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Tricked Out for Her Pleasure… a drabble of Tír na Cali for the Giraffe Call

Oct26

The first thing Lady Stefania did when she bought Joe was take him to a cosmetic witch, who grew out the hair on his head – kept buzzed, but black and luxurious when let to grow – until it reached his knees, and removed all the hair on the rest of his body.

The second thing that Lady Stefania did was exchange the plastic-and-steel slave shop collar for a torque of gold and silver and matching shackles. By the time Joe swum out from under the be-happy-be-obedient drugs the slave shop had doped him with, he was bejeweled, shackled, pierced in places he didn’t want to thing about, and lying on his stomach on a bed covered in silk.

It took him a few minutes to realize that the blanket around him was actually his hair, and a little longer to realize that he was actually shackled this way. By the time he thought to panic, he’d also realized that there was a naked elf sitting next to him.

Not elf, he realized, after a moment of confusion. She was just an amazingly elfin woman, pointed nose, pointed chin, and a slender body that couldn’t be more than five feet tall when she was standing.

Which she wasn’t. She was actually – his butt clenched – in the process of straddling him, her hands on his shoulders. Joe bucked, but that only made her chuckle.

“I didn’t expect a rodeo ride… but I’ll take it if that’s what you want.” Her fingers splayed across his back, pushing into the tissue, startling Joe. “I was thinking I’d give you a bit of a massage – if you hold still. And maybe braid your hair.” Her other hand stroked through the blanket across Joe’s back, pushing it to one side. “Long hair and bare skin is such a fun combination, and your hair – and skin – are both so pretty.”

Written to [personal profile] wyld_dandelyon‘s Prompt.

Set in the Tír na Cali ‘verse; Cali has a landing page here – http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/22621.html.

If you want more of this story – and I’m sure I could come up with more of this! – drop a tip in, ah, the tip handcuffs:

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/837257.html. You can comment here or there.

A treatise on sexual aggression and dominance as a trait in newly acquired American slaves…

Oct23

…and how to bring them to heel, or how I learned to stop worrying and love their resistance.”(34)

An excerpt

…I had owned Robert for five days at this point. He had, just to remind you:
* Broken a window and bent a safety grate
* Burnt down the tool shed in the back
* Beaten up three other slaves
* Broken my nose (accidentally)

He had also withstood:
* isolation
* limited meals
* scorn and verbal shaming
* physical punishment, including the belt
* and more isolation.

We were now at the point where I was ready to do just about anything, just to make him listen. I found myself staring at him – chained in my wine cellar, panting, with his face and his feet bloody, the former from the police he had fought and the latter in my last attempt to make him listen. And it clicked.

“All right.” I pulled up a chair – a barrel, to be specific – and sat down. “Clearly, this is not working.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Why are you being so difficult?” I admit, I probably sounded a bit petulant.

“I don’t want to be here.” He yanked against the chains. “I don’t want to be your little pet.” Another yank, digging the metal into his already-bleeding wrists. “And I don’t know what the hell you want from me.”

I have mentioned I’d never owned an American slave before. It was a bit of a revelation. “They didn’t explain it to you, in the market?”

“They told me to sit down and shut up. If all you wanted was ‘sit down and shut up,’ we probably wouldn’t be sitting in this dungeon.”

“It’s a wine cellar.” I waved my hand. “All right.” I made a decision, sitting there in that cellar. It wasn’t normal; it wasn’t in any of the advice books about keeping slaves. But slaves are, after all, people. And I was going to have to work with the person I had. “I’ll make you a deal.”

Written to [personal profile] kc_obrien‘s Prompt, also the title of this piece.

If you want more, oh, there’s got to be a lot more.

Just drop a tip in the the tip handcuffs:


This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/833936.html. You can comment here or there.

Cuckoo’s Egg, a story of Tír na Cali for the Dungeon & Cave Call

Oct13

“Anything else, Mistress?” The slave, tall and dressed very handsomely, bowed to Lady Lillian.

“That will be all, thank you, Brandon.” She dismissed him with a flap of her hand, negligent and casual.

“As you wish, Mistress.” He bowed again and retreated to the cushion in the corner of the solarium.

Lady Lillian turned back to her guest, an older Baroness from the next Barony over. “Isn’t he a dear?”

“He seems awfully – placid, I suppose, for an American.” Lady Rose pursed her lips. “Is he wearing a shock collar?”

“Nothing like that, no, of course not.” Lady Lillian giggled. “No, he’s a volunteer.”

“A… what? I didn’t think we had those.”

“Oh, yes. Morganna’s been working with a few underground organizations. Gay people, transgender, submissive… they can’t be who they are, in America.”

