Issue 35: Reflections on the Reader Survey

Thank you to everyone who wrote me

Now, to reflect on my first reader survey, which remains open for submissions. I was astonished by the responses. I didn’t expect many would fill out the free response fields, and the messages there were so unexpectedly touching and left me speechless and full of gratitude. Thank you for making me feel so appreciated. People mentioned they had been reading my writing for years, buying all my available books, being excited for the next one, being inspired to write their own erotica after reading my blog, discovering new kinks they never thought they’d have—that was incredible to read.

People confessed things, too. These were some of my favorite comments, the messages where people admitted to liking the (what I describe as) “oh-so-wrong” stories, buying the three anthology collections to read those stories anytime they wanted. A gratifying number of readers shared that one or more of my stories turned them on to lactation kink, or that they love reading the milking erotica even though they’re emphatically not into lactation kink. (Appropriate moment for the 😉 emoji?)

Thank you to the person who thought I write “massive crowd scenes” well; I really love writing those and it’s the first time anyone’s called that out.

Thank you to the person who requested more body shape, hair, skin color, height diversity in my stories. Over the years I’ve started to prefer not to delve too much into specifics of these descriptions because I want people to be able to imagine themselves in these roles but I will try to be mindful of that.

Thank you to the two separate women who shared that, as strong, independent, self-sufficient women, they liked exploring their submissive desires in my erotica. That’s how I see myself and live my life, and it was a meaningful reminder that when I write for myself, I’m writing for people like me, too.

Thank you to everyone who shared the themes and kinks they liked reading. (I’ve been writing some of them in new stories on the blog.) A lot of orgasm denial requests. A lot of mentions and requests for more dubcon/noncon themes, family-owned and shared subs. Someone sent in such an incredibly detailed and perverse society of BDSM that I was intrigued and strongly felt like this person should write it because as an idea it’s so imaginative and specific.

Truly, thank you all for writing in. I loved gaining more sense of that connection with readers. Stay tuned for more opportunities to participate in the newsletter Chat and join the conversation with me there. (Did you know that a week from today on August 25 will be the one-year anniversary of Filthy Morsels?)

What I’m working on: As She Craves maintains momentum. It spans several years in the lives of Billy and Ella, from when they first meet, to when they become involved in a relationship after they turn 18, to a few years later, when they are adults living on their own. It’s a story about power exchange, dominance and submission, bondage, dehumanization, and — spoiler alert — ménage à trois.

In the last poll that surveyed your favorite alpha male protagonist (from a list of the most popular tropes), the filthy rich billionaire won the vote. It’s not a genre I actively seek as a reader; when I’ve written about wealthy, powerful men, it’s been slightly incidental or implied rather than explicit. So this issue’s exclusive erotica is not that. Instead I give you an excerpt from Diary of a Band Slave, which features a rock star dominant.

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Excerpt from Diary of a Band Slave [MM/f]

To tell you the truth
I just want to destroy you
Remake you and rebirth you
—Shotcallers, “Wrecked Girl”

“Why don’t you let Jessa out to play tonight?” Nash says. “Seems a shame for her to miss out on experiencing the Music City.”

We’re driving towards Nashville, his hometown. Shotcallers are performing two concerts over two nights there. I’m being held against Ryan’s chest, my bottom snug over his lap. Except for the thick dog collar around my neck and the leash wrapped around Ryan’s hand, it’s a pretty innocent scene for us.

Nash got lonely on his own bus and hopped onto Ryan’s at the last pit stop. They spent the past 45 minutes playing video games before they got bored of that, and I knew, I just knew that they were about to turn to their favorite source of live entertainment. Their own real live doll.

“Maybe,” Ryan says. His hand is playing with my hair, gently massaging my scalp in a way that feels heavenly. “If she’s earned it.”

Nash smiles. “Why don’t we give her a chance to earn it then?”

Like I didn’t see this coming from a mile away. 

Now I’m spreadeagled in the middle of the bus, facing the back. All those little O-rings embedded in the ceiling and floor along the aisle. None of the curtains are drawn, but I know that the windows are heavily tinted from the outside. It just always feels like passing drivers and truckers can see me in full view.

Ryan braids my hair into a thick plait that hangs down my back and prickles my scalp. “I think it’s time for my slave to get a new cut,” he muses out loud. “Maybe dye her hair pale pink, that would be cool.”

