaft bored slowly in, completing the union of the two as the huge, cum-heavy balls came to rest against the bottom of Mylene’s slightly protruding asscheeks. Anita licked her lips sloppily, reaching out to push the bulge formed up along the center of the girl’s body back into her, but found herself unable to do anything other than force gasps of pain from the urchin. She shrugged, and once again taking hold of the girl’s hips, lifting her ass slightly off the ground.

With her legs forcefully splayed open in a one-eighty degree angle, Mylene was able to reach down and plant her palms against the black cloth covering her partner’s taut stomach, pressing weakly against it. The round, massively thick tube was relentless, keeping her cunt widened absurdly around it despite the twitching and wriggling that she reflexively jerked out. It was only when the black-clad woman between her legs pulled back slowly that the farm girl received a moment of respite, her legs once again given room to sink a little closer together, the veined cockshaft sliding out of her almost halfway.

For Anita, the journey was fast approaching its apex. She gave a brief, jerking lift with her arms, giving her the fraction of a second needed to gain a better grip on the urchin’s thighs, and then barreled ahead once more, shoving the pulsing, fat futacock back in, slippery, veiny skin eaten up by the struggling girl’s clutching cunt. She wasted no time with slowly building up a rhythm. Mylene had screamed enough that someone was bound to come looking soon, and she had every intention of being gone by then.

The bulky shaft withdrew, the stretched pussy clinging to it in a needy fashion. Inhaling deeply, the black-haired woman pistoned the monstrous cock back in, bruising past the girl’s cervix and bottoming herself out completely in the urchin’ straining womb. She pulled back, repeating the feat again, and again, heedless of Mylene’s screams as she pulled back and then ferociously pounded back in, flat-out hilting her nineteen inch beast with every thrust.

Minutes passed, the girl’s body rocking and writhing, though her screams eventually died down to mere sobs, the massive distention on her stomach hammering back and forth, giving away with all possibly clarity for any possible onlookers that the dirty youngster was being repeatedly impaled on something massive.

It was clear that the remorseless pace of the fucking was taking its toll on Anita’s stamina, and it became clear even to the half-conscious Mylene what was happening when the frenzied thrusts into her aching form took on an all-consuming, blazing speed, driving the few screams remaining in her abused body out of her, to be replaced by mewling sobs. 

Smacksmacksmacksmacksmack! The sound of balls and pelvises crashing against each other, suddenly, abruptly silenced as the gasping rogue’s speed fell drastically, erratically thrusting but five inches of immensely thick dick back and forth. Her balls were churning, her form tense as goopy spunk pumped from her sloshy balls and up through that enormous cockshaft, to spew directly, forcefully into the urchin’s womb. 

Mylene’s back arched, her teeth gritting hard as she felt the climax flood into her defenseless core, everything inside of her awash with potent seed. She continued to twitch weakly, even though she could feel the trembling monstercock slowly but surely moving backwards, out of her, thrusting and spewing fat ropes of semen as it withdrew. The thought of pregnancy hit her, but she was too weak, only barely conscious, to fully register what the consequences of what had happened were.

The powerful ropes of spunk gradually died out, leaving only two panting women in the back-alley. Anita smirked through her gasps, taking a hold of her massive, slick shaft, pressing a finger into the wide cumvein beneath it. She carefully emptied herself, running the finger up along her shaft, squeezing out one last, thick dollop of cum, letting it drip from her tip down onto the abused, gaping mound just below.  

The smirk persisted as the black-clad rogue hastily stuffed her deflating shaft into her trousers, getting up on somewhat shaky legs. She took a step away from the gasping girl lying on her back on the ground, then looked back, her words careless. “Y’re much too naïve for the city, shorty. Go back to where y’came.” 

With that, the black-clad woman was gone, leaving only a slightly distended womb, sloshing with cum in her wake.

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Some Explanation

After my rather sobering post last Friday, I have been writing like crazy. Okay, perhaps not like crazy compared to a lot of writers, but compared to me before that post. I'm determined to practice and get back to where I was. And then get better. The only thing that'll make that happen is writing, so writing is what I've been doing.

