Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Earthbound Eroticism Presents: Auralism Episode 03





Auralism, Episode 03
Sci-Fi Fantasy Erotica
Explicit Content


This podcast is intended for mature audiences only and is not safe for work.  It contains erotic audio, descriptions of a sexual nature, coarse language, and adult sexual themes.


EarthboundEroticism.com presents: 'A Helping Hand.'  Dr. Somers feels trapped by his job, but when he does a favor for a late night patient, it changes his life.

This story is part of 'Tales From A Darker Star: A Collection Of Science Fiction Erotica, available through online e-booksellers.  

We're introducing two new conspirators in this episode: Zen, who shares her insights and passion for sex toys with us, and 'A' from Cammies On The Floor who lends us her aural talents.  They join our resident conspirators Ben and Ivy who have another great segment.

As promised, here's the link Zen quoted, and the folks there really are as awesome as they sound.         

As a side note...it has been a wicked ride between episodes.  So many things happen in our lives, most good, some tragic.  Thank you all for your patience, and for putting up with my neurotic tendencies...

Cheers,
Octavia


Monday, April 8, 2013

Something Wicked



This is the newest e-book, right off the shelf at Smashwords.  Why not try Something Wicked.





Something Wicked





Something Wicked
by 
A.Octavia

Copyright 2013 A. Octavia

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

For Zendriel, without whom nothing else matters

Discover other titles by A. Octavia at Smaswords.com
Tales From A Darker Star
The White Willows

Special Thanks to Jamie



Something Wicked.


