Sunday, October 2, 2022

Anomaly XXII: A Magazine for Kinksters by Kinksters

 



Greetings, my wonderful sexy readers! I am proud to present the flagship issue of this new publication to come out of my local kink community, Anomaly XXII: Earth's Kink Chronicles! This is a new project for us, compiling news, events, and artistry from kinky folks around the world. 

You'll note the symbol comprising the A and N of Anomaly on the cover is the same symbol that appears in the banner on this blog. That's because it's the symbol of my kink family, Anomaly, and this passion project is spearheaded by my heart sister, CephaloFae. I have had the privilege to assist in the fruition of this dream and I hope you all will enjoy and potentially participate in the future!

This issue covers some national kink events, such as the Service Oriented Conference that happened this weekend, interviews with some big names in the Leather and Lifestyle communities such as Sir Guy and Raven Kaldera, sexy stories from yours truly and Cain Berlinger, delectable photos from some of our community locals, ads from some fabulous lifestyle vendors, and a walk through the history of Leather and BDSM. 

Give it a gander, and if you're feeling it, maybe submit some content for the January issue! Hop on board and join us on this sin-sational journey!

View the issue: https://anomalyxxiimagazine.carrd.co/

Saturday, October 1, 2022

Moon Feather: Part 60: Rules and Revelations

Joey

Everett was gone again, leaving Joey to the silence of an empty house. She had grown used to the absence of the subtle persistent hum of electronics during her weeks in the forest, but there were other sounds in the woods to make up for the missing white noise of her youth. In the house, without the sound of Everett’s breathing and occasional snores, there was just eerie, empty silence. After the first night, she’d considered sleeping in the barn, something she’d done countless times while working on the ranch. The gentle music of sleeping horses always soothed her on nights she couldn’t sleep. 

Unfortunately, Everett had promised a veritable rain of hellfire if she broke the rule about being out at night, or any of the other previously established rules. He was especially adamant that she not go to town at all, escort or otherwise. He had explained why, and she understood, but with nothing to do, she was easily bored. She and Lavina had accomplished most of the household chores the day before, Lavina remaining utterly baffled by Joey’s lack of knowledge of domestic tasks. Joey knew she suspected her backstory to be utter bullshit, but Lavina was too polite to say so. Everett had put Sunstrider and Hippolyta to pasture before leaving, so there wasn’t much to do there.


She did find something to do, but her ass was grass if Everett found out. During their chores, Joey had discovered her bow and quiver tucked away in the woodshed. Up until now, Everett had steadfastly refused to allow her to fetch firewood, supposedly not wanting to aggravate her injury. Apparently he had other reasons to keep her out of the little shed. 


She waited until the day after Everett left to dig the bow out of the woodshed. It was probably unnecessary, but she didn’t want to chance him forgetting something and riding back up on her skewering the hay bales. Wilson checked in early the next day, reiterating Everett’s warnings about the strangers in town and the consequences of bucking up. Joey sent him on his way with two birds in the air and him shaking his head. 


It seemed to her that if there were killers in town, she’d be far better off armed than not. Besides, she missed her bow. A month was way too damned long to not feel the heft of it in her hand. It was an unusual choice, a classic Mongol bow, with its horn, bamboo, and sinews. The other archers at the ranch tended to favor modern recurve or compound bows, but Joey liked old things. She might have gone for a Native American bow had she started exploring her ancestry sooner, but by the time she started delving into that part of her history, she had already been using the Mongol bow for a few years. It was mostly constructed with historical accuracy, with the exception of a more modern adhesive that wasn’t as susceptible to water damage like the traditional animal glue. 


Slipping on her thumb ring, she drew the string experimentally, testing the strength of her injured arm. There was a small twinge of pain, but she wasn’t sure if it was the injury or the atrophy of her muscles. Joey rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, trying to loosen up the neglected joints. Nocking an arrow, she drew again, and let fly. 


The arrow landed wide of her intended target, stabbing through the far left of the bale she had propped up against the barn wall, and she wrinkled her nose. Placing the bow on the ground, she moved through a series of stretches. She did a few circuits of bodyweight exercises every morning, but archery used a muscle group that was hard to target with anything else. After an hour or so, her groupings were back up to standard with only a bit of soreness in her arm for her trouble. 


