Quick continuous-line abstract: a necessarily insufficient attempt to express a certain disordered state of mind.
The other day, I saw someone tweet about nightmares and ask for “secular prayerthoughtthingies.” A follow-up tweet thanked the internet. That got me thinking: there is a distinct lack of ritual objects for the secular prevention of nightmares. Fortunately, media occultism straddles the boundaries of the sacred/secular/profane, so I decided to do something about it.
One “secular internet dreamcatcher.” Good for the abatement of nightmares both caused and cured by the interwebs. Not for sacred use.
Froth is a short piece of erotica that was originally featured in Nikki Haze’s Eat Me 250 Word Challenge. It is here presented with the sketch I did for it that was cut from the Challenge.
Even as Matheus was eating me out in the bathroom of Cafe di Roma, my favorite espresso bar, I was still thinking about milk froth.
I’d intended to take things slow with him, but then he’d ordered the cappuccino. I sat there clutching my skinny hazlenut latte as he licked a crest of full-fat foamed milk off of the top of his drink, his tongue darting out like a cat’s.
“Cappuccino is all about the froth,” he said, then lifted the mug to his mouth and sucked. I watched the meringue-like clouds slide past his full lips one stiff peak after another submitting to that magnetic pull.
I uncrossed and recrossed my legs as he swallowed, his eyes half closing in appreciation as the apple of his throat moved down and back up again.
I pressed my palm down into my lap as he made slow, loving work of the rest of the drink. A spot of foam clung to the corner of his mouth, and when that remarkable tongue of his darted out again to claim it, I gasped.
Abandoning all restraint, he tongued the rim of his cup. I was riveted. By the time he’d finished teasing off every last bit of froth, I was hot, my drink was cold, and the throbbing between my thighs was unbearable.
Matheus gazed right at me with a fox’s smile. Damn, he knew exactly what he was doing.
A few minutes later, I was biting my hand to avoid crying out as his nimble tongue brought me to a shuddering climax. He looked up at me and licked a bit of froth – my froth – from his lip.
To the north of the Hidden Temple, the terrain is rough and broken, full of sharp stones and stinging plants. This is Nettle’s home, and it reflects her wild spirit. No-one sees Nettle unless she wishes it, and she rarely cares for company. Visit her scrub, and if find your ankles burning, she has acknowledged you. Should that sensation stoke other fires, bring heat to your cheeks and quickening your pulse, you might be her type. The old saying advises one to “firmly grasp the nettle” …but it says nothing about what to do should she firmly grasp you.
Searching for Nettle? Look for Rites of Spring, the Autumn Harvest game, coming soon to Big World Network.
Created this for Transfeminist Laughing and to support nursing in public (NIP).
This is a bit of erotic flash fiction I wrote for a website’s challenge (250 words, M/M or F/F) but I then missed the deadline. So, I present it here, along with a rather silly illustration. Again, this is NSFW. Continue reading
From the western coast to the beginning of Nettle’s scrub lies a great placid swamp. This is Lotus’ glade, and its peace is as true as it is deceptive. Life teems below this still surface, and so it is with this dryad. The serene contemplation of her gaze is the product of powerful intellectual energies and profound embodied passions. It is said of Lotus that her tongue is both feather and razor, her words fever and remedy in one.
Chat with Lotus in Rites of Spring, the Autumn Harvest game, coming soon to Big World Network.