Total control over my body, that’s how he likes it. He decides how I should be groomed. Bare pussy. Bubblegum pink manicure. And my hairstyle. I love having long hair, but it’s up to him. Every few weeks or so, someone shows up to give me a trim. I never know when. It’s Ryan’s decision, after all.

Nash is standing behind me. His arm curls around me, pulls me back in my chains against his chest. He grinds his dick against my bottom through his sweatpants, an alluring tease. His other hand wraps my braid around his fist, tipping my head all the way back so he can bury his nose in my neck and inhale.

“Jessa, you little slut,” he moans, “I can smell how wet you are.”

It’s true. The inside of my thighs are glistening. My eyes search the ceiling of the bus, pain prickling my scalp as he pulls my hair. I wish I could see Ryan. I can feel him, standing in front of me, sliding his lips down the column of my throat. My nipples are stabbing into his soft cotton tee, brushing his chest. 

We sway with the movements of the bus. They more so than I do, since I’m tied down. But then they’re holding onto me, anchored in place. I’m holding them in place.

At least until they step back. And Nash starts to whip me with the belt. He really blisters my ass, letting the leather fly and lick me under the curve of my helpless buttocks. My inner thighs. The rain of blows marches up and down my ass and upper thighs. Each lash sends me lunging forward, only to be caught up short by the chains. 

If it were Ryan, he’d tie me with my legs spread so wide apart, I can’t dance in place or swing my body away. He likes it when I can’t get away. But Nash likes to see me squirm. The closed door to the sleeping area is mirrored, and he can see how I’m struggling in place, see how my breasts are bouncing with graphic erraticness.

Nash reduces me to tears inside a minute, it feels like. I’ll have to stand and sleep on my stomach for days. But my pussy just keeps gushing its slick arousal at this treatment.

When a trunk honks a deep warning blast, I imagine it’s because the driver can see the show I’m putting on. My scream almost drowns out the sound of the horn.

Ryan is leaning back against the wall, watching one of his oldest friends whip his slave. I eye-fuck the hell out of his his hard-on, imagining it plowing into me. Carving new furrows into my soul.

Maybe I’m the poet in this band is the last thought I have before Nash’s hand is cupping my soaked crotch, caressing my sex until my knees buckled and I was sagging limply in my fur-lined wrist cuffs. I can feel my bottom giving off heat and the abrasion of Nash’s pants against my tenderized skin makes me hiss, but oh, oh, oh. His hand stokes that furnace impossibly higher.

My eyes are fastened desperately on Ryan’s face. He shakes his head at me, and I sob fresh tears. Denial is worse than Nash’s whipping.

“...her pussy?” I’ve missed whatever Nash was asking but I can guess.

“She’s too close. Use her ass instead.” Ryan tosses a bottle of lube at his bandmate.

The snapping sound when Nash uncaps the bottle one-handed. The little sloppy sucking noise as the bottle squirts out lube. Hopefully a liberal amount. Then the cold liquid touch as Nash’s thumb spreads some of the gel over the small wrinkled pucker, pushing into me. The lubricant feels almost soothing on my blistered ass, and I shiver.

“Oh god,” I gasp. “Oh fuck.”

Nash’s cock feels like a battering ram being forced up my ass. Suddenly I have the energy to struggle and I come to life, floundering and fighting, making the chains jangle noisily. Pointless. I know it’s pointless and I did it anyway. All it does is amuse and arouse the two men. Nash pretends to be the nice, solicitous one, but he likes it when I fight him. He likes quelling my resistance, overpowering me.

“She’s so fucking tight back here, man,” Nash grunts. 

“I’ve been using her mouth more lately. And I really like fucking her pussy.”

“And how do you stop her from coming like a firework?”

My Master smiles. “Oh, this and that. I know how to control my girl.”

I’m slumped in my chains now. There’s no point fighting this. Nash is going to push his monster penis into my ass until he’s bottomed out, his balls swinging against me. All I can do is submit to it. Accept my fate. 

Nash laughs shortly. “You’re so goddamn mean to her. Poor thing.”

“You can’t feel too sorry for her, or you wouldn’t be raping her ass with that dick of yours,” Ryan points out sardonically. His eyes are on my grimacing face.

