Avsnitt
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This month's patron-funded story is "A Merman Walks Into a Bar" by Dannye Chase. It's narrated by Nobilis Reed.
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This month's patron-funded story is The Haunted Vagina by Matthew Barron. It's narrated by Bliss Morgan.
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Saknas det avsnitt?
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This episode is "The Princess and the Penis" by Linn Thomas, narrated by The Belching Cow.
World Naked Gardening Day
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Once upon a time, not all that long ago and in a land not that far away, lived a delightful princess. All who met her, both men and women immediately fell in love. Sometimes individuals became infatuated with the princess because of her delightful wit, her kind words or crystal laugh. Others found themselves seduced by her keen intellect, sharp insights and wide knowledge. And of course, she was beautiful. Long luxurious hair, soft clear skin combined with a luscious body. Whether the visitor fell in love with her charm, her intellect, or her body, in all cases, her presence stiffened any man’s cock and made any woman’s pussy wet. -
This month's patron-funded story is "The Bacteria that Evolved on the Trip to Zebulon 83" by Patrick Mannus. It's narrated by Nobilis Reed.
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Charlie didn't think much of the reports of cancer-related deaths on the Zebulon-83 colony ship. They were sad to hear people had died, sure, but to Charlie, the deaths weren't personally more upsetting than the radiation-related leukemia deaths after the toxic train spill. If anything, they were more pissed about the train spill deaths because that was the government's negligence at work. The Zebulon-83 deaths seemed like just bad luck as a result of transit-related radiation exposure during cryopreservation.
Charlie took slightly more notice when it came out that all the Zebulon cancers were prostate, breast, ovarian, and endometrial. Not so much because that meant anything to them scientifically speaking, but because it was just kind of odd. Charlie worked in IT, but even they could recognize that it was unusual for the cancers to cluster like that.
When it came out that the cause of the unusual cancer clustering was unregulated growth of hormone-altering intestinal bacteria that had evolved during the flight to Zebulon-83, and that said same bacteria could be directed to change people's genders more effectively than any hormone supplements, Charlie sat up and took notice.
They sent the article to a fellow comms satellite IT specialist. They didn’t work for the same company, but even though it was a growing field, there were still few enough of them that you just knew the other commsatties. And Charlie had always kind of had a crush on Morgan.
Morg. Check it out. Interesting tech coming out of that Zebulon-83 colony ship.
When they’d met at a commsatty conference, which was really just a place to use illicit and non-illicit substances and talk shit about the companies they worked for and all the exploits they had over the companies if they were ever wrongfully terminated, Charlie had been drawn to Morgan. They just got the sense of a kindred spirit. When your body was not always the right fit for your soul, you could see the same mismatch in others. And Charlie had seen that in Morgan.
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This month's patron-funded story is The Fishbowl by C Lenz. It's narrated by Vivienne Ferrari.
Audiobooks narrated by Vivienne Ferrari
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“This is a bit public, isn’t it?”
“As public as it gets, babe,” Lily replied. The small plexiglass dome affectionately known as the Fishbowl jutted out of the space station, letting them float above earth. The observation deck was theoretically available to all employees, but most didn’t spend their time off looking at a planet they may never set foot on again. “All those billionaires still rich enough to live on the planet can see us.”
“My parents aren’t billionaires, and they live down there,” Cass said.
“Well, maybe they shouldn’t have kicked you out. Then they wouldn’t be subjected to this show.”
Lily ducked her head down. In zero gravity, she had to keep her arms wrapped around Cass’s thighs to keep herself in position.
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This month's story is "Blackberry Picking" by Daniel Stride, narrated by Calyopi Utterances.
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The baking heat of late summer was upon her, and the flies were out. Iris wiped the sweat from her brow, and stuffed another blackberry between her teeth. She knew she shouldn’t. The more blackberries she ate herself, the longer she’d take to fill the basket, and the longer she’d need to stay out in the sun. But she couldn’t resist the temptation. The berries hung amid the thorns, juicy and succulent. She thrust her hand back into the bush, and grabbed a couple more. The thorns scratched, but the prize was worth it. The sweet, tart taste ran over her tongue. Delightful.
