Negotiation or Seduction? #BDSM #negotiation #nostalgia

By Lisabet Sarai

I wish now that I’d kept his letters—the ones in which he detailed his fantasies about spanking me, tying me to his bed, dripping hot wax over my breasts, then asked for my reactions. We hadn’t touched each other at that point, just flirted over a chess board (he almost always won). I’d never thought about the activities he described in his multi-page messages, at least not consciously, though I’d had kidnap fantasies since before puberty.

Somehow he sensed that I was susceptible, before I knew this myself. With old-fashioned, pen-on-paper epistles, then later through lengthy, expensive phone calls, he revealed his kinky nature and explored mine. When we finally met again in person, more than six months after he’d left grad school and moved to the West Coast, we were in essence already lovers, though we’d never even kissed. With his arrogance, eloquence, and calculated crudeness, he’d captured my erotic imagination and won my consent. We both knew we’d have sex, and not vanilla sex, either. (Hard to believe, but I didn’t even know the term “vanilla” at that point!) I was ready to yield, eager, despite the fact that I had no idea what to expect.

But actually, that’s not true—I had learned about his desires as he interrogated me about mine. Face to face, we didn’t need to negotiate anything. I trusted him, somehow, with my body and my spirit. I think he was surprised by how easy it was.

I was too overwhelmed by emotion and sensation to even consider the question.

That was almost exactly forty years ago. I’ve wondered, since then, whether he and I would have come together if he’d stayed on to get his PhD instead of putting 2500 miles between us. Geeky and awkward as he was, would he have had the courage to offer himself as my master? Struggling to deal with my own raging hormones, would I have paid enough attention to him that I would have seen who he really was?

Believe—believe in me, and in your own dreams.

For I will make them real.

I am the one, the Master.

Give me your nakedness, your naked heart.

As you open yourself to me, so I will satisfy your lust.

I don’t have those letters anymore. One day, years ago, I destroyed all the correspondence I’d saved. I decided it was unhealthy to hold onto them. Rereading them over and over them was too guilty a pleasure. I worried that my obsession with our past love might be damaging my marriage. But a few of his words and phrases live on, quoted verbatim in my novels—like the snippet above from RawSilk.

Lisabet Sarai probably would not exist if not for that long-ago, long-distance negotiation. I’d always written stories, but without my memories of that incandescent passion, would I have been so moved to write erotica, especially erotica featuring power exchange? I doubt it.

I really wish I had those letters. Would I still react the same way? Or would his words sound cheesy and silly? I am no longer the innocent I was. We were both so young. Still, even at twenty four, he had the true instincts of a dominant. In those letters, he both guided and tempted me. I fell for his lines. I answered his embarrassing questions. I gave myself wholeheartedly into his hands.

I’ve never for an instant regretted it.

For an earlier post about negotiation, go here:

http://ohgetagrip.blogspot.com/2010/06/delicate-art-of-negotiation.html

For a fantasy about those letters:

http://ohgetagrip.blogspot.com/2016/02/stash.html

Queers In Space!

There’s a distinct lack of queer characters in science-fiction. That’s not news to anybody, really.

I’m a die-hard Star Trek fan and I’ve increasingly become a Star Wars fan. In the hundreds of hours of televised Star Trek, the Star Trek movies, and the Star Wars movies (I’ve not watched the animated Star Wars TV show), I can name two queer characters — Stamets and Culber from the new Star Trek: Discovery show.

I can understand that the lack of queer characters and the very slow integration of them in present televised Star Trek as being a result of general society’s acceptance of queer identities. These things often come down to being business decisions — I hold no anger to TV or movie executives for not historically including queer characters. In fact, there was the intention of introducing Star Trek’s first gay couple back in the 90s — Doctor Bashir and Garak from Star Trek: Deep Space Nine were intended to be a gay couple. I didn’t know that until someone told me very recently, but looking back at the episode where the two characters first meet, it’s very clear now that there’s an initial infatuation that would have easily transitioned into romance. However, TV execs at the time kiboshed the idea and they instead became best of friends.

Given my love of Star Trek books, though, we have a little more material to work with for this post. I’ve literally read hundreds of them. I’ve also read a few dozen Star Wars books. I can’t speak for Star Wars literature that much since it was in the 90s and early 00s that I read those couple dozen books and I’m not up to date on what the books are doing. For Star Trek, though, I very clearly remember the first gay couple showing up. There was on outrage on the internet, of course, as there always is, but the publishers didn’t back down. There are still inclusions now and then of gay characters — since they can’t rewrite canon characters from TV or movies, the gay characters tend to be family members of canon characters or original characters of the authors.

