Thursday, January 30, 2014


Angel's neural-port itched. It was a synaptic artifact, for nothing within the skull could have a sensation like itching, but that didn't change the sensation. The cyborg did her best to ignore it as she concentrated upon the task at hand. As she tweaked the input to the audio unit, the steady thrum of the system's 'heartbeat' quickened.  Angel looked over at the readout and noted that the bio-isometrics of the system were elevated.

"What is this, Iolaus?" she said, running a hand over the console. The neural interface responded to the signal from the system and Angel could feel the information roll through her brain. Positive aspecting was what the engineers called it, the psychologists and physiologists called it information induced psychosis.  Angel didn't care about the technical name of it or the mechanism that it worked through. Due to the neural interface, her brain interpreted the ship's transmission as a humanoid male standing at her side where there wasn't one physically.

Angel looked to her right, where she felt his presence. Iolaus, first of the fleet and highest ranking of the warrior class ships, looked to her as a tall, thin man with vivid red hair. His eyes were not the natural green that Angel saw in her human crew, but rather the glowing artificial color of the digital readout. Those eyes regarded her calmly as a small smile played on the sentient machine's face. "Am I not to feel pleasure, Captain?" he asked in that perfect tenor voice.

Angel snorted and turned her attention back to adjusting the signal coming from the modifier. Iolaus moved closer to her. "This is not going to boost the signal," he said, "I can not obtain more data when the probe has gone beyond the limits of my capacity." Angel frowned at the console before her, trying not to think about the way Iolaus was looking at her. "You are displeased," he said, his voice falling slightly in apparent dismay.

"We need to know what is going on beyond that event horizon. Doctor McMurphy said that the entangled system on board the probe was such that it would still send out a signal even after it crossed the damn thing," she muttered. Iolaus crossed his arms and tipped his head slightly to the right. Angel could see his expression go still as he did some sort of calculations.

"Factoring the trajectory of the probe, we have at minimum a fifteen thousand to one ratio of success, Captain," he said. Angel turned, gritting her teeth. Her cybernetic arm twitched as she considered screaming at him that they needed to know if the black hole was going to destabilize or not before they could clear the sector. "I am aware that we must clear the sector, Captain," Iolaus continued, "Your displeasure and frustration is not at the fact that Doctor McMurphy's device is not functioning as planned. Your cortisol levels are rising as are your epinephrine levels. This is not the first time that you have had this response to me."

Angel realized that she couldn't lie to the ship. The neural link allowed it to pick up on her thoughts even as it allowed her to receive information from him. Iolaus stepped up to inches away from her. His expression was cool and calculating. He was examining her. "You fear me," he said after a long moment. Angel closed her eyes and turned her head to the left. "You are trying to will me into silence," he continued in that terribly calm tone.

"Damn it, Iolaus," Angel snapped, "I can't afford the distraction. Most captains are not dealing with their ships like this." Iolaus did a very un-Iolaus thing. He laughed. Angel's eyes snapped open and she looked over in shock. Sentient ships as a general rule didn't have a sense of humor. They were more like tightly leashed psychopaths. While some systems imitated emotion, most didn't bother with it. Humor was in the same category as empathy, nigh on impossible to program into a system so the developers didn't bother.

"Captain," Iolaus said, "I am not like other ships. You know this. I have the mental core comprised of the data from a man's mind." Angel shook her head slowly. "You knew I was a prototype when you agreed to take command," he continued, "Just as you, yourself, are the first generation of your class. You also know that as prototypes, we are expected to be anomalous." Angel sighed. Iolaus, aware of her discomfort made a subtle adjustment to the data flow.

Angel's eyes widened as the sensation of a hand on her shoulder rolled through her. She looked at her left shoulder and saw no hand there as Iolaus looked at her with what seemed to be a compassionate face. "How did you do that?" she asked. Iolaus smiled.

"Memory," he answered, "There seems to be some errors in the process, however. I can not make it correlate with your visual information. We shall have to experiment to determine how effective this is." Angel looked at Iolaus in dumbfounded amazement. "The man in the machine," Iolaus explained, "is enamored with the woman who has a machine within her." Angel looked at Iolaus, not fully comprehending what he said.

Iolaus adjusted the data flow again, managing to synchronize the visual information with the tactile and Angel had the perception of him taking her into his arms. The embrace was not some faint flicker of sensation. Indeed, it felt like someone stronger then her had wrapped her up in their arms. Iolaus went still for a moment, processing information. "Non-essential tactical systems are offline now," he said, "This will allow me greater processing power. I can then monitor for a signal as I do this."

