Category Archives: Writing

[Fiction] Trust/Fall, Prelude

Okay, so I hinted at this on Tumblr a couple months back.

It had been a particularly bad day for people I cared about. There have been too many of those. And on that day, I decided that, in addition to all the dark and twisted erotica, I was going to write something with happy endings. Because people like me and the people I love deserve them. Hell, I was in fact going to go all out and write a romance. But it would be a romance on my terms: kinky and queer as fuck.

The result is a story idea that I’m calling Trust/Fall. Because I work best under limitations it’s going to be released serially (possibly even on a regular schedule if I can get my life together), and no one entry will exceed 500 words.


My love life has always been…complicated. But, like a lot of girls, I always just kinda assumed I’d do my best in life, meet a guy, and somehow everything would work out from there. You know the narrative that gets drilled into society? You find a prince charming, a one true love, someone to spend your life with and it…works out. I realize just how naïve I was to believe that. But I was young, I was in a new city and I felt like I had a whole new life. I thought anything was possible. And it was. Just, it turns out it’s hard to be prepared for ‘anything’.

I’m Zoe Walker, my pronouns are she/her/hers. Back when all this started I was twenty-one and genuinely thought I had my self and the world figured out. Sure, there had been a few hiccups here and there, a minor medical issue or two, and there was a looming cloud of student loan debt. But, all in all, I figured that I was a pretty, confident, and talented young woman. Now, I read that more as ‘self-important little snot’, but you know how time changes all things.

I was on track to get a master’s of public health, and I’d just moved into my first apartment without a roommate. It was a tiny studio, but the fact that it was mine meant a lot to me. I remember laying down on the cushy carpet after I had signed the lease and looking up at the ceiling, breathing deep and drinking in the experience of having a place that I could call home. That lasted for about five minutes before I remembered that I didn’t really know how I was going to be able to pay for it. I had some savings and was able to defer my loans, but up to that point in my life I had relied on my parents a lot. Too much. That…wasn’t going to be an option anymore. I had a work-study lined up with the school, but I could do math. So job hunting was one thing that was going on the to-do list.

Another thing on the to-do list was me. I hadn’t really had the best time dating in high school. And while I’d had a fair amount of sex in college, my partners had always shied away from making that a long term thing. Just as well though, most of them hadn’t really…um…ticked my particular boxes. You see, I like being tied up (actually it turns out I like a whole hell of a lot more than that, but that’s what I knew at the time), and it had been far too long since anyone but myself had had a hand in that. That’s going to be relevant before we’re done.

I guess at this point I should just get on with it. So tempting to stall, to ask whether this is a story worth telling. Actually, fuck it.

Trust/Fall, Chapter One…

[Fiction] All In

So I wrote this a couple of weeks back. It was written for someone very special to me. I am stealing time to post it here tonight for your enjoyment, because it makes me happy to share these things. And because it makes me happy to think of her. And I could use some happy.

Content notes: mind control, body control, gambling, damnation

Once upon a time a Maiden stepped into a House of Sin. She was a preacher’s daughter, and the moment her foot crossed the threshold she stood out like a lily rampant on a field of vice. As her gaze saw what there was to see, glasses fell silent on the bar, the clack of dice and the clatter of the wheel slowly faded, and only the needful sounds of lust from inner rooms continued unabated. A blush graced her cheeks. But this girl was on a mission and the fire of purpose was in her belly. She would not be deterred.

The Madam looked down from where she lounged on high. Eyes not unlike to a cat’s narrowed. She observed the girl with caution mixed with desire. She knew her pedigree but not her reason. The Madam rose from her divan, letting long fingers trail the flesh of the collared young thing that had been allowed to share in her pleasure. With a thoughtless wave she dismissed the attendant who sprang into motion as she rose. Then she leaned, slender, spidery thing she was in layers of green and black, and loomed down at the floor below. Lips stretched into a captivating smile that held no warmth or soul. All eyes turned upwards to look upon her.

“What brings you to my parlor, young lady?” her voice was like silk and fire, “Your daddy would have your hide if he knew you so much as set eyes on this hall, much less foot in it.”

The Maiden looked up, face hard with determination, mouth a thin line, eyes clear and blue as heaven. “My daddy…” she began, but her voice caught ever so slightly, “My daddy has already damned me to hell. So the way I see it, there’s not much more to fear.”

The smile on the woman’s face grew wider, uncannier, and she gave a hollow laugh. It was a sound without humor affected, practiced, and tailored in it’s flawed mockery. “Girl, all may have sinned, but there is always further to fall. Go home.”

The Madam turned her attention towards a lithe young thing in silk and chains that offered a sparkling green cordial on a tray. The sounds of drink and sin began to swell again as the patrons returned to their diversions. The preacher’s daughter was ignored, for a moment forgotten, but she was not swayed. Her shoes clicked a staccato rhythm as she hurried across the well worn wood floor, and there was the clink of metal on metal as she threw her purse down upon the table. The Madam’s hand froze then, just as she was raising her drink to her mouth. The glass hovered less than an inch away, forgotten as her hand slightly trembled and her tongue tasted her lips. And then she turned back and looked down.

“All I own.” The girl whispered, unable to look up and meet the woman’s gaze. But the Madam heard it as clear as if the young girl’s lips were tenderly brushing her ear.

The mocking smile and hollow laughter were gone, and a lean look of hunger blossomed in its place. “And just what are you going to tell me that you seek to win?”

 “Freedom.” The maiden said, this time with nary a waver.

“I already told you. Only freedom for you is out that door.”

“It’s not for me.”

“Regardless, I think you’ll be disappointed.”

“Only one way to find out.”

The money was collected, counted, stored under lock and key. And the worth of the Maiden’s life was doled out in chips of bone. She rolled one between her fingers, marveling at how it felt both light and heavy at once.

And then the games began.

The girl wasn’t knowledgeable in the ways of risks and wagers. But she was, as it turned out, a natural. Either that or a bit of her family’s affection for the divine was paying dividends.

The clack of dice slipping from pale gentle hands…

The buzz of it didn’t come immediately. No, it was rather a slow rise that worked its way through her. Each victory and each defeat added to it. The taste of winning after a losing streak was particularly sweet. And the sting of losing filled her with new fire. After all, her purpose was righteous.

The whirr of a wheel and the clatter of a ball…

The pile of chips in front of her fluctuated with each wager. But over time it was becoming clear that her winnings were accumulating. Chip by chip and inch by inch she saw her goal in her mind. And seeing herself get closer to it made each chip feel heavier in her hand, made the value behind it mean all the more, and made the stakes drift ever higher.

The shuffle of cards falling onto a table…

How much time had passed she did not know. The room held no windows. It could have been an hour. It could have been eternity. She pulled her chips to her, tallying them as best she could. The numbers were coming more slowly now as a heat pulled at the edge of her attention. She counted it twice, and then let her hand brush the silver locket hanging at her chest.

“It’s not enough.” She said finally, quiver in her voice.

The Madam detached herself from where she’d been watching and came up behind the girl. One hand touched her shoulder, brushing against her hair and the girl tensed as the woman leaned over and whispered. “It never is. Not for someone like you…”

“That’s not what I…” The Maiden swallowed and softly whined as she shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“I don’t have to. All I have to do is play. Same as you.”

The Madam reached past the Maiden and a slender hand flicked and produced a chip out of thin air, and letting it fall on the table. Another and another and another followed, spilling out, clattering, piling in front of the Maiden’s widening eyes. “It’s a gambler’s dream.” She said with a smirk. A chip rolled idly across the Madams knuckles. “There’s so much here how could you ever know where to stop?” She let the Maiden go and slid into the chair opposite her at the table. Her sharp chin rested on the palm of her hand and she looked at the girl through hooded eyes. “If you want to win big though, or should I say…if you need to win big, you could always challenge me directly. No limits. High risk. High reward.”