The next day, she dragged several of the hay bales out into the yard beside the barn, creating an oblong track. It felt good to be shooting from horseback again. She and Sunstrider made several rounds, shooting on one circuit, and retrieving arrows from the saddle on the next. It was nearing noon when she saw the riders clear the hill at the far end of the road to the house. There looked to be three of them, the same number Everett and Wilson mentioned being in town.


She rode Sunstrider behind the house and hopped out of the saddle. Slinging her bow over her shoulder, Joey climbed the lattice stretching up the side of the house behind the garden and climbed onto the roof, thankful that the crisscrossing strips of wood held her weight. Ducking behind the chimney over the parlor, she waited for them to get closer so she could see who they might be.  


As they neared the gate, Joey leaned around the chimney to get a better look. There were five horses but only three riders. The rider-less horses trailed behind the three mounted men, a couple of stocky Appaloosas. The riders wore dusters that certainly lived up to their name with the amount of dirt caked onto the fabric. The Appaloosas hinted that the men were probably Everett’s family, although she’d only really been expecting two. But, better safe than sorry when there were people out there looking to kill her.    


Leaning a bit farther past the chimney, she fisted a few arrows in her bow hand and nocked one. Aiming low, she let the arrow fly, her arm complaining a bit at the increased draw distance. The arrow landed dead center in the dirt road a few feet in front of the men. The horses reared a bit, backing up.


“Whoa! What in tarnation were that?” said the man to the right, voice gruff with age.


The two others seemed younger, although she couldn’t see their faces under the brims of their hats. The one on the left had two long, coppery braids hanging over his shoulders that stood out against his dark, dusty clothes. He dismounted and walked over to the arrow, plucking it out of the ground to study it. 


“A warning shot,” Red Braids said sarcastically, holding up the arrow to his companions. “Who’s out there?” he yelled.


The voice sounded strangely familiar, although distantly. The way he pronounced “warning” felt distinctly out of place next to the older man’s thick drawl. 


“Who are you, and what do you want?” Joey shouted, ducking behind the chimney again.


“We’re kin’a the marshal! Who’re you?” the old man grumbled irritably, stepping his horse forward.


Red Braids held up a hand to stop him. “The deputy in town said Everett was away on business but his wife would be at the house. You her?” Joey saw him looking around for where she might be hiding.


Joey stepped out from behind the chimney, bow in a half draw, prepared to shoot first if necessary. “I might be,” she said, looking down at them. “Can you prove you’re who you say you are?”


“Well, how’re we s’posed ta do that?” the other younger man said at the same time the old man said “What the Sam Hill are ya doin’ up there?”


Red Braids looked up and whipped off his hat. “Jolene? Is that you?”


Joey’s world stuttered to a halt. That face. She hadn’t seen it in seven years. It was older now, a little sun damaged, but she’d know that face anywhere. His hair was longer, much longer, but his jaw was still smooth and strong. She couldn’t see his eyes from this distance, but she knew they’d be blue, like their mother’s.


“Jackson?” she said hesitantly, lowering her bow in disbelief. 


Her brother smiled softly. “Hey, twerp.”


Before she knew what she was doing, she’d dropped the bow and her arrows onto the tiles and ran toward the edge of the roof. 


Jackson threw up his hands. “Whoa! Jolene, don’t!”


~

If you would like a glossary of western slang used in this story, here is the reference I'm using: Western Slang, Lingo, and Phrases – A Writer’s Guide to the Old West     


Wicked Wednesday

Saturday, September 24, 2022

Moon Feather: Part 59: Strangers

Everett

Heads turned when they entered the saloon. Various men of the town were sitting at the tables, a few at the bar, eating the day’s offering and occasionally a beer. The ladies that did most of their work on the second floor were nowhere to be seen, either resting or tending to their daytime activities. The girls didn’t generally work the floor until supper and stronger spirits were on offer. For the most part, Everett recognized all the men in the room, but for a group of three at the back, huddled in a darker corner. Curiously, those three were the only ones that didn’t turn to look when the two lawmen had come in.  