"Do what?" Angel asked.

Iolaus shifted the data flow again and Angel gasped. A blinding rush of pleasure rolled over her and she sank down through the image of Iolaus to her knees. It was as though every inch of her being was caressed at once. Things deep within her shuddered as she pressed a hand flat to the grated deck. Angel's eyes rolled and shook. Her hands slowly curled and flexed as the sensations of orgasm meshed with the eerie sense of having her entire body covered with kisses from a thousand mouths and touched by a thousand hands at the same time.

A low, strangled groan escaped her as she twitched and seemed to seize on the floor. Time seemed to stop and Angel felt as though her heart ceased to beat. All that existed was this drug rush of ecstasy that Iolaus sent through her. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Angel opened her eyes, shivering with the after effects of what he had done. The hallucination of Iolaus knelt down beside her. Angel looked up.

"Just a bit of foreplay," he said, humor bubbling in his words, "Was it good for you?" Angel sat up, uncertain if she could trust her legs to support herself. Iolaus went terribly still and Angel found herself filled with a mixture of dread and excitement as the prospect of experiencing what ever it was that he had just done. "We have a signal and there is someone come up to the flight deck. Bringing secondary tactical systems online. If I were you, I'd stand up, Captain," he said.

Angel had just gotten to her feet and was brushing dust off of her jump uniform when the doors to the flight deck hissed open. She tried to will her heart to a calm beat as Iolaus gave her a smile and then vanished. The neural port was itching again, but suddenly, Angel didn't mind it as much.

Friday, January 17, 2014

Lufiend et Lufestre

He grinned down at me, a lock of his dark hair falling into his chocolate brown eyes. My husband, the bold and faithful knight who had met each challenge I set before him, the most painfully handsome man I had ever laid eyes on, had managed to soundly defeat me in our bit of wrestling. As much as I hated to admit it, I wasn't really trying to win. Gunther wasn't above taking the advantages that I gave him.

Thus it happened that I was pinned to the mat and he was straddling my hips. It was a delightful place to be. His grin told me that the same thoughts were going through his head that were passing through mine. A captain scoffed at the doorway into the gymnasium. "You just gave that to him," the big man snorted, "Are you always going to roll over and give up when pressed, Sargent?"

Gunther's eyes flashed and smoldered. He didn't care what the captain had to say in that moment. He was more interested in the way my breath caught in my throat and how my eyes widened slightly as his amused grin subtly turned more wicked. "It seems that my lovely wife is short of breath, Sir," Gunther said, his tone rich with humor. The captain standing at the door thought about making some sort of comment and then shook his head with a noise of disgust.

"Thoughtful," I corrected him. The captain rolled his eyes so hard that I could just about hear it. "You don't approve?" I said mildly. This got another derisive snort. Gunther's eyes danced at the prospect of mischief and I gave him a warning look. He flashed the disgusted captain a quick look with an almost manic glint in his eye before he leaned down to attempt to kiss me.

I twisted in his arms and levered him off of me by brute force. As he slammed into the mat, his head struck hard enough that his teeth clacked together loudly. Our onlooker gave a sudden loud bray of laughter. "Women," he said between his loud, lusty laughs, "Always tricksy things, you are." He walked off, laughing.

Gunther's gaze, while suggestive, turned from mirthful and mischevious to watchful and still. My mouth went a bit dry as he rubbed his jaw with the back of his left hand. "Vicious little minx," he said, "Is that how we're going to do it?" I rolled my eyes. As much as I enjoyed the prospect of tumbling into his arms, I knew better then to do so in a public setting. I started to get to my feet when he suddenly kicked out.

I did my best to jump back out of the way but he caught my right ankle. I fell to the ground hard enough that the breath was knocked out of me. As he rolled up to his side and reached for me, I rolled away to my right. His hand met empty air and he laughed. It was a dark, sadistic little laugh that made things deep inside me quiver. "Come, Jordsdottir," he purred, watching me as I made my way to my feet, "give us a kiss."

"Oh no," I answered, "we're not playing that game." Gunther grinned and stood, moving with a panther's grace. He started to circle around me. I turned, keeping my gaze on him, waiting for him to move. Instead of feinting for me, as I had expected when he lifted his hands from his sides, he pulled off his shirt and threw it aside. The dark blue lines of the valknut over his heart seemed to be painted on with oil because of the sheen of sweat on his skin. Various scars from past battles and more then a few childhood adventures stood out like pale place markers over the sun bronzed plain of his chest.