The Maiden idly played with her silver locket as she tried to look away from the beautiful creature that smoldered at her across the table. But her wide eyes were fixed on that dark feline gaze. She swallowed hard and finally managed to look down at the table, at her winnings, and she took a long moment and to remind herself what this was for.

“I’m in.”

For the second time the crowd fell silent. Her only response was a smile sharp enough to draw blood and a snap of the Madam’s fingers.

Attendants approached through the crowd of onlookers, a deck removed for a box of black stained wood, the table cleared, and the cards passed to the players for inspection. As the Maiden touched the deck she shivered. The cards felt cold and slick. The images drawn on them severe, grotesque, and sensual. A flush came over her cheeks as she stared a bit too long at some of the court cards, fascination only broken by the polite throat clearing of the youth who had brought them.

The Maiden nodded and didn’t meet his eyes. She passed the deck and felt as though her hands were unclean.

The Madam purred as the attendant began to shuffle. “Stud poker. No limits. Know the game?

“Yes.” The Maiden said. “My daddy plays. He’s not half as holy as he puts on.”

“None of us are. You’ll learn that in time. Ante up.”

The cards went out. First one down, next four up. And with each round of betting the clatter of chips told a story of risk and desire. If fortune had had favored the Maiden before, or if angels above smiled down, nobody was smiling now. Piercing blue eyes looked across the table into a cold deep green. And ever so slowly, as hand after hand went by, the Maiden began to sweat.

And then, just like that, she thought she had a break. It wasn’t her fault. It’s happened to lots of folks before. It’s happened to lots of folks since. She was dealt an ace in the hole, and one more along with a five card and a pair of queens face up. The sight of that lovely single heart looking up at her from where she cradled it was enough to make her head spin with excitement and from the buy-in she was wagering with an eager, heavy hand. Meanwhile the Madam looked downright bored, calling each raise in kind, casually sitting on shown pair of sixes. Until finally, after the last card was dealt with so much of her opponent’s resources on the line, the Madam gently pushed a stack of chips towards the center and in a voice that was almost a purr she raised. Excessively.

The Maiden’s heart started pumping ice instead of blood. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes hard as she took in the scene. Her brain fumbled with the logic and then fumbled with the math. She had this. Didn’t she? And if she didn’t… She looked at just how much she stood to lose and felt sick. But there was no way. She surveyed her opponent’s cards, saw the possible combinations, dismissed the most unlikely. And with a slick feeling of surety within her, and trickled of sweat running down her face, she realized that she was being underestimated. Clearly her opponent was bluffing. She had to call. If she folded now, it would mean that fear won. And she would have to go back home, to be with him, and she could never…

“I want to call, but I’m short. That last raise…it’s more than everything I have.” She said at last, voice breathy from the mix of emotions.

The Madam affected a yawn. “It’s more than the money you’ve staked. But I’d hardly call it more than you have to offer.”

“What do you mean?”

The Madam chuckled, “Pretty, but not quite so clever are you?”

“A debt. You’re saying I could go into debt.”


There was a pregnant pause, and she couldn’t meet the Madam’s eyes as she spat “Agreed.”

The Madam turned back to the table, eyes burning, alight with hunger.

The cards were flipped. The Maiden couldn’t help a little smile as she laid her aces next to her queens. And then she let out an audible whimper of when she saw the Madam flip over a third six.

She was frozen. She was screaming inside. She was ruined.

The madam smiled. A fox savoring a helpless chick.

“Poor thing. I do have a heart. Let’s go double or nothing.”

“No…I…what else do I possibly have to give?” the Maiden sobbed.

“Oh there’s one last little thing that’s yours, and I’m willing to let you walk away with your life and your winnings all for the chance to take it.” She tapped meaningfully at the skin between her breasts. And the Maiden’s hand gripped, quickly and protectively, at the locket that hung from her neck.



“There’s no way…I will not let you. N-“

With a snap of the Madam’s fingers the words were jerked from the Maiden’s mouth. “I’m afraid you’re mine now. Remember? And that word isn’t going to be in your vocabulary for long. This is the one chance I’m giving you to get it back. To get yourself back. And to walk away with a nice pile of my money. All you have to do is risk the one thing you never thought you would.”

Tears began to bubble and stream from those bright blue eyes as the Maiden watched herself, body moving almost automatically, like a marionette, as she removed the locket and gently tossed it on the table.

“Good girl. Now deal.”

And she did, with the same stilted pace, uselessly trembling with anger and fear and resistance that came to nothing.

The game was perfunctory: no antes no buy-in no raises, just five cards dealt out one by one from the Maiden’s trembling hands. She lost. She had a sinking feeling the game was rigged in favor of the House. And as she sat and stared emptily at her cards, the Madam leaned forward and pulled the locket from the table. She popped it open and gazed at it with a look of lazy satisfaction. She looked across at the defeated Maiden. If asked, the poor girl likely wouldn’t be able to remember the girl in the locket. She likely didn’t even remember who she was.

The Madam let the locket dangle from her fingers and then tossed it to one of the attendants with a smirk. The youth caught it, glanced at it, gave a slight nod, and then slipped off. More attendants came and began to clear the table.

“Drinks on me!” The Madam shouted as she stood, and the silence that had persisted through the last two tense matches was broken by cheers. “Enjoy yourselves while I teach my new employee the rules of our hospitality.” And with a little bow and a handful of chips scattered to the crowd, she none to gently pulled the Maiden up from her seat by her dress and led the dazed girl by the hand. Her course never wavered as she passed through the curtain to those deeper parts of the House reserved for carnal delights.

And in those days and after there were two new girls began to be seen around the House. One fair and innocent, the other more lean and lithe. Both with an ace of hearts branded on the smooth flesh of their upper thighs. They’d lost themselves and found that the Madam always collects what she’s owed. And sometimes it was said that, when they were led obediently on their chains, or when they hung off the arms of the high rollers, or when they knelt and set their bodies to obedient service, that their eyes met. And when their eyes met there was something there that was more than the dazed and empty look of the other girls in the house, something almost like love.

[Fiction] It’s a Kind of Magic – Part 2

I woke up from nightmares of flying and falling. Slowly, fragmented thoughts began to fall into place. This didn’t make sense. This was in my room. Not my room now, but my room from senior year of high school. I was laying back on my bed, nude, legs slightly spread, staring at a poster of Charlie that had hung on my wall since I was a kid. My body, slick and sweaty, hummed with pleasure. The air smelled of arousal. But this was wrong. This didn’t make sense. Mom had converted this room to an office after I had moved out for college. This bed had been sold. The clothes hanging in the closet had long since been trashed or donated. The stuffed animals, and books, and posters were in storage or otherwise long gone. How could I even be here? Where the hell were my clothes?

“Oh, sweetie!” a gently mocking voice said, “You really had it bad for me.”

I blinked as my mind struggled to understand what I was seeing. The beautiful woman hung up on my wall was moving and talking to me, suppressing a smirk and a giggle behind one white gloved hand.

“Go ahead; rub one out for old time’s sake. It’ll make all this go much easier. Besides,” she winked, eyes hooding, “I’ll enjoy the show.”

I scrambled up to sitting position and wrapped my sheet around myself as best I could while not taking my eyes off the moving picture. “What is this? What’s going on?” I said, trying to keep a whine of fear from my voice as I pressed back against the headboard. This was wrong.

The Charlie on my wall pouted a bit. “Exactly what was going on before. I’m on stage, you’re in a box, a sword is in your heart, and the audience is absolutely loving it, by the by. And it’s all going to stay like this until our business is concluded.”


