Monday, June 20, 2016

I Serve You, Only You - Part Two

The Help: 
Short Story – 
Part Two
Read Part One Here

Check out the rest of this nasty woman’s story, as well as my other story “When There Are No Words,” in this defiant anthology that celebrates diversity and equality in the face of our uncertain future. There is power in art and expression; it's why freedom of speech is such an important right in our country. People may not think that kind of power extends to genres like romance, erotica, and porn, but it does.

These are the genres that tells us about humanity's wants and desires more than any other. These are the places where we explore and push our taboos.

Where we dare to be more—and less—than we normally are. Where things like identity, power, and structure are fluid and malleable. This, more than most, is a space were we are invited to play.

These stories are so often expressions of rebellion. Rebel with us.

From suffrage to sin and everything in between! This collection of erotic fiction will stir more than one type of passion. All proceeds from the sale of this special anthology and subsequent releases in the line will benefit Move On

TABLE of CONTENTS: Introduction (Alessia Brio) Moving On (Kally Jo Surbeck) When There Are No Words (Sonni de Soto) The Help (Sonni de Soto) Hypocrites (Alyssa Turner) Kayla's Birthday Present (Ashlyn Chase) The Stoning (Michael Swanson) Checklist (B.K. Bilicki) Divided We Fall (Lisabet Sarai) For Their Own Good (Lola White) We Desire Many Things (Skilja Peregrinarius) The Aisle of Lesbos (Allison Wonderland) A Healthy Passion (Mary Winter) Passion's Pull (Corbin A Grace)


Please check out my novel Show Me, Sir from Sinful Press that celebrates feminist kink!

Please check out my story in The New Smut Project's anthology and see how consent makes everything sexier!
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I Serve You, Only You - Part One

The Help: 
Short Story – 
Part One

Reena Lathan shifted on her kneeling pillow and reached for her bottle of oil. She hadn’t been massaging Lyle Martin’s pale feet for very long but his dry skin, the color of library book pages against her cedar-shaded skin, soaked up her oil fast.

“This is the life.” The man in his late fifties sighed as he leaned back. He arched into his wife’s touch while Bethany Martin massaged his shoulders. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Roger Barnes and his partner Tammi Fletcher lounged on the club’s floor next to them. “Well, I’ll just have to see, when it’s my turn.”

“This is so good, I may not give it up!” Lyle laughed before looking down at Reena. “Isn’t that right, mi belleza?”

My beauty.

Reena bowed her head and continued to massage his foot. It was always strange to hear other people speak Spanish to her. Not fluent, she really only spoke it—haltingly but earnestly—with her grandmother and sometimes her mom and aunt. She didn’t even speak it with her dad who, though a white American, was fluent. Because why, when English came easier to both of them? Spanish wasn’t Reena’s language; it was her grandmother’s. Her mother’s.

She shook her head a bit. It felt odd and like too much effort to communicate with someone in it without that familial connection. 

So she said nothing.

Reena looked up, when she felt a hand on her shoulder, at Elin Hwa’s stunningly scolding eyes. The gorgeous Korean woman turned her head to look pointedly down at the rag on the floor and the bottle now lying on its side by Lyle’s feet. “Clean up your station, please.”

Reena felt her cheeks flush and her thighs clench tight at the censure in her partner’s—her Dominant’s—voice. She nodded quickly and let go of Lyle’s feet to reach for the errant rag and bottle, righting them by her own side. “I’m so sorry.”

Elin tsked. “There are rules.” She crossed her arms over her chest, the neon dungeon moderator sash that slashed across her blazer looking stern. “And you broke one.” But then Reena saw her smile slightly, just a barely noticeable curl of her lips, before her dark eyes heated. “What am I going to do with you?”

Whatever she wanted.

Reena bowed her head in acknowledged submission.

“Give me your shirt.”

Reena’s head popped up, her eyes wide with shock. Elin knew that it was hard for Reena to be naked in front of other people. That the vulnerability of it made her feel embarrassed.

And fiercely turned her on.

Her belly tightened when Elin extended her hand out expectantly, the gesture filled with grace and authority. Reena took a deep breath and reached for the hem of her shirt.

