Category Archives: Uncategorized

PT 53: An Academy Brat

“Go to hell,” you say. You’re not scared one bit of this brute and her cane. What neither of these women know is that you’ve had Terra on your ass for a while now, and she might not be built quite like Guard Grisham, but she’s made your ass burn like hell before. Whatever this woman has in store for you, you can take it if you have to – not that you plan to.

“Teach that academy brat a lesson,” Officer Surnow snaps. Her lips have puckered so much she looks like she’s sucking lemon.

Grisham strides across the room to grab you, but you’re not in the mood to be grabbed. You duck under her outstretched arm and she curses as she misses you. “Get back here!” Continue reading

PT 47: Saving Terra

As you pick the sword up, wrapping your hand around the grip, you feel a soft sigh run through you. It is a sensation of satisfaction which seems to come from the sword itself. It’s not as heavy as you had imagined it would be, and it feels good in your hand, perfectly weighted so the blade is not dragging your arm down.

This is obviously not Academy issued. This is very, very old. Older than the colonies themselves, maybe. This looks like something that might have been made back on the original Earth. If it is, that means it is worth millions. So why does Terra have it in a tent in the middle of nowhere? And why does it feel so perfect in your hand?

Before you know it, you find yourself wandering away from the camp, swinging the sword, admiring how it arcs through the air with a singing sound which thrills you to the very core of your being.

Continue reading

PT 43: And your panties down too…

You let out a little gasp of pleasure and lift your hips so her fingers slide along the length of your mound, but you don’t ask her to spank you.

“Ask for it, cadet,” she purrs as she plays with your panty clad privates.

She’s teasing you into a state of arousal in which you’ll do almost anything, but you can’t bring yourself to ask for a spanking. It’s too embarrassing.

Her palm lands across your pantied rear in a light slap, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a thrill through your prone body as you lay there over her thighs, vulnerable to her every touch.

“Have you forgotten the words, cadet?” Her inquiry comes in sultry tones.

“I can’t,” you whimper.

“Aw, poor cadet,” he says, her fingers sliding back between your thighs to trace lightly over your mound. She is teasing you mercilessly, and you don’t know how much longer you can stand it. You can feel your panties getting wetter, the gusset sticking to your lower lips as her fingers play across your swelling pussy.

“If you won’t ask for your spanking, you’ll have to be punished,” she muses as her index finger taps lightly over your clit. “I’ll have to spank you until you ask me for your spanking. And I’ll have to do it on your bare bottom.”

She begins to pull your panties down, her finger hooking in the waistband and easing them over your cheeks slowly so you can feel them peeling away from your bottom, and then from your pussy. You can feel the fabric clinging a little before giving way to her will. The sensation is so gentle, but so powerful too. Every little movement and touch is magnified by your desire.

And then, they are down, sliding over your thighs to settle around your knees. Your bottom and sex are bare to her gaze, and the knowledge of that sends a hot blush rushing through your body. She is in total command of you.

“I wish you had asked for your spanking like a good girl,” Terra says in those rich, husky feminine tones which touch some deep part of you. “If you had, I might have let you cum.”

Improving Stories

My post earlier today and tongue in cheek comment about this being an improving sort of place made me think, and thinking made me make this cover for a book (which I have not written, and yet, in some respects, am always writing*.)


(*it would be remiss of me not to point out that I do not intend my writing to actually be improving. Looking to kinky literature for moral guidance is a dangerous dalliance at the best of times.)

Politics Has Happened!

I don’t usually weigh in on politics, because frankly, nobody needs my half-baked opinions when they’re looking for something improving to read (that is why people come here, to be substantially improved in one metric or another.) But the PM for the last five thousand years in NZ has just resigned because he’s kind of over it, so I have to re-post a compilation of his best and most compelling arguments.

Lesbi’ere we go soon…

I’m working on the next installment! Good news for people who like all this lesbian discipline and spanking and such, I’m going to have more time to do these after the next week or two, so that will be nice, won’t it?

In the meantime, here’s some quality music for you. Quality.

Are You Ready To Explore Sapphic Kinks?