But her fingers were now sticky with berry juice, and the sweat was running again. And there were the flies, hovering and buzzing. Never mind her miserably half-full basket.
This was hotter than last summer, by far. Or any of the seventeen other summers of her life.
Maybe it was the terrible lack of wind. Other times, the salty tang from the south – the sea lay two days’ donkey-ride from her village – might have relieved Iris’ pain. But today? The air hung like a hazy and listless shroud. To be trapped outside on such an afternoon, why, it was like being cooked alive inside a brazen maze. A maze choked with bushes and thorns.
Iris gritted her teeth. A plan formed in her mind.
The festivities of Sungit were yet tomorrow night. She could nap in the shade for a few hours, at least until the coolness of evening. Then she’d fill her basket, and hurry home. Her mother might grumble, but her mother wasn’t out in the afternoon heat. She was bowing and scraping before Sungit’s stone altar, along with all the other mothers. So long as Iris delivered a basketful of blackberries by nightfall, that was what mattered.
Besides, the visiting Priest ate half the fruit offerings before the ceremony, and the goddess never seemed to mind. Sungit felt generous these days. The harvest had not failed in a full twelve years, and the grain ran plentiful.
Iris’ heart fluttered, as she glanced around her. There was no-one in sight, nor could she hear anyone talking or singing. Perhaps everyone else thought similarly: the day was just too hot.
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This month's patron-funded story is In the Tower Tangled by Lynne Sargent. It's narrated by Jo Bennett.
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This month's patron-funded story is Leviathan by Steven Guy. It's narrated by Vivienne Ferrari.
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Can you draw out Leviathan with a fishhook or press down his tongue with cord?
Can you put a rope in his nose or pierce his jaw with a hook?
Will he make many pleas to you? Will he speak to you soft words?
Will he make a covenant with you to take him for your servant forever?
Will you play with him as with a bird, or will you put him on a leash for your girls?”
Job 41:1 - 5
A week before Lent a star fell from heaven. The light of its burning lit the sister’s bedroom through their window and woke them from a deep and dreamless sleep. Christine leapt from the bed and pressed her face to the window.
A miracle, she cried. A miracle that we should see a star fall.
Her sister stayed by the bed and took to her knees in prayer.
It has landed not far, Christine shouted. Perhaps in the pasture near to the river. Come. Run. Let us find it. A star falls from heaven - it will be of silver and gold. We are newly rich.
Her sister shook her head and remained upon her knees. It is an evil omen sister, she whispered, to see such a star fall. Close your eyes. Remember your prayers.
But Christine took her sister by the hand and led her out, both still in the thin shifts they slept in. Spring was not yet in bloom and it was cold. Their breath hung in a thousand tiny crystals as they ran to the pasture near the river. The smell of smoke was in the air and just as they ran out of breath and began to walk, they found a man – or rather, they found a man of sorts. He lay on his side at the end of a deep furrow that smelled both a little of wet earth and of a blacksmith’s forge. The furrow was no doubt from the mighty fury of his fall and he was unconscious and curled up like a child. His skin was a peculiar red in color – he seemed to be burnt or dyed to some shade between ochre and aubergine. His feet were blackened stumps and his hands black too, save for his palms which were the grey color of ash. On the whole, he looked charred, like the wood at the bottom of the charcoal maker’s pit, and yet his chest rose and fell. He was alive and breathed like a man.
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This month's patron-funded story is Dragon Enough by Genevieve Amsterdam. It's narrated by Vic.
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This month's free story is "Sacrifice" by J Aster. It's narrated by Chooch Schubert.
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This month's patron-funded story is "Apple of Sodom" by Plangdi Neple. It's narrated by Bisi Alimi.
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This month's story is "Three Installs" a cyborg threesome story by Genevieve Amsterdam, narrated by Louise Cooksey.
