Little Submissions by Jerry Jones (Vague)

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There is a fiction writer I would like to recommend. Jerry Jones (Vague) writes erotic stories with themes of consensual kink.

Little Submissions, Jerry Jones (Vague).
Short stories with a female domination and male submission theme.

You will read of honest and open-hearted masochism and sadism. Intimate conspiracy. Devotion. Love. Even when we just see a glimpse of their interaction, the dom in a story comes across as a whole, three-dimensional woman, the sub as a whole, three-dimensional man. Sometimes there’s just a simple gesture that goes right to the heart. Sometimes the characters engage in elaborately set up games. The games are rigged, of course. It’s sadomasochism. Voluntary unfairness.

There is snarling and crying and screams. There is laughter. There is companionable silence. Things don’t always go as planned. They’re people, not SM bots.

Not unlike a kink bingo player, the author uses a cornucopia of creative ideas with joyful curiosity. There is a large story archive to discover.

Story codes are: F/m, consensual.
It’s so much more than this.

***

Dieser Text auf Deutsch

If you want to, take me

My consciousness awakes from dreams in which it was rollicking on snowy slopes. But where am I? Ah yes.

A freezing cold morning. Outside it’s looking grey. Will we get fresh snow?

‘Good morning,’ I murmur drowsily.

My beloved hears that I have woken up. He slides closer to me. I lift up my duvet, and he comes to lie right next to me, warm against warm.

I close my eyes again and put an arm over him.

But there is more. More than smiling morning side-by-side. I can feel it. He moves. He is restless. He seeks closer than close.

I ask him ‘Do you want to ask something?’

The answer comes.

He says softly ‘If you want to, take me.’

And several things happen inside me at once.

For one thing, abstract joy. His word choice and what it represents. If you want to, take me. His talent for submission. That he says it.

While I’m still asking myself whether right now I want to take him or not, the answer already shows up. Like a wide field of glittering golden speckles, swimming from front to back through my perception, delight is let loose in my brain.

I bend over him to kiss him, so good.

Lust unfurls within my body. There he is, this wonderful man. He will do what I want. I stretch, prop up my upper body on my arms.

At the same time part of my thought pursues logistic questions: It’s so cold! Close window and turn on heating. Did we bring condoms and lubricant? We did. So, probably no skiing this morning. Perhaps in the afternoon? We’ll see. If I should feel like beating him, we didn’t bring anything though, did we? Sure, we have my hairbrush.

I want to see all of him. Now. I have to tell him to take off his t-shirt.

And arousal and desire and fondness and planning of mundane details awaken, all at the same time.

Copyright (C) Ranai Pahav 2011

Wenn du willst, nimm mich auf Deutsch

Scuba and Skin

On the shaded enclosed veranda of the small guest house, two figures were lying side by side on their backs. Both wore sunglasses, even though the overhanging awning held off the glare of the afternoon sun. Kaito could smell the aloe lotion on Yuki’s skin. She had put on a short beach dress of lime green cotton. In the privacy of their small patio, he had merely slipped into a pair of shorts and left his upper body uncovered.

After their return, Kaito had washed his diving suit in clear water. It was now hanging to dry in the warm breeze next to his fins, their bathing towels and a couple of t-shirts. Inside the suitcases other accessories waited, snorkels for skin diving, badminton rackets, lots of condoms, coils of nylon rope… you never knew.

After their transit from the main island, this morning had been the first day of their vacation spent in the water, and the first open ocean diving experience ever for Yuki. Consequently, they were planning to take it easy the following day. Take a walk. Enjoy the gentle climate of the island. Stand on the shore, watching their shadows lengthen. After giving their bodies a day to recover, they would go out again with their respective diving groups. Better go slowly, Kaito had insisted, than risk headaches or worse.

‘And,’ Yuki asked him, ‘was it worth setting out before sunrise for a chance to encounter sea turtles?’

Kaito recalled the round silhouettes of slowly swimming amphibians, visible against sunlit water overhead. He smiled. ‘It was awesome. If we come out here again some other time, and you are more experienced, I think you’d enjoy it too.’

‘Mmmm. Perhaps. And when extreme lounging becomes an Olympic discipline, sign me up.’ She licked the slightly grey-peppered hair on his temple, caught some of them between her front teeth and pulled. A low rumble of pleasure rose from Kaito’s chest.