The poster shrugged. “Business is one way of putting it.” With a flick of her wrist the sheet was jerked out of my grasp and went slithering off the bed. I moved to scramble after it. A pair of white gloved hands pulled me back, wrapping around me and jerking me roughly against the headboard. A similar pair emerged from my bed, holding me down, spreading me and leaving me exposed. Charlie shrugged. “Breaking you and sucking your soul from the wreckage is another.”

Lips I could not see found my neck and grazed it with teeth that seemed far too sharp. One hand cradled one of my breasts as the other searched for a way lower. My thighs strained against the unyielding grip of her other pair of hands. My body began to burn as her fingers found just the right places. I wished it didn’t feel so good. Not even the fear could overcome the pleasure of her touch. My head was hazy and my vision seemed to glitch as my brain tried to comprehend what it was seeing. The woman on my wall stepped out of the poster, fixed her bow tie, adjusted her hat, and begin leisurely walking towards me with the pace of a predator.

“It’s not like you really thought I stayed this young and beautiful naturally, did you? And surgery is so…mmm…pedestrian.” She smiled with her lips as red as blood. “No, instead every five years or so I find a cute young fan with a thing for me, consume her, and leave a pretty little shell that’s all broken on the inside. As a perk you make such lovely servants: stage hands, chauffeurs, and sex toys, and such once I’m done with the juicy center.”

This was a dream. This didn’t make sense. This had to be a dream. Why did it feel so real, and warm, and wet? There were lips and breath hot on my neck. Her grip was tight around me. Her hand toyed between my legs… I bit my lip and fought to stay focused as her double reached the foot of the bed.

“So be a good girl, cum your little brain out, and the show can go on.”

She leaned in with that smile, watching as her other fingers brushed my lower lips. My body arched and I trembled with a mixture of lust and fear. I whimpered a “No” as she crawled up onto my bed and forcibly locked her lips with mine. Her mouth tasted divine. It was better than I had ever imagined. My head swam. But this was wrong. This wasn’t how I had dreamed it. Her fingers moved within me. As she pulled back from the kiss I took the only chance I saw and began to struggle like mad. I managed to headbutt her more by frantic accident than design. As she reeled back and spat a curse, her grip weakened and I wrestled the other her hands away, rolled and stumbled, and half ran half crawled for the door.

I scrambled into the hall, naked and terrified. The door slammed behind me. And I whirled around. This wasn’t my house. I stood in a dark hallway that seemed to curve and bend. Identical doors dotted its length. I turned and glanced back, unsure which door I had even come through. The walls shifted and buckled as I tried one door after another after another only to find more hallway. With every passing second the panic was becoming stronger; my breathing was becoming more ragged. I felt more than heard her. She was here. She was walking the halls, searching for me. I felt trapped in a maze I couldn’t begin to navigate, and it housed one hell of a monster. And suddenly I turned a corner and a figure loomed in front of me. I screamed but had no time to stop.

I ran headlong into my mom. Just like my room, this wasn’t my mom as she was now. This was my mom from back when I was a little girl, right after we had lost dad in the accident. Right after she had almost lost me too. This was her full of energy and fire, back when she was busting her butt to take care of the two of us: late thirties, her hair a deeper shade of brownish red, curly where mine was straight, in good shape beneath the loose robe she wore every night before bed, and smelling ever so faintly of the pot she never knew I knew about.

“Whoah, hey, Vivi, honey, what’s wrong?” She said as she put her hands on my shoulders and steadied me. “Just hold on now. Hey, look at me.” She took my face between her hands and looked me in the eye as tears began to slide down my cheeks. “Did you have a bad dream? Is that what this is?” she asked, worry wrinkling her forehead as she began to stroke my hair.

I sobbed with relief and collapsed into her, arms wrapping around her as I trembled. “Mommy…” I mumbled as the tears began to fall faster.

“Shhh, sweetheart. It’s okay.” She held me close to her, gently rocking.

“It’s a dream. It has to be. This has to be a dream. It just has to be.”

“Everyone has bad dreams sometimes. Everything is going to be okay. Mommy is going to make everything okay. I’ve got you.”

I laid my head on her shoulder. She smelled so good and everything suddenly seemed okay. Gently shushing me and comforting me she slowly slid my head from her shoulder as she opened her robe and let me rest naturally on the warm skin of her chest. The feeling of her skin on my skin was so comforting, the smell of her surrounding me and taking me back to a time when she had the answers to everything. I didn’t even really process it when her bare nipple found its way to my lips and a droplet of liquid burst on my tongue.

Everything was going to be okay. Mommy would make everything okay. That was the only thing that mattered. My lips tightened instinctively and I began to suck, gently at first, and then a little harder as her milk began to flow into me. Everything was going to be okay. Mommy would make everything okay. That was the only thing that mattered. My head swam and a warm relaxation flowed through me as she kept slowly petting me, letting me suckle and mewl as she kept talking.

“I’ve got you, Vivi.” Her words hardly meant anything to me as I eagerly took in more and more of her milk. “That’s my good girl. My stupid, sleepy, horny little girl.” She kissed my head. “My dumb little slut of a daughter who thinks she can avoid her fate. Too dense to know she’s already lost.” The petting gradually turned into mommy holding onto my hair and she gently pulled me back with an audible ‘POP’. Milk trickled from my still moving lips, it fell from my chin as I stared at her with empty eyes, my tongue kept reaching out towards that source of warm happiness.

She applied a little pressure and I sunk to my knees. She opened her robe further and I saw the wetness between my mother’s legs. “Since you’re damned anyway, sweetie…” she said as she pulled me to her and the scent of her filled my nose and brain with pure desire, “…you might as well lick mommy’s cunt before she takes you.” Her firm grip on my hair pressed me between her legs and my tongue found a taste that was better than milk.

Something clicked in my brain. My eyes went wide. A staggered back and fell hard on my ass as I stared up at Charlie smiling down at me. I scrambled and tried to make it to my feet only to find myself stumbling down a stairway that hadn’t been there a moment before.

I tumbled into the darkness and lost my self.

And then I jerked awake screaming. I was staring into bright light, but I couldn’t sit up, I couldn’t move. Masked figures stood above me, dark silhouettes looking down and whispering.

“Vivian?” one of the figures said and leaned down, revealing a surgical mask and pale purple scrubs. “You’ve been in an accident. You won’t be able to move for a while. I need you to blink if you understand.”

Slowly, I blinked. And then I tried to look around to see what was going on. There were two other nurses, one in blue and one in pink, besides the one who stood over me. I winced as one of them put a needle into my arm and hooked it up to an IV bag.

“This will make everything a bit easier. I’m afraid we’re going to have to take some drastic measures. There’s no need to worry though. We’ll take good care of you.”

My head began to swim. Whatever they were giving me, it worked fast. I could almost feel it flowing through my veins, each beat of my heart filling me with more of their drug. The nurse in blue came over and whispered something to the one in purple. I didn’t really catch what she was saying I was too busy getting distracted by how cute they all were in their scrubs. That didn’t seem like what I was supposed to be thinking, but my brain didn’t seem to be able to focus on anything else.

The one in purple leaned in again and I just got kinda lost in her eyes. “-hearing me. Vivian?” She had apparently been talking. “Blink for me if you consent to the procedure and accept all consequences.” I blinked at how pretty she was and let my mind float as the nurses turned and conferred with each other again.

Without really understanding what was happening, I felt my legs spread by gloved hands and the warm wet heat of a mouth between my thighs. I had no control over my body, I couldn’t even curl my toes. But I had full, vivid sensation. I struggled to make noises with almost motionless vocal cords and one of them stroked my hair and shushed me. The nurse in pink began to caress my chest, stroking and pinching and my whole body was alive with feeling even as it lay limp on the table. In combination with whatever drug was flooding my veins, I was flying in bliss.

And that’s when the one in purple leaned in over my face and pulled down her mask to reveal Charlie’s face. “It was a bad accident, sweetie. You accidentally thought you could escape.” Giggling at her own joke, the beautiful predator held up an ice pick. “But don’t worry, we can fix that.”

