Nobilis Reed's Blog, page 2

This month’s patron-funded story is Dragon Enough by Genevieve Amsterdam.  It’s narrated by Vic.

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This month’s free story is “Sacrifice” by J Aster. It’s narrated by Chooch Schubert.

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This month’s patron-funded story is “Apple of Sodom” by Plangdi Neple.  It’s narrated by Bisi Alimi.

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This month’s story is “Three Installs” a cyborg threesome story by Genevieve Amsterdam, narrated by Louise Cooksey. 

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The Sisters of Rapture RPG supplement.

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This month’s story is “The Lion Tamer” by Cecilia Tan.  It’s narrated by Vivienne Ferrari.

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Yes, Steven, yes, feel the power of the blood. You must control it or it will control you.

I circle him slowly, and his blindfolded eyes still turn toward me, like a flower blindly following the sun. He cannot move his head far, not with his wrists bound above his head. His cheek meets his upper arm as I pass behind him, swishing the whip as I go. 

I continue around, and he turns his face toward the other side, listening to the slight whisper of the leather tail against the floor and the steady, slow tap of my heels. How much of him at this moment is animal, instinctively following the sounds of danger… or maybe the scent of food, of my blood? And how much of him is intelligent being, calculating when I will strike, anticipating what I will say, and how to react? 

I brush a gloved finger over his bare nipple and he moans, a sound that seems to send a vibration straight between my legs. He is so hungry right now, not for blood–he’s had plenty of that–but for everything I have promised. Control, discipline, ecstasy, and release.

A fine sheen of red appears on his chest. His body still reacts much the way a normal 28-year-old man’s would, only now he has only blood instead of sweat, only blood instead of semen or tears. I cluck my tongue. “Control the blood,” I whisper, for that is what he is here to prove he can do.

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This month’s patron-funded story is Pasipha’s Lover by Stephani Maari Booker.  It’s narrated by Violet Jade.

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This month’s patron-funded story is “One Summer Evening” by A. N. Tate.  It’s narrated by Nobilis Reed.

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This month’s patron-funded story is Feeling Sheepish by Eccho Steem.  It’s narrated by Ophelia Offenhauser.

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I have the greatest master who ever lived. He’s always so nice and gentle with me. Ever since I was a little lamb girl. Especially now when it comes to shearing day. I love days like these so much. Not only do I get the satisfaction of being sheared, but if I’m good, I get a little reward from him. And it just so happens that both of the criterias have been met.

I sit on my little stool, patiently waiting for him to prepare his shears. Once he does, he pets me on the head and says,

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” I answer back with a giggle,

“Now, remember, it’s still early, so we’re gonna need to be really quiet, ok?” “Yes, master.”

“Good.”

He turns on the shears and gets started. It’s always a remarkable sensation. Especially when it starts. They’re cold, but not unbearable, they vibrate, but because of certain adjustments that he’s made to them, it feels more like a massage, and words can’t begin to express the feeling of the air on my newly exposed skin. It’s otherworldly.

He glides the shears from my back to my neck, scraping off the wool from my body. He then takes a moment to trim my hair to the style that I like, a short French bob with bangs. He really is the best. When he’s done with that, he stands me up, moving on to my legs and working up to my butt, watching out for my tail as he knows that it’s the one part that I don’t want to be sheared.

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Sorebottomart created an image for last month’s episode!  Check out his patreon.

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This month’s patron-funded story is The Love you Make by David Hill.  It’s narrated by Scottie Calif.

This episode is sponsored by Literotica. 

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Harriet wasn’t frightened by the close encounter—at least, honestly, not very much—because she had seen it all before in the movies and on television: the blinding lights in the sky stabbing down toward her car, the problems with the ignition, the headlights, and the other electrical circuitry. The trembling of the earth beneath her tires, the feeling that what she was experiencing was all a dream. Even though, of course, it wasn’t.

What did surprise her was that, after the whole passé rigmarole was over, she hadn’t been abducted. No alien implants, no pointless medical experimentation, no bizarre attempts at communication. The only departure from script—the only thing out of the ordinary—was that, as the ship rose into the night sky on pillars of blue light, one bright beam pointed to the asphalt in front of her Toyota, calling her attention to a small metallic object that had evidently been deposited there just for her.

She got out of the car, picked the thing up, and brought it home. “What do you think it is?” she asked John after describing the strange episode along Pennington Road. “Sure looks like a cock to me,” he answered.

Which it did, being about six inches long and tubular, with two small oval attachments on one end and a tiny vertical slot on the other.

“Be serious.”

“Seriously, Harriet. Maybe it’s some kind of alien dildo. Or maybe it’s an extraterrestrial pocket comb. Who knows? If you want, I’ll take it into town and drop it off with the police. Could be they might figure out what the damned thing is.”

Harriet shook her head, reluctant to relinquish possession of the alien artifact, no matter what it eventually turned out to be.

This question intrigued her for the remainder of the evening. After John left for the ten-to-six shift, she abandoned her usual boring routine of sitcoms, news, and late-night talk shows. Instead she sat on the couch and fiddled with the thing. She turned it over in her hands, wondering what it was, who had made it, how it was used, where it was from, why it had been left there on the road for her. Her husband’s observation stuck in her mind, though, and she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that, yes, the object truly did resemble a penis—albeit a stylized one made out of metal with a matte silver finish. Moreover, she observed, it looked remarkably like John’s very own, being somewhat tapered and almost exactly identical in length. This made her feel nostalgic. And a little randy, too, since—what with the difference in their timetables now that John was working nights—it had been quite a while since their last romantic entanglement.

As a matter of fact, Harriet couldn’t exactly put her finger on just when they’d made love recently. Definitely not within the past couple of weeks.

Had a month or more really gone by? She tried to remember. The very effort of recollection hammered home the point that too long had passed. She ultimately focused on an evening not too different from this one, except that she wasn’t alone. He was there with her, and it was more than obvious what he had on his mind as he caressed her in long, slow, masterful shuddering strokes from shoulder to haunch.

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