Eroticnoire bookclub: Pussy Prayer: by black girl bliss
Eroticnoire bookclub: Pussy Prayer: by black girl bliss
Pussy Prayers is about rekindling the connection to your pleasure center – the space through which you manifest worlds – regardless of the body parts you do or don’t have. These pages speak to the unique sexual experiences of Black women and femmes in order to help them heal from trauma and miseducation while learning how to powerfully conjure up a life that is dripping with sweetness – all by…
Put simply it’s like any other new year’s resolution but it specifically focuses on sexual fulfilment and pleasure. Just as many make resolutions about saving more, getting healthy etc shouldn’t we do the same with the sexual aspects of ourselves and lives?
Steps to creating a orgasmic new year’s resolution
For those who are fans of my stories on Literotica and Hentai Foundry, I had a pretty productive summer. 12 chapters of content totaling 48,000 words of smut.
Whitewash High Chapters 23-26
Whitewash High Rising Sun Chapters 11-12
Harem Heroines Chapters 13-14
Minotox, Lord of Breeding Chapters 1-4
I’ve got more on the way, but a reminder to current and future fans, the more comments and fan mail I get about specific series, the more I’d be apt to focus on writing them. Do not let your voice go unheard.
Also, on my Patreon, all future female characters in my Minotox series are chosen by polls, so if you want to vote in future polls, it only costs $1 a month.
There wasn’t a lot of work for Daisuke in Ul'dah. Not that Hiroaki didn’t have tasks for him to handle, no - just that they were usually small things, or something anyone could do. Nothing that required Daisuke’s particular set of unique skills.
On one hand, Daisuke was grateful. The life he’d been forced to leave behind was one lived by a monster. It was a stark truth he was only just beginning to accept and attempt to find atonement for. On the other hand, however, it had been the only life he’d ever really known. To try to become something else was like asking a bird to grow gills and scales - a transmutation that would take centuries, if not longer.
A thin trickle of sweat worked its way down beneath the collar of Daisuke’s shirt, damping the light colored fabric and sticking it uncomfortably to his skin. Even in the shaded portion of the little balcony outside the Jeweled Sparrow, the heat of the cloudless day was as remorseless as Daisuke himself had always been. But that was part of his reason for standing there, keeping a watch on the comings and goings of the district. The oppressive heat and the brilliant, eye-searing glare of the reflected light were a price to pay.
Hiroaki wanted Lydia kept safe. Daisuke was the insurance on that. Playing bodyguard was certainly a change from his typical assignments: so far it had required significantly less spilled blood. But the longer it went on, the further and further Daisuke allowed himself to turn away from who he had been and what he had done, the more it felt like something out there was lying in wait. As soon as he had his back to it and let down his guard, it would strike.
Even tucked into the corner of two walls, Daisuke found himself checking over his shoulder. When he looked back out over the sun-baked road, silently cursing his own paranoia, his first thought was that the approaching figure must be a mirage. Tall, imposing, and walking with that familiar swagger adopted by so many who ran in those particular circles.
Daisuke knew yakuza when he saw one.
Like a snuffed shadow, Daisuke vanished back into the house. He needed to be ready. Just in case.
((A bit of PWP writing involving Rhai’li in his new job. Much naughty. Such citrusy content. CW for a spicy threesome and some bondage))
He waited, breathless and wanting and squirming with need. The open ring of metal in his mouth prevented him from saying more than incoherent begging whimpers, and allowed drool to trickle down his chin unimpeded. He watched his first - and second - real clients talking quietly on the other side of the room. Even though his large, sensitive ears could just pick up their words, he couldn’t understand a single word the two Raen men exchanged. Their grins were telling enough, the laughter in their words sending an exciting little thrill of fear straight to Rhai'li’s half-hard cock.