I gurgled a bit and screamed at my body to move, but all it could do was lay there making strangled sounds and receive the unfiltered pleasure. As Charlie positioned the ice pick over my temple I struggled to keep from climaxing. She was a sick creature doing this to me. My mind raced with desperation as she pulled out a menacing looking mallet. I had to do something. I had to escape. This wasn’t fair! She couldn’t do this! The tip of the pick pressed cold and sharp against my temple as Charlie smiled with a dark sense of satisfaction. Tears ran down my frozen face as my body was wracked with a storm of fear and pleasure. This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t do this. This is my mind!


Htis si ym ! mndi





[Fiction] It’s a Kind of Magic – Part 1

She had one hell of a smile. That’s what first drew me to her. In fact, that’s what gave me my first indication that I might be a little more than casually interested in other girls. I first saw her on one of those late night talk shows that mom and I would stay up and watch together. She was witty, charming, and gorgeous: long black hair, eyes that sparked, and a mischievous smile that made me tingle in new and interesting ways. I think a lot of girls probably had more obtainable first crushes, but for me it was always Charlie Winters, Mistress of the Theater of Magic.

It would be a decade before I got to see her perform live. And I had my fair share of sexual experimentation and development with a friends and partners. But somehow, late at night, whenever I lay back in bed and felt a little lonely, it was Charlie on my mind as my hand moved between my legs.

And then, one day, my I got my chance. When I first saw the poster tacked up on the wall of one of my usual hangouts, I my heart skipped a beat. My friends looked at me like I was nuts. These days stage magic is pretty much a thing of the past, and I’m sure I came off as a huge dork. Not that I cared. The woman in the glossy photograph had been haunting my fantasies for the better part of my life, and she didn’t seem to have aged a day. All those nights of teenage desire came back with force as I stared at her picture: high heeled boots, stockings, a black miniskirt, a tight white blouse stretched across a practically perfect chest, and it was all capped by that teasing, knowing smile.

She was playing at the casino downtown. It was a limited engagement, three nights only. Of course my friends lamed out on me when I offered to score tickets. By the time I finally got a ticket for the last night of the show, it was clear I’d be going alone. Honestly, I wasn’t too upset. Even I knew that I was going to spend the night being an insufferable fangirl. I spent far too long getting ready: cute, chunky heeled boots, little black dress, dark red nails and lips to match, and so much time getting my short auburn hair to behave. I knew there was basically zero chance that she was going to notice me, but…if she did…well, you only get one chance to make an impression!

A ride share later and I was dropped off in front of the casino. I killed time playing slots, accepting free drinks, and deflecting poorly thought up pickup lines from boys barking up the wrong tree. Basically, I just tried to burn off nervous energy, goodness knows I had enough. When the doors finally opened, I was as giddy as if I was on my first date. I filed in with the first part of the crowd as stragglers trickled from across the casino floor to join us. There’s something about theaters right before a show begins. It’s a cool stillness, almost heaviness, like the moment before a rainstorm. I found a seat a couple rows back from the stage and didn’t even attempt to tamp down my excitement.

After what felt like ages (but I’m sure was actually only around ten minutes) the house lights blinked a few times and music began to play. I looked around and was pleased to see the place packed. It was nice to know that even if my friends turned up their noses, Charlie could still draw a crowd. Though I couldn’t help but wonder how many people here were drawn here more for the person than the show. She was a beautiful creature from another time, sustaining her art almost solely based on her charisma.

The lights dimmed and a rather mediocre emcee opened the show. He introduced the act, made jokes that were more annoying than funny, and touted the other shows that were coming and going from the theater in the following weeks. And then, it was time. The music stopped and the lights fell until the entire theater was plunged into darkness. The place was silent except for the murmuring and giggling of nerves in the dark.

I’ve never been really afraid of the dark. I mean, when I was a kid I was as uncomfortable in it as anyone else. But in that moment I felt something different. It started ever so slowly and grew to a stomach churning, visceral fear. It was primitive, almost instinctual. I felt as though there was something in the darkness with us, moving between us, washing over us. And whatever it was, it was…hungry. I could feel myself beginning to sweat, seconds seemed to stretch and distort, and I squirmed in my chair and wished for the return of the light.

But then a seductive voice echoed from the theater sound system, cut through the darkness, and made me forget my fear: Welcome to the Theater…of…Magic!”. Each of the last three words was punctuated by a loud click and a spotlight coming on, trained on the center of the stage. Under the cover of darkness, a large trunk had been moved to center stage. The top and sides appeared to be made of solid wood, and the joints were cast in iron. The chest was closed tight by a large built in lock, and a heavy looking chain was wrapped around it several times and shut by a separate padlock. But the most remarkable thing about the chest was that the front was thick, transparent glass, and Charlie Winters was hogtied inside.

She looked every bit as good as her promos: from the dark head of hair that spilled down her shoulders to the tips of her booted feet. Her arms and legs met behind her back, contorted and tied yet showing an impressive figure clad in a sultry take on the traditional magicians outfit, right down to a top hat that rested at a jaunty angle on her head. She pretended to struggle for a minute, but then grinned and winked conspiratorially at the audience as if to say: “Hey, it’s a living!”

As the opening theme of the show began to swell over the speakers, Charlie got to work. What happened next was a combination of obvious skill and athleticism coupled with moments of “what the fuck?” and “how did she…?”. But she did. In less than a minute the ropes were off, the lock was sprung, and a delicate white gloved hand was coaxing the padlock. As the music reached its crescendo, out she stepped, boots clicking on the stage. Top hat and modesty both intact.

As a pair of black clad stage hands, a blonde and a brunette, removed the trunk, as the star smiled and addressed the audience, “Sorry to keep you waiting folks! I got a little tied up before the show.”

I somehow don’t think she even cared if that got laughs or groans.

“I’m Charlie Winters, welcome to the show! Thank you for giving me and my crew the chance to thrill, delight, and amaze you! And I promise you: before this night is through, at least one of you will experience something life changing!”

We burst into applause. How could we not?

The show went on, as they do. Trick flowed into trick and act fell into act all linked together by her seamless patter and a collection of jokes that would bomb for anyone else. Rings, levitation, rabbits from and to places rabbits had no business being, etc. And then, we hit the bit where she asked for a volunteer.

My hand shot up without hesitation, along with about half the crowd. But strangely, I had the feeling that she was looking at me before I’d even moved. And that look…it made my heart beat a little faster and my thighs clench. Her smile widened as one white gloved hand lazily raised and pointed my way.

“You,” she said with a smirk of those full, red lips.

I swear my heart almost stopped then and there. A lovely squirming took up residence in my belly. Standing, slowly and awkwardly I pointed at myself. “Me?”

She shrugged dramatically. “That’s right, gorgeous. Though, I’ll pick someone else, if you don’t hurry.”

I like to pretend the whole theater didn’t hear me whimper. I was extremely self-conscious as I hurried my way down the aisle. My heart hammered in my chest. This felt like a dream come true. No, literally, I’d had this dream before…though I was less clothed…

I was snapped from my internal rambling by Charlie reaching down and grabbing my wrist with one gloved hand. I grabbed hers back and she helped me up onto stage. Then I found myself staring straight at the woman who had been the center of far too many masturbatory fantasies. Only two thoughts were left in my head: 1) she was shorter than me, I hadn’t expected that, and 2) she smelled amazing.

“What’s your name, doll?” She said.

For a moment I just kind blinked. “Uh…Vivian”

“Well Vivian, it’s a pleasure. “ She grinned, “but…I don’t suppose I could have my wrist back?”

I flushed and the audience giggled as I let her escape my grip.

“Thank you! Now, Vivian, have we ever met before?”

