Archive | November 2012
Formality
To cluudle‘s commissioned continuation of Catch, the story of Gregori and Speed.
Erotic domination, no sex, but nudity.
“There’s a ritual to this.” And the ritual would not only allow him to regain control, it would remind his new Kept exactly what he was stepping into. “Take all of your clothing off. Put it in my laundry hamper.” He gestured lazily behind himself.
“Yes, master.” The boy didn’t look frightened. He didn’t look worried, or even concerned; he looked happy.
Happy would be a nice change, after Damaris’ crying. If it lasted. He stood, arms crossed over his chest, and watched the boy strip. T-shirt. Pants. Tank top under the t-shirt, covering a chest so skinny he could be on a Starving Children poster somewhere. Boxers under the pants, blue silk, revealing an erection nearly as big as the boy.
He was going to be an absolutely entertaining Keeper for someone, if he chose to top next year. Or the year after; Gregori still had two years here.
The socks were the last to go, and then the boy was brushing past him to drop all of his clothes into Gregori’s clothes hamper. “Very good. Kneel where you were standing.” He pointed at the floor in the place he wanted him, just for clarity, and watched the boy fold himself up as if he’d been born to kneel like that, his hands folded perfectly at the small of his back, his eyes on Gregori.
“Very good.” The boy was the hottest thing to slink into Gregori’s life. “You come to me naked, with nothing but your self. Everything you have, from this day until the day I release you, will come from my hands. Everything you give, you will give to me. Everything you are is mine.”
“I come into your hands naked.” Speed couldn’t have seen the ritual; he had to be making it up. He made it up beautifully. “I have nothing to give you but myself, and I give all of that to you. From now until you release me, everything I have is yours, and everything I receive will come from you.” He glanced up at Gregori through a fringe of hair. “And what does it please my master to give me?”
“First, your collar.” He circled the boy’s neck with his hands. He was skinny, skinny enough that Gregori’s hands fit with room to spare. And he shivered beautifully when Gregori pressed his fingers against his throat. “Meentik Unutu με Panida με Eperu kloiós.” He knew what he wanted, so it was easy enough to bring it into existence around his new Kept’s throat. A leather collar, a thick and wide one, with a single large ring dangling in the front and a smaller one pressed against the back of the boy’s neck. A collar with no closure, or, more importantly, no opening. This was not coming off until he wanted it to.
Let Luke chew on that.
“There.” He grabbed the ring in the front and tugged upwards, pulling the boy off his knees. “Now. To do things properly.”
Speed was dangling, not trying to put any weight on his feet. He had been ordered to kneel, after all. “Yes, my master?”
So delicious. Gregori was going to enjoy this one. “Kiss me.”
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Protected: Rin & Girey Nano Chapter 1 second part.
New Filter: Rin/Girey Nano Beta
Comment if you’d like to be added.
Thanks
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Protected: Rin/Girey Nano, Chapter 1, Part 1
Cynara
Her oldest son was off with his father, creating a kingdom he had already been Named prince of.
Her younger son was in Addergoole, in his fourth year.
Her current Kept was sleeping in his own bed. Horns (not antlers, never again antlers). Blonde hair. Aelf-get.
She rolled over to look at Gaheris. “I want…” she began. That wasn’t, really, a normal beginning for her.
“Yes?” His hand was in her hair. Strange, how few people she could tolerate that from. Him, among three. Maybe four.
She could do this. She swallowed. “I’d like another child.” That was the easy part. “And…”
“And…?”
“And I think I’d like a ring. Please.”
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Cynara, as the world ends.
A drabble. This comes after the first couple scenes in a forum I can’t get to right now, link to follow when I can. here
July, 2011
When you have spent your entire adult life planning for the apocalypse, there is a startlingly small amount of work to be done when the apocalypse actually, much to your chagrin, arrives.
Setting up the Ranch for their horde would take time, of course, but for the summer, camping out in tents worked.
They had food, and preparations for future food. They had armament, and ammo. They had clothing, trade goods, and a visible way to make power to cover for their electric deer. They had shelter, and were making more shelter.
So Cya went visiting.
Every Kept she had held, she’d given a wooden chest filled with supplies. But Cya knew people, and she knew that, leaving her, many of them would want to get rid of anything that reminded them of her. Part of her said “screw em, then.” But the louder part of her told her she owed them at least a second try.