It had started simple: making out with both of them, some groping and stroking over clothes. From there it had progressed quickly, with one holding Rhai'li in the thrall of his mouth and hands while the other undressed the utterly distracted Miqo'te. They’d leaned him back and pulled his arms to the sides, capturing each wrist in cuffs that were built into the posts of the bed. The gag, as it was, had come next, buckled securely at the back of Rhai'li’s head where he would have a hard time removing it even if he could use his hands.
Then they’d left him. They’d only spoken their own liquid language the entire time as well, leaving Rhai'li out of whatever they might be planning. He only knew their names - Ren and Sho - from the appointment they’d scheduled. The one Rhai'li thought looked like a ‘Sho’ leaned in to claim the other’s mouth in a deep, lingering kiss that almost looked like it could lead to something else. But it didn’t, Sho gesturing to the little sitting area and then walking back to the bed with a swagger in his step.
Rhai'li’s attention was quickly centered solely on Sho, especially when the Au Ra man divested himself of his shirt. His chiseled physique was accented by near-white scales, and a tantalizing line of them dipped below the waistband of the pants he still wore as he climbed up onto the mattress. Rather than remove them, he simply removed the barrier of the fly lacing and reached in to withdraw the thick length of his semi-erection. When Rhai'li’s tongue moved to instinctively try to lick his lips, Sho laughed and said something incomprehensible.
There was an answering chuckle from the direction of the chairs, prompting Rhai'li to try to laugh along with them. Sho smirked and threw a leg over Rhai'li’s chest. With practiced ease he guided his cock into the open cavern of Rhai'li’s mouth, effectively silencing the Miqo'te. Still, Rhai'li moaned around the girthy intrusion.
Grabbing Rhai'li’s hair, Sho dipped in until his tip tapped the back of Rhai'li’s throat and he pulled back, expecting the Miqo'te to gag around him. When the convulsions didn’t happen, Sho grinned and thrust in harder, deeper, pushing past where Rhai'li’s gag reflex ought to be. He groaned, barely giving Rhai'li time to adjust before taking his pleasure in absolutely fucking the younger man’s throat.
When Rhai'li wasn’t going cross-eyed from the force of it, Sho’s sac slapping against his chin with only the barrier of Sho’s trousers separating skin to skin, he followed the long lines of the Raen’s body to look up into his face. When Sho spoke, the approval in his voice was something Rhai'li could understand even without proper words. The hand in his hair slackened in order to pet his head and one of his ears, Sho continuing to talk in a soft tone that didn’t match the ferocity of his dick.
Rhai'li squeaked and his body arched as something hard and cold touched the pucker of his ass. Sho’s hand tightened on his ear to steady him, and bound as he was there was really nowhere for Rhai'li to go. He tried to kick one leg only to have it caught by a large, strong hand. Whatever was held against his hole pressed itself in, slick with oil but cold and hard like metal. It moved so slowly, especially compared to Sho, that it felt like an eternity before Rhai'li felt a small pop and his ass closed around the narrow neck of the plug and pulled the base flush. It was a familiar sensation, the toy one of the ones that Kalen had gifted him upon his being hired to the Sparrow. It was also one of the bigger models, stretching Rhai'li’s body with its unyielding and unforgiving force.
As Rhai'li squirmed he felt the toy press against the spot within him and he arched again, nearly choking on Sho’s cock. The Raen growled and forced himself past the resistance, his free hand cracking across Rhai'li’s face hard enough to leave a stinging print. Whimpering, Rhai'li let himself so slack again so that Sho could continue to use him.
He heard Ren’s voice from behind Sho before he saw the other man’s hands reach around Sho’s torso and feel him up from hips to nipples. Ren leaned close to Sho’s ear, murmuring something, while his hand dropped to Rhai'li’s head. His fingers twisted painfully tight in Rhai'li’s hair, dragging the Miqo'te’s head forward to meet each of Sho’s thrusts that were starting to stutter out of control. Just as Sho buried himself balls-deep for the last time, Ren forced Rhai'li’s head to stay still and accept the burst of seed that injected straight down Rhai'li’s throat. Rhai'li swallowed obediently, letting those muscles milk out everything Sho was willing to give.
