Once More with Feeling
The others had gathered in the tack room, already in various states of bondage. A handler from another group was deputising for Kendrick. Miss Cuntling caught up with me and shoved me towards him.
“Tack her up.”
As much as I wanted to wallow in self-pity for the rest of this glorious autumn day, I had to move on – or that bitch would make me move. It didn’t take much imagination and very little of the soreness radiating from my fresh piercing wounds to deduce that I was now even more vulnerable. So let’s pick up the action as Ersatz-Kendrick finished the boring standard tacking and stepped compliably aside for Miss C. to bring on the new and exciting stuff! Continue reading
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 50,000 times in 2015. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 19 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.
Click here to see the complete report.
Gore Days is a little fan service, set between the first and the upcoming second part of the HardSkill trilogy. Like the uncompromising, ultra-violent main narrations, this story can be descriped as gore porn and is affiliated to the Japanese “guro” genre (the phoenetic resemblence between the two terms is incidential). I also took some places and elements from #Fear the Future, an older story not yet published (nor finished, for that matter).
Enjoy, but keep in mind that the HardSkill series is not for the faint of heart.
HardSkill – Gore Days
ATROTEC INDUSTRIAL ESTATE
A mess had to be cleaned up. Sometimes the organised crime became a bit too organised, and its actions appeared on the radar screens of those in the High Towers. Mega-incorporations were commonly not interested in drug trafficking, forced prostitution or protection racket, but didn’t take too well to acts of cyber-crime against their data cores.
The hacker with the irritating hair colour called herself Edgeplay, and – quite frankly – wasn’t as much fun as her name suggested.
“I didn’t get in! I didn’t get any data!” she babbled hysterically. Continue reading
“If you are a real painslut, you will be spoiled rotten tonight.”
I had made it very clear to Portia that the members of my depraved little circle were committed to the darker ways of BDSM. Marks that would last for weeks were a must-have, safewords a no-go. Portia emitted an affirmative grunt from behind the gag. Any intelligible sound was permitted by the huge rubber orb, and nodding would have interfered with my tightening her head harness.
A two inch ball gag would have silenced her nicely. 2.5 inches was her limit. I had gone for a three-incher. The rest of her body would be in tremendous pain within the hour, so why shouldn’t her mouth as well? Alternately I tightened the horizontal main strap and the facial straps running along both sides of her nose and – as one – across the crown of her head. With every tug the ball was pulled deeper into her straining mouth. We were working our way towards total gaggage for several minutes already, and the nude woman kneeling in front of me was experiencing the first cramps. She would get used to them. Continue reading
Seva Kandrin’s about to Make You Her Bitch
Our primary sense is our vision (at least as long as nobody comes up with the idea of putting full blinkers on us). The sense most closely linked to our memory is said to be the olfactory one. Yet there is something deeply influential about our hearing, too. Maybe it is the duality of hearing and feeling, of how the same sensation is processed twice by our minds. Or maybe I own a tendency for heightened acoustic recall, a proneness to certain rhythms and frequencies. To the latter, the frequencies, I was subjected again the next morning as Miss Cuntling whistled us out of our bunks. The insufferable sound heralded another day of anguish. Continue reading
Under my hooves the ground changed towards a more bouncy, less cushioning nature. My perfectly executed high steps caused hollow sounds, and the wheels of the sulky began to rattle in a distinct frequency. That, and the intensified noise of flowing water told me I was crossing the old wooden bridge. It was the first time Miss Cuntling had made me take this route instead of the trail that led upstream towards the Deepfall. I’d love to describe the scenery as I trotted deeper into the woods, but Kandrin had opted for the full blinkers. No distractions from the rein commands. And since this measure alone wasn’t sufficient to solve my alleged attention span problem, Miss C. had done what she liked to do best: She’d fitted me with a new bit. Continue reading