“Yeah, well.”

“Jessa needs this,” Ryan says casually. “She needs me to be strict with her and control her body. She needs me to tease her and fuck her brains out and not let her come. She needs me to share her with anyone I goddamn want...like you, buddy. She needs me to let you stretch her ass out.”

“Fuck,” Nash gasps. 

He’s all the way in me now. I don’t have any time to adjust to it because he’s withdrawing, only to thrust inside me again. God, I feel so full and stretched, like I’m going to tear wide open. It hurts so much, I moved several steps back from the cusp of climax. I can’t even speak now. All I can make are wordless noises. Grunts. Weak groans.

Ryan senses it, too, because he finally saunters over. I shake my head weakly at him, mouthing protests that I never actually give voice to.

“Oh yes, Jessa.” His voice is a throaty purr. The one that makes thousands of women cream their panties every night and scream their heads off. “Let’s make sure you’re enjoying Nash’s ass fuck, Sweet Lips.”

His fingers slide so easily into me, it’s embarrassing. I’m standing on the tips of my toes, leaning into the chains holding me up, while Nash holds my hips in place for him to fuck. All the while Ryan’s fingers twist and probe inside me. He grazes my G-spot and I nearly go off, I’m that close, but he withdraws with a teasing grin. I nearly scream with frustration. 

He brings his wet fingers to my tits and tweaks my nipples, harder and harder until he brings my body back under control. When he deems that I’m not in danger of climaxing, he puts his fingers back in my cunt. Continues molesting me there. 

I’m practically drooling at this point, I’m so needy. The passing scenery on either side of the bus streams by. Red car, blue car, truck, blue car, white car, truck. So many people are going about their daily lives while I’m being taken apart. Disassembled, on a cellular level.

Ryan plays me like he does his guitar—like a fucking maestro. Which is an English word that means master in Italian. My mind is fracturing under his touch; his roughened fingers scrape my soul. He drags my resisting body nearer and nearer the point where I’ll burst into a million stars, and then he pulls me back. My cunt is seething with need.

That’s when he says to Nash, “You know, I think Jessa will be coming out with us tonight.”

“Oh yeah?” Nash grunts. I can feel his sweat dripping onto me, painting my skin.

“Where’s that tattoo parlor where you got your ink done?”

“Oh, Permanent Record. Yeah, that place is cool.”

“They do piercings there?”

“Sure do,” Nash gasps, and he comes.

I swear I feel his ejaculation like another thrust of his cock. At the same moment, Ryan’s fingers twist my nipples something fierce, a searing white pain that electrifies my body. I’m panting, my cunt is so empty and needy, and then he gives me the pleasure of his mouth again, the warm heat and suction as he tongues my nipples, laving the puffy buds with long, luxurious laps. I moan loudly from relief, and with gratitude. I’ll take whatever soothing I can get.

“So pretty and perfect,” Ryan whispers, brushing his thumbs over the puckered tips. “I’m going to put some rings in them tonight, Jessa. Fat, heavy gold rings so that I can always see them through your clothes. They’ll drag your nipples down all day long, and you’re gonna fucking love it.”

We know you like
The way we play
I’m your king
It’s to me you pray
Now on your knees
Bow for Your Majesty
Open those lips,
Let me feel your worship
—Shotcallers, “Your Majesty”

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What I’m listening to: “Adore” by Prince. A lush, slow jam to groove and grind and get down to. In a word, you were sex / All of my cool attitude you took / My body was next / You made love to me / Like you were afraid / Was you afraid of me? / Was I the first? / Was I your every fantasy? 

What I’m reading: Oh my loyal readers, I have found a new writer whose work I simply love. I am so excited because I feel that you will enjoy reading her stories just as I do, and feel as if there must be more. Read “Shrove Tuesday” by katesdreaming. Then read “A Suffocating Thing” and “Going Out” and “Remote Work.” This author writes about gaslighting and denial and casual sadism in starkly effective and efficient sentences.

What I’m wondering: Which fictionalized time period as the backdrop for a BDSM story would you vote for? If “other” write it in the comments.

A separate question I am wondering is that I haven’t been watching any television but I’d like to start a show. What do you think I would like? What are your recommendations? I like stories with drama, prestige shows, any language.