However, this sort of impetus is temporary at the best of times. Especially for me, since I suffer from something many others live with: A depression. I don't honestly know when I first developed it, only that it has been over 10 years, now. It still hasn't gone away. I've started to accept the thought that maybe it won't ever, after having tried therapy and tried pills.

I don't think it's an uncommon thing for writers to have their mental peculiarities, some worse than others. My particular issue has the unfortunate consequence of removing motivation to a varying degree. Often entirely. Even when I know I could start writing and write something good, I cannot just start putting words on the page on the bad days. It's all you can do to shower, eat and maybe go for a walk. I don't usually talk about those days, because anyone who has not experienced depression cannot understand what goes on in you that makes it hard to do more than just function.

But in writing... I find a way to turn even those bad days into something useful. I can put words to my feelings and use them in stories, if not on the bad days, then on the good. I can use the (Forgive the angst, a moment) depths of my sadness to describe the same in my characters. I can describe hopelessness, because I have experienced real hopelessness.

I guess this turned a bit more grim than I wanted it to. Honestly, I don't think I'd be able to write as I am if not for this stupid brain, so I'm grateful. I suppose time will just have to tell whether the rest of the world will appreciate a peek into said brain through whatever ebooks I end up releasing.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Ick Rants

First of all, bear with me. Today's post is not about writing, and it's also just a ranty personal opinion. You have been warned.

I am not only a worrier, I'm also a ranter. I'm sure these traits are common to EVERYONE IN THE WORLD, so I try to refrain from painting a picture of myself that suggests that I am on some different level of worrying, annoyance or existence in general. The truth is, while we may feel like islands a lot of the time, we really aren't. Loads of people are like you and go through the same things. Sometimes it's a comfort, sometimes it isn't. This may seem like an aside, but it's actually relevant to this day's rant.


What picture and impression of someone does this evoke in your mind? I've looked the word up in an online dictionary, and here's the definition:

"a person keenly interested in food, especially in eating or cooking."


"person having an enthusiastic interest in the preparation and consumption of good food"

So, a foodie is someone who is very interested in eating and cooking food. We'll leave out the other uses of food in spite of the open formulation that provides. This makes me a foodie, because I'm quite interested in my food. It's what keeps me alive, after all. I quite enjoy baking a great cake and having friends or family express their appreciation. Maybe they didn't think I was capable of making those really delicious lemon bars. But guess what, mom, I can cook! You didn't waste those years of forcing me to cook one night a week!

Of course, some days, I make pasta, slather it with ketchup, and eat that. On those days, I'm still a foodie, because I still care about what I eat, and think about the coming month where I might be able to afford something nicer. There are people who live off nothing but fast food or uninspired but nonetheless decently tasty meals. These people are also foodies, as far as I'm concerned, because I have yet to meet anyone in my 26 year long life who did not care about what they were eating.

But that's not enough for people. When you can't be special by doing special things, you must do everything you can to be special in the ordinary things you do, and if you can make it seem as if everyone else is somehow part of the food proletariat, all the better.

And this is where we get to it. Douchebags and -bagettes with cameras and most likely an instagram/twitter/facebook account, intent on convincing the world that their meals are -so- special and -so- cool that they just have to tell the world that they are a foodie. Look the fuck at me, New York. I CARE about what I stuff in my face! I'm a hedonist, I'm a foodie, I'm this and that and this other thing, too.

You know who else is all of those things, too? Fucking everyone. You are not special because you like food, or sex, or that feeling you get shortly after a really good workout. You -could- be special for the person you are beneath all this shallow, materialistic posturing, but you've invested so much of yourself into your public persona that there really is no persona left beneath it all, is there? You're chasing your next super-special meal, with octopus-semen, and horseradish, and blackjack, and hookers.

I'm not trying to say that everyone should be the same, at all, but there are some things for which you are special and will be remembered for, and there are many, many things for which you are not special and will not be remembered for. By and large, you are remembered for your ideas, and what you do with them. The idea that you like food more than other people is terrible and self-centered, and if all you do with it is try and show off, you've stumbled before the first hurdle.

The idea that you want to be the best fireman/woman in the district is great, because you are doing something for others. Even if you want recognition for what you do, that's cool. Because you're doing great work. Eating some fucking salmon isn't "great work." I know how to use a knife and fork too.

See you next rant, at some indefinable point in the future.