“No.” I said, feeling myself blush.

“Aaaaand since we’ve never met , there’s no way I could have paid you, instructed you, or in any other way prepared you to be my sucker- uhh…I mean, assistant for this next trick?”

The audience got a good laugh as I managed a “No” with a bit more conviction.

“You’re a woman of few words, aren’t you Vivian?” she said, gently patting my on my back, “Let’s hope you’re more generous with your screams.” And then she turned and shouted: “Bring it out, girls!”

The stage hands were back and between them they wheeled an odd looking cabinet. It was clearly old, but hard to tell how old. The material was deep ebony, but it wasn’t clear if it was wood, stone, plastic, or something else entirely. Designs were traced in silver up and down its sides, but their significance was as mysterious as anything else. I had a churning feeling in my stomach just at the sight of the thing, but Charlie gave my shoulder a squeeze of encouragement before turning back to the crowd.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and those otherwise inclined, you are in for a treat.” She said, “Tonight you’ll see a special version of this trick that I only pull out once every couple of years.” She gestured at the cabinet. “Believe it or not, but I suggest you do, this cabinet was recovered from a ruined monastery in the south of France. It was apparently once belonged to a very twisted woman. She was a sadist and a practitioner of the dark arts. Put simply: a monster. But, despite the disposition of its owner, as the legend goes, this cabinet holds the secret to eternal life, eternal youth, and invulnerability!” She leaned out and put one hand up pantomiming a whisper to the audience while giving me a wink. ”Let’s hope that last part’s true, at least for Vivian’s sake!”

When she opened the cabinet with a flourish, a cold stirring of the air made my skin crawl. Inside, the cabinet was pretty plain except for four silver cuffs, two high and two low, set into the back wall. It might have been my imagination, but the inside seemed a little darker than it should been and a faint, sweet, musky smell slowly drifted out.

As Charlie continued to talk, the blonde stage hand presented her with a sword that gleamed beneath the stage lights. Knowing less than nothing about swords, I have no way to know how much of the patter Charlie was dishing out was true. All I knew was that it looked sharp, and I was seriously beginning to question what I had gotten myself into. Though truthfully, I was having trouble focusing on much behind the yawning entrance to that cabinet. The brunette stage hand silently took my arm and led me towards it and helped me step up into the box. It was definitely at least a few degrees cooler in here and as the girl began to strap me to the back wall, I hoped she didn’t notice how nervous I was.

“Hey,” I murmured as she had finished strapping me in and began to pull away, “I’m gonna be okay, yeah?”

She looked me straight in the eye, and ever so faintly, to the point that I’m not even sure I saw it, her head shook a quick ‘no’.

And then the door closed leaving me alone in the dark.

Sound inside the box was muffled. I could vaguely hear Charlie talking, the occasional ‘oooh’ from the crowd, but it was hard to tell just what was going on. Then things got quiet except for clack of her boots on the stage. I really didn’t know how to process it when the point of a sword slid straight through the side of the box and skewered me through the chest. But Charlie certainly got her wish: I screamed at the top of my lungs. The crowd reacted with shock and a little bit of applause. Then everything felt right and the whole world fell away.

[Review] The Complete Adventures of Silver Girl by Madam Kistulot

I am fond of written smut. It’s rare that I don’t have a book by the bed, a few tabs open in my browser, or audiobooks lurking on my phone. And I’m also into mind play (obviously). So it should come as no surprise that mind control erotica holds a special place in my heart. That said, I have to admit that it’s not a genre in which I expect to find books that really have a strong impact on me. Not because of anything inherent about erotica, but rather because most authors (of mind control in particular) don’t really venture that deep or write something that complex. Most authors and most readers simply don’t need that. But despite not really expecting it, that’s exactly what happened.

The Complete Adventures of Silver Girl is a series of seven novels written by Madam Kistulot. It’s lesbian super hero mind control erotica, and it’s not normally the sort of thing I seek out to read. I think it’s the super hero part. For a long time I had a bias against super hero novels. The genre was just so linked to comic books and film in my mind, that something seemed wrong about engaging with it on the written page. These stories got me over that quickly. Though, if I think back on it now, I can’t really recall what it was that nudged me into giving Silver Girl a chance. But I did.

And, honestly? It is one of the most enjoyable and touching pieces of erotic fiction that I have ever read.

So that’s your spoiler free review, folks. It’s really good! Start reading (though, do note: this series traffics heavily in incest and non-consensual sexual encounters, additionally it includes some negative attitudes about sex work). If you’re not yet convinced, want my detailed analysis, or just hang on my every word, stick around for my detailed, novel by novel review below.

The Complete Adventures of Silver Girl comprises seven novels published online between 2005 and 2007. Together they tell the story of a young hero from the start of her career, through her exploits saving the world, and into adulthood, relationships, and motherhood.

The Adventures of Silver Girl (2005)
This story introduces our protagonist: Sarah LaSilvas a.k.a. Silver Girl. Sarah is a relatively inexperienced young super with a big heart, shiny sparks, and a bit of a self-confidence problem. But she does her best to fulfill her lifelong dream of being a costumed hero. When she accepts an invitation from a mysterious organization, her life is changed dramatically. She embarks on a journey that will teach her more about her powers and herself, and which will eventually put her in the crosshairs of an ancient and wicked threat.

The Adventures of Silver Girl is a young woman’s early work. It was written when the author was eighteen and it shows. It’s disorganized, experimental, and receives an antagonist and conflict pretty late in the game. In almost anyone else’s hands, I don’t think it would have grabbed me. But Madam Kistulot is exceptional. What the novel lacks in technical perfection and structure, it makes up for in enthusiasm and strength of character. Moreover, it sets the precedent for an interesting parallelism as the same criticism can be levied against Sarah herself. In a way, it is extremely appropriate that the first person narrated adventures of a young girl just discovering who she is and what she can do are written by an author who is doing the same.

I enjoyed this novel immensely and found myself hooked, but if the writing puts you off I’d still recommend trying to skim through, it’s well worth it to get to the later novels.

Silver Eclipse (2006)
After the events of The Adventures of Silver Girl, life has slowly returned to abnormal. This novel sees Sarah tangle with a sensual group of villains, encounter multiversal mayhem, discover a human trafficking ring (firsthand), and wind up in the clutches of a woman who is simply and delightfully evil. When rescue comes it’s a frying pan to fire type of situation as the events of the previous novel come back to haunt her. At the end, Sarah makes a truly heroic decision and the story closes in a dark place.

Despite the fact that there are seven novels, Silver Eclipse feels like the second entry in a trilogy. It expands the world, tells a tighter and more focused story, and leaves us in a darker place than we started. If the first novel displays Madam Kistulot’s enthusiasm, this novel displays her talent. It’s sleeker, more mature, and well put together. For all that it leaves us in a precarious position; the conclusion is extremely satisfyingly with Sarah making a hard choice and sacrificing so much to do the right thing.

Silver Eclipse strikes me as a thoroughly enjoyable work from an erotic standpoint while also managing to build the world and carry on the larger story. I found the imagery so powerful I’ve borrowed some of it (with the author’s permission) for my own work. If a reader has lingering doubts about the series, Silver Eclipse should dispel them.

The Memory Remains (2006)
Powerless, with a heart defect and a name that doesn’t fit anymore, Sarah manages to hold onto her hope. This story sees a return home, memories and mysteries of the past, and concludes in rebirth.

For lack of a better term, The Memory Remains is a pastoral interlude, which isn’t something one often sees in erotica. It’s a quieter story involving history, family, magic and identity. It’s also the point at which one might begin to suspect that Madam Kistulot has a thing for incest. It greatly builds the world and mythology, and when things move on, they are on a different course that is at once both hopeful and affirming, but also a bit darker.