Elin smiled and nodded, visibly pleased at the sight of Reena in her pretty, violet bra. “Good.” She tucked Reena’s shirt into her sash. “Good.” Elin bent over at the waist to lift Reena’s face, giving the woman on her knees a glimpse of her own cleavage peeking out from between the lapels of her suit coat. She stroked Reena’s cheek sweetly. “For that...”

Reena felt her breath catch as Elin lifted her leg, letting her slim, sleek, stockinged foot slip out of her sensible loafer. Reena swallowed hard and watched the sure, fluid bend of Elin’s knee, the flex and flick of her ankle, and the pointed stretch of her toes as Elin held her foot out for her. 

Reena, still uncomfortable with her own foot fetish, peeked up at her Domme, feeling her raw desires laid out bare in front of everyone. 

She wanted to look around, to meet the focused gazes she could feel on her back. 

But she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the beautifully curved arch in front of her.

“Go ahead.”

Reena closed her eyes, the temptation in her partner’s voice too much to resist. So, knowing what Elin wanted, knowing what she herself wanted, she cupped her heel in her hand, feeling the grounded comfort of it. She pressed her face into the sole and breathed deep, taking in the earthy scent of skin and sweat and Elin. Pursing her lips, she kissed the heart of her high arch.

“That’s enough.”

Reena wanted to argue. How could such a simple touch be enough? 

But instead she sat back on her haunches and let Elin pull her foot back. 

With a longing sigh, she watched it disappear into its shoe again.

“I’ll come back to check on you.”

Reena bowed her head shyly, only to blush when she heard a low whistle while Elin walked away. She turned back to Lyle and Bethany, who looked at her with knowing looks. 

Without Elin, without her confidence and surety, Reena suddenly felt acutely exposed. Her arms instinctively crossed over her bared midriff. 

“Didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” Lyle arched an eyebrow at her.

Reena shook her head and reached for her oil bottle again, uncapping it to pour the cool liquid into her palm. “It’s not your fault.”

“Still,” Lyle said, when she began to massage his feet again, “I feel like we ought to do something.” He grabbed his wife’s hand and pulled her out from behind him. “I know! Bethany and Tammi, you should both take off your tops.”

Tammi snorted. “What?”

“Sure,” Roger agreed with a wink. “In sub solidarity.”

Tammi rolled her eyes, but Bethany shrugged. “Sure, why not?”

Reena felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment and her shoulders tense as the woman whipped off her top, baring her full, heavy breasts. She daringly tossed the discarded shirt at her friend, who laughed before stripping off her own top too.

“That’s more like it.” Roger reached around Tammi to play with her rosy nipples while he openly stared at Bethany, who preened, and Reena, who tried to concentrate on Lyle’s feet as much as possible.

“Yes,” agreed Lyle, before he leaned down to face Reena, “but looks like your station is messy again.” He tsked and looked at the crumpled bits of cloth on the floor. He grinned up at Roger again. “She should go clean it up, don’t you think?”

Roger smirked and leaned back, pulling his half-naked partner onto his lap. “Oh, absolutely.” He chuckled low. “There are rules, after all.”

Lyle tucked his foot under Reena’s chin, trailing his oil-slicked toe along the underside of her face. She held her breath as she met his gaze, hard and hot. “Pick up the tops, fold them, and bring them to me.”

Reena turned her head, feeling the slight sting of his nail scrape her skin. She stared at the shirts between her and Roger and Tammi.

She didn’t want to do it. It wasn’t her job. 

Was it? 

True, it was her job to keep her area clean and clear, so people didn’t trip over her things. 

But this wasn’t her mess. It was in her space, but it didn’t feel like hers. They’d taken off their tops. They’d thrown them around, leaving them like rags on the floor.

“Go on.”

But it was still her station. And, on her knees at the feet of this man, this Dom, it felt wrong to ignore or deny him. She felt her naturally submissive nature bend as he shifted a bit in the chair, leaning forward expectantly.

So she stiffened but obediently shifted her body, reaching for the clothes. She shook them out, feeling the women’s body heat and smelling their scent left in the weave.

With swift, efficient moves, she folded the fabric and held it out to Lyle.



“Good girl.” He licked his lips and set the clothes on the floor. “For that...” he said, wiggling his foot at her.

As if he knew her.