“So they submit to our collar? Tch. Are you sure he’s a lamb, dear? The way he looks, that’s more like a lion than a ‘submissive.'”

“Oh, you know how Americans are. Even their submissives have trouble giving up control. But he’s a nice boy. Speaking of nice boys, wasn’t Cody ap Gwydion visiting you last week…” Lady Lillian changed the subject deftly, and just as tidily kept her guest talking and giggling for hours.

When she had finally seen the Baroness Rose to the door, Lillian flopped on the settee. She was staring at the window, but her eyes barely tracked. Brandon picked up around her, then knelt at her feet, exactly as she had trained him to do.

“Does it ever tire you out? Pretending to be vapid and blank?” The question, unlike the kneeling, was contrary to every bit of training he had received.

Lady Lillian turned to look at him. Something like a smile crossed her lips.

“No more, I suppose, than it tires you out, pretending to be the perfect servant. And it keeps the peace.”

If he had been kneeling peacefully before, Brandon was frozen now, even his breath seeming to stop. When he found his voice, it was a croak. “How long have you known?”

“Since I found you ‘tidying’ my office. But I’d almost doubted it, until I saw you that afternoon in the garden.”

“And…” He coughed into his shoulder and tried again. “And you said nothing? Mistress?”

“And I said nothing.” She caught his chin in her hand, a gesture she’d done time after time. Neither of them missed that it was different this time. “And I will continue to say nothing, and so will you.”

Written to [personal profile] corvi‘s prompt.

If you want more – and oh, could I go on and on with these two! – drop a tip in the tip… handcuffs 😉

This is in my Tír na Cali setting, but with new characters.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/828509.html. You can comment here or there.

Deep Deep Down in Kitty Town

Oct6

The hood over Rrrina’s head smelled of menthol and nothing else, the world around her was muffled and her ears pinned against her head, and she was bound. Usually, when she ended up in this position, someone wanted to do something a bit naughty to her. This time… well, she wasn’t ruling it out, but she thought that “naughty” might be in a completely different context than she was used to.

And she was being carried again, carried by a skin-job, a leopard in a man’s body. This had to be the weirdest her life had been in – in – maybe in ever.

She was too turned around to have any sense of direction, the menthol in the hood made it impossible to navigate by scent, and her porter kept bouncing her, making it very hard to count steps. Had he stolen her? That’s what he’d said. But stealing slaves was – it was bad, very bad. And her head felt funny. Something in the menthol? Something… this was bad.

Rrrina came to on a cushion, in a warm place that felt like sunshine. Three sets of training came into play, and she opened her eyes only halfway while letting her other senses take inventory.

The cushion was comfortable, soft, and warm. The heat was too omnidirectional to be sunlight, but maybe a sun lamp? It was bright but not unbearably so, and the light seemed to be coming from above. Her nose was still clogged, but, even so, she could smell other cats.

She opened her eyes. The floor, the fixtures – all white. In front of her, a lab-coat person. Her eyes opened further. A lab-coat-wearing feline, jaguar spots, now that was new. Her captor was there, too, shedding out of his overalls. He met Rrrina’s gaze and smiled. It looked wrong, too feline in his human face

“Good, you’re awake. Welcome to the Feline Rebellion.”

After Down in Kitty Town, Entering Kitty Town, and Kit Town Maybe.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/823072.html. You can comment here or there.

Aftercare

Oct3

“Come back to me. Anton, come back to me.”

The words swam into focus slowly. The boy squeezed his eyes more tightly closed. “N-n-nooaw.”

“Yes, Anton.” Her voice was soft, patient, but implacable. That was how she always was. “Come back to me, Anton O Gwydion. Wake up to yourself, Anton.”

She was stroking him, running her hands through his fur – no, through his hair. The boy liked it when she petted him. It made everything feel a little more real. “No?” he tried again. This time, it came out as a word and not a meowl.

“That’s my boy. How does your tail feel?”

“Gone.” That was the saddest part of coming back. “Missing.”

“There will be time for a tail again.” Her hand rested at the small of his back. “How do your ears feel?”

“Inadequate.” He jerked up one paw – hand, hand – to scratch at his short, round, naked ear. “Short.”

“Good. There will be time for those ears. How are your words?”

He ran the back of his hand over his mouth. “Sufficient.” Losing the tail sucked. Getting his words back felt like buckling himself back into a straightjacket. “Do I have to?”

“Not yet, kitten. Not if you don’t want to.” She kneaded at the small of his back. “You can sit here in the sunbeam as long as you need to.”

“Thank you.” He rolled onto his back, exposing his naked belly. “You’re nice.” They both knew he could only stay here a little while – eventually, his responsibilities would notice he was gone – but it was nice to be able to sit between the cat and the man for a while and be petted.