Useless wouldn’t open the door to her. She was willing to leave that one at “screw him.” He hadn’t been all that good, anyway.
Hroderich wasn’t exactly happy to see her, and seemed to think that the fact that she’d been right was somehow her fault.
But he was also lost and scared, and was more than willing to take her care package, and her suggestion that he head for somewhere sparsely populated, preferably with at least one but no more than three other people.
Fafnir wouldn’t open the door to her, either; she left him a care package, and left his new Kept the key to a storage locker and a few whispered words that would give the girl her freedom, if she wanted it.
Nilam wanted her to take him with her. Instead, she sent him to Pellinore, to whom she’d given the last storage-locker key.
Cabal, she told where they were going, and only Cabal. But he was doing fine, and, of anyone, didn’t need her help.
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The Three Jaguars Webcomic Kickstarter!
Guys, if you don’t already know that haikujaguar is awesome, you’re seriously missing out.
But her newest Kickstarter project is just absolutely wonderful!
A beautiful how-to on small art business – in cartoon jaguar form! Go check it out!
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Read “Morning Shake-Up Call,” then leave a prompt
Read Morning Shake-Up Call, by rix_scaedu, to my prompt.
Then go leave a prompt, please! The prompter’s story only gets updated with new prompts!!
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Equipping, a sequel for the Giraffe Call
To Flofx’s commissioned continuation of <span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Garamond","serif";
color:#3A312D;background:white”>The First Quest
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Garamond","serif";
color:#3A312D;background:white”>
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:"Garamond","serif";
color:#3A312D;background:white”>Equipping
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D”>It was still, technically, summer, at least. That was their main saving grace.
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D”>They’d been prepared for a field trip, maybe an hour outside, wandering around a creek bed. Sancha’s shoes weren’t as impractical as a lot of their classmates’ had been – sandals with a flat heel – but once they’d gotten wet, they were pretty much useless. And after “Sancha’s little incident,” they’d gotten not only wet, but a little bit ripped up.
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“You can’t have turned into the sort of monster that gets really thick paw-pads or anything, could you?” Fritz examined her feet critically. “You don’t have any cuts, just a couple shallow scrapes.”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“I’m not a monster!” The fact that she had to lisp that around new, long, sharp teeth made it a little weaker a protest than she’d have liked.“Well, at least you’re not a vampire. That would have been the shortest vampire-lifespan ever. What with the burning sun and all.”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“Still not a monster.”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“Mm-hrrm. Well, we need to add finding you shoes to our equipment list. I wonder… hey, up there.” He pointed up the bank. “See, grasshopper, you were right. The river led to shelter.”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“Those are just camping cabins.”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“Roof and a fireplace, probably running water.”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“Probably locked?”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“Pshaw. Don’t worry about locks.”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>It turned out they didn’t have to. One of the cabins was wide open, its door swinging on its hinges. The car was gone, but they’d left the radio going and food burning on the stove.
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“…York City appears to have vanished, we repeat, vanished. It is not our belief at this time that this was a nuclear attack. We repeat, we do not believe this was a nuclear attack. It is believe that this is the work of the so-called Returned Gods.”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“Oh, shit, them again?” The Returned Gods had been getting louder and louder since mid-June. Chaos in the streets, demanding tribute, demanding to rule cities or even countries. But this was the first time things had gotten that bad.
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>What was worse was the expression on Fritz’s face. “Yeah. Things are just going to get worse. Okay, grasshopper, this just went from a get-home quest to a survival quest. Let’s see what they left, assume they’re not coming back, and take everything we might be able to use.”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“Fritz… you’re scaring me.” The whole day had been scary. Her new teeth and her new monster-claws were pretty terrifying. But up until now, Fritz had been treating the whole thing as a game, and that had made it endlessly more bearable.
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“I know, grasshopper, and I’m sorry. If I could have let you float along longer, I would have. But if they’ve taken New York… the world just got really, really messy.” As unexpected as his seriousness, the hug he wrapped her in was tight and warm. “So.” And then, just as quickly, he was smiling. “What do you need to equip for a quest?”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>She could handle this like a game. She really could. She glanced around. “Food. Clothing. Shelter. We still need shelter, if we assume we can’t stay here. And a weapon, right?”
<span style="font-size:12.5pt;line-height:115%;font-family:
"Garamond","serif";color:#3A312D;background:white”>“There you go.” Fritz patted her shoulder. “You’re going to level up any day now.”
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