Our sponsors for this episode are
BLOOM Intimate Audio Stories
Use promo code "NOBILIS" to save 50% on a premium subscription!
and
The Sisters of Rapture RPG supplement.
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This month's story is "The Lion Tamer" by Cecilia Tan. It's narrated by Vivienne Ferrari.
This episode is sponsored by
BLOOM Intimate Audio Stories
Use promo code "NOBILIS" to save 50% on a premium subscription!
and
The Sisters of Rapture RPG supplement.
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Yes, Steven, yes, feel the power of the blood. You must control it or it will control you.
I circle him slowly, and his blindfolded eyes still turn toward me, like a flower blindly following the sun. He cannot move his head far, not with his wrists bound above his head. His cheek meets his upper arm as I pass behind him, swishing the whip as I go.
I continue around, and he turns his face toward the other side, listening to the slight whisper of the leather tail against the floor and the steady, slow tap of my heels. How much of him at this moment is animal, instinctively following the sounds of danger... or maybe the scent of food, of my blood? And how much of him is intelligent being, calculating when I will strike, anticipating what I will say, and how to react?
I brush a gloved finger over his bare nipple and he moans, a sound that seems to send a vibration straight between my legs. He is so hungry right now, not for blood--he's had plenty of that--but for everything I have promised. Control, discipline, ecstasy, and release.
A fine sheen of red appears on his chest. His body still reacts much the way a normal 28-year-old man's would, only now he has only blood instead of sweat, only blood instead of semen or tears. I cluck my tongue. "Control the blood," I whisper, for that is what he is here to prove he can do.
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This month's patron-funded story is Pasiphae's Lover by Stephani Maari Booker. It's narrated by Violet Jade.
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This month's patron-funded story is "One Summer Evening" by A. N. Tate. It's narrated by Nobilis Reed.
This episode is sponsored by Literotica.
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This month's patron-funded story is Feeling Sheepish by Eccho Steem. It's narrated by Ophelia Offenhauser.
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I have the greatest master who ever lived. He’s always so nice and gentle with me. Ever since I was a little lamb girl. Especially now when it comes to shearing day. I love days like these so much. Not only do I get the satisfaction of being sheared, but if I’m good, I get a little reward from him. And it just so happens that both of the criterias have been met.
I sit on my little stool, patiently waiting for him to prepare his shears. Once he does, he pets me on the head and says,
“Ready?”
“Yeah,” I answer back with a giggle,
“Now, remember, it’s still early, so we’re gonna need to be really quiet, ok?” “Yes, master.”
“Good.”
He turns on the shears and gets started. It’s always a remarkable sensation. Especially when it starts. They’re cold, but not unbearable, they vibrate, but because of certain adjustments that he’s made to them, it feels more like a massage, and words can’t begin to express the feeling of the air on my newly exposed skin. It’s otherworldly.
He glides the shears from my back to my neck, scraping off the wool from my body. He then takes a moment to trim my hair to the style that I like, a short French bob with bangs. He really is the best. When he’s done with that, he stands me up, moving on to my legs and working up to my butt, watching out for my tail as he knows that it’s the one part that I don’t want to be sheared.
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This month's patron-funded story is The Love you Make by David Hill. It's narrated by Scottie Calif.
This episode is sponsored by Literotica.
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Harriet wasn’t frightened by the close encounter—at least, honestly, not very much—because she had seen it all before in the movies and on television: the blinding lights in the sky stabbing down toward her car, the problems with the ignition, the headlights, and the other electrical circuitry. The trembling of the earth beneath her tires, the feeling that what she was experiencing was all a dream. Even though, of course, it wasn’t.
What did surprise her was that, after the whole passé rigmarole was over, she hadn’t been abducted. No alien implants, no pointless medical experimentation, no bizarre attempts at communication. The only departure from script—the only thing out of the ordinary—was that, as the ship rose into the night sky on pillars of blue light, one bright beam pointed to the asphalt in front of her Toyota, calling her attention to a small metallic object that had evidently been deposited there just for her.