My Dungeon & Cave Call is open!

If you want more of this story – and I’m sure I could come up with more of this! – drop a tip in, ah, the tip handcuffs:

This story written to Sky’s prompt and is set in my Tír na Cali universe.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/820320.html. You can comment here or there.

Some Jobs Just Aren’t Worth the Risk, a ficlet of Tír na Cali fr @dahob

Aug27

Courier jobs were, sometimes, risky. They were sometimes people who didn’t want messages to go through, sometimes people who hadn’t heard don’t shoot the messenger.

It paid immensely well, however, and Cory was willing to take quite a few risks for the money. Risks like taking packages over closed borders into war zones. Risks like delivering people to and from situations where they didn’t, legally, belong.

Risks like carrying a very lovely hand-written note to a very lovely, rich woman.

Cory swallowed and reminded himself of his Californian-style manners. Look down, smile, stay polite and speak when you were spoken to. He’d prefer the Middle East. He’d prefer North Korea.

“You’re certain this is for me?”

“Yes, your ladyship.” Cory had practiced in front of a mirror. He practiced every time he had a mission.

“And did you read it?”

“No, your ladyship.” Of course not, your ladyship.

“You weren’t even a little curious?” She still sounded bored. Bored was good.

“I’m not paid to be curious, your ladyship.” Which meant he never gave any indication that he cared in any way what was in his messages.

“And you are paid to be polite.” Oh, dear she was sounding amused.

“Very well, your ladyship.” Very, very well, your ladyship.

“Come here.”

“Your ladyship?”

“Come. Here.”

Ten feet separated Cory and the Lady. He liked those ten feet, his standing position and her lounging on the couch.

On the other hand, he knew better than to say no to a Lady in Tír na Cali. “Your ladyship.” Cory bowed, deeply, the way he’d practice.

“You’re cute, and you know your manners. Very cute.” Her hand darted out and grabbed his chin. “I think I’ll keep you.”

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/793430.html. You can comment here or there.

Making Home

Aug4

This is a prelude to Private Space

The first thing Cedric noticed about the barracks was that they were co-ed; the woman changing by the doorway claimed his attention the moment he walked in.

The second thing he noticed was that the walls were awfully secure for a barracks, and the doors at both ends locked.

“This is your bunk.” The overseer pushed him at an empty bunk, about halfway down the row.

That’s when Cedric noticed exactly how homey each of the bunks seemed. They all had the standard issue: a metal-framed bunk bed with one mattress missing, a trunk at the foot of the bed, sheets, pillow, thin blanket.

But not a single bunk – except his – stopped there. Bed on top bunk, bed on bottom. Curtains, made of thin fabric patchworked together, pretty sticks and stones woven into decoration, a woven screen using the uprights of the bunk as the framework: every single bunk had been decorated, personalized, made home.

And no matter how bright and busy any bunk was, there seemed to be an invisible line between that bunk at the next; nobody’s space intruded onto the next tiny home.

He stood by his bunk, wondering how he’d ever make it as homey as the ones to either side.

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/761910.html. You can comment here or there.

Cali Prompts to the theme of “Space + Room”

Jul30

Thanks to http://www.wordgenerator.net/random-word-generator.php I have a random word, and I can come up with some interesting ways this could be used in Tír na Cali, soooo.

Leave me prompts in the Tír na Cali universe to the theme of “Roomage” and I will write at least 50 words to at least one of your prompts.

Definition of Roomage from www.merriam-webster.com/:

(N) space, accommodation

Definition of Roomage from thefreedictionary.com:

n. 1. Space; place; room.

July’s theme is Tír na Cali!
Want a say in August’s theme? Become a Patreon Patron at the $5 level or higher.

💞

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/758561.html. You can comment here or there.

Kittens

Jul25

I asked for something fun to write here; this is to the 4th prompt, from Lilfluff (Second generation Cali-Cats as kittens. Kittens at play, what could be cuter?)

“And this is where we… well, you can see for yourself, your Lordship.” The slave acting as a guide gestured over the half door.

His Lordship frowned. He wasn’t used to that sort of talk, especially not from a costumed moddie. “What sort of… oh.” He didn’t quite manage to hide his smile. “Ooh.”

In the well-carpeted room, four – kittens? toddlers? – small moddie children tumbled, one of them, grey-striped ears and black-tipped ears, making little baby-growl noises. “They’re…?”

“Second generation, your Lordship. The one with the Siamese markings is my get.”

Leave me a prompt here

This entry was originally posted at http://aldersprig.dreamwidth.org/756844.html. You can comment here or there.