Realizing that I was thinking more about the idea of tasting that drop of sweat running down his left pectoral then I was about being ready for him to launch himself at me, I caught the tell tale dip of his left shoulder a split second before he came for me. I twisted around on my heel, narrowly avoiding his grasping hand. As I sought to right myself, I was surprised a second time by his arm around my waist. Even as I thought to try to escape him, I found myself lifted off my feet and thrown to the ground.

Again, the air rushed out of my lungs. He dropped down over me, pinning my right arm to my chest with his knee. I swung at him with my off hand only to have my wrist mercilessly pushed back. The world went white as a blinding wash of pain rolled over me. The unexpectedness of it made me scream. I was dimly aware of my left wrist slamming into the mat as another shock of pain knifed up my arm as the lock got twisted.

His voice, low, primal, and hungry, cut through the haze of pain. "Do you yield?" he asked. I found myself torn between the raw lust that his voice evoked and frustration over the situation he had chosen to create. Deciding that not answering was the wisest course of action, I bared my teeth and snarled up at him. That wicked smirk which made me shiver inside answered my fiercest look as he drew the dagger he carried at his back.

He set the cold, razor sharp edge delicately against my throat as he released the pressure of the wrist lock. It was a deliberate act. There was no threat of harm there as much as his reasserting that he had defeated me. The choice to fight was mine to make but the stakes would be higher if I did. I looked up at him and my heart seemed to beat faster and harder then it had before. That amusement and promise of having my limits pushed seemed to make his gaze burn with intensity. I realized, if I didn't yield, the sadist in my life was going to make a point of using each and every tool at his disposal to push me to do so later. It was simply how the game went.

Considering that we were in a room with more then a few weapons at hand and that he had but recently reacquired his mystical control of flame's essence, I knew well enough that I'd have a harder time in this setting then I would in our bedroom. A part of me was curious as to what would come of trying myself in that setting just as another part of me warned that such games were for private. It was clear that Gunther didn't have quite the same sense of modesty that I did.

As he watched me argue with myself, his wicked smile became one of triumph. "Say it, Brynhildr," he said.

"Lufiend, I yield," I said, suddenly feeling as though I were utterly naked. So much more was behind that statement then mere surrender of a sparring match. In that moment, between him and I, the fact that I held higher rank then him didn't matter any more. I was surrendering control of the situation to him. I was surrendering authority over the next course of events between him and I.The sound of two hands clapping slowly caught our attention.

I was suddenly grateful that I wasn't facing the nameless person applauding Gunther's apparent victory. Gunther looked over, for a moment having all the seeming of a wild animal crouching over his kill. That still threat of danger passed away and sadistic delight returned. My eyes widened as sudden dread chilled me. Gunther usually kept this side of our relationship terribly quiet. While there had been a few rumors, our official stance of 'no comment' left those rumors be simply that.

"Lufestre," Gunther said in that honeyed tone which he used when telling me what torments and delights he had in mind, "Look who is here." I tried to master myself. I tried to keep the dread out of my expression and keep my appearance as banal as possible. Seeing the hooded form of he that had once lead our number standing in the doorway, I flushed deeply. I could feel the heat burning down my face and across my chest as he smiled.

Marion Saxon said nothing as he turned and walked away. I was too mortified by his very clear amusement with the situation. Of all to have caught me in a moment of surrender and submissiveness, he was the last I would have ever wished to witness it. Gunther smiled down at me. Suddenly, a terrible, terrible thought passed through my mind. "You knew he was there," I breathed.

"Just before I took off the shirt," he said, reaching back to slip the knife back into its sheath. My eyes widened and for a third time, I was breathless. "I won a wager," Gunther grinned. He took hold of my left hand and brought it to his lips. "All with your charming assistance," he purred. My eyes widened and he could feel my arm tense as I made ready to pull it back to strike him.

Fire that none could see poured down my arm. It at first felt cold and then it burned terribly. I gasped in shock. As that phantom heat spread across my chest, the stinging of the blush seemed to be nothing. It was as though a thousand lights burned beneath my skin. On one hand, it hurt terribly. At the same time, the hardness in his gaze and the breath of his mystic gifts sent a different, sweeter pain through me.