She got out of the car, picked the thing up, and brought it home. “What do you think it is?” she asked John after describing the strange episode along Pennington Road. “Sure looks like a cock to me,” he answered.
Which it did, being about six inches long and tubular, with two small oval attachments on one end and a tiny vertical slot on the other.
“Be serious.”
“Seriously, Harriet. Maybe it’s some kind of alien dildo. Or maybe it’s an extraterrestrial pocket comb. Who knows? If you want, I’ll take it into town and drop it off with the police. Could be they might figure out what the damned thing is.”
Harriet shook her head, reluctant to relinquish possession of the alien artifact, no matter what it eventually turned out to be.
This question intrigued her for the remainder of the evening. After John left for the ten-to-six shift, she abandoned her usual boring routine of sitcoms, news, and late-night talk shows. Instead she sat on the couch and fiddled with the thing. She turned it over in her hands, wondering what it was, who had made it, how it was used, where it was from, why it had been left there on the road for her. Her husband’s observation stuck in her mind, though, and she couldn’t stop herself from thinking that, yes, the object truly did resemble a penis—albeit a stylized one made out of metal with a matte silver finish. Moreover, she observed, it looked remarkably like John’s very own, being somewhat tapered and almost exactly identical in length. This made her feel nostalgic. And a little randy, too, since—what with the difference in their timetables now that John was working nights—it had been quite a while since their last romantic entanglement.
As a matter of fact, Harriet couldn’t exactly put her finger on just when they’d made love recently. Definitely not within the past couple of weeks.
Had a month or more really gone by? She tried to remember. The very effort of recollection hammered home the point that too long had passed. She ultimately focused on an evening not too different from this one, except that she wasn’t alone. He was there with her, and it was more than obvious what he had on his mind as he caressed her in long, slow, masterful shuddering strokes from shoulder to haunch.
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This month's free story is "The Place Where Heroes are Made" by Sarah Ellis, narrated by Dee Reed.
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This month's story is "Anything but That" by TammyJo Eckhart, narrated by Vivienne Ferrari.
This episode is sponsored by Literotica.
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“That can’t be,” Darina’s whisper froze in her chest as the creature inside the cell snarled and snapped its huge teeth in her direction. She pressed her back against the cool stone wall of the basement and slid down to sit on the floor. She tried to control her breathing, but she just couldn’t seem to get a breath at all, because there was a knot in her throat.
As her eyes adjusted to the dim lights, she identified the creature; a huge wolf, “far bigger than any wolf should be,” her rational mind mused. She realized she was overthinking it and calmed down. She released her breath and took a slow deep one.
Using techniques she trained into her submissives when they panicked, she counted out three slow breaths, but her body seemed frozen.
“Jesus!” she gasped as the beast thrashed wildly, throwing its body around yet barely moving. Why wasn’t it getting any closer to the bars of the cell?
She counted her breathing as she watched it struggle. It finally slumped down and stopped moving. Its heavy, ragged breathing was loud in her ears. Its huge head and gaping fanged mouth turned toward her, and it took in a shuddering breath, nostrils flaring. Was it smelling her? The creature made a whimpering sound and turned its head and the rest of its body awkwardly from her.
Darina found her body suddenly free, but she just sat there staring until the beast glanced back at her, whimpering once more before tucking its head as best it could between its chest and the arm farthest from her. “Is it afraid of me?”
Fight. Flight. Freeze. “Primal responses exist not just in humans, but animals, too,” her brain supplied the facts as she got her legs under her. She pressed her hands against the wall to help her stand up.
The creature flinched as she stood up. It whined as she took one, then two steps closer.
How long were its arms, and was that the right word? Where must she stop so it couldn't reach her if it came at the bars? She took another step, then decided caution was better. Normally she was cautious when approaching new experiences or relationships. She grasped onto her new sub, the reason she was here, to help calm down.
- Visa fler
