Friday, September 27, 2013

September Silence

I've been silent for a while. I know. The only reason for this is a flareup of my depression. Obviously, I'm massively behind on everything. Publishing, commissions, life in general. There's not really a lot of yarn to spin on this, since this blog is not about my personal life, or depression. All I can say is that I'm getting better, so things should be looking up a bit soon.

My novella is well on its way through proof-reading, and I still have a short story that's near completion. The people I've shown it to have said it's great, but on the other hand, it's a personal project. This means it involves kinks that I love, but the great public probably hasn't thought of or won't like. I don't expect it to be great, but it's something I enjoy writing.

Anyway, that's me for now. Here's to hoping the next few weeks will see tons of writing to make up for what I'm behind. See you.

Friday, September 13, 2013

(Fan)fiction Friday 15: Shallya's Will Ch. 7

With this, Fiction Friday comes to a close for now. I may well add more to it in time, whenever I write more stuff that I can't publish regularly.

The End

Tags: [Futa/F] [Rape] [Combat] [Magic]

The same repeated itself the next day, and the day after that. Vesper was subdued, raped into utter submission with the redhead held back, forced to watch. For the first time since the initiate’s arrival, Julia struggled against the guards again. She fought, bit and scratched until she was held against the floor with a blade against her neck, held down and turned to watch the matriarch violating the mute initiate. For every day that passed with the same pattern, it became harder and harder for Julia to make Vesper eat anything. Suddenly, the daily visits stopped. Days passed in solitude, with the two interred in the cell, Julia remaining at Vesper’s side, always with a safe, strong arm around the girl, but to no avail. She was slipping away, hiding in the confines of her own mind. Every day, the warrior’s worry and frustration grew.

Battles, she could deal with. The tension grew to a breaking point and was released. This was different. She was powerless, stricken with guilt and unable to aid the struggling girl as she retreated further and further into herself.

It got no better when it appeared that the novice had been added to the end of Syrith’s regular fuck-marathon, which apparently meant that any remaining lust, and semen, that the abbess had, was to be taken out on her newest acquisition. Julia herself was only occasionally dragged from the cell. The second night that Vesper was taken, leaving her behind, alone, she found herself wanting to be up there, despite what connotations that prospect bore with it, just to be able to see what Vesper was put through. It was better to be abused alongside the marred girl than to wander aimlessly in the cell, panic tearing at what little sanity was left in her mind.

All that was apparent now was that every time Vesper returned, stained with cum and marks left behind by the abbess’ greedy hands, she grew increasingly isolated, ever harder to get into any kind of contact with. With the initiate’s descent, Julia was losing the last bastion she had had to hold herself up with. A momentary weakness, letting someone else in, was what was slowly eating away at the steely resolve that had kept her sane throughout her time with the cult. Now, she paced the cell in solitude every time she was left alone, waiting for the frail girl to be returned, and every time she was thrown back into the cell, Julia’s desperation grew.

Finally, Julia was taken up to the hall with Vesper. The twisted relief she felt was short-lived, however, as she was not taken up to be beaten or raped, or even fight, but instead to watch Vesper’s hours-long rape upon the dais.

The girl’s food intake had dwindled to almost nothing, but what little fat left on her shook in springy jiggles every time she was penetrated. Each thrust reverberated into Julia, feeling like a red-hot knife being jammed further and further into her chest. Vesper simply laid there on her back, her eyes corpse-like and unfocused. At some point, Julia had tried to wrestle herself free from the grip of the two guards keeping her down, but all that had happened was her ending up on the floor, head pulled back by her dull red hair to force her to watch the abbess pump load after load into the initiate.


Perhaps it was the fact that Syrith was enjoying what seemed to be her newest conquest, or perhaps it was merely because the hour-long session was nearing its climax. Whatever the reason was, the spasming abbess remained momentarily unaware of something Julia’s battle-trained senses did not miss. The clamor of combat from the entrance of the room. Serious, massed combat, not just the depraved rituals and fancies of the common cultists.

The mass of bodies in the room shifted, the constant churning of sweat-stained sin disturbed. The feeling of unease spread like wildfire amongst the cultists, soon followed by shouted words. “The city guard! They’re attacking!”