‘It’s true,’ Yuki told him, ‘I was amazed how far we can see underwater here. There were only small fishes around where we went in, which was fine with me, I can tell you. All those colours! I still see them all around me when I close my eyes.’

‘The people at the dive shop are nice,’ he observed.

‘They are,’ assented Yuki. ‘And their rental equipment was really easy to use.’

‘If you get the hang of this after a few trials, you could think about buying your own wetsuit that fits you perfectly.’

‘Yes… if things continue like today, I guess you’ve got me hooked.’

‘Hah, I bet you already marked the suit you wore as yours!’

‘How’s that?’

‘Didn’t you piss in it?’

He felt Yuki’s body vibrate with laughter beside him. ‘I did! How did you know? I pissed almost immediately after we went down. I figured, what the heck, it’s the ocean, not a lousy pool.’

Kaito grinned. ‘It’s the pressure as you descend that does it. My very first diving instructor told me that there were only two kinds of divers: Those who piss in their wetsuits, and those who lie.’

‘I like that! Oh no, it seems my instructor back home kept all the important information from us!’ Still laughing, Yuki stretched languidly and raised her arms, placing her hands under her head. Kaito inhaled the sweet aroma of her sweat. ‘So,’ she wondered aloud, ‘how many more times do I visit the fishes before I grow webs between my toes?’

‘You want me to check if they are already there?’ Kaito asked.

Yuki nodded, a smile of anticipation forming on her lips. Caressing her feet was an art Kaito was developing to perfection. It never ceased to fascinate her how those sensations would travel upwards through her entire body up to the very top of her head, calling forth that familiar rush inside her skull behind the ears. Sensing Kaito move and sit up beside her, she lazily settled into – ‘Hey!’

He looked up from the beautifully shaped foot between his hands. Oh no. Yuki was not smiling any more. She had splayed her fingers palm down and was tilting her hand from side to side in the ‘Something is wrong’ diver’s signal. He hadn’t scraped her with his teeth, had he?

With a frown, Yuki took off her sunglasses. ‘I mean, look at us. If I allow you to kiss my feet, are you supposed to grab a leg and pull it over the other to the side into your lap? So that you can comfortably sit while I do some sort of snake woman contortion?’

He carefully placed her leg on the mat again. ‘I’m sorry, Yuki. That was very rude. I won’t do it again. I guess I am so infatuated with your feet that my brain took a shortcut. But that’s no excuse.’

‘Short circuit maybe?’ She shook her head. ‘Try again,’ she instructed her beloved.

Kaito moved to sit in seiza on his heels before the mat. He bent down to lick the underside of one big toe, then the other. He gently held her left foot between his hands and exhaled, a familiar wave of feelings washing over him. As he ran the tip of his tongue over the sensitive toes, he could feel slow tremors starting to run through Yuki’s body. As always, having her feet kissed made her horny.

‘Mmmm. Much better. By the way, did you say your neoprene suit is going to be dry again by tonight?’

He looked down into her dark brown eyes, lit by a mischievous sparkle. ‘Probably,’ Kaito confirmed. ‘Why?’

‘Because you are going to spend the night in it. On your back, tied to the bed.’

With his lips closing around her toe, he closed his eyes. He felt his cock move and stiffen in anticipation of lying with his entire body enveloped and bound. And, if he knew Yuki at all, stimulated repeatedly to moaning frustration inside his sweaty prison, and left to twitch and writhe in vain.

He sighed.

‘And if I can find any in an island shop, some fresh, burning wasabi or shoga in strategic places to keep you company.’

‘Yuki!!’

‘Yes, Kaito? You have a comment?’

Staring down into her face, Kaito observed drily ‘Other than hoping that any and all shops and restaurant kitchens on the island are out of horseradish and ginger?’ As she raised her eyebrows in mock enquiry, he bent down to place another kiss on the bridge of her foot. ‘None, Yuki. I am yours.’

He heard her sigh with contentment. Almost imperceptibly her legs opened further, sending a hint of her arousal into his widened nostrils.

Suddenly Kaito came to think that if she was planning to have him fixed on his back, with everything tightly covered in neoprene except the face, maybe she would take advantage of the situation and let him taste her as she rode the waves…

Copyright (C) Ranai Pahav 2006

***


Author’s note:

It’s summer here, with all its joys. So I’m reposting this romantic summer holidays vignette about Yuki and Kaito I wrote some time ago.It was the result of a challenge I made to myself to write something with a summer outdoors theme, with someone lovingly kissing someone’s feet in it (which, for us, unlike the protagonists here, is just a minor side interest), erotic DS (because the ‘I am yours’ thing gets me any time), love and happiness.