Everett walked up and slapped the bar. “Hey, Clarence! Whatcha got for vittles today?”


Clarence came through the kitchen door, tossing a towel over his shoulder. “Slow elk stew with Texas butter and sourdough biscuits,” the man said with a grin, although the bushiness of his russet beard made it hard to see. 


“Well, hot damn!” Everett said, putting his hands on his hips, casually pushing back his coat to show off the pistol hanging from his belt. “Them sound like some mighty fine fixin’s. I think we could both do with a helpin’a that.”


“Comin’ right up!” Clarence said, disappearing back into the kitchen. 


Everett and Wilson spent the wait meandering about the place, greeting the men who’d stopped in for the dinner break in the work day. Some were playing cards between bites of beef stew, others a few rounds of Chuck-a-Luck with sets of worn dice. All were dutifully pleasant, knowing Everett to be a moral man, but not an overly prudish one, to be denying a man his vices so long as no violence or theft resulted from it. Everett had authority, perhaps, but he wasn’t fool enough to believe he could tame all the wildness of the west. Ponderosa Point was an oasis of civilization in the valley, but Everett had little doubt he’d be run out of town on a rail should he try to overly impose eastern sensibilities on a town of homesteaders and vaqueros


Slowly he made his way to the table of strangers. They were a rough-looking lot. Everett took them for cowboys or aspiring placer miners. The poor quality of their clothes made him hazard on the side of miners. Cowboys were generally more well-equipped, as suited their profession. The three of them were situated about the table in a manner that gave them an unobstructed view of the door. 


There was a clear leader among them, a shorter, thin man with stringy yellow hair. It hung straight around his face, just past his collar, and looked like it needed a good wash. He looked of an age with Everett, perhaps a touch older. It was hard to tell through the wind chapped redness of his face. He looked up as Everett approached, while his amigos huddled over their bowls like Everett might steal them.


“Afternoon, gentlemen. Name’s MacMahon. You’uns new ta town?” 


“Just passin’ through,” the straw-haired feller said, taking a bite from a biscuit.


“Good place for it. Ya headed through the mountains? Or down towards San Antonio Junction?” Everett said conversationally. The two other men still wouldn’t look at him, just loomed over their bowls shoveling stew into their gullets.


The blond man shrugged. “Wherever there’s money ta be made, I s’pose. Might stick around a few days. See where the work’s at.”


“Right right. Well, if you’uns need anythin’, just holler. There’s usually someone at the marshal’s office that can help,” Everett said, flashing a friendly smile despite his unease. 


Everett stepped away from the table, circling back toward the bar to get to the table Wilson had taken up near the door, not wanting to present his back fully to the rough-looking strangers. He sat down in front of his bowl of stew and the plate of biscuits between them. Two glasses of lemonade sat on the table as well. He wasn’t sure if that was Wilson or Clarence’s decision, but both were well aware of his distaste for imbibing on the job. Lawmen should have their wits about them while on duty, especially with the sort of folk like the men in the corner hanging about.


Everett crumbled a biscuit into his stew, a habit he’d picked up from Joey. It really did add a nice texture to stews. “Ya said you met Frank Durham afore the war. Ever catch sight’a his brothers?” he said as he mixed in the fluffy bread, careful not to look at the strangers. He was positioned with his gun hand facing them, with Wilson fully facing their direction.


Wilson took a bite of biscuit. “Nope. Just Frank. Ya think the short one might be one’a them?”


“Don’t you? You’re the one what insisted I come see ‘em.”


Wilson grunted. “Got the same scarecrow hair. Can’t say for true they’re Durhams, but, no two ways about it, they feel like trouble.”


“I reckon they will be. Ain’t got no headin’. Look a tetch sold up for cowpokes. Too shrewd for miners. If not Durhams, maybe rustlers. We didn’t catch all them sheep hookers up Sahwatch way, and there’s some ranchin’ operations in the valley ‘sides the Gallegos outfit.” He took a sip of lemonade. “Reckon we oughta keep an eye on ‘em, in any case.”