Matriarch Syrith froze mid-thrust, cold eyes wavering for the briefest of moments as she sought out the source of the commotion. A crossbow bolt whistled by to her right, settling in, almost entirely tearing through the abdomen of one of the guards holding Julia in place. The boiling mass of beasts and humans began wavering, brewing into a turbulent storm as more and more humans tried to flee the hall. Slaves and cultists alike were trampled in the beginning panic of the mass as they fought to get past beastmen, mutants and the more deeply corrupted devotees of the cult, all of which seemed more than eager to throw themselves towards the sounds of steel against steel and barked orders.

In the middle of it all, now some ten feet from the podium that Vesper remained on top of, stood the tall, black-haired abbess, surrounded by a palpable, darkened aura of air. Bolts whistled past her, and a few even seemed to pass directly through her without harm. Julia saw no more of her as she lunged forward, grabbing onto Vesper’s inanimate form to drag her into safety from the veritable hailstorm of bolts. The warrior huddled against the altar, surrounding the initiate’s body with her own as she waited, and waited.

It quickly became obvious that the city guard had gained a foothold in the room, but no more. Julia’s resurfacing mind left her capable of a brief scoff as she listened to the noise of the fight. These men were so obviously not soldiers, but rather keepers of the peace, policemen, trained to fight but largely unused to anything more than a scuffle with a burglar or a few thugs.

The battle continued on, wavering away from the main entrance of the room and onto the floor proper, where it was possible for Julia to observe some of the fights that went on. Uniformed, frightened-looking guards lashed out as individuals at frothing beasts, mutants and utterly mad cultists. More than a few from either side fell with a blade buried in their back, as the battle spread into smaller clumps of fighters. The ground soon ran red with blood, and cluttered with the bodies of dead and dying.

Gradually, it became clear that despite their rage and insanity, the cultists were losing ground. The surprise assault had just barely allowed the guards to gain the upper hand, and now, the groups of tired-looking guards that had finished off their opponents joined their companions. Perhaps another ten minutes passed, as the battle raged on. No human, beast or mutant was going to give up. Those still left in the fight had nothing left if they lost this. The beasts would be executed, the mutants and humans burned.

Still, a few of them broke off, but were picked off by a cadre of crossbowmen in position near the main entrance. It seemed that the ranged combatants had given up on trying to pick off the matriarch after losing the first twenty bolts that should have impaled the woman, but instead passed through her as if she was made of nothing but wispy smoke. Now that the main body of the cultists was defeated, though, a few of the crossbowmen took a shot at the abbess. As tired, bloodied guards advanced slowly towards the stationary, disdainful black-clad woman, Julia withdrew, putting the altar between her and Vesper, and the fight that was bound to take place.

A few more bolts whistled through the air. Rough, unknown voices rang out. A scream tore through the hall briefly, but was cut short. Much too short. Julia dared to look over the podium, seeing Syrith standing over the corpse of a guard cut in half in what looked like a single swing. The woman carried no weapons save for the strange, shadowy tendrils that once more snaked around her arms, looking as if they were caught in a storm that only they felt.

The guards withdrew, forming a half-circle around the imposing, black-clad woman. A few more bolts whistled past, but it was clear that no one wanted to go near the imposing woman. Finally, the ranks of the guard parted, allowing a man looking to be in his forties to step forward. He was clad in eclectic, flowing white clothes and carried a myriad of pouches and bags, as well as a glowing staff. The man was obviously a wizard of the college of light, a Hierophant.

It was against this man that the abbess now turned her attention. She appeared to mumble a few words, and then a dark, purple cloud veered off from the aura surrounding her, briefly enveloping the white-clad man. He remained calm, chanting his own mystical spell. There was a blinding flash of white light and a raging, gurgling scream from the abbess, as well as surprised gasps from the guards. Julia retreated back behind the altar, clutching Vesper’s lightly shaking body. Her eyes darted over the floor in front of her, seeing the dagger of one of the guards that had been restraining her earlier. Carefully, the redhead freed herself from Vesper, making sure that the girl was nestled up against the altar in relative safety, and then she crawled over the floor, grasping the hand of the dagger in a shaking hand.

Flashes of light replaced darkening nights in a violent dance behind her, the matriarch’s enraged screams rising and falling, entwining with the measured and restrained grunts that Julia assumed were from the hierophant. She had seen mages battle once before. The fight had been over in less than a minute, and had ended with the loser in a flash-cooked heap of flesh after lightning had struck him from a clear sky.