Shocked, Reena’s spine snapped straight and her neck arched away. 

She wondered what he thought he knew. 

Frowning, she stared at his foot. Thin, papery skin covered bony ridges. Oil matted patches of hair sprinkled straggly over his skin.

Her brow furrowed as she listened to the smirk in his voice. “I saw the way you looked at the DM’s foot—how you touched it.” His foot bobbed in front of her. “You can’t tell me you don’t want to.”

Her jaw clenched. He was right. She couldn’t say it. Try as she might, a self-conscious rein choked the words from her throat. She could never say the scalding thoughts boiling at the back of her mouth; she was too nice—too polite, too shy, too spineless—to do something like that.

She wished she could find a way to give voice to the knot twisting in her belly.

Instead, she bit her lip and backed up a bit. “I think you’re…” She swallowed awkwardly and shook her head. “I mean, your session is done.”

“Are you sure?” Lyle arched an eyebrow at her.

“She doesn’t sound very sure,” Roger added.

Reena turned to him. “If you’d like to be next…” She gestured to the seat his friend was currently in.

Roger smiled leaned back with Tammi tucked indulgently against him. “I can wait.”

“There you go,” Lyle said, his foot still thrust out between them. “He’s waiting.”

She frowned and heard Bethany sigh. “Just do it. He won’t let it go, until you do.”

Tammi snorted. “She ought to know.”

“Just a little kiss, mi belleza.” His knee straightened and his toes flexed, coming closer without him moving from the chair. “Just do it.”

Reena reflexively jerked back so far and so fast she had to catch herself on the floor. Her hand bumped the still open oil bottle, causing it to spill. She jumped, shocked, when fragrant oil pooled around her pillow and the clothes left folded at their feet.

Tammi and Bethany began to yell. For her to save the shirts. For her to clean up her mess.

But she just watched from her knees as Lyle stood up to snatch up the shirts and his leather shoes that now dripped with citrus-smelling liquid. Reena gripped the pillow protectively in front of her as anger flushed his cheeks.

“What’s going on here?”

Reena turned and saw Elin. 

Though short and not particularly muscular, the Korean woman knew how to take charge of a situation. She held her brilliant DM sash fisted in one hand and Reena’s shirt in the other before crossing her arms over her chest. Her beautiful eyes were narrowed and her face, usually round and soft, was set in an uncompromising expression.


“She knocked over her damned oil, soaking all our stuff,” Lyle said, his voice quiet but clipped in livid tones. “We were just telling her to clean it up.”

Elin’s eyes flitted over the scene, swiftly assessing the situation. 

She met Lyle’s gaze again. “I’m sorry your things were ruined.” She turned her head. “There’s a bathroom that way, if you’d like to see if you can wash it out.” When he opened his mouth to argue, she held up her hand and cut him off. “If it can’t be salvaged, send a bill to Donovan’s and we’ll work something out. But you do not get to yell at or order around anyone here without their consent.” 

Elin stepped forward to stand over Reena, so close Reena could feel the heat and strength of her Domme’s legs against her back. “She may be a club volunteer, but she’s not the help. It’s not your place to tell her to do anything.”

“But you did.”
Read Part Two Here

Thursday, June 9, 2016

Community Throws Tantrum Over Age Play Store

So a store, Tykables, that caters to age play, complete with items for sale and a nursery space, is being discriminated against by its neighborhood.

Okay, I get it, it's not your thing. You don't get why people want to do this. Fine.

But they weren't hurting anyone. They weren't shoving it in your face. They were doing their best to both exist and still be as polite and considerate to the community as possible.

You're the ones making this into a big deal. You're the ones inserting yourselves into spaces not meant for you. You're the ones being inappropriate and out of line by saying ignorantly hateful things like "this doesn't belong near schools and homes" when the business they conduct there has nothing to do with schools or homes and doesn't demonstrably harm either by simply being in their proximity. You're the ones shining a light on a business that was doing its best to not be obtrusive.

I hope it serves as free advertisement for them.

Because, legally, they aren't doing anything wrong. Your fearful hate is not actually a legitimate case for shutting them down.

You may not like it. It's not your thing. That's fine. Then butt out. No one is making you go into the store. No one is making you participate. No one is making you watch. No one is making you do anything but share the world with others who have just as much right to exist as you.