While I enjoy this diversity, I’m still very critical of it.

Of the queer characters I can remember, 95% of them are gay men. I believe there was one lesbian couple. This completely ignores most of the queer rainbow. However, perhaps in the Star Trek future, identities like trans are far less of an issue than they are today — perhaps in that future, transitioning is an easy process that’s totally accepted, and so there would be no need to mention it in a novel as it’s a relatively minor aspect of their identities/pasts.

As well, I have to acknowledge that I spend my day-job working life immersed in the queer community, so I’m very aware of the diversity of identities that exist and the lack of them that exist in fiction. That could simply be my fairly unique perspective and it might not be a concern shared by many (or any) readers of Star Trek books.

My bigger problem, though, is that there are two profiles that queer characters are given in Star Trek books, and in most other general fiction books I read (including, for example, thrillers by James Rollins) — they’re either the sacrificial hero or the happily paired-up couple.

I can see why this is. These authors are trying to normalize queer characters and relationships for their readers. (“Look! He’s the hero of the book — he sacrificed himself! Just like a hetero action hero!” or “Look! They’re blissfully happy and monogamous!”) Sometimes, a queer character is both of these things. In one Star Trek novel I read years ago (maybe more than a decade ago), there was a blissfully happy gay couple and at the end of the book, one of them sacrificed his life to save the crew of the Enterprise.

Perhaps this wouldn’t bother me so much if hetero characters were given the same treatment. Yet, in televised/movie Star Trek alone, we have:

• Captain Kirk’s promiscuous one-night-stands;
• Bones being a bit of a creepy man that would be brought down in our modern #metoo movement;
• Commander Riker sleeping around and eventually dating and marrying Counsellor Troi;
• Captain Picard having vacation flings;
• Captain Sisko dating and falling in love with Kasidy Yates;
• Worf dating Counsellor Troi (in Next Generation), hooking up with an Ambassador and fathering a child (in Next Gen); and later dating and marrying Dax and later becoming a widower (in Deep Space Nine);
• All the other casual dating and relationships that happened in the relationship-heavy Deep Space Nine;
• Torres and Paris being on-again-off-again for most of Voyager before marrying;
• An odd short term relationship between Chakotay and Seven;
• An is-this-a-relationship-or-not ongoing “thing” between T’Pol and Trip;
• Mayweather hooking up with an ex;
• Lorca hooking up with an ex (who happens to be his boss);
• And Burnham nervously falling for Tyler.

These are all examples of complicated, messy, realistic relationships between hetero people.

But queer people (AKA gay men)? They’re only in blissfully happy marriages or they’re sacrificial heroes or both. (I haven’t watched all of season one of Star Trek: Discovery yet, so no spoilers please, even though I’ve already seen some hints regarding the gay couple.)

If Star Trek, Star Wars, and other science-fiction properties want to normalize queer relationships, they really need to treat them like hetero relationships. If someone is homophobic and watching Star Trek, they won’t think “hmm… that gay couple is just like me and my wife… maybe being gay is normal…”. No, they’ll think “ugh, another scene with the queers — why is Star Trek being ruined by political correctness?”

(I sometimes read the comment section on TrekMovie.com — those who are homophobic clearly haven’t changed their minds and those who are not homophobic are celebrating the inclusion of Culber/Stamets. No one has changed their mind; they’ve only reinforced their pre-existing opinions.)

I always question the reasons for including something — is it there because it makes sense to the story? Or is it there to make a point or to create a teachable moment?

Queer characters could and should be put in Star Trek (and other science-fiction properties) to add diversity and realism — unfortunately, right now, they’re in there to create a teachable moment. It just makes me roll my eyes. (An off topic but tangential non-sci-fi example — condom use in MM romance fiction is typically there to reinforce the idea of condom use among gay men and some authors go overboard explaining why it’s important. It becomes a big “thing” in a sexy chapter that really serves as a distraction and nothing more. Ugh.)

I’m trying not to be overly critical, though. We have gay and lesbian characters — yay! — which is better than years ago when we had none. But we need to push for more diversity and more realism. This, too, will come with time.