This battle, however, wore on. Crackling, blitzing tendrils of light and dark arched through the air, clinging briefly to the floor and the ceiling, even just at the air. The two mages were locked in mid-cast, their will and power pitted against the other’s in a dazzling, electrical display of raw magic. Streaks of lightning of so stark, so pure white light that Julia had to look away immediately danced around the hierophants skull, his milky-white eyes alight with fiery white flame. In contrast, the aura of darkness around Syrith pulsed like an unholy heart, drawing nebulous tendrils of shadow seemingly from the very air around her, feeding into the crackling tendril of darkness that collided with the Light Mage’s power.

The guards seemed in awe, or perhaps they were truly paralyzed. Julia had a hard time making them out in the jerking, flashing light provided by the display of power between the two sorcerers. The only person seemingly still in full control of herself in the emptied orgy hall was Julia. She cast a glance down at the dagger she held close, looked to the shivering, mute girl at the altar, and then took a decision.

Syrith’s eyes signaled a silent cackle. This place was an unholy site, the winds of magic favored her here. Yet this mage, powerful as he may be, assumed himself capable of besting one of Slaanesh’s chosen in her very home? The cackle was replaced by a sneer, and a redoubling of her efforts. It was an insult to her power.

Out of the corner of her eye, towards where the podium was, the matriarch caught a flash of movement. Her eyes widened, her concentration fizzling for one fatal moment. She remembered. The redheaded whore who stubbornly refused to break, she was still there, clutching the senseless, deluded girl. She had been.

Bare feet smacked against the stone floor once, twice, thrice. The abbess knew she was too late. She could feel her failing concentration breaking down the raw lightning she was streaming at the Hierophant. Her right arm swung around, but she moved in slow motion, caught up in the warping, extreme outpour of magic. Her body refused to channel the winds of magic at such a rate and function physically at the same time. The naked form of the redheaded slave crashed into the black-clad woman, toppling both of them. The Light Wizard immediately withdrew his hand, the disappearance of the supreme, powerful exchange between the two leaving a deathly silent hollow.

Only two sounds were heard in the abandoned hall. Gasping breaths, and repeated, violent thumping. Julia sat on top of Syrith’s chest, the abbess’ arms locked to her sides. The warrior’s left arm clutched around the woman’s neck, and the right arm hammered up and down, mechanically jamming a bloody, thin dagger-blade into every opening in the matriarch’s face. Julia released the woman’s neck and instead grasped around the dagger with both hands, hammering it into one bloody eye socket. She lifted one hand, slamming it back down against the handle of the dagger repeatedly. Soon, a sickly crunch was heard as the dagger tore through the back of Syrith’s skull. Pressure gave way, spraying fluids and blood over the naked warrior.

As Julia was about to free the dagger and repeat the exercise with the matriarch’s other eye socket, a soft hand was placed on her shoulder. Something in the touch compelled her to stop, to let go of the rage that coursed through her. She simply sat over the bloody corpse of the cult’s former mistress, breathing heavily.

“Stand up, my child. Leave her be. She has sullied enough souls in her life, don’t let her taint yours in death,” said the man.

Julia nodded. She could see white garb through the corner of her eye. The wizard was right. She knew it. It was over. They were- “Vesper!” The shout surprised the stunned guards, freeing them from their trance. Several of them looked away as the naked, bloodied warrior stormed back to the altar to find the shivering, frail girl still lying there. Julia sat down on her heels, wrapping her arms around the initiate’s shaking body. She sat there, holding Vesper close, too overwhelmed to speak for a long, long minute. Finally, as adrenaline was replaced by deep, complete exhaustion, the toned warrior was able to let out a quiet whisper.

“She’s dead… She’s dead, Vesper, she’s gone…”

Friday, September 6, 2013

(Fan)fiction Friday 14: Shallya's Will Ch. 6


Tags: [Futa/F] [Rape] [Slaaneshi Cultists] [More Rape] [Dungeon] [Healing] [Nightmare]

Vesper’s entire body was weak. Her muscles churned with the dull ache of exhaustion, and her arms tingled as feeling flooded back into them slowly. Worst of all, though, was the slimy feeling of the huge load of spunk abbess Syrith had pumped into her still slightly gaping pussy, the viscous, heavy beads of cum slowly rolling out of her and down onto the floor. She shivered. The disgust was so deep-seated in her now that she felt like not even tearing the flesh from her bones would ever dislodge the sense of complete and utter violation.