I threw my head back and I screamed. It was not the scream of shock or pain that came with bodily insult. It was of pure release as I was wrapped in invisible flame and pinned by the heat in his gaze even more surely then by his body. There were no words. Only pain and pleasure. And so, our dance had begun.

Deamon's Kiss (pt 3)

Astrid inwardly screamed in rage as the man before her ran his hand lightly over her cheek. She struggled against the urge to sigh in pleasure as that touch moved down past her ear to dance along the column of her throat. Her resistance to his magic manifested as a strangled groan. He gave a soft chuckle of amusement.

"Yes," he purred as he moved forward. Astrid leaned back as the one who had defeated her pressed her back on her heels. Slowly, they settled on the cold, hard ground as though it were a soft feather bed. His body, the body that had delighted her so much the night before, pressed her down to that terribly hard, frozen ground. The ice beneath her burned against her skin, but Astrid didn't feel it.

The heat of his magic and of his touch intensified as he lowered his mouth to hers. Astrid's body moved of its own will, her hands grasping at his clothes to pull him closer even as she arched up to meet him. Waves of pleasure rolled over her, pushing her deeper into her mind as he broke the kiss and nuzzled her throat. He bared his teeth and set them lightly against either side of her windpipe. Slowly, he closed them against the delicate flesh of her neck.

Panic flared up briefly and Astrid drew in a shuddering gasp. Her hands pressed against his chest as she, for a brief moment won control of her body. He took hold of her wrists and pinned them down to either side of her shoulders. He gave a low, feral growl and Astrid felt those teeth at her throat subtly change to something more pointed, almost canine.

Astrid was convinced that her 'husband' was about to tear her throat out but then the magic rolled over her and her body went from tense and ready to fight to soft and yielding. Those pointed teeth moved away from her throat and closed over where her neck met her shoulder. Though there was the rough fabric of her tunic between his teeth and her shoulder, Astrid could feel those ominous points pressing threateningly against her flesh.

She shuddered in pure arousal as they slowly pressed harder against her. The line between arousal and pain was crossed but Astrid was helpless to do anything about it. Inwardly, she screamed and did her best to force herself to bring her knee up into his groin. Instead, her thighs parted as a sensual moan escaped her. Again, he growled.

Astrid's body shuddered hard as his unnaturally sharp teeth broke the skin. It was as though she had an orgasm but there was no pleasure with it. His hands moved down her forearms and along the insides of her upper arms to where her ribs began. He dug his fingers into the sensitive flesh near her armpits and despite the sharp pain that lashed at her, she shuddered again.

Slowly, he dragged his nails down her sides. When he reached her waist, he began to gather handfuls of fabric and pull the tunic up. He leaned back, pulling her upright with a hand gripping the neck of her tunic and a hand gripping the bottom hem. He looked at her for a moment. While her face had the drugged look of pleasure that she had worn the night before when he had undressed her and covered her with tiny love bites, her eyes burned with rage and terror.

He smiled and pulled the knife he wore at his side free from its sheath. The metal was black as night and seemed to absorb the light as he brought it before her eyes. He let go of her and smiled as she fell back limply to the ground, striking her head hard. Where she normally would have cried out in pain and reached a hand up to touch where she hit her head, Astrid found herself giving a sensual noise and her body squirming with apparent pleasure. Her 'lover' brought his strange knife to the edge of her tunic.

The fabric parted easily with not even a whisper of sound. He opened the cut halves of her tunic like a book. Beneath where he had passed with his knife, a long, thin line was scored into her skin, even though he had not touched it. Carefully, he brought the tip of the knife down and Astrid screamed as bitter, burning cold poured down from that metal into where it rested against her flesh. The pain was so potent that it ripped through the spell and Astrid's body reacted.

She tried to shrink away from the metal against her skin but the unyielding ground did not let her. He smiled as she brought her arms up to try to push him away from her.  Over her right breast, he drew a thin line and Astrid's initial scream turned into a long keening wail of agony. She beat her fists against the cold, hard ground, disoriented by the pain. Slowly, he scored a series of other lines into her skin, drawing a sigil of some sort upon her.

Astrid had moved from rage to despair. Her body, in the grips of the spell, shuddered with successive climaxes even as the pain left her screaming in raw agony. His drawing complete, he set the knife aside and dipped his head. His tongue rasped over the intricate lines and pleasure rolled over her again. Astrid's screams dropped down into low, guttural moans as his mouth wandered over the region of her right breast.