This novel struck me both by how unexpected it was and how emotional it was. It’s hard for me to call it the best one in the series, but in some ways it is the most significant. It’s unclear if it really forged my emotional connection with the character, or just highlighted one that had been there all along. It also might have made me cry.

The Argentum Project (2007)
Sarah has become Lucia and returns to the city as Patina: a motorcycle riding, anti-hero with a hypnotic edge. What starts out as a bit of a vengeance kick turns much more serious as she uncovers a plot that threatens the entire world. But Patina doesn’t work alone, and when the time comes her team puts themselves in the line of fire to save the planet!

The Argentum Project is essentially a 90s comic book in text form (with more orgasms). Of all the novels this one is probably most in touch with its comic book genre roots, up to and including a motorcycle riding anti-hero, a love for pouches and gadgets, and an orbital space laser. The story involves the corruption that comes with power and the idea that the right motivations can lead people down some very wrong paths. And while it doesn’t have the emotional depth of its predecessor, it does deal with uniquely super hero relationship angst. It’s a step in the right direction in nearly all aspects. That said, it does have a major shortcoming: the character Pandora is a bit painful to read. Her portrayal and dialogue comes across as stilted and racially stereotyped in a way that jars with everything else.

This story is really fun! It seems bright and bigger than the rest and reminds me of the super hero cartoons of my tween years. It consistently makes me laugh and gives me thrill of delight. And I am a sucker for the romantic relationship that begins to develop here.

Ink Soaked Penumbra (2007)
A mysterious force begins to write her way into Sarah/Lucia’s life. Friends turn to enemies. Love gets tainted. And the enemy of an enemy becomes the most unexpected ally. More may be at stake than ever before, but instead of a shining laser in the heavens this threat lurks in ink soaked streets and behind the eyes of those you trust.

Where The Argentum Project focused on the comic book influences on the series, Ink Soaked Penumbra is more rooted in urban fantasy and horror. Certainly tendrils of horror have appeared in the series before, it’s a vein that runs very close to mind control in general, but the atmosphere has never been as ominous and the betrayals never hurt as much. It’s a story of magic, witches, and reality writing carried out by a talented author whose tongue is firmly in cheek about having an evil novelist as a villain. It tells a tight story and also builds the mythology and provides a strong foundation for the finale.

It’s hard to pick a favorite in this series, but this novel is a strong contender. Not only does it tell a story in a genre of which I’m fond, but the erotic elements really click with me. The slow, rewriting of familiar characters is spine tingling and delicious. Oh, and the twist literally made me stop (sweaty, gasping, and with magic wand in hand) to yell out loud about what an emotional gut punch it was. I have to respect that.

To Serve and Obey (2007)
The blasts from the past show up in force as The Complete Adventures of Silver Girl begin to draw to a close. Sarah’s life, relationship, and motherhood are all threatened when a few frenemies from her history force their way back into her life. It’s a story about an adult hero facing her past and coming through to defend her future.

This is probably the most deep, mature, and emotionally rough novel in the series (yes, even despite the secret order of breast ninjas). It fills the classic hero’s journey role of ‘the return’, where our hero is confronted with her old life and has to process how she has been changed by her experiences. Old friends maybe weren’t that friendly, old loves maybe weren’t that healthy, the things you did might be things you can’t be proud of, and the people who seemed perfect are so deeply flawed. It’s a point where both the character and the writer can look back over the long path that led them here and acknowledge how much they have matured. Expect a bittersweet taste.

Hands down this novel feels like the most meaningful of the series. Though I have to admit that I’m personally biased. I’ve been abused by several people that I love, and Sarah’s experience in this story resonates so strongly with those experiences: the twisted feelings, the misplaced lust, and the sense that someone who you once viewed as divine is only human. It’s a novel about growing up, moving on, making yourself better, and also understanding that your past will always impact you and those you love.

Red Moon Rising (2007)
Following shameless sequel baiting at the end of To Serve and Obey, Sarah departs on one last adventure! This time the conflict is about families and sins of the mother. Together the LaSilvas clan, their partners, and some allies will face something more powerful than anything they’ve ever faced. And before the end of all things, we’ll see two of the greatest acts of love and heroism in the entire series.

Red Moon Rising concludes the meta-plot of the series. Whereas To Serve and Obey was a strong conclusion to Sarah’s personal journey, Red Moon Rising seeks to put an end to the shadowy magical forces that have been plaguing her since the end of The Adventures of Silver Girl. It’s too significant to call it a victory lap, but it has a feeling of confidence and capability that never really crystallized until this point. And it ends in the way of all super hero stories, with a conclusion that has wrapped up most major threads, but still leaves our hero’s future open.

This is an extremely good novel. It blends the exciting, epic feeling of The Argentum Project with the LaSilvas family lore that we were introduced to in The Memory Remains. Over its course it’s less emotionally deep than some of the others, but does end with a real tearjerker. Once I finished all I wanted to do was hold my Partner tight and never let her go. All in all, it is a very fitting conclusion. Over the course of seven novels we’ve seen Sarah grow up, and at the end of Red Moon Rising she’s an exceptional woman, mother, and hero. It’s hard not to want more, and it’s not exactly a happy ending, but the story leaves her (and us) in a good place.

It’s hard to find a way to succinctly conclude my thoughts on The Complete Adventures of Silver Girl. It moved me in ways no other piece of erotica has, it helped me through a rather stressful time in my life, and it has led to two friendships that I deeply value. It’s a fascinating story about a girl growing up and learning to own her sexuality, her mistakes, her heroism, and her power. And it doesn’t hurt that its author is bursting with talent and dripping with enthusiasm. If you are at all interested in mind control, costumed heroes, or emotional smut, you owe it to yourself to check it out.

[Nonfiction] Vignette 01

I opened the door and stepped out to the porch. The Louisiana summer evening hit me like a physical force and I turned to look back in at the party and the laughter. She was walking towards me and I couldn’t help but smile as I held the door for her. If I looked oppressed by the heat, she looked like she could thrive in it. Funny that, even though we were both born and bred in the South, she takes to it a lot more natural than me.

“You good to drive?” She checked as she went up on her toes to kiss my cheek. My arms automatically wrapped around her and pulled her close, as I kissed her back on the forehead.

“Yup. You know me.” I said with a grin, already feeling the slight tinge of a headache from when the third margarita had told me I’d reached my cut off point a couple hours ago.

“They’re gonna make fun of you for leaving early,” she said, with a teasing little grin as she stood on the toes of my boots to put my lips in easy reach.

I lifted her chin and looked her right in the eyes: “And what about you? You know that you only have to say the word and I would stay.”

“Sap,” she said and kissed me again, short and quick, “And nah. Can’t leave your clients disappointed.”

I smirked, “I mean, I didn’t explicitly say that I was gonna go put on the red light…”

“I know. But I also know your schedule.” she said as she hugged me tight. “Thank you for staying for as long as you did.”

I rested my head on top of her head and ruffled her hair with my free hand and took in the scent of her. “Of course, they’re your friends. I know things like this mean a lot to you.” She just hugged me tighter.

Eventually she let go and stepped back. “Okay. Go be mean to boys and make money and have fun.”

I laughed a little and smiled at just how lucky I was. “Always.” I said and stepped down from the porch and into the evening to do just that.

[Kink] Violet Wand Branding

So I’d like to take a minute to talk about branding. No, not the kind that ensures y’all know my name, rather the kind that is burned into my skin. Since it’s about to time to do it again, I thought it might be nice to detail how it’s done. And fair warning: this post contains discussions of pain and pictures of my breasts.

Branding is an old word for an even older practice. It refers to the act of marking by heat (usually fire). Though today, the type of branding I’m going to talk about is delivered by electricity (which has been called “the brand of Zeus” before, so I suppose the word works). Specifically, it was done with a violet wand.