For a few long seconds, the initiate remained still against the rags, absorbed in her own misery. At first, she barely registered Julia’s breathing in the background, but slowly, as if she was walking ever closer to a hissing ocean, the warrior’s superficial gasps for air made their way into her mind, settled there, became background noise, and then rose up once more. She realized suddenly that, despite her own state, the redhead had not only been raped, but taken a severe beating as well.

She dragged her tingling arms under herself and stemmed against the floor, feeling how her elbows almost x-ed beneath her for every inelegant move she made to close to distance to her protector’s shadowy form. Somehow, the darkness of the dungeon felt more oppressive, now. The previously vague sounds of the other residents had become a hellish, whispering backdrop. 

Vesper reached a shaking hand out towards the warrior’s lightly heaving shoulder, pressing two, then three soft fingertips against her skin. It felt lukewarm, and, as the hand came more into contact with the form under it, wet. The novice swallowed, dragging her legs under herself, sitting on her heels. Reaching another hand forward and wrapping it around Julia, she struggled to pull the heavy, largely unresponsive form into her lap. 

It felt almost as if her exhausted muscles would become overworked and snap like warm, sinewy butter, just from the little exertion it was to pull a person closer to herself. Gently, the girl placed her companion’s head against her thigh, resting one hand palm-down against the woman’s boiling forehead. 

Julia had been repressing the strain on her body for too long. She had grown weak, and finally, after today’s beating, all the effort devoted to hiding away her pain had blossomed into a fever.  She could just barely open her eyes to look up at the, to her temperature-clouded eyes, angelic figure above her, forcing a weak smile to curl her lips for but a few heartbeats. The girl’s hand against her forehead felt cool, soothing, almost unreal. The mere presence of it drove her illness back.

The initiate smiled down at the redhead, then closed her eyes. She dispelled the slimy darkness surrounding them from her mind, she forced the memories of what had happened out, at least for now, leaving only the calm, warm feeling of mercy. With her next exhalation, she mumbled a few quiet words, a prayer unheard in the temple building for years. 

Holy, cleansing energy blossomed between their two forms. It was inside neither of them, and could not be seen, but rather felt, wherever the initiate’s hand touched Julia’s skin. The feeling spread through her slowly. In much the same way as sand tumbles down the side of a dune in its everlasting journey across the land, wispy tendrils of energy now slowly rolled through the redhead’s body, dispelling fever and injury where they came, leaving only tired muscles in their wake.

Julia was already drifting off when Vesper removed her hand, grabbing a blanket to drape around the already deeply breathing redhead. The initiate herself remained stationary, once again placing her hand against the warrior’s forehead. The smile on her face only slowly faded into a content expression. 


Rasping breaths were suddenly grating at her dry throat. What had been a cool, comfortable spring breeze a few moments ago was now a battle to pull into her convulsing body. It was all her mind could comprehend, foggy as it was with mists of pain. She could feel her hands clutching the open wound in her stomach, her skin growing more slippery for each passing second, blood and cold sweat mixing in her palms.

Smell was what came back to her next. Hay, the almost ethereal, yet thick scent of blood, and finally, the combined feeling, smell and taste of wispy clouds of dust assaulted her. The creaking of leather, the clanks and grating screeches of metal, the last living breaths of her sisters in faith drowning in their own blood, it all hit her in a way that the blade never could have. The screams came next, some persistent, others rough and frequently, rhythmically interrupted. 

She opened her eyes, seeing what she already knew would be there. The dead, mangled bodies of her temple’s faithful. The few that were still alive were being raped by gangs of blood-crazed mutants and chaos-warriors alike. But beyond all of that, beyond the gruesome beheading of a kneeling abbess, her eyes caught a last, desperate look from well-known face. Amelia. She was being dragged away.


Waking up after only a few hours of rest, Julia had cradled the sleeping girl positioned against the stone floor next to her. They shared warmth the same way as they now seemed to share a fate. “No,” mumbled the warrior into the initiate’s softly twitching shoulder, “My fate will not be yours. I swear on my life.”

She had, with difficulty and suppressed groans of pain from the few bruises that still remained on her, maneuvered the two of them closer to the wall. The redhead laid next to the stone, her back against it, holding the shivering brown-haired girl in her arms. There was nothing she had to do tonight but hold the girl, comfort her and soothe her when she woke from her nightmares. After the treatment they had both received, the cultists knew better than to bring them out to play immediately after.