Sho withdrew himself from Rhai'li’s un-closing mouth and slid off of him, letting Ren scoot up to take his place. Ren was smaller, but harsher, preferring to bury his fingers in Rhai'li’s hair and hold his head still with Rhai'li’s nose pressed tight against the leathery scales of Ren’s crotch.
The touch of hands on Rhai'li’s thighs were a surprise. Rhai'li’s involuntary squirm earned another slap, this time a sharp backhand from Ren that made him briefly see stars. Sho’s hands kneaded, working the flesh all around Rhai'li’s straining cock without touching where he very much wanted. Sho gripped the base of the plug and withdrew it, making Rhai'li whimper and gurgle around Ren’s dick.
There were a few words and some laughter from Sho before he replaced the plug with something bigger, longer, and much hotter. His cock slid between Rhai'li’s cheeks as if the Miqo'te’s ass had been designed to take it, filling him up in a way that felt so good. Had he not been sufficiently gagged with Ren’s cock, Rhai'li would not have been able to shut up about how good it felt and how much he wanted to be fucked.
Sho moved himself closer, adjusting himself and Rhai'li so that Rhai'li’s backside had no choice but to sit flush in Sho’s lap. At some point the Raen had removed his pants, allowing Rhai'li to feel the tingling scratch of the scales on Sho’s thighs when they brushed against him. Sho’s fingers dug into Rhai'li’s hips and lifted them, manipulating Rhai'li’s body to pleasure himself rather than having to move. At the same time Ren pulled away, unfinished.
It was easy to lose track of Ren, Rhai'li pushing his head hard back into the pillow and arching his back to better take every ilm of Sho. With his mouth no longer filled, Rhai'li garbled a string of begging words that made no sense but carried his desires nonetheless. Sho laughed and lifted him high, leaving only Rhai'li’s head and shoulders still against the bed. There was movement, weight shifting, and Rhai'li felt more hands lift him the rest of the way up only to let him back down - now lying on top of Ren.
Sho removed himself with some comment, hands stroking the oil-coated skin between Rhai'li’s legs. Ren responded with something sarcastic from behind Rhai'li’s head. The crown that met Rhai'li’s hole a moment later was not the one he wanted, but Ren’s length was not un-enjoyable. He moved slower from his prone position, shorter and shallower strokes that still gave Rhai'li a warm thrill.
Rhai'li surrendered to the easier pace and the different angle, how he was so spread out and exposed for Sho looking down at him. Sho continued to smooth one palm over Rhai'li’s skin, across his belly and up to his chest. It was warm and distracting, so when Sho guided the head of his cock to press against and then past the already-stretched muscle of Rhai'li’s hole, Rhai'li yelled.
The pressure was intense, Ren’s length slowly moving in and out while Sho’s sank in ilm by ilm. Rhai'li squirmed and thrashed, getting himself a hiss and a slap from Sho as well as Ren sinking his teeth into the soft join of Rhai'li’s neck and shoulder. Tears streamed from Rhai'li’s eyes to soak his hair and he panted roughly through his open mouth, each breath a low moan.
His cries ramped up in response to the two Raen’s movements, both of them finding a rhythm with remarkable ease that could only have come from multiple times of practice. Ren’s slower thrusts were a counterpoint to Sho’s, the bigger man’s ball slapping against Ren’s and Rhai'li’s flesh as he pounded into the tight but accepting hole.
Other than Ren’s growls and guttural groans, he gave no warning before shooting his seed into Rhai'li. The friction of Sho’s continued thrusts changed, allowing him to go faster and deeper and repeatedly rock Rhai'li to his core. Sho’s hand closed finally around Rhai'li’s dick and tugged, giving Rhai'li the attention he begged for.
Rhai'li made a loud keening noise while Sho buried himself to the hilt and found release, pumping a second hot load into the Miqo'te’s ass. He hit his orgasm just after, spraying thick ropes over his own stomach and chest. All three of them came to a halt, three sets of heavy breathing while each one rode out his pleasure.