Violet wands (then called violet rays) are early 20th century medical devices whose medical applications came under the scrutiny by the FDA and which were eventually ruled to be quack medicine. The basic purpose of a violet wand is to apply high voltage, low current electricity to human skin. This ideally results in a situation where there is a great deal of sensation but little to no harm to the recipient. And while their manufacture and sale as medical devices remains barred to this day, they have since found a home in the kink community.

Now, violet wands have many applications beyond branding: they can be used to cause anything from a pleasurable buzz to a tickling to a painful sensation, they can be used for silly party tricks like making a light bulb light up in your hand, or they can turn your whole body into an electrode and allow you to spark up your partner with each kiss and touch. There are numerous vendors and educators throughout the kink community, though my personal favorite is a charming fellow by the name of Dr. Clockwork. We’ve had the pleasure of meeting at a couple conventions, and he has always been a font of entertaining and educating conversation. Do check out his website.

Below I detail Partner and my personal method. It’s just the way we do it, I’m not asserting that it’s the objective best. We use: a violet wand, a contact pad, and a sterilized straight metal pick (rather like a dental pick). I’m aware that there are specialty branding electrodes out there, but when we play we prefer to stick with a contact pad. A contact pad is a nifty device that allows you to make your skin as well as any conductive object you hold an extension of the wand. You become the electrode. Either the top or bottom can hold it during a scene (electricity goes both ways), but we usually let the bottom hold it as this provides a very easy way to safe sign: just drop the thing.

(General Note: As I usually bottom for these things, the next few paragraphs are written from the perspective of the bottom.)

(Safety Note: Violet wands are extremely safe devices but a few rules should be followed. Don’t use near the eyes, avoid getting anything wet, avoid highly combustible substances like alcohol, and don’t use near any medical implants. Metal picks are sharp and potentially a hazard and I’ve accidentally poked myself with mine a couple times by being clumsy. Try not to be clumsy.)

The first step is to wash, shave, and gently dry the area on which you’ll be working. Then, you’ll generally want some kind of guide to follow for the brand. If you have the talent and resources I have known some people who use proper tattoo stencils or their home-made equivalents. We’ve mostly stuck to kohl eyeliner. It makes clean lines, it’s non-irritating, and it easily washes off after. So once you’ve got your skin prepped and your design drawn, it’s time to prep yourself mentally. You need to get used to the sensation of the electricity and get out any jumps and giggles that would be a very bad idea later in the process. This is a great time to have fun and make sure you and your partner are in good headspace before continuing. Also might want to make sure you have the right music on, are well hydrated, and don’t have to pee. This next bit is where it simultaneously sucks and gets super fun.

Your partner will take the metal pick and very carefully bring it near your skin without actually touching. This will allow the electricity to concentrate at the point of the pick and then jump the gap between the tip and your skin, providing an intense, high temperature spark. While your partner is doing this, they’ll need to adjust the intensity of the violet wand to find a point that works best for you. This is subjective, we’ve found that you generally want to find a point near the highest intensity you can handle and then pull back a bit as you’ll have to endure that intensity for a bit of time. Once you’ve found the intensity that works, your partner can begin to trace the design of the brand.

It’s going to hurt. You are literally burning a design into your skin, and that comes with a little pain (and a slight scent of cooking human). The first pass is the worst. Partner and I go back and forth on why this is: one hypothesis is that pain receptors in the surface of the skin are either destroyed or exhausted in that first pass, another is that it may take the duration of the first pass for endorphin production to spike, or both. Either way, the subsequent passes are usually far more pleasure mixed with pain. Music and breathing exercises are the best way I’ve found to work through the early pain. Under the right conditions, it’s very possible to pleasurably space out. Like intensity, the number of passes you’ll want is also subjective but the more passes you do, the longer the brand will stay. My last one was three passes at about three-quarter power on my wand and it lasted a little over a month.

Once you’re done, there are a few more key steps: Remember emotional aftercare for both yourself and your partner. You just did something really intense and cool together, the feels may be running high. As soon as you feel comfortable getting up, gently clean the brand with a mild, anti-bacterial soap. Some folks advise using an irritant to make the brand stand out more, but I’ve never personally tried it and I hear it can make the design ragged. You may want to keep the brand covered for the next few days as clothes may irritate it, though I find that goes away around day two or three. And that’s really it. You’re done…until it fades and you need a new one.

Pictures of my most recent one below. It’s a cute little “<3” heart because it’s a simple design to start with and because I’m a shameless geek (plus I was traveling a lot and it’s a sweet reminder that Partner loves me). There will likely be a musing on Twitter as I try to figure out what to do next.

Three days, freshly healed.
A little over one week, fully healed.
Forty days (today), almost invisible.

[Review] Love Not Given Lightly by Tina Horn

When I sat down to write this, I had to stop and think for a minute about how I’d first learned of Tina Horn. It was back in 2015 and my life was in a very different place. I’d been doing grad school for around two years and sex work for around a year, but both were on hiatus for the moment. I was home for the last time, and I was a little lost. It was after a death and I had far too much to occupy my hands and far too little to occupy my mind. And that’s when I found Why Are People Into That?! (YAPIT).

I was hooked. Here was this awesome, queer punk interviewing the most interesting people on  such a wide variety of kinky topics. It not only gave me a deeper appreciation for things I already loved, but it gave such clear insight into realms of kink that I had never experienced. So yes, go listen to it. But that’s not the primary thing I wanted to talk about today.

I want to talk about Love Not Given Lightly. Because while YAPIT is an exceptionally good podcast, and I knew that I was likely to like anything Tina Horn wrote, this book surpassed any of my expectations. And there are a couple of reasons for that.

Love Not Given Lightly, is not, as I had expected, a book about sex work. It really isn’t a book about any large concept. Rather, It’s a book about a number of  individual sex workers and clients. It displays their lives, loves, aspirations, pain, and humanity. The subtitle calls these glimpses ‘profiles’, though that word might conjure something a bit more technical and formulaic than what we see here. What Tina presents are slices of lives with respect to their intersection with sex work. And each slice is both fascinating and beautiful.

The work is brief and remains focused on its subjects. Tina herself acknowledges that a general treatment of sex work and sex workers would require more diversity (which one can even see YAPIT and her other work as attempting to deliver). But despite that, there is a great deal of the universal in these accounts. These are the little experiences that are common to all of us. And while some of those experiences will resonate strongest with those of us in the business of pleasure, I think it would be impossible for anyone to read this book without experiencing a deep empathy for the people in its pages.

Additionally: Tina Horn can write really well. I mean really well, y’all. It’s an exemplary work of non-fiction. I know not everyone is attentive to or enamored with writing quality, but if you are, this book is even more of a delight.

So please, give Love Not Given Lightly a read. If you enjoy it half as much as I did, it’s well worth it at any price. And if you tell me you made it through with eyes that are perfectly dry and a soul that hasn’t been touched, I’ll give you a smile and call you the liar you are.

Available at:
Salacious Magazine

[Fiction] One Night

This was originally posted to my Tumblr. I consider it the first vanilla heterosexual scene I ever wrote.

The room was a little dark and smelled of cedar. Gray walls, gray chair, a gray coat lying casually tossed on the floor at the foot of the bed. The chair faced the door, and that’s where he sat as she entered. He looked…tired. She smiled. The smile was a lie, she was just as tired, but he would never see that.

“You found it okay.” He said.

Her smile cocked to one side, “Of course, sweetie. Straight up from the bar. Even I don’t get lost that quick.” She tossed his keycard and her purse on the dresser, in front of a TV that was playing one of the indistinguishable news networks, turned low. She kicked off her shoes and walked over to him, across the well-worn carpet. She leaned forward, looking at him with a sparkle in her eye. “You seem nervous.”

“I’ve never done this before.”

“Brought a girl back to your room?”

“Brought a girl…like you back to my room.”