The realization, that she knew the habits of these depraved would-be overlords, almost made Julia chuckle. Almost. She shook her head with a melancholic smile, instead carefully placing a hand against the back of Vesper’s head, leaning the girl gently against a strong, muscled shoulder. The faint, gasping whines grew quiet, and all that remained was the despairing, jerky caresses of the initiate’s skin against the warrior’s shoulder as the smaller woman’s body arched, writhed and so obviously longed for comfort that the continued nightmares offered none of.


The passage of time had seen Julia slide down along the stone wall gradually, now lying on her back. Vesper had been pushed outwards slowly, as the warrior’s sleeping form found its most comfortable, with an arm still resting around the initiate’s naked, pale shoulder, supporting her head.

It was like this that Vesper awoke, rags and blankets wrapped around her form. The first few seconds of semi-consciousness had been the best moments of her waking life the last long time. The few seconds where she was in the limbo between awareness and sleep, when she remained briefly unaware of aches and hurts, where her ever-churning mind had yet to conjure up the torturous thoughts that so often plagued her.

This awakening was different, horrifying and pleasant at the same time. The first few seconds of perception passed by, and feelings welled up in her. Aches, pain, shame, disgust and fear all competed amongst each other for her attention. The memories of her temple, of Amelia, of her time in this depraved mutation of a cult that had once been of her own faith, they flooded her mind, made her blue eyes shimmer with anguish as she opened them to take in the dimly lit cell. But above it all, keeping it all in check, there was a fragile, flickering feeling of safety and warmth.

Vesper closed her eyes again, taking one gasping breath before she forced herself to calm again, for fear that the moment might pass prematurely. She was safe, warm, her cheek nestled against her protector’s toned shoulder, an arm draped over the woman, on top of the blankets dragged tightly over her body. Carefully, with a confusing, excitable feeling settling in her tummy, the brown-haired girl moved her arm down to rest on the warrior’s stomach instead.

It was hard to truly describe what she felt. She had no idea she could even feel like this, safe in someone’s arms in spite of the horrors dooming them both. For a long time, Vesper simply stayed still in the loose, entangled embrace, feeling her insides rise and fall in rhythm with the calm breathing of the woman next to her. It felt, in that brief period of peace, as if merely feeling Julia’s breath was enough to keep the crashing waves of everything else the initiate felt at bay.

With an apprehensive, lopsided smile creasing her lips, she opened her eyes once more, taking in the sight before her. Up close, numerous smaller and larger scars became visible on the warrior’s skin. Vesper’s eyes traced over Julia’s neck slowly, following the contours and concaves, up to the woman’s jawline where yet more small discolorations, lines and patches of oddly stretched or molded skin were discernible.

She could not help but let her eyes wander, catching a thin, pale line of skin crossing from just next to the redhead’s nose, to the middle of her cheek. Somehow, it seemed as if the warrior’s nose had avoided ever being broken, at least it looked as natural as ever, curving slowly out from her face, ending in a small, slightly sharp tip. 

The initiate’s eyes were suddenly drawn to Julia’s creasing, dry lips. A light sigh passed from the redhead’s body, an anomaly in her previously calm and regular breathing that signaled clearly enough to Vesper that the woman was waking up. After a few seconds of frantic thinking, she rolled off her protector’s form, ending up lying on the thoroughly warmed blankets with just a strong, toned arm under her head and around her shoulder. 

Lazy, warm moments passed, turning seconds to minutes as the larger, stronger of the two women climbed back into the waking world, her shoulders rising, body tensing briefly as she did a small stretch without wanting to roll free of the girl who, after knowing her for what could at best be two or three days, was already sleeping so close that she might as well be glued to her.

“Mmh…” The redhead let out a sleepy, pleased groan, squeezing Vesper’s shoulder gently, pausing a moment before whispering. “Vesper, you awake?”

It took a few long moments before any reply came, but in that time, it was clear enough to Julia that the brown-haired girl next to her was awake. Her breathing was too irregular, her shoulders and head moving a bit too much, a bit too unpredictably for her to be sleeping. The answer finally came, a meek, breathy whisper, as if the initiate was afraid that the moment would be stolen from her if she spoke of it. “Yep…”

The silence was apprehensive, nervous. They both knew that sooner or later, they were going up there again. Whatever warmth and calm they found in this cell was but a temporary respite from what waited in the hall, a pause from the meticulous tearing down of their mental and physical freedom.