Perhaps it will even come in Star Trek: Discovery. We have a happily-together gay couple, but it doesn’t mean they’ll always be this way. While I’d hate for them to not be together (as I’d hate for any couple to not be together), there’s at least opportunity for some realism there.

Until they do that, I’ll just keep writing my smut.



Cameron D. James is a writer of gay erotica and M/M erotic romance; his latest release is Schoolboy Secrets. He is publisher at and co-founder of Deep Desires Press, member of the Indie Erotica Collective, and hosts two podcasts, Deep Desires Podcast and Sex For Money. He lives in Canada, is always crushing on Starbucks baristas, and has two rescue cats. To learn more about Cameron, visit http://www.camerondjames.com.

Sex In Space...in Pictures!

I haven't written any sci-fi at all, let alone sexy sci-fi. I haven't used outer space in any genre so far. So I don't have a whole lot to talk about when it comes to the words side of sex in space.

I do, however, have plenty of pretty pictures.

One of my first sci-fi romance covers, if not my first, was The Alion King by Milly Taiden. This follows the template of all the previous Paranormal Dating Agency covers, but if you were to put any of the previous ones up beside this one, you'd see there's a slight shift in the overall colour tone. I made this one a cooler and bluer wash than the previous ones, which were all in a pretty teal shade.

Another Milly one with sexy outer space action is Kiss My Asteroid. Again, it's from her Paranormal Dating Agency series overall, but I made this one a further step away from the main series colouring. It's essentially a series within a series. (I almost messed up and posted two more covers I've made in that sub-series...until I checked and realised they weren't yet released!)

 

A couple of years back (maybe a little more than that by now), an author named Mara Frost came to me regarding some blue-skinned hot-bodied alien dudes she wanted covers for. The first of these covers down here is actually the third in the series, but they were all identical visually, with only the title and the book number changing. I just liked the colour of the title on this one the most! The second cover there was for a follow-on novella, from memory, though I don't think it's been published. Or if it has, it's been taken down!

All of these next covers are from one of my fellow Aussies, (and in fact, fellow Queenslanders) Imogene Nix. They're all related, though this first one is, to my understanding, a slightly separate beastie from the other three.

For these covers, I've included the print wrap, because I was rather proud of how the theme repeated across the three.

So there ya have it...I haven't yet explored the wonderful schoolboy fantasy of boobs in zero gravity...but I do like to make covers for all the sexy space action!

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Also, I should mention...for anyone who writes smutty naughtiness, I've opened up a new group on Facebook with two other amazing cover artists (Tracey Soxie Weston and Alexx Andria). It's called Brazen Premades and we're catering to all kinds of heat levels within erotica. We handle all the regular stuff, from contemporary to interracial to same-sex pairings. But we're also working with niche genres (I just sold a tentacle erotica cover there yesterday!)
We're being judicious about the images we choose, for several reasons. Our primary desire is to provide high quality covers at affordable prices (we understand the rapid-fire process of erotica publishing). And we're striving to keep books from being adult filtered (at least for their covers...you're in charge of the content!)
If that sounds like something you'd be interested in, why not come over and run your pointy thing around our sexy little button? You know the one...yeah...run it around that join button, bebeh...uh...click it. CLICK IT!

Sky Full of Stars ( #BDSM #FlashFiction #FemDom #GeekLove )

by Annabeth Leong

Hey there! I'm posting an unpublished story that seems to fit the theme. It's not about sex in space, but it's about sex with an astronomer and the wonder of space, so I say that's close enough!

I was a beginner. We both knew that. God, how I wanted to toss Ajay to the bed, tie those lanky limbs into the most artful tangle, and apply a wide variety of expert and creative tortures, in the forms of both pain and pleasure. But I knew I’d only embarrass myself if I got too fancy, and we’d talked enough about this that Ajay shouldn’t expect more than I could deliver.

Still, my hand shook as I stroked it down the side of his face. He smiled. “Relax,” he murmured. “That’s what this is for, right?”

I took a deep breath. “Right. So get on your knees.”

For a moment, he looked back at me with steel in his eyes. My stomach flipped over. I didn’t have any right to this, and I knew it. I’d never been sure of my own power. All my life, I’d been told I could do things—get into college, then grad school, find internships I could afford to take, somehow feed myself on meager grant funding, finish my thrice-damned thesis—and in the depths of my soul, I didn’t believe any of it. What made people think I could do that stuff? What made me think I could tell Ajay what to do? Even if he’d agreed to this. Even if it seemed like we both wanted this.