She leaned in close, letting him smell the sweet scents blended on her skin. “Sweetie, there are no other girls like me.” She said, and then gave a giggle before planting a kiss on his neck, dark red lips leaving their mark. He shuddered. When she pulled away, it looked like blood.

She bit her lip as she stared at him and worked the buttons on her blouse. When it fell away and pooled on the floor her perfect skin was revealed in the meager light of a bedside lamp. She had no need of a bra, her breasts were still small with a supple v shape and her nipples dark and puffy. With a slow little wiggle she pulled her skirt down over her hips and kicked it to one side. The air was cool on her skin, and it wasn’t the only thing making her shiver.

She slipped up on top of him, one knee to each side. The fabric of his dress pants smooth against her silky legs. His arms came up and he touched her back, strong hands running down her shoulder blades. She thrust her chest forward and gasped as his lips met her. Soft, eager lips in a nest of stubble running across her skin, eagerly seeking her nipples as his hands began their slow descent down her back to cup her ass, pulling her close to him. Her head went back and her arms wrapped around his neck, eagerly holding him to her as her hips began a slow, sensual rhythm. She could feel him swelling beneath her through his pants, and she was sure that he could feel her own swelling through her underwear in response.

Her delicate fingers made quick work of his shirt and soon she was kissing his chest and neck as she rubbed the crotch of her panties across his lap. She used her teeth sparingly at first, exploring his tolerance for pain, and then with more passion as his body responded beneath her. Nails raked his back and then he began to stand. She held on with her arms and legs as his strong hands lifted her up and he took a few, steady steps before letting her fall back into the soft depths of the king size bed.

She looked up at him, face flushed, full of excitement as he began to undo his belt. Her hands explored her own body, half out of pleasure and half as enticement as he freed himself from his pants. When he slipped out of his underwear, she made a small, needful noise and flipped over on the bed, crawling on all fours to the edge where she could take him in her mouth. The taste of him was salty and musky and perfect. Her body thrilled to have him inside her. His hands went down to her hair as she vigorously pleasured him. Their bodies were as one in the growing heat and need.

She slid her lips from him with a small popping noise and looked up. “Condoms. Lube. Purse.” Each word a gasp as a line of saliva flaked her chin. He dutifully played fetch and when he turned back to the bed she was on her back, hand working in her panties.

“Let me.” He said as he slowly slid the soaked black fabric down, leaving a trail of her own need along her legs. “You’re uh…oh, you…get wet?”

She blushed and nodded, her penis still leaking a long, sticky string. “Whenever I’m turned on, since about a year into hormones.”

He leaned down over her, “May I?”

She nodded.

Carefully his tongue began to flick and lick at her shaft. Tasting her. Exploring her. Her body arched and she closed her eyes as the waves of pleasure built. Ever so slowly his tongue made its way down her perineum and began to circle the tight entrance nestled between her cheeks. He opened the lube bottle and soon his fingers joined in, spreading her and preparing her. She almost came from that alone.

And finally, when they were both ready, she felt the tip of his cock pressing against her asshole. Her legs tightened around him, pulling him to her. “Please…” she said with a little whine.

And then he was in her. Her clit twitched as he slid along her inner walls, the sensation of being filled sweet and tight. He moved slowly at first, and then picks up the pace. Her mouth opens in a soft little o as each thrust begins to take her breath away. He can feel her body respond to him, feel the muscles move as he plunges into her, feel the pressure build as her prostate swells. They lose themselves in each other: thrusting, writhing, kissing, suspended in their shared bliss.

Her body moves through an age old cycle at least twice, but she honestly can’t be sure. Each time she aches with pleasure as cum streams from her clit. His body on top of hers is ecstacy and she sinks her teeth into his shoulder to keep from screaming as she feels him begin to grow and twitch inside her.

After, they lay together, spent. Her head cradled in his shoulder, body still twitching in afterglow. She snuggles into the smell of him.

“Want to stay the night?” He asks, sleepily.

She shakes her head and rubs against him. “Can’t, early morning.”

“Want to do this again tomorrow?”

She just smiled and kissed his cheek. Knowing she couldn’t, but not having the heart to say no.

[Fiction] Dani

This story was originally posted to tumblr.

She hadn’t expected to run into Amie. Not here. She cursed under her breath and sank down in the seat of the small coffee shop, doing her best to disappear behind the screen of her laptop and the steam of her second latte. She’d just wanted to be out in public, to feel like a normal person for a small little slice of time. Couldn’t the universe give her that? Apparently not.

She liked Amie. They had hit it off after meeting at the party of a friend of a friend of someone’s brother. They were the only two people there from their college, so sheer proximity and shared interest had led them to being introverts together. The party had turned into a late night date. It had been followed by another. Amie was, in her mind, near perfect: smart, geeky, beautiful. So how could she be here? Why now? Maybe it would be okay? Maybe she wouldn-

“Dan?” Amie said. The word came haltingly with an undercurrent of shock.

She froze. Full on, like a deer in the headlights. She could feel the blush burning in her face, but she couldn’t manage words. And, just like a deer, the impact kept coming.

“Daniel.” Amie said again. Not a question this time. The word was clipped, the voice more controlled, not betraying anything.

She slowly, reluctantly, sat up straighter in the booth, looking up at Amie. She swallowed hard, suddenly conscious of her Adam’s apple. Everything felt like it was rushing in at once: all those little bits of her that didn’t quite pass: the flat chest, the hair extensions, her makeup. She stared down, suddenly very interested in her coffee. “Danielle.” She said softly, correcting Amie.

“Danielle,” Amie said, with a bit of hesitation, “I’m guessing that there’s something you haven’t been completely…um…open with me about.” It was clear from her voice that she was trying to sound less put out than she was.

“Fuck. I…you…you weren’t supposed to see me like this. What are you even doing here?”

Amie cocked an eyebrow. “Chile hot chocolate donuts. Not that you’re the one who should be asking questions. When were you going to tell me about this?”

“I’m not sure I was.” Danielle said, voice cracking a bit.

Amie slid herself into the booth, next to the awkward, scared girl who was far too fascinated with her coffee cup. She gently reached out, and let her fingers trace the back of Danielle’s hand. “Dan…um…Dani…” she said, softly.

The girl looked up. Eyes still filled with fear and uncertainty. “Look, you’re pissed, I get it,” she said, looking away and pulling her hand back from Amie.

Amie was faster though and took her by the wrist, her other hand going to Danielle’s chin and gently directing the other girl to face her. “Yeah, you bet I’m pissed. But I don’t think you get it. Did you seriously think that you could get away without being honest with me? I’ve got a right to know if the cute, straight guy I’m dating is actually a cute lesbian.”

The expression on Danielle’s face as she scooted back across the booth made it look like her brain had a glitch and she made a small awkward noise. “Cute?” she whispered, face crimson.

“Look, Dani. I don’t give a fuck what your gender is. But I do need to know you trust me,” she closed her eyes, taking a minute to compose herself. “Okay. Here’s what’s happening,” she gestured to the laptop, “you’re gonna be a good girl finish whatever you’re working on, you’re gonna buy me an apology donut, and then we’ll have a long talk about this. Got it?”

Danielle nodded, a grin breaking out between her blushing cheeks. “Yes, ma’am!” she said after a long, slow sigh of relief.

Amie smiled and pulled the other girl in, lips touching, gently at first, then with a bit of passion. Her tongue parted the other girl’s lips and they both felt the first little twinges of arousal. When the kiss finally broke they were both grinning like schoolkids.

“So…trust me?” Amie said, letting one hand rest on Dani’s knee.

“Yes,” the other girl said.

“Good. Cause you’ll need to for what I have planned for us.” She said with a mischievous grin as her hand began to slowly slide up Dani’s thigh. “Get to work now, don’t keep me waiting.”