Julia felt it stronger than Vesper, having been in the possession of the cult for far longer. She was forgetting what life had been like outside of the cell and the hall. The mercenary units she had served with, her travels, the people she had met, her old friends, it was all slipping away. It had been, until the cult had for some inexplicable reason decided to throw this vulnerable girl into her cell and into her life.

Were they really that unaware of the warrior’s mental state? She was weakened, battered from the daily abuse, but she was not broken. She was not a silent, empty shell to be used at the leisure of the abominations and depraved humans up in the hall, like some of the old priestesses of the temple now were. 

Perhaps the cult simply did not realize that she was not yet broken? Perhaps they had hoped that by putting the frail initiate together with the supposedly tough mercenary, she would be broken even quicker? Instead, they had put together two people desperately searching for something to hold on to, desperately searching for anything in their lives that might make just a little sense. 

It dawned on Julia, finally, that all of this might just be exactly what the abbess wanted. To spark hope in them, to watch them during the final descent, after finding a brief light in each other, only to realize that there was no escape, and nothing they did or said would help the other, resulting at last in complete surrender. She opened her eyes, looking up into the eternal pitch-black darkness near the ceiling of the cell. She was going to hold on, and she was going to force the girl to hold on too. Somehow. Enough souls had been forever tainted and destroyed in this place, but she was not going to let them take away Vesper’s young life.

“Why me, Julia? What have I done?” The initiate’s whispered words reached the redhead’s ears after a long silence between the two. “Why does she insist on taking me? What have I done?” 

The anger in Vesper’s words was obvious, but beneath it, a deep desperation could be sensed. A boring, consuming understanding hid beneath the surface of the brown-haired novice’s words, an understanding that worried Julia far more than the girl’s anger. She squeezed a tense shoulder gently, exhaling tiredly. 

“Because…” she let the word hang in the air for a second, searching for the best way to say what little she knew, finding nothing. “Because you are what you are. A Shallyan.” Julia stared up into the darkness for a moment, silence descending over the two, then she spoke again. “She used to be one, I think. Now she just enjoys breaking them.”

Vesper nodded, but without even looking, Julia could feel that she was unconvinced. She had found her own reason, whatever it was, and the way it was consuming her was almost palpable in the quiet cell. The tired warrior let out another quiet sigh, and turned to her side, her arms wrapping securely around the girl’s body. The two laid with arms around one another, the oppressive silence around them slowly replaced with the usual low murmurs of the dungeon.


The concept of time was difficult to truly grasp while in the cell. Occasionally, food would be shoved in between the iron bars, but seemingly not at any planned interval. After a long, uneventful “day” with no food served, the two of them fell asleep again. Lying close, but not in each other’s arms. Vesper was too hesitant, and Julia sensed that even though she thought the initiate needed someone, she desperately wanted to be alone, too.

Their slumber was broken off by the same trio of guards that had brought them up the last time. Yet again, Julia refrained from resisting or fighting, and the few punches thrown by the guards seemed habitual more than anything. Vesper’s struggles were muted and quiet. The two laid briefly against the floor of the cell, staring into each other’s eyes. 

The redhead’s eyes were already dimming, losing their luster. She realized vaguely that now, after the meek, tortured girl had been catapulted into her life, she no longer wanted to close off and shut down whenever the time came for the cultists to abuse her. For a moment, Julia’s eyes shone with despairing compassion, but the shimmering emotions withered away as quickly as they had blossomed. She wanted to say something, do something that would make whatever was to happen to Vesper now okay, but nothing came to her. She was powerless both physically and mentally, unable to protect the writhing, quietly gasping novice.

Julia’s eyes grew dull, corpse-like, offering little comfort to the initiate. There was nothing they could do, anymore. Nothing to do but wait, and hope that the girl’s mind would suffer the horrors inflicted on her and come back without injury. The larger woman laughed bitterly inside herself at that notion, but the feeling of self-loathing disappeared soon after, along with almost all other feelings. What was left was simply self-hatred for what she was unable to do for Vesper, and hopelessness. However much she might wish to help Vesper, she would be lucky just to see what happened to the shivering young woman.
They were brought up into the hall, and separated, Julia dragged off to some remote corner, where the opponent of her last fight had some private time with the warrior. As always, she gave nothing away, taking beatings and abuse with stoic silence, whenever her body’s reflexes allowed her to stay quiet. Her mind was elsewhere, something that infuriated the well-equipped mutant to no end.