Eventually Sho moved, pulling out of Rhai'li and again lifting his now-boneless form so that Ren could move as well. A hot gush followed the removal of the second cock, soaking into the bed beneath Rhai'li when he was put back down. Each Raen took a side, un-cuffing Rhai'li’s wrists and then removing the gag from his mouth. They curled around him, creating a sandwich around the much smaller form.
“That was good,” Ren said cheerfully in perfect common, his chin atop Rhai'li’s head.
1. “Writing is not something that you finish. Art is not something that you get done and over with. It’s one of those things that haunt you–it’s not a day’s work or a week’s worth or even a decade’s work. It’s a life’s work. This means that, if you really care about something, then you have all the time you need to do it. It means that you should try to do a mediocre job, that you should never try to satisfy your present day demons, because you are less interested in them than a life’s trajectory. Mediocrity is hard to hold. There are only some people who are allowed to be mediocre. Men are allowed to be mediocre. White men especially. This is because mediocrity is a necessity to creativity and white men arg the ones who have been allowed this necessity. For those of us who were trained to overachieve, allowing ourselves mediocrity means that we are also allowing ourselves to create.”
2. “This is because, to practice mediocrity is also to practice consistency. You must never allow yourself only to be mediocre once. You have to try, try, as hard as you can, to be mediocre constantly. Allowing yourself mediocrity everyday is about freedom. It is about allowing yourself the pleasure of getting through something without feeling that you must work harder than anyone else or that you must prove yourself to be more exceptional than anyone else. It’s about allowing yourself the pleasure of just doing something for the sake of doing it.” /end]
If you’re writing something that involves an aspect of life that you have not experienced, you obviously have to do research on it. You have to find other examples of it in order to accurately incorporate it into your story realistically.
But don’t just look at professional write ups. Don’t stop at wikepedia or webMD. Look up first person accounts.
I wrote a fic once where a character has frequent seizures. Naturally, I was all over the wikipedia page for seizures, the related pages, other medical websites, etc.
But I also looked at Yahoo asks where people where asking more obscure questions, sometimes asked by people who were experiencing seizures, sometimes answered by people who have had seizures.
I looked to YouTube. Found a few individual videos of people detailing how their seizures usually played out. So found a few channels that were mostly dedicated to displaying the daily habits of someone who was epileptic.
I looked at blogs and articles written by people who have had seizures regularly for as long as they can remember. But I also read the frantic posts from people who were newly diagnosed or had only had one and were worried about another.
When I wrote that fic, I got a comment from someone saying that I had touched upon aspects of movement disorders that they had never seen portrayed in media and that they had found representation in my art that they just never had before. And I think it’s because of the details. The little things.
The wiki page for seizures tells you the technicalities of it all, the terminology. It tells you what can cause them and what the symptoms are. It tells you how to deal with them, how to prevent them.
But it doesn’t tell you how some people with seizures are wary of holding sharp objects or hot liquids. It doesn’t tell you how epileptics feel when they’ve just found out that they’re prone to fits. It doesn’t tell you how their friends and family react to the news.
This applies to any and all writing. And any and all subjects. Disabilities. Sexualities. Ethnicities. Cultures. Professions. Hobbies. Traumas. If you haven’t experienced something first hand, talk to people that have. Listen to people that have. Don’t stop at the scholarly sources. They don’t always have all that you need.
I … LOVE reading the replies and tags for this post! I’m happy that, out of all my posts, this is the one that’s blown up so quickly.
I love the people who are a part of a minority, that are gushing about their favorite fics or books that seem to have done this and offer proper representation.
I love the people who are bringing up the toxic mindset that is very popular on tumblr, the “you can’t write about it if you haven’t lived it” ideology that makes writers feel guilty for providing representation.
Iespecially love the people who are mentioning how they should start doing this. I love the people who are probably young or inexperienced writers that are seeing this and thinking of doing this for the first time. I love that there are people who read this and then think to better their writing because of it.