“I’ll let Jompson and Terrell know.”


“Might wanna warn the local proprietors ta be wary as well.” Everett sighed. “Unfortunately, I’ll have ta leave it ta the rest’a ya. I been called to Fort Garland for a few days. I’ll need ya ta keep a sharp eye on Joey, and be on the lookout for my family. They should be comin’ in anytime.”


“A’course, Cap. You gonna have ‘er come stay in town?”


Everett shook his head. “No. Like as not, she wouldn’t stay put, and I don’t want her runnin’ around town with them in it anyways, if’n they are who we think they are.”


Wilson’s eyebrows rose. “You’re gonna tell ‘er not to come ta town?”


“Yes.”


“Ya think she’ll actually listen?” Wilson said, looking doubtful.


Everett sighed. “If’n she don’t wanna have her tail lit up like a brush fire or spend my next trip locked up in the jail, she will.” 


Wilson chuckled. “Really diggin’ in the spurs now, are we?”


“I’m hopin’ it won’t be necessary. We had ourselves a set-to when I came back from Sahwatch and I think we’re finally findin’ our footin’,” Everett said, sipping on his glass of lemonade. “She ain’t quite free’a the consequences’a that just yet, so I’m countin’ on that ta sway her toward the right trail.”


“I don’t know ‘er too awful well just yet, but I wouldn’t count your chickens on that one.”


Everett clapped his deputy good-naturedly on the shoulder. “That’s why you’re gonna be keepin’ watch for me, my friend. If’n Pa and Ellis show afore I return, they’ll relieve ya.” 


“When she stabs me with one’a her toothpicks, I’ll not thank ya for the privilege.”


~

If you would like a glossary of western slang used in this story, here is the reference I'm using: Western Slang, Lingo, and Phrases – A Writer’s Guide to the Old West     


Wicked Wednesday

Wednesday, September 21, 2022

Elust #153

Image courtesy of Cassandra Gray.

Image courtesy of Cassandra Gray. Photography by @atglamourlondon.

Welcome to Elust 153.


Elust is the only place where the smartest and hottest sex bloggers are featured under one roof every month.Whether you're looking for sex journalism, erotic writing, relationship advice or kinky discussions it'll be here at Elust. Want to be included in Elust #154? Send in a post anytime and Oz will add it to the next edition. Please subscribe to email updates to receive two emails per month from Elust. A reminder once a month on the 1st send in submissions and a copy of the latest edition of Elust on the 15th of every month.


Erotic Non Fiction


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Prostrate Play


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Saturday, September 17, 2022

Moon Feather: Part 58: Marshal Business

Everett

The next week had Everett feeling like a proper newlywed for the first time since he’d whipped Joey to the altar. He winced a bit at that thought, wondering, perhaps, if he was the brute Lavina seemed to think him. However, rough handling seemed to suit his Jaybird. Ever since he’d set about her with the strop, she’d been a heap less cross-grained. Honestly, he was a touch surprised by that. He’d full expected her to be at least a bit sore at him over it. He hadn’t been especially charitable with his discipline. The only time he saw her sit for three full days was when he placed her in his lap, cradling her bottom between his thighs.

But there was a sort of ease between them now that hadn’t been there before. Maybe the fight in the woods had broken the tension, or maybe he’d been right in his claim she needed to purge her emotions with the help of his hand. He didn’t rightly know, but they seemed to be arguing less, and she was casually touching him more often on her own. She had even called him Daddy a few times without any prompting from him or impending threat. He would definitely say things had been exceptionally peaceful since they found some common ground the night he returned.


Lavina had visited a couple times over the week, delivering pieces of Joey’s wardrobe as she finished them. More often than not, Joey stuck to wearing her buckskins, finding them easier to move in, but she would don Lavina’s creations for the other woman’s visits. Although, not without a heap of complaining about the amount of underclothes required.