Vesper was, as she had feared and known, brought to the abbess once more, placed up against the end of the small podium she had been tied to and raped on, the first night. The brown-haired girl’s shoulders sagged, her eyes focused on the floor. For a time, she was simply left alone, there, sitting against one side of the dais, arms tied behind her back.

The abbess’ black high-heelers stepped into the initiate’s field of view with no hesitation, not the slightest flinch. Every time those heels tapped against the stone floor, merciless, tingling tendrils washed through Vesper. She had gathered her legs and tucked them as far up near her chin as she could, but it was a difficult position to maintain with her arms securely tied to each other behind her. 

Syrith’s night-black thigh-high socks and stiletto heels halted less than a foot from the novice’s face. But, rather than being dragged up and put through abuse, Vesper was ignored, in favor of some other unfortunate victim placed on the podium. With the blue-eyed girl sitting between her thrusting, powerful legs, the matriarch hammered an orgasm into a silent woman, and then, without as much as pausing for breath or a refractory period, she proceeded to slam herself in until another burst of cum exploded into the woman. 

Vesper simply sat on the floor, against the dais, shaking with anxiety as her tormentor poured seemingly unending reserves of spunk into her current toy, just waiting for the inevitable.

It never came.

Woman after woman was placed on the platform by silent guards, each and every one pumped full to the point where Syrith’s repeated orgasms made the sticky, hot spunk run and even squirt from stuffed pussy after stuffed pussy. It all carried on for hours, with Vesper sitting huddled below the matriarch, trapped there by the woman’s powerful legs. 

Finally, no more women were brought before the black-haired cultist. She simply stood over the shivering initiate in silence, her breathing labored after the marathon fuck-session. The chaotic, cacophonous sounds of the hall returned to Vesper’s mind, and for a moment, the woman over her faded to the background. The initiate dared to cast a look to the side, seeing more than she had ever wanted to in her life with but a single look. 

A man, still alive, being dissected. A grotesque bar, where the counter was supported on bound women, each of them fitted with a gag that kept the mouth open. Most of the spots at the bar were filled with men and women equipped similarly to the matriarch, and each of them was gently bouncing back and forth into the waiting mouth of a slave-girl, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do while conversing.

Vesper’s attention snapped back in front of herself as Syrith crouched down. She placed a finger under the brown-haired girl’s chin, raising the novice’s face slowly, but firmly. The tall woman’s pitch-black eyes spellbound the initiate in a heartbeat. Sounds, smells, sights, everything around her drowned in those bottomless pits. 

“You’ll get your turn, girl.”

The words were more felt than truly heard, the message absorbed by the girl’s eyes, seeping into her brain. She sat there, huddled, without knowing for how long, the imposing cultist keeping her rooted in place by virtue of a single finger. When Syrith got up and lazily wandered back to her throne, Vesper realized that she was gasping slightly for breath. The woman’s mere touch did something to people. Stole away their will and their resistance. Barely a minute passed before the girl was hauled back to the empty cell, feeling almost as despoiled as if she had been raped.

She sat against the stone wall, lost in whirling thoughts as she waited for Julia to return. When the warrior finally did, she was dragged limply between two guards, with the abbess in tow. Vesper could see blood dripping slowly from Julia’s lips, and could see almost as obvious, glowing red patches. Marks left behind by the warrior’s tormentor. 

The guards dragged the redhead into the cell, but rather than dumping her on the floor, they remained stationary, holding the woman between them as the matriarch herself entered the cell. Vesper dared not look into those night-black pools of corruption, instead watching the dagger heels cross the floor, kick some spread rags into a pile, and then approach her.

Syrith grabbed Vesper by a fistful of slightly curly brown locks of hair, dragged her to the center of the room and forced her down over the pile of rags, on her stomach. With a cheek pressed against the stone floor and a steely grip of her hair, Vesper was raped by the abbess. Not just once, but again, and again. Syrith exploded within the girl, and just kept going. For what seemed like hours, she rammed herself hilt-deep, copious orgasm following copious orgasm. When it was finally over, she leaned down and hissed two simple, cold words.