Thursday, January 9, 2014

Erik & Sasha

Author's note: I'm not terribly pleased with how this came out. It is, however, the first vanilla scene that I've written that I didn't feel was utterly atrocious. Depending on how people like it, I may give writing a few more vanilla scenes a try.

He took a slow drag off of the cigarette and looked at the knives sitting out before him on the table in a tidy row. Some were long and wicked looking things as others were deceptively small. The sharpening stone sat beside the freshly cleaned and sharpened instruments of his trade. As Erik allowed himself a moment to admire his well honed tools, he heard the noise of his guest rolling over in his bed. The black man looked over and thought about the woman laying there.

She had been nothing if not greedy for his dick. A long night of vanilla sex left him pleasantly exhausted. It was the first time in weeks that he had slept a solid five hours. Erik wasn't sure if he'd get another round of fun with her. As he turned back to his knives, the woman in his bed muttered something indistinct into the pillows. Erik's work as a hatchet man wasn't glamorous like the movies made it. For some reason, however, Erik found himself in the position of having his boss's sister all hot and bothered over his work.

It started out innocently enough. A few drinks and some light flirting turned more physical when Sasha got into his car. It had been years since he sat in a car and made out with a girl. Erik found himself struggling with the urge to start stripping her clothes off as Sasha's hands went everywhere and some how knew all the right things to do.

When Sasha suggested that they go to his apartment, Erik was thinking more with his dick then his brain. They barely got in the apartment before Sasha started peeling off her clothes. Her coffee colored skin shone beautifully in the street lights that shone into his living room. Erik started to take off his shirt but Sasha didn't feel like waiting that long. He had gotten half way through unbuttoning the shirt when she hit her knees before him and unzipped his slacks.

Her mouth was so warm and inviting. Erik groaned in almost pained pleasure as she gave him what he was pretty sure was the best blow job he had gotten in his life. Just when he thought he couldn't stand it any longer, Sasha stopped with a wicked smirk. She stared up at him with that hungry look in her eye as she wiped a drop of saliva off her lips with the back of her right hand. All thoughts of resisting her just crumbled away at that motion.

Erik stepped out of his pants and vaguely wondered if he had shut the door. He glanced over his shoulder and breathed a tiny sigh of relief to discover that the neighbors hadn't had a view of the excitement. Sasha stood up and ran a hand over her generous breasts. Erik caught the movement out the corner of his eye and looked over to see her wriggling out of her jeans that he would have sworn were painted on.

Sasha paused for a moment. Erik's mouth went dry and his breath caught as she shot him a smoldering look over her bare shoulder with her jeans half off. Again that wicked smirk was flashed at him. Erik shook his head and said quietly, "Damn, girl." Sasha stood up and stepped out of her pants. Erik noted with some delight that her lacy red panties were in that pile of fabric sitting in the middle of the floor. Sasha lead the way to the bedroom.

Erik walked up behind her as she stopped at the foot of the bed. He wrapped his arms about her waist and kissed her left shoulder. Erik could smell the coconut scented lotion that she used and the suggestion of the rum that she had been drinking earlier. Her hair, in its tight braids, snaked across her shoulders as she turned her head to look over at him. Erik pressed a kiss to her left cheek and lightly nudged her towards the bed.

Sasha giggled. She turned around and fell backward onto the mattress. Erik grinned at the way her breasts jiggled when she bounced on it. He ran a hand up the inside of her right leg. Sasha's wicked smirk was replaced with a little look of delight. Erik found that unintentional surrender of control painfully arousing.

Erik crawled up the mattress, lowering his head to place kisses randomly up her body. He looked down at her as she spread her legs invitingly and arched her back slightly, pressing her breasts against his chest. Erik reached down and maneuvered her hips somewhat so that he could easily penetrate her. The same pained groan of pleasure escaped him as he sheathed himself in her warm, wet depths. Sasha shuddered delicately and sighed.

Erik had wanted to go slowly and wring each ounce of pleasure he could out of the moment. Sasha's little moans and whimpers of delight, however, whipped his lust up into a frenzy. Erik threw himself into his fucking her with wild abandon. When she started to squirm and shudder with her orgasms, Erik's shredded self control failed and he soon lost himself in his own climax.

The memory of sex just seemed to whet his appetite for it. As Erik finished his cigarette and began to put his knives away, he decided that waking up Sasha for another go at it was a good idea. Erik smiled.