So be as unhappy with the unfairness of being asked to be a tolerant, non-prejudice person of the world as you like but, while you pout over the injustice of it all, here's a suggestion: Why not mind your own business and leave this business alone?

Thursday, June 2, 2016

Ask, Don't Assume

BDSM 101: Common Misconceptions Of Those Who Visit Tumblr's BDSM Community

A pretty good list of how to navigate this subculture, but it’s also important to note that not everyone in the BDSM community are Dom(me)s or subs, so these rules may not apply to most of the people you meet within the culture. Never assume that anyone you meet is anything. There is no definitive visual clue for Dom(me)s, subs, bottoms, tops, switches, etc. If you want to know how a person identifies, ask.

But, yes, erring on the side of respect in any case is always a good idea and, no matter how you identify in kinkland, consent is king. If you want to know something, ask in a way that comes from a place of respect and humility.

Want to know if the person you see across the room would like to play? Go introduce yourself to them. As one person meeting another person. You are not in-scene yet. Nothing has been negotiated. You do not know this person. They do not know you. No one wants to play with someone they don’t know. So get to know them. Let them get to know you. As one person meeting another person.

Then, if the connection is going well, sure, ask what they’re into and what they’re looking for in terms of play and play partners. Don’t assume they came to a party to play. Don’t assume that they have to, want to, or will play with you. Don’t assume that what you’re interested in is what they’re interested in. It’s called “negotiation” for a reason.

And accept the answer you’re given. Whatever it is. Because the best way to turn an initial “no” into permanent “never” is to be pushy or pouty about it. As a bottom, I have eventually played with people whom I’ve turned down before for one reason or another–maybe I wasn’t in the mood to play that day or wanted to get to know them better–but I have NEVER played with someone who took my “no” badly. Who acted as if they were entitled to a “yes.” And, while I don’t think of myself as particularly gossipy, you’ll find that subs and bottoms talk to each other. If you get a reputation for pushing past people’s consent, even in low-stakes cases like that, there’s a good chance we’ll all know. And we won’t want to play with you.

Treat people like people, not potential playthings, and your partners–even and especially your potential partners–like partners. 

We're a Subculture, Not a Sideshow

To be fair, I haven't seen Channel 4's documentary "Secret Life of the Human Pups" and likely will never see it. But the issue many kinksters--particularly those in the puppy play subset--take with stories and "documentaries" like these are that they take outliers and shine a light on them and parade them about like the norm for the entertainment of people outside of the community.

This isn't about information or education; this is entertainment.

This is vanilla people pointing at kinksters and saying "Oh, aren't they weird."

Even if it has a sympathetic slant, that doesn't change much, when the documentary isn't about the majority of those who enjoy the fetish, but rather cherrypicks a very small percentage of those fetishists who the filmmakers think will drum up the most controversy and get the most views.

Don’t get me wrong, there is a large part of the community who enjoy dressing up and there is nothing wrong with that or how anyone, including those in the documentary, consensually choose to engage in their kink. Lord knows, there's a market for these kinds of outfits. But treating the kink, or any kink, like there is one, singular standard to practice it--as if everyone engaged in it dresses up or does it 24/7--is ridiculous and erroneous. 

That would be like kinksters saying that all vanilla people only have boring, unsatisfying missionary sex in the dark with most of their clothes on because I totally heard of vanilla people who do; aren't those vanilla people weird?! It's not true, it's clearly and logically not true and a quick google search would prove to anyone who actually believed that that it wasn't true. Could vanilla people please start doing us the same courtesy we do to them and not make ridiculous, illogical assumptions about a rich and diverse group of people just because it's more fun to do so?

And, while I get the urge to kink-shame vanilla people right back, that doesn’t solve the larger issue: the fact that so much of the public perception of kink, from news to porn, is being shaped by vanilla people who care more about titillation than truth. Just like any other minority group, we deserve the dignity to define ourselves. To have our authentic voices elevated over the noise of opinion and gossip.

If they really wanted to authentically explore the puppy community in kinkland, then they should have hired someone with firm standing in the community to work on the project with them to ensure accuracy and fairness. But too many filmmakers and creators don't. Because they'd rather treat us like the sideshow they want us to be, rather than the community of people we are.