Out of nowhere

There it happened again.

The contour of his throat rose in her line of sight. She reached over and touched the Adam’s apple with two fingers.

His hands moved in reflex. The movement was checked. He pressed them down next to his body. Ever so slightly, he raised his chin.

Lazy afternoon in the sun lying side by side on the covers, contracting in an instant. A pull of white desire between her clitoris and solar plexus. All things outside them faded to nothing, her consciousness poured into their halo.

She scrambled to sit on top of him, his hips between her thighs, and pulled his shirt up. She lay an ear on his heart, his curls caressing her face as she listened to its acceleration. Raising her head again, she looked into his open eyes. She made her nostrils flare as she inhaled.

He responded by moving his hands together, trapping them under his body. His head turned sideways, he raised his chin all the way and bared his throat to her.

It pulled her down, flooding her with tenderness and yearning to destroy. With closed incisors, she touched his Adam’s apple, touched once more in an impression of a bite, pulled away and snapped her teeth together. The sound made him flinch, and she felt the swift jerk of his body between her legs.

She took his face between her hands. Again they regarded each other. Her eyes opened up, showed the abyss, showed everything to him, her prey and accomplice.

Her teeth bared, she snarled. A dry, rasping noise.

They knew: anything could happen.

Copyright (C) Ranai Pahav 2010

Aus dem Nirgendwo auf Deutsch

Empty hand?

Calypso and Odysseus: Hospitality on Ogygia

‘How much longer must I endure the confines of this island
still so far removed from the shores of my native dominion?
How much longer must I remain your unwilling companion
going to sleep in your arms and waking up in the morning
only to weep on the beach where my drowned companions decayed?’

‘What, my silver-tongued guest? Is my company so abhorrent?
Why then have you not yet with diligent hands built a raft
which would carry you swiftly across the glittering ocean?’

‘There you mock me again. You know that I am but mortal.
Give me water to drink on the voyage and food for survival.
And before I set sail, grant me your solemn assurance
that you are setting me free with auspicious winds and your blessings
and have no intention of sending me into misfortune.’

‘Come and pleasure me now. I will think about your request.’

Copyright (C) Ranai Pahav

***


Author’s note:

I wrote this a few years ago on a whim. The characters and setting are not mine of course; I just had fun putting words into their mouths and struggling with the metre.

Ogygia is the island where the hero is stuck at the beginning of Homer’s Odyssey. On his hazardous voyage back from the Trojan War, Odysseus is detained there as love slave of the nymph Calypso. The Stockholm Syndrome does not seem to work: After seven years, Odysseus still tells her he just wants to go home. Only when Hermes, sent by the Olympians, intercedes on the hero’s behalf, she lets him depart, so that the story of his adventures can continue.

Calypso apparently enjoyed her captive while she had him. Dialogues like the above may have recurred, in variations, many times in those seven years of captivity.

The Morning After

The first rays of sunlight entered the room.

Beside him, resting on her pillow, covers pulled all the way up over her shoulders and chin, her relaxed face was half visible under a mass of hair, now tousled and knotted.

He remembered her calling from the bath tub, late in the evening. ‘Close the curtains and come in here.’ In his haste, he must have been careless. The rising orange sun shone through a gap. In a short while it would reach her face.

Quietly he slipped from the bed. His skin felt the chill of morning air. Stiff and sore, but everything in one piece. He pulled the curtain shut without making a sound, diminishing the sunbeam until it was gone.

Another problem presented itself.

She had taken him into her bath the previous night. But whether that permission extended into the morning after… it was not something he wanted to find out by getting his assumptions wrong. So, should he risk leaving the room for a piss?

Best to slip out and return quickly. She would find him next to her under the covers once she woke up. Which was clearly where she expected to find him, as she hadn’t thrown him out the previous night.

No shoes. Too much delay. His shirt lay where she had dropped it. No need for that either. He fished up the trousers under pieces of her scattered underwear. Wincing as he slid the fabric over his thighs, he paused and shuffled through the shadowy room over to the full length mirror. Placing himself with his back to the looking-glass, he peered over his shoulder.

He must have gasped out aloud. Either that, or it had been the solid clunk of his belt buckle hitting the floor.

Movement. A rustling noise from the bed.

‘What on earth..’