“You’re mine.”

The matriarch left, flanked by her guards. Julia, who had been dropped to the floor, dragged herself laboriously towards the center of the room, draping her arms around Vesper’s shaking, convulsing body. The two of them had no words, no energy left to try and make their life worth living. The girl remained with her head turned away from her supposed protector, only relieved from her bitter tears by uneasy sleep.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Two Months as a Published Indie Author

The amazement at this actually being real has sort of dimmed. Not that I'm not excited, I definitely am, but the weight and length of this project, my being a writer, has finally hit me. I don't think I'll hurt anyone by disclosing the size of my Amazon earnings for June and July. I ended up at around 18$ for June, and around 38$ for July.

Yeah, in the grand "I want to make a living at this" scheme of things, that's pathetic. But from a more optimistic point of view, it's a doubling. In other words, this basically shows that I am doing what I'm supposed to. Things are moving as they're supposed to. Writing and releasing short stories is not about becoming rich, or selling 50.000 books overnight. It's about selling 5 copies a month of a story, every month.

So, as you slowly release more work, you slowly move closer to being able to make a living. I suppose I'm hoping that that's what's happening now. I'm releasing 1-2 stories a month, and I'm seeing the slow buildup of income from that. It's not glorious, but it's not meant to be. It's meant to be something I work hard at, like any other thing you want to make a living of, and then maybe in 3, 5 or 10 years, I'll be able to live off my writing.

This isn't just something I do as a passing fancy. I'm settling in for the long haul. My goal, with A Different Prince Charming added to my already available books, was to end up at 17 sales this month. That might be a weird number to you, but basically I wanted 15 sales from my already released stories, and then 2 from A Different Prince Charming, since it was released in the middle of the month. I ended up at 23 sales. Can't complain about that! With 4 stories now out, I'll be hoping for 20 sales next month, hopefully with a little added on from a new release.

Note: Going to combine this and the other report into one, from next month on. It's just easier.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Three Months

This month and a half, I worked on my first 2 paying commissions. One for a follower in the game Trials in Tainted Space (Yes, TiTS), and one for a friend of mine. The scenes I am writing for the follower may or may not be included in the game, that isn't up to me. Other than that, I got back on track with my writing a lot more, sticking to my writing goals.

I also tried using for my covers for the first time, and was not disappointed. A Different Prince Charming, Becoming His and Solon's Maiden will all have covers from there.

Monthly Words

My goal for this month (Running from the middle of July to synch reports to months) continued to be 1000 words a day. I have written a total of 46.124 words, coming to 981 words/day. Beginning now, my goal will be to write 1250 words a day. While that may not seem like a huge increase, it does take my monthly goal from 31k~ to 38k~. Hopefully that'll motivate me a bit more without becoming too much.

What I Have Learned

The main lesson of the past roughly 1½ months has been that a word count goal of 1000 words a day is too little, now. With 3 hours of daily work and using the Pomodoro technique, I can write roughly 4500 words. While I cannot keep up this pace every single day, it does mean that I end up being -wildly- ahead of my goal. This, in turn, leads to difficulties motivating myself to write.

I won't bore any potential reader with the details of my spreadsheet record keeping, but I can tell very easily from them that I could have written more. Basically, I have a day where I write 4-6000 words, then maybe another day like that, and then I don't write for 2-5 days. Not because I don't want to, and often not because I don't have anything to write. It's simply because I feel like I am so vastly ahead that, well, why bother? I don't think I can readily change this part of myself. Rather, I'll simply have to move my daily/monthly word count goal up or down until I find a sweet spot that motivates but doesn't overwhelm.

At the end of the month, I also experienced a drop in wordcount. I have had and will continue to have family visits. This naturally lowers my wordcount on those days, but it also seems to mess with my internal balance. It drains me of energy, and leaves me unable to write for a while after. This is the reason why I fell a tiny bit short of the 1000 word/day goal this month. Still, it is something I will have to learn to manage, since being a hermit isn't an option. :)

Finished Work This Month

TiTS Commission Scenes written: 4 (Each between 2500-4000 words)
Solon's Maiden nearly finished.
Becoming His finished (Assassin story, being proof read)
A Different Prince Charming published.

Note: Going to combine this and the other report into one, from next month on. It's just easier.