I got a holiday challenge bingo card and spent hours researching the hungry ghost festival in China, trying to use as many sources as possible. I didn’t even get to use all the details in the fic. It was a short one shot. One of the first comments was like “!!! Holy shit you included the obscure details!” And that’s one of the best comments I’ve ever gotten.
“On one hand you’re trying to be a witness, but on the other you’re trying to make sense of the world for yourself. So a lot of times when I sit down to write, it’s because I’m confounded or angry. I don’t write that much when I’m happy. I don’t write that much when things are going well. I’m out being happy somewhere, you know? But when I need to get on the other side of something, my first refuge is the page.”
“There are wildflowers in my desert which take up to twenty years to bloom. The seeds sleep like geodes beneath hot feldspar sand Until a flash flood bolts the arroyo, lifting them in its copper current, opens them with memory— they remember what their god whispered into their ribs: Wake up and ache for your life.”
—Natalie Diaz, from “Postcolonial Love Poem,” Postcolonial Love Poem (Graywolf Press, 2020)
There’s a tumblr post floating around somewhere that says “We think that if we get better at writing, it will someday stop sounding like we wrote it” or something along those lines.
Does anyone happen to have a link handy? I want to reference it in an advice post.
Was it this one?
Yes, thank you so much!!!!!
[ID: a tweet by elicia donze that reads “People hate their own art because it looks like they made it. They think if they get better, it will stop looking like they made it. A better person made it. But there’s no level of skill beyond which you stop being you. You hate the most valuable thing about your art. /end ID]
As a dominant woman on tumblr, there seems to be a never ending flow of messages and asks around “how I break a sub” and variations thereof.
My answers remain the same: I DO NOT “BREAK” MY SUB !
I want to explain my point of view on this.
If you don’t share it, let’s just agree to disagree.
It would appear many submissive men fantasise about “being broken”. Being forced onto their knees by means of pain and humiliation / blackmail / you name it. Being conquered by a woman establishing her dominance over them. So that they can finally let go of the societal expectations of being strong, a leader, a doer, and simply follow orders.
Submission is, at its core, a brain fuck for the (male) ego. The normative male traits like strength, leadership, independence and pride are “at risk”.
And so I believe the desire for being forced, being broken is a “trap” and an “excuse”! It’s a loophole that I am not willing to entertain.
A loophole? How so?
Hear me out on this one.
What happens when people are forced? They become victims! And so a “forced sub” can claim that he wanted none of what happened, that he was a victim, that there was nothing he could do. Palm off responsibility and ownership.
That way, he can keep telling his own ego that he is still the same strong manly not submissive person.
Excuses, because e.g. “my girlfriend forced me to lick her feet otherwise she’d throw out my console” or “my ex once tied me up while I was asleep and fucked me with a strap-on” sound and feel much different than “I begged her on my knees to fuck me like the filthy slut I am” or “I get off on foot worship”.
If a sub fantasises of (and masturbates to) “being broken and forced” to do things, it is, in my eyes, very similar to CNC (consensual non consent). It’s not forced if you crave it, it’s a concept, a game. Because actual force, actual non consent would be assault.
BUT:Being forced disenfranchises the submissive to actively submit.
And “active submission” is what I want from him.
As a dominant, my desire is to be his safe place, where he can expose his most vulnerable self. Where his submission is not judged negatively, where he can be pure filth and be cherished, not ridiculed, for it. Where I can be his mirror so he sees just how beautiful his “shameful” desires are to me. Where there is no need to hide behind excuses.
For when he truly and actively submits to me, I will let him own who he is. I will make him put a voice to all the secret wishes, I will make him beg for them. No loophole. Tell me all those filthy fantasies before I ever allow him to act on them.
So that the next time he looks at himself in the mirror, there is no loophole. He has to glance back at his own reflection as he realises he is the man who exposed his inner self to me. Who tore down the protective walls for me. And who, by doing so, submitted to me, fell into subspace - where I wait to catch him.
Because I don’t want him broken. I want him more complete than he was before.