Joey and Lavina were becoming fast friends, which suited Everett just fine. Joey needed lady friends, and if her friends were also his friends, well, all the better. Lavina was young and vivacious, but had established a solid place within the community with her sewing. She might not get on well with Mrs. Harmon and her set, but, push come to shove, he reckoned they’d pick the dressmaker over the banker’s wife. While William was yeller-bellied as they came, he wouldn’t let his shrew of a wife affect his business at the bank. Lavina was a good choice to help Joey integrate into the community. Just this morning, he’d left them giggling in the parlor on his way to work.


Now he sat inside the office, staring out the window at the people milling about streets, going about their business. The telegram in his hand was certainly not great news. He’d only been back a few days and already he was being called away again, this time to Fort Garland. It was only half a day’s ride to the fort, but he looked to be there for a couple of days. As much as he was loath to leave the last time, he was even more so now. 


As well as they had been getting on since the fight, he knew Joey was still a bit raw. She had right to be. He wouldn’t apologize for his strict nature, or her still-tender seat, but he admitted he could have been more considerate of her situation. In his defense, it was an unusual situation to be sure. Joey was right. It was a wonder neither of them had gone mad trying to piece their lives together, disparate as they were.


Leaving her in her current state seemed inordinately cruel, but he couldn’t rightly justify dragging a wounded woman along on marshal business. Her arm was healing, despite every effort she seemed to make to impede it, but he expected it to be another month before she was healed up proper. His family was also due within the next week and would need someone to receive them. Although, Everett wasn’t sure how wise it was to leave her to receive them alone should they arrive before he returned. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be helped, and at least he and the other men of his family resembled each other enough that it was unlikely they’d be taken for strangers.


“Cap?” 


Everett turned as Wilson stepped through the door. “Yeah?”


“I think you and I oughta have dinner over at the Stallion today,” Wilson said, concern etching his brow. He kept looking back out the window, lips in a thin line. 


Everett frowned suspiciously. “Somethin’ special at the Stallion today?” 


Wilson gave another surreptitious glance out the window. “Strangers.”


Everett sat up. Strangers weren’t common in town, but they weren’t especially unusual. The Stage routinely stopped in Ponderosa to rest and resupply before going on to cross the Rockies or going down to Santa Fe. The occasional riders heading west would also stop in town for the same reasons. They always kept a sharp eye on any new people in town. He and Wilson had still been fighting a war during Espinosa’s killing spree, but he’d read the reports when he took the posting. Something like that wouldn’t happen again if he had any say in it. If Wilson had concerns about the strangers, Everett would do well to heed them.


Everett stuffed the telegram in the drawer and pulled on his coat. “Dinner at the Stallion it is, then,” he said, plopping his hat on his head.


They made their way through the streets, greeting passing townsfolk, many on their way to the same end, although at more reputable places than the Stallion. Once they crossed Smith street, so named for the blacksmith who’d been the first craftsman to set up shop there, they saw fewer ladies. Out of the corner of his eye, Everett caught a flash of dove gray silk. Turning, he found Mrs. Harmon walking quickly towards Main Street, as if she’d been coming from the south side of town, where her ilk wouldn’t be caught dead. Noticing his looking at her, she started, and scurried quickly away, ducking her head.


“Well, that were a tetch odd,” Wilson said, also watching the woman skitter off.


“Seems like William mighta talked to ‘er,” Everett said as the woman disappeared between a couple of shops. “Or maybe she caught wind’a William’s business dealin’s of a Monday.”


“I reckon if that were true, we’d’a found ‘im strung up outside the bank,” Wilson said with a smirk. 


Everett waved him off. “T’ain’t no way she’d give up the source’a her means. Not ‘til she gets Margaret married off ta some unsuspectin’ Big Bug ta support her. Lavina says they got a son what lit outta here not long afore we came. He’s set ta inherit everythin’, I figure, with the assumption he’d tend ta the women. Lavina said he was a nice young man, in spite of his raisin’. I reckon he might not be too keen on his mama.” 


“Ain’t nobody too keen on his mama,” Wilson mumbled. 


Everett snorted. “True enough.”


~

If you would like a glossary of western slang used in this story, here is the reference I'm using: Western Slang, Lingo, and Phrases – A Writer’s Guide to the Old West     


Wicked Wednesday