It’s not often that a website can be described as pure art, but pippin’s Sapphic Kinks site is certainly one such website. After a lengthy hiatus, Sapphic Kinks has returned with a wealth of sapphic and kink material waiting to be discovered by those who wander through the digital gallery of sybaritic delights which makes up the ever-shifting tableau of a celebration of the feminine unlike any I have ever seen.

What is Sapphic Kinks, precisely? In some ways, a directory to various lesbian websites, stories, movies, and more. In others, it is a beautiful dungeon packed with little nooks, crannies and niches where unexpected delights are to be found. There is philosophy, humor, eros, adoration, and much more…

So basically, I am saying you should definitely check out this website: Sapphic Kinks

Barbarian on a leash…

The adventures of Lesbia continue!

Once Hope had departed the interior of the carriage, Ayla reached out and removed the gag from Nive’s mouth.

“I don’t think this is necessary,” she said kindly. “Once more, I must say how sorry I am you’ve been through such a traumatic experience. If it were possible to have conducted affairs more gently, we would have done so.”

Nive squirmed around to a seated position and gave Ayla her best expression of princessly refinement. “How much ransom will you be asking for?”

“No ransom,” Ayla replied. “We are not interested in returning to your father, or Iskendar for that matter.”

Nive frowned. “What use have you for a princess?”

“Fairly little,” Ayla confessed. “None, in fact.”

Read more…

Annnnnd break!

I’m going on a hiatus, taking a break from writing in order to do some reading and renew associations with family members and friends, take part in some culturally sanctioned group ceremonies, and generally spend a little more time out out of the cyber space. will continue to update with relevant information re: book releases as and where appropriate.

I recommend The Doors of Perception, by Aldous Huxley, a lengthy essay about mescalin, psychotherapy, art and the chairness of chairs. The man is really impressed with just how chair-y a chair can be.

“The legs, for example, of that chair–how miraculous their tubularity, how supernatural their polished smoothness! I spent several minutes–or was it several centuries?–not merely gazing at those bamboo legs, but actually being them—or rather being myself in them; or, to be still more accurate (for “I” was not involved in the case, nor in a certain sense were “they”) being my Not-self in the Not-self which was the chair.”

You can find The Doors of Perception, which is really quite a treatise on the importance of art and suchness, here.

I love how much it reads like Reed’s experiences on Blue Lady, though she is admittedly far less preoccupied with mundane furniture (and yes, this is a segue into reminding you that there’s lots of Lesbia to read, not a genuine comparison with Aldous Huxley’s work, which would be like taking that Popsicle stick house I made once to the Taj Mahal and pointing out the similarities):

A warm sensation started spreading across Reed’s body, starting in her stomach. The lady was bestowing her touch. It bought euphoria, a sense of corporeal disconnection. Reed was keenly aware that she was not her body any more than she was the wall, or the tree or the grass. She was something else. She was something inhabiting the world, piloting her meat suit about the place for the duration of its lifespan.

She laughed at the silliness of it all, quietly at first, but soon she was roaring with laughter, caught up in the mirth of the cosmic giggle.

“Who goes there!” The rough shout of a guard came from below. Reed felt the guard’s separateness. She felt the guard’s mundanity.

“Nobody! Everybody! You! Me!” Reed shouted the words in quick order.

“Come down from there!”

Reed seriously contemplated obeying the order, but she couldn’t work out how. “There is no here, don’t you see!?” She rolled over and stuck her head over the Clitera City side of the wall. The wall was not nearly so tall on that side. The drop was a much more manageable hundred feet or so. “Your here is my there. How can I go there when I will always be here?”

“It’s not safe! That wall is due for maintenance.”

The shiny tin head of the guard spoke in angry staccato. Reed saw the words rising out of the woman’s head. Little black dots floated up, up, up into the sky. Then two thick black baubles rose up to Reed. For long seconds they hung before her eyes. Curious, Reed reached out with a finger and poked one. They both burst in her face, expelling their words.

“Bloody idiot!”

(From Lesbia, Clitera City Trials)