Thirsty Thursday: A Journey to Xura

 

Image by M. Maggs from Pixabay
The sight that Robin and John saw on their arrival in the Dreamlands looked a little bit something like this.

The Adventures of Robin Roberts and Little John Tamboli: A Journey to Xura

Genuine discourse

“Are you comin’ tonight?”

A burly ghoul wearing a faded green and brown checked newsboy cap, a tattered gray cable-knit sweater over a threadbare collared shirt, and ragged brown trousers sat on a filthy futon in a cavern crafted by ghoulish hands beneath London’s Royal Horseguards Hotel. He had a map and a musty old tome in front of him, which he was studying by the light of a dim lantern. A Victrola sat in the corner, playing “Nearer My God to Thee.”

The large chap glanced up from the tome to see a diminutive ghoul clad in a reddish-brown newsboy cap, a gray sweater over a collared shirt, and a pair of ragged blue trousers. This was the same outfit that Robin Roberts wore every day, the same outfit that he had been wearing on the day he and John were placed in the mass grave in Crouch End on the 8th of June, 1918.

“Aw, Rob, mightn’t we Scapa Fla ter the bloomin' carnival anovver night?” John pleaded. “It’s been there since afore we were even a thought, and it ain’t likely ter disappear anytime soon.”

“You’ve been sayin’ that fer a fortnight,” Robin countered, taking the needle from the record. “Why're ya listenin’ ter this maudlin dirge? At least pop on a bit of ragtime or sum sha tunes, summit a chap can snap ‘is Longers & Lingers ter.”

“Cause those kinds of tunes will make me plates of meat set ter tappin', and then I won't get aahhht done. Ya kna that I Kathy Burke Mae West chicken pen I earwig ter melancholy music. Anyways, that's the bloomin' last Ding-Dong that the band played aboard the Titanic ‘fore she sunk ter the bottom of Davy Jones Locker. There's a benefit ter raise funds ter commemorate the saucepan lids 'oo perished chicken pen the Titanic sank, and I wanna donate a few Bin Lid so's the Bruce Lee nippers can be 'onored as they deserve ter be.”

“So yer plannin' ter rob sum rich evil blighter and donate the bloomin' proceeds ter 'onor the chuffin' kiddas 'oo went daahhhn wif the bleedin' 'appeny dip,” Robin realized. “That's a jolly Robin Hood scheme and wite up me alley. But we can't Kathy Burke on an empty stomach, Johnny. Come ter the carnival wif me. We'll fill our bellies and 'ave a giraffe and then we'll come Hammer and Tack 'ere and plan the 'eist.”

“Come ter fin' of it, I do 'ave a rumblin' in me tum,” John acknowledged. “A sugar and spice slice of plump rump sounds loike just the Bat and Wicket ter take the edge Frank Bough. You've talked me into it, Rob. A strappin' lad loike me needs ter eat 'is fill if 'e's gonna plan and scheme.”

“Na yer gettin’ the picture. Come along, there ain’t a moment ter spare, fer I’m so chuffin’ ‘ungry I could scarf down a whole bear!”

Planning the Journey

“So, ‘ow much urgency is there in yer need fer speed in reaching Xura?” Little John inquired. “Do we wish a leisurely stroll with lots of adventure in between? Shall we go by way of the tunnels, shall we travel through the Dreamlands, or shall we just pop off through a gate?”

“’Eaven and 'ell, I am keen ter steer clear of bof 'ip 'oppin' 'oodlums and rash inducin' radishes, so I suggest we avoid the city,” Robin replied. “’Owsomever, just thumb-suckin' Frank Bough through a gate does seem a bit anticlimactic. Oi'd say me preference is a stroll along an earthen frog and toad wif impenetrable bushes on either side, just for a Randolph Scott of eerie atmosphere, ya kna.”

“So, through the bleedin' Dreamlands, then. Oi've a Bruce Lee thought on that. If we take the bloomin' tunnels, we lessen our chances of encounterin’ a 'uman.”

“I daan't give a Kate Moss abaht 'umans. Fickle blighters they are. If it's an inexperienced dreamer that we encounter, they'll scream and Donald Duck Frank Bough daahhhn a steep Jack and Jill, likely fallin' wite Hammer and Tack into their body. If we 'appen on sum sort of maniac 'avin' a lurk in the bleedin' bushes, we'll Ian Beale wif them as necessary. Daan't be a fusspot, China Plate. It's been altogether too long since we ‘ad an adventure.”

“That it 'as, you'll get nah argument from me there. Since that's settled, let's Crust of Bread through the bleedin' gate ter the bloomin' enchanted Do Me Good and make Robin Hood on the opportunity ter dine loike kings.”

“Kilts and kings an’ quilts and queens, I don’t care a fig fer any of them things,” Robin smirked. “Fill me quiver wif liver and give me a skull fer a bowl, and I’ll be as happy a ghoul as ever ya saw.”

Robin snapped his fingers, twirled around like a ballerina, shuffled back and forth while chanting arcane words and waved his hand. An arc of silvery light appeared on the earthen wall.

John’s mood was much spryer than it had been when Robin first entered the room. His tummy rumbled and his feet grumbled as he stood. He crunched his toes against the floor to alleviate the stiffness, then skipped towards the portal, which caused Robin to burst out laughing.

“Oi, Petunia, wait fer me!” Robin called as John sashayed through the gate.

The wiry ghoul performed a swan dive into the portal. Moments later, he and John tumbled from a gate in the trunk of a tree into a grassy glen in the storied Enchanted Wood of the Dreamlands. They lay looking up at the clouds in the clear blue sky.

“It’s much too bright, it gives me a fright!” Robin complained, although his fit of tittering gave away his good cheer.

“Least we ain’t trolls, so it ain’t like the sun will petrify us,” John reasoned.

“The bleedin' Dreamlands are always so beautiful, ain't they, Little John? Daan't matter if it's day or night, they're a grand old sight. Leaves me verklempt, it does.”



Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors
I'd be doing this if I could


Note: This piece contains the first two segments of a new chapter that I'm writing for my ongoing Forever WIP. I will be finishing the chapter tomorrow and will upload it to Reedsy. If you want to check for it next week, go here.

All my writing on Reedsy is free. If you like it, share it.

Further notes:
The Tale Weaver prompt asked for a story from the perspective of a villain. I was already writing this piece when I saw the prompt. My interpretation deviates from the prompt in that Robin and John are the unlikely heroes of the first book in the Tales from the Dreamlands series. Yes, they are ghouls. Yes, they eat rotting flesh. But they aren't actually evil. they're just interpreted that way.


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Acknowledgments

Xura is the creation of H.P. Lovecraft. It makes its initial appearance in The White Ship, first publication The United Amateur #2, November 1919.

Ghouls such as Robin and Little John make occasional appearances in Lovecraft’s work. They were initially described in Pickman’s Model, first publication Weird Tales, October 1927.

Prompts Used

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

Photo Challenge

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/07/20/photo-challenge-375/

Tale Weaver

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/07/29/tale-