 Nadia leaned back in her chair until it balanced on its hind legs. The stereo pelted out a heavy mix of electronic sounds fused with a heavy dose of reverberating bass. While most of her friends studied in libraries under the veil of tomb-like silence, Nadia learned by tearing open the edge of oblivion.
 Silence had its uses: whenever she took a bath, for instance.  That moment, when Nadia turned off the tap and heard the last drop echo off the tiles, was priceless. She also loved the sound of her choked sighs whenever she settled deeper into that warmth.  Silence had its place, just nowhere near her coursework.
 Her messenger pinged, and she let the chair fall forward. The thump of it hitting the floor was drowned by a sudden cascade from the speakers behind her. She pulled up the chat window and dragged it to a corner of the screen so it wouldn't cover the last line of her research paper. Nadia's eyes narrowed on the small screen.
 'I told you to wear lace tonight...'
 Her fingers reached for the keys and hesitated. Her first instinct was to tell him to fuck off, but she didn’t want to give him anything to feed off of. Nadia sighed.  Blackroze was cute at first.  He had an incredible knowledge of ancient lore and a Lovecraftian-themed Goth style that made the dark little coal chamber of her heart flutter. He was so eloquent, so poised, and ready for any topic she threw at him. He flirted, hinted, and waltzed around innuendos with a masterful grace.  She loved the way he seemed to know exactly what she wanted to read.   It was a perfect online correspondence, and she fucked it all up.
 Nadia felt her eyes roll back at the memory. It happened right after mid-terms, when she went out with her friends, Kaitlyn and Jenn.  They showed up on her doorstep right after class with a bottle of tequila and a bag of limes.  After loosening her up a bit, they dragged Nadia to a party up in Kirkland.  They snuck shots at every other stoplight, and by the time they found the address, Nadia felt like she could walk on water. 
 The streets were packed with cars and they followed the sea of bodies toward a little yellow house at the end of a cul-de-sac. A garage band was murdering a cover of "Highway to Hell" when they walked in.  Jenn led her through the haze in the living room toward the backyard, while Kaitlyn went looking for her next boyfriend.  Everything after that just blurred together in her mind.   What Nadia did remember was that after a handful of jell-o shots, she got frisky.  It didn’t take long for her to find the backseat of an unlocked car out on the street.  She didn’t know whose car it was, and the moment the blonde guy with the goatee settled in beside her, she didn’t care.  
 Nadia thanked God she wasn't on the pill that night, or she might have ended up pregnant, or worse.  The thought of his cock slipping into her was like a siren call, but it couldn’t outweigh her colossal fear of motherhood.  The way he played with her nipples through her t-shirt felt amazing-- not too hard, not too soft...  She kept pushing into him for more, and even squeezed his cock through his jeans to keep up the rhythm.  His hand felt so hot against her ass when she bent over his lap.  He whispered that he wanted to fuck her, and kept asking her what her name was.  Nadia just smiled wickedly.  She never did tell him, and instead of wasting his condom, she spent twenty minutes making him writhe under her mouth until he popped like a champagne bottle. 
 That was almost two months ago, and it still made her wet.  By the time her friends got her home again, Nadia felt more than a little wild, horny, and dangerous.  She felt like a blowtorch in a matchstick factory-- past every point of reason.  The moment the door closed behind her, Nadia stripped down to her panties and stumbled into her bedroom.  She turned away from the bed and slumped into her chair in front of the computer. 
 Her breathing was already coming in shallow gasps as the computer hummed to life.  She lifted her foot to the edge of the seat and traced circles on her clit through the thin cotton.  She wasn’t online more than a minute before a message popped up from her knight of the gilded prose.  ‘The ever-dark breathes, Dear One.  It lives, and breathes you in…”
 He was as sweet as ever, but she just wasn't feeling it. Nadia felt too raw, too unbridled, and in need of something hardcore.  She quickly led him into a session of sex-chat that was barely more than a staccato series of written groans, punctuated by the script of a bad porno movie.  
 Nadia slipped the edge of her panties aside to play with her lips, typing with one hand.  She groaned and felt herself blossom under her fingers, but it still wasn’t enough.  The sound of her lips parting, the wetness as she pressed her fingertips against her skin—they were all conspirators in a plot to overthrow her senses. 
 She told him about how badly she wanted to be taken, to be pushed to the edge of her understanding, and forced to orgasm until she blacked out.  She slipped her fingers inside herself, and then told him about how she felt, how she sounded, how she smelled, and then tasted… 
 When he wrote that he was stroking himself, too, Nadia groaned and upped the ante: she told him how badly she wanted to feel used, to be treated like a cheap whore, fucked without feeling, and thrown aside.  She wanted to be fucked to the breaking point, until she was useless and left for dead.  He pressed her for details, stroking himself while she played out the scenario to him.  ‘Do you really want to be fucked to death, Dear One?’
 ‘Of course not, but right to edge of it.  I want to be able to look back on it and know what kind of whore I was—and remember it for the rest of my life.’
 It was an intense moment, fueled by a night’s worth of lust, and alcohol.  Nadia twisted her fingers up inside her and choked off a scream as she came.  She bit her tongue and got off on the fantasy.  She could tell he did, too.
 By morning, Nadia felt sick over the whole experience.  When she looked back through the chat log, she winced.  Then she deleted it.  It wasn't just about what they wrote back and forth that disturbed her, but the memory of how much she enjoyed it.  She felt exposed, even though she told herself over and over that it was pure fantasy. 
 She wished she could forget it ever happened-- about everything she could never utter aloud.  In the harsh morning light, Nadia saw the true depths of her desire to be controlled and forced to submit.  It was clear in the words she used, in the way her wetness coated her fingers and leaked onto the seat of her chair.  She shuddered on the edge of orgasm when she asked him about monsters from the deepest pits of hell.  He wrote to her about Cthulhu, a Leviathian, the Krakken, and what it would have been like not just to be fucked by one of those Ancients, but bred by one.  Sacrificed to a living darkness.  Even now, the thought made her chest ache with regret.





Saturday, April 6, 2013

A Moment In Time





 I often go through frenzies if creativity.  I photograph, write, edit, and create.  Ideas linger in my mind like ghosts, unfinished projects haunt every moment of my life...

 I'm changing things up here and there as well: I've dropped the 'blogger' address and bought the domain name.  I'm a '.com' now...  I've followed some awesome advice from another blogger and started using Twitter, so now I tweet.  I wrote a book and self-published it, so now I'm an author.  I started an erotic podcast, and now I'm a broadcaster.  I'm editing the sound of orgasms, and now I'm a voyeur... Granted, that last one was always true.