He forced himself to turn his head back and face her.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she took him in for a moment, reached over and picked up her wrist watch.

‘It’s half past five.’

She dropped the watch on the bedside table again. Raised on one elbow, she regarded him as he stood, trousers pooled around his ankles, in front of the mirror.

‘Not my preferred time to wake up. Any particular reason?’

Copyright (C) Ranai Pahav 2009

***


Author’s note:

This vignette was written in two different versions. The version above is the one I prefer. I also wrote another version where I changed the ending.

The idea for the two versions was inspired by a question Orlando Curioso asked on his blog: What are individual turn-offs which can throw people out of the mood when reading erotic fiction?

If you would like to read the entire discussion, with all the other examples of personal turn-offs people provided, you can email Orlando a request to read his private blog, In Scarlet Ink. His address is: gosohadito at gmail dot com.

My example was ‘Accidental status drop via verbal humiliation’.

This is how I described it:

‘I get thrown out of the mood if a supposedly powerful character (powerful as in fiction with hierarchical social systems and such) starts hurling out verbal humiliation.

Not sure whether it’s more because verbal insults are just not a kink of mine, or more because it seems so incongruous. The status of a supposedly powerful character drops through the floor in my perception when they start going on about ‘You filthy vermin slime’. Tirades seem to me the resort of those who are powerless to do something.’

And:

‘Suspension of disbelief comes easily to me if a story is not realistic, but convincing in itself. I also like imaginary settings that differ from our reality, or take place in the past. As long as the author puts thought into the creation’s inner logic, and the characters think and act in a way that fits into their experience of this particular world or time. I enjoy erotic interaction well integrated into the setting and plot.

So I’d say, I like my porn fiction not necessarily realistic, just consistent.

As I kink so heavily on nonconsensual power differences, if a story has one of these as a theme, I don’t like stuff that accidentally undermines it. I don’t need powerful characters to be invulnerable, far from it, or status to be necessarily immutable. I just like characters to interact in a way consistent with their intended status, as it comes into existence via social interaction in the first place.

An example of accidental status drop via verbal humiliation:
(Too long for a comment, so I wrote the story over there.)
The Morning After
https://ranai.wordpress.com/2009/11/24/the-morning-after

Consensual BDSM stories are a different genre. In these, I probably don’t care for verbal humiliation just because it’s not my kink. If it shows up, if I like the story as a whole, I don’t mind.’

Below is the version of ‘The Morning After’ which I wrote to show how this status drop can occur.

***

The Morning After. Status Drop Version

The first rays of sunlight entered the room.

Beside him, resting on her pillow, covers pulled all the way up over her shoulders and chin, her relaxed face was half visible under a mass of hair, now tousled and knotted.

He remembered her calling from the bath tub, late in the evening. ‘Close the curtains and come in here.’ In his haste, he must have been careless. The rising orange sun shone through a gap. In a short while it would reach her face.

Quietly he slipped from the bed. His skin felt the chill of morning air. Stiff and sore, but everything in one piece. He pulled the curtain shut without making a sound, diminishing the sunbeam until it was gone.

Another problem presented itself.

She had taken him into her bath the previous night. But whether that permission extended into the morning after… it was not something he wanted to find out by getting his assumptions wrong. So, should he risk leaving the room for a piss?

Best to slip out and return quickly. She would find him next to her under the covers once she woke up. Which was clearly where she expected to find him, as she hadn’t thrown him out the previous night.

No shoes. Too much delay. His shirt lay where she had dropped it. No need for that either. He fished up the trousers under pieces of her scattered underwear. Wincing as he slid the fabric over his thighs, he paused and shuffled through the shadowy room over to the full length mirror. Placing himself with his back to the looking-glass, he peered over his shoulder.

He must have gasped out aloud. Either that, or it had been the solid clunk of his belt buckle hitting the floor.

Movement. A rustling noise from the bed.

‘What on earth..’

He forced himself to turn his head back and face her.

Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she regarded him, raised on one elbow.

‘Can’t you get up without making a noise? You clumsy idiot.’

***


Author’s note:

Fffwwwmmmpppp. There she goes.

That’s why my perspective on verbal humiliation in erotic fiction is: Use with caution. Depending on context, it can backfire on the speaking character in unintended ways.

In general, my personal preference is for powerful characters speaking politely. When someone who speaks with politeness is instantly obeyed, fictional power difference can manifest itself in ways I like and find erotic.

***