Then, slowly, smirking as he did, he sank to the floor, and my heart soared with every inch he dropped.

I put my hand on the top of his head. This was real. This was happening. Tonight, I might be able to feel in control for what seemed like the first time in my life.

“Put your hands behind your back,” I said. Behind my own back, I fingered the handcuffs I’d bought for this occasion. They hadn’t thrown me out of the sex toy store, hadn’t asked for any credentials, hadn’t asked any questions at all. I guess I’d known they wouldn’t do any of those things, but I’d still felt dizzy as I walked out with the handcuffs in a plain brown shopping bag. I’d still tensed when a police car drove past, as if the officer might leap out and demand to know what I was carrying.

I moved to the other side of Ajay, trying to make a show of it. Was it really possible for steps to be authoritative? Were mine? I berated myself for not wearing high heels, for not buying leather of some sort, but the handcuffs already represented money I could only sort of afford.

I bent down, half-expecting Ajay to twist away and laugh at my presumption. Instead, his breath quickened as I took hold of one of his wrists. It was so slender. His brown skin lightened to a dark, creamy yellow on its underside, and I traced a finger along one of his veins.

Wonder filled me as I touched him and he let me. I’d forgotten the feeling. I’d entered my grad program enchanted by the mysteries of space, and now I never looked at the sky anymore. Instead, I spent my evenings tangled in datasets and the R programming I’d had to learn on the fly and never really felt comfortable using.

I clipped the handcuffs on and took a deep breath. I’d planned out what I wanted to do—a certain amount of spanking, a certain sort of ordering him around—but I’d just gotten a better idea and I wanted to go with it. “Back up to your feet,” I murmured, helping him. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been spontaneous about something. Vaguely, I recalled that part of being relaxed involved feeling free to follow a whim. Topping Ajay was working already.

I led Ajay toward the door to the fire escape. As I did, my confidence slipped. There was probably pigeon shit out there. It would be pretty private, but what if he didn’t want to be outside at all while wearing handcuffs? What if he expected a spanking, and what if this idea seemed weird and stupid to him?

The door swung open. It was cool outside, and as clear as a city night was going to get. I wanted this, and I needed to be sure he did too.

I stopped and looked him in the eye. “I want to take you outside. You’d use your safeword, right? If that made you uncomfortable?”

He smiled, softer than he did when we saw each other in the department lounge. “You can trust me,” Ajay said, and I did, and that made me feel safe taking him out into the fresh darkness and ordering him back to his knees, though the fire escape was indeed not particularly clean.

I watched his face as I pulled up my skirt. I did it slowly, not to tease him, but because my heart was beating so fast I wasn’t sure if I could stand it. He looked excited, too, and part of me wanted to burst into tears due to some bizarre combination of hope and fear.

My teeth began to chatter. I pulled him toward me until his nose touched my clit through my panties. “Take a deep breath,” I said.

Was that pervy? Or not pervy enough? We’d spent hours talking about this over drinks the week before, but now I felt like I’d asked all the wrong questions. It had been one thing to go up to him sounding all modern and confident, asking if it was true he was into kink, and whether he’d be willing to try it with me. It was something entirely different to be ordering him to soak up the scent of my pussy when we’d never even kissed. Why hadn’t I kissed him first? He’d said he was open to things getting sexual, but what if this was way too sexual, way too fast?

I heard him breathing in, though. And then I heard him moan. Then I couldn’t resist. I shoved my panties off my hips, leaned back against the fire escape guard rail, and told him to start licking.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and his tongue felt as soft as the night.

“That’s right. Take your time. Don’t try to make me come. Just make me feel good.”

I looked at the sky. I couldn’t see much, but I could see Sirius. I fixed my gaze on it and zoned out, until the pleasure Ajay gave me made me feel like I could reach that star across the light years.

I wanted him to see it, too. Easing him away from my cunt, I told him to lie on his back and redid his handcuffs to hold his arms overhead. I brushed a promise of a kiss over his lips, then knelt over him, returning my pussy to his face. His tongue pointed toward the sky just as I tilted back to look. Wonder rushed through me—of body and cosmos. I shuddered from the power of it, and I let him build that into orgasm.

Catching my breath, I looked into Ajay’s eyes. It was all reflected there. But his gaze wasn’t on Sirius. It was on me.

Science of Anti-gravitational Sex--A Considered Opinion

by Daddy X

When I ponder the possibilities of sex in space, what often sparks my imagination is the potential for altered physical reactions within the absence of gravity. How would the science differ from that of a hot fuck on earth?

Can we even imagine not being able to depend on a major force we’ve spent a lifetime taking for granted? A factor that’s been an unavoidable constant in virtually every aspect of our lives. 

Just as heavenly bodies are affected by proximity of another mass, would there be similar gravitational attraction between two corporeal bodies (of the human persuasion) if we didn’t have to deal with an overwhelming force of pull in one single direction?

If not, what would happen if two people (one of them me) thusly attracted, were fucking in the center of a room without gravity? Not the center of the floor of the room, mind you, but the center of the volume of the room. With nothing to ground us but a reciprocity of equal and opposite reactive physical clenches, combined with predictable mathematical angular bounces off walls. Picture the old ‘Pong’ Machines.

Relying solely on a partner’s mass, would there exist even the possibility of entry into one another’s private orifices, without using deeply personal handholds or a wall (or ceiling or floor, not that there’d be much distinction in zero gravity) for a solid base to push against for leverage? Would any squirming force of effort not be effective by reason that any abandoned insertion in a dedicated area toward any (unwarmed-up) orifice turn against itself in that same equal balance of opposite reaction? Would both get pushed away? By simple laws of physics, they would.

 Unless we held on to each other—really tight. And pulled. Yum.

Physical restraints would become mandatory in ensuring our object of affection can’t glide away. Hopefully there’ll be ductwork (or hooks, straps, rings and buckles) where someone could be fastened in a compromised position. Let your imagination be your guide.

Of course, penetration wouldn’t be the be-all-end-all to sex. There’d also be the random contact of levitating thighs, cunt, tits and ass (against my cock) slipping and sliding satiny soft friction slurping, sucking, slapping, hovering, hair-pulling, twisting, turning over and over, spread-eagled wet apex of the central spot between her dripping thighs leaking viscous juices. Something to think about.

And not to mention mutually magnetic effects of lips and mouths, pressing together, lapping slippery tongues drawn over and over, round and round needy genitals, joining to grab hold of something akin to a semblance of trust in our efforts, without the advantage of a solid foundation.

Probing tongue tips, whether arrowhead stiff and pointed, or wide soft and flattened, slip between pulsing quim lips and quivering buttocks, while her pliable slick long uvula folds over to allow for the ingress of the head of my cock. Forced deep cock in various holes, grappling, heaving, squeezing, eventually lodged somewhere beyond the hard ring of her cervix, desperately pulling against one another, fastened within a partner’s most private hidden depths to hold purchase where we’d otherwise expect firm footing.

Ahem… I digress… I’ll have to leave this blogpost… for the nonce.

Musical interlude:

La la. La lala la laaaah la la…

Okay, back again. I’m okay now!

But then again, would the spectral slow motion floating visuals, provocative in themselves, transport us to yet higher levels of stimulation? Would a gorgeous woman with long hair feature an enchanting floating framed nimbus of streaming auburn around her? Would a sharp, quick strike with a riding crop leave a similar welt on an unsuspecting ass cheek, leaving it twitching and twisting outside gravitational influences (trying to avoid the lash) as it would on earth?  Would that sudden strike on her smooth, round assets set in motion the same quiver as a similar harmonic convergence upon the instant of impact, considering how muscle and fat may ripple outward without benefit of gravity? Would  flogged tits wiggle, flop or recoil differently around a heaving chest? Would nipples grasped between thumb and forefinger and twisted three hundred sixty degrees snap back into place as quickly when released? Would the lack of pressure lessen or increase the inflamed, blotchy effect produced with a cat ’o nine tails on a flawless belly?

Liquids, there will be liquids. Would thick droplets of escaped male and female essences float around us in little beads? Like rain without purpose? Would that violently spanked sphincter, cock, scrotum or clit, subjected to strikes of impact, shake, shimmy or twitch in the same predictable patterns without the grounding effects of a gravitational base or pressurized compartment?  Would the pain and shock of such blows feel more or less intense?

Of course, all this science would be all the more comprehensive if we had more women in the program. Like fifty more. Yessss… Let ‘em all in. Along with me and that first girl.

Hot, oversexed women of every color, race, size and shape would certainly bring a sense of vivid, varied carnality to the study. Crowd ‘em all into that same fucking weightless fuck room.  You could have some fully dressed, some simply floating around in ragged underwear, (or leotard tights with desperate holes chewed away at the nipples, cunt and ass.) Others naked as the day they were born.

And maybe just one buxom blonde in pigtails wearing a light, breezy, sleeveless yellow and white checked sundress. Without underwear. But a tightly cinched waist. And Dutch wooden shoes. She would eschew restraints, floating without direction around the enclosed space, frock drifting flittingly free from her body, desperately opening and closing her legs while her pussy, trying to direct her magnetism towards me, (and tug mine towards her) beckons, voracious labia swollen, pink wet and inviting. Perhaps a breast with a crimson nipple slips out from under her top in its weightless meanderings.

Then she could lift her dress up high, make suggestive eyes to me and, with her back to a wall, spread her legs.  And all the other girls would clear a tunnel with their bodies through the center of the room, to make way for me who is now squatted against the opposite wall, preparing myself  as I guage my target.

And I would spring from that crouch to propel myself forehead first, hoping to calculate the correct force of trajectory to float across the room to her, relying only on gravitational attraction of the combined mass of two living bodies (while the remaining girls would applaud, rub my dick as they watched me drift by in slow motion and arrange their vaginas within sniffing distance) hopefully to land in the center of the blonde’s oozing cunt. And that, scientifically speaking, if only to experience whether or not I would bounce erringly off her belly or ass or inside thigh or successfully (splat) stick my floating face to her suction-cup wetness where she would hold me slurped into her fragrant cunt. If not taken away from her immersive aromatherapy, I could die.

Unless, that is, some of the more selfish girls wanted some cock for themselves. Wheeeee! They’d see this as a ‘now or never’ situation, (me being the only guy) and save me from a freak death from vaginal drowning,

All strictly research, of course.

Ummm… I’m thinking that’s enough science for today.

You’re welcome.

Feeling Blue: Trans-Dimensional Sex

Sacchi Green

This isn’t precisely a story of sex in space, but close enough, I hope. It was published in a long-gone online magazine, and eventually I included it in A Ride to Remember from Lethe Press, a collection of my own work.

This excerpt is from the very end of the story, and a lot happens before that, so I'd better share some info so that you can, I hope, make sense of what you read.

 Blue is from an alternate dimension where voyeurs peer into our world as a form of entertainment, and scientists and the very rich can even visit and try out more or less human forms, but they have to totally renew and change those forms periodically. Blue isn’t rich, but she worked at the transfer portal and managed to sneak through.

Katje used to be a chemically-induced vampire, and a former whip artiste with an elegant kink salon in New York, but she’s left that life behind. Mostly. Blue wants to try out that milieu, too, but gets into trouble, so Katje takes her away to hide at a lakeside cabin in her home state of Minnesota.

Here’s the end of the story, but not necessarily the end of their story.

Feeling Blue

Sacchi Green  

Blue wanted to be surprised. Once safe at the cabin I knew I'd better do it soon. She was due to transform any day now, and she'd been poring over an illustrated edition of Longfellow’s Hiawatha she’d found there. I didn't know how to explain why I could cheerfully take a whip to the pert white rump of her little pseudo-Transylvanian imp form, but might not feel like doing it to Minnehaha.

The afterglow of sunset still burnished the lake. Moths beat against the screened porch in their frenzy to reach our lamp, and I flicked the tip of the lash at them like a fly-fishing line. Blue looked up from the glider.

"Oh! Is time now?" Her voice was startled but her look was eager. I grasped her slender wrists and yanked her upright.

"Now. Turn around. On your knees." I shoved her back onto the seat till her breasts pressed into the cushioned back.

She grinned as I bound her wrists to the metal frame with bandanas, but she kept silent. "Begging is part of the process," I said. "It won't make me stop. But if you really want me to stop say...say 'Gitchigumee.' That's your safeword. Got it?"

She nodded, pulled herself higher, and waggled her butt at me. I grabbed the waistband of her shorts and yanked hard. She cried out just a little, and then her smooth white curves were naked and vulnerable and eager.

It was easier than I'd thought to get past memories of Selene's "salon." There was a moment of yearning to see Blue's pearlsheen flesh repeated in that baroque array of mirrors, but then the present shut out all else.

I let the slender tip of the lash whisper across her cheeks, slip into the tight crack, curl lightly around a thigh. Then I increased my force, still more kiss than bite, and increased again until she gave a little whimper, thrusting herself out even more and rubbing her nipples against the cushions.

I made the whip crack in the air. Its impact was still only enough to heat, not cut. Then gradually the force and pace of my strokes mounted, and she tugged against the wrist bonds and squirmed and moaned but didn't shrink away. The glider creaked with her spasmodic jerks and her moonpale skin became latticed with streaks of sunset red.

Words mingled with her gasps. "Please, Katje, please, don't stop...don't stop...but my hands, let me, let me please, I need to touch...don't stop, but I have to..."

"Quiet! I'll let you know what you have to do!" I slowed a little, to draw it out, and she twisted and jerked in a futile attempt to press her crotch against the swing back while still keeping her butt extended.

At last, when she began to sob in frustration, I held the whip stock tight against her buttocks and loosed one hand. She rose and fell then, rubbing engorged breasts against the cushion, thrusting her free hand against her clit and moaning incoherently as I worked a hand over her hot crimson flesh and kneaded it forcefully.

She thrashed and writhed and dug her fangs into the cushion; tears seeped through her tight-shut eyelids but I knew she couldn't bear for me to stop now. Just as orgasm at last tore a muffled scream from her throat, her teeth tore a large chunk from the glider cushion.

She was spluttering and gasping and even giggling a bit when I untied the other hand and sank onto the seat with her body across my lap. I feather-stroked her poor throbbing ass and kissed it again and again. A few bright beads of blood glistened where the whip had cut too deep. I must be out of practice--or maybe I had been too swept up in her sensual storm. The old hunger quivered in my gut, but I had long ago mastered the compulsion, sweated out all but an insignificant vestige of Selene's poison. When I licked up the crimson droplets it was with love and tenderness, scarcely rougher than a mother cat's caress of a wounded kitten.

Finally Blue slid to her knees and grinned shakily up at me. "Wow! Katje, Katje, what can I do for you so fucking wild? Quick, before the change? Don't want to change, this body is still so full of feeling, but I can only wait a little bit."

I knew what I wanted, wanted so much I shook with it. "Blue, I want to feel you, not the bodies you make, but you! I saw your light-form that first night in the subway. I've seen the flickers under the door while you're changing. That's what I want, to be inside all that, to feel it inside me! Isn't there sex where you come from? How can I feel you like that?"

She frowned. "Not sex, like here, no. Is a kind of joining, very special, but then both become just one--and with bodies is much more fun to stay two!" Her face relaxed into a grin. I tried to smile back, but she could see the intensity of my longing.

"Oh, Katje, I don't know! I've never done it, is so rare, so special; and when one is in body-form and one is not... I might hurt you, very much!"

"If you could just let me see you! And then try, very gently, to come close. Please, Blue, I want it so much, even if it hurts..."

She brushed her fingers over my face with exquisite lightness. Her black eyes gleamed in her pale face. "I want it, too. I will try. You must wait, and when is time, I will come to you. I promise." She stretched up to kiss my lips and then slipped away into the dark interior of the cabin.

I went down the path to the lake. The night sounds of the woods and the water couldn't soothe me now. Even the serenity of the full moon was intoxicating, and the silver light licking the rippled surface of the water sent waves of longing through my body.

It might be hours yet. I wished I had asked how long, wished I had some sense of how long it had been already. I willed the moon-glazed wavelets to hypnotize me, and time passed.

I felt her coming, a current in the air, a tingling. I turned and saw the blue light flickering through the trees, and waited, trembling, as awestruck as any peasant wench dazzled by the unearthly glow of Faery.

But she was real, and my own Blue, however unearthly. As she drew closer her intricate bands of light danced and flowed into shape after beautiful shape, resolving, when she stopped before me, into discernible arms and legs and face and even a hint of that smile.

Her hum of energy vibrated in my rushing blood. She lightly touched my hands; my arms jerked, then steadied as I willed myself to stillness, to acceptance.

It was far beyond tingling, barely short of shock. Blue's light flickered across my skin, pulsed in waves from her touch, close to pain, closer to ecstasy. As soon as I could stand that much I felt a desperate need for more, and leaned toward her, into her embrace, into her whole being.
Light seized me. Energy poured directly into my consciousness. My body was consumed in fire, blown away in glowing wisps of ash--too much, too much to bear...

Blue shifted subtly. I felt my body once again, and its unabated hunger. Then her energy focused, pulsed into me, flooding the deep, hungry places she knew so well, probing and demanding until my flesh vibrated at last to her frequency and the resonance tore through me like a trumpet blast.
...
                           
"Katje?" Her face was high-cheeked, brown, with a coppery glow. Long black braids brushed my throat as she bent over me. She had far surpassed the Maxfield Parrish illustrations. "Katje, you are all right?"

"I think so..." I had no idea how I'd gotten into the cabin, into bed.

"Katje, I must tell you, I think...I think they have been watching us. But they do not make me go! Last night, as I came to you, I felt them, felt them start to take me, then pull back. I think maybe they like to watch!"

I smiled up at her, relieved to find any part of my body still functional. I ached with the afterglow of pain and ecstasy, and the certainty that there could be still more to feeling Blue, if only I had the chance to train myself to bear it.

"So you can stay as long as we don't let them get bored?" She nodded, the little blue wheels sparking deep in her eyes. My own wheels were spinning with the possibilities. In her present form certain games came to mind, things to try on horseback, or in a canoe. And when it came time to change, the possibilities were infinite, and infinitely intriguing.

The blue fire had burned the last of Selene's archaic poisons from my blood, and soul. Now we were free to create our own mythos. With my experience and Blue's imagination, it was a challenge we couldn't refuse.

Classic Giselle #Queer #Erotica #Gratitude

by Giselle Renarde

At one point in my teens, I told my family I wanted to be an actress.  My grandma was dead set against it. She was concerned I'd be "taken advantage of." And you know what?  She was probably right.

Strangely enough, when I decided to make a career out of writing erotica in 2006, my grandma was the only person in my life who actually supported me. By then I guess I was damaged goods anyway, so it didn't much matter if I wrote about sex all day.

My grandmother's been in hospital for the past couple weeks. When she was admitted, delirious and dealing with multiple infections, I was pretty sure the hospital was her last stop. But that's just me. I see death at every turn. My grandmother is 86, after all. My girlfriend's father died a couple days ago, so death seems to be looming.

For the past year or so, I've had this idea bouncing around my brain: an anthology of "Classic Giselle" erotica--stories I wrote at the very start of my career--that would somehow honour my grandma, since she always believed in me.

With my grandma in hospital, the time is nigh.  I've put together a collection of ten stories I wrote way back when, and that collection is called Classic Giselle: Queer and Quirky Erotica.

Thing is, I've also been reflecting on how much I appreciate my readers.  With Valentine's Day coming up, I figured this book would make a nice thank you gift.  So, from now until February 14 2018, the ebook is absolutely free at stores like Kobo, iTunes, Smashwords and eXcitica.

After Valentine's Day, Classic Giselle will cost money. But, in honour of my grandmother, I'll be donating all the royalties I earn from Classic Giselle throughout 2018 to the Canadian National Institute for the Blind (CNIB).

When my grandma's vision began to decrease due to macular degeneration, the CNIB was there for her every step of the way. And when I say they were there, I mean RIGHT THERE. In her house. People came in to teach her how to adapt to her changing vision.

My grandmother is now legally blind. She's always been a gadget geek, and the CNIB introduced her to accessibility technologies that have proven invaluable in navigating the world. And even tricks like how to pour yourself a glass of water when you can't see the water. Or the glass. They've done so much for her, and this is my way of acknowledging their help and care.

Classic Giselle is a double-whammy thank you. No, I'm wrong. It's a triple threat thank you. It's a thank you to readers for actually, you know, reading my words. It's a thank you to my grandma for believing in me. And it's a thank you to the CNIB for helping my grandma over the years.

It's been an exhausting couple weeks, but I'm so pleased to be able to give you this book of strange and silly stories.  Free until Valentine's Day from the following ebook stores:

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/ca/en/ebook/classic-giselle-queer-and-quirky-erotica
iTunes: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/id1342513914
Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/786590?ref=GiselleRenardeErotica
Excitica: https://www.excitica.com/index.php/classic-giselle-queer-and-quirky-erotica.html