 I love to drive.  My first car was brand new, 50 miles on it going off the dealer's lot.  A purple Honda Civic, two-door hatchback with black tint all around.  It had a clearance of two cigarette packs.    In the 16 months I owned it, I put 58,000 miles on that car, and there isn't a road in Northern California my tires hadn't kissed.  Paved, dirt, gravel--there were roads that had obscure names, roads that were just numbers, roads that didn't have names at all.

I also drove at night a lot.  I worked graveyard shifts and on my days off, I drove.  A causal night was five hours behind the wheel.  Other nights I'd go from Sacramento to San Francisco, and then turn north and hug the coastline to Fort Bragg before turning east again.

 But how does this relate to voyeurism?  Easy.  People live in the light.  With your drapes open, a clear pane of glass turns into a mirror once the sun goes down.  Most people never notice the change because it happens so gradually.  When you drive in the dark, the warm glow of a window can beckon like a siren call.

  People live in the light, and sometimes they forget they're not alone in the world.  Those are the moments a voyeur like me lives for.  Innocence.  The world gets frosted around the edges, time stops, and mouths go dry.  At best, acting is an attempt to capture that stolen moment.  Some people can do it, but rarely can it be done well enough to fool me.  

 So all these years later, after all the magical nights daydreaming about what was happening behind the glowing mirrors I passed at 75mph, I finally captured a moment of my own.  It was brief, my vision blurred around the edges, and time stopped--just for a moment.  

 I walked to the pizza place up around the corner when the rain hit.  It was like the sky ripped open and just decided to pour.  People on the street scattered, hunched under awnings, and crowded into the shops along the promenade.  It was Friday, my wallet was full, my obligations were nil, so I just kept walking.  Running wasn't going to keep me dry anyway, and I was too hungry to turn around.  One of those 'I haven't eaten all day' kinds of hungry.  I did turn my phone into my pocket though.  Hungry didn't mean stupid.

 The pizza place was packed when I got there.  The water drummed on the roof loud enough to make everyone talk over themselves. It didn't look like anyone ordered very much either.  I paid for the pizzas and thought about trying to wait out the worst of the shower in the shop, but it was a such a nuthouse that I just asked the guy behind the counter to wrap the boxes in plastic.

 I'll say this for the rain, though.  It killed the broil the sun was beating down on us.  A week straight of 100-plus made everyone a little rough around the edges.  The air felt clean again, and except for the the rain, it was silent.  There was still an occasional car that passed, or someone running between awnings, but between those random moments, it was like the world was deserted.

 When I got to the cross-street, the whole intersection was flooded. I didn't want to risk dropping my dinner, so I turned for the alley and started to circle around.  Once I veered away from the streetlights, everything got a whole lot darker.  Deep shadows pooled around the weak light from the windows of the apartments perched over the stores.  I could have seriously twisted my ankle, or worse, dropped my food into one of the potholes scattered around me like a minefield.

 I was avoiding one such catastrophe when a light popped on above me.  The glow revealed a deep pit large enough to swallow my shoe.  When I turned, I caught a glimpse of a woman standing with her back to me above the bakery.  The rain was still heavy, but her window was wide open to let the fresh air in.  I blinked as she turned, and my eyes were drawn down to her breasts.  Her nipples were a pink-brown color and a gorgeous contrast to the darkness of her hair.  I didn't even feel the rain anymore.  


 Her bedroom was mostly hidden by the angle, and she leaned over to shut off the light.  I sighed, and started to finish my trek when a smaller lamp switched on.  She was on the other side of the room, sitting this time so I could only see her face, but I knew the look.  Her shoulders were hunched slightly and her hands were pressed into her lap.  Her eyes hooded, and her mouth hung slack.  There was the smallest measure of movement, but the real story was in her face.  Her body was reacting to her touch, or maybe that of a lover's hidden below the window frame, there was no way to know. She held onto a quick release just as a peal of thunder crashed overhead.  Her head tilted back and she let out a tiny yelp before her teeth clenched and she froze.  She stayed like that for a few moments, and then leaned over out of sight.  I waited for a few seconds, and my mouth went dry.  I heard a screen door open across the alley, and a shiver ran through me.  It was time to go.

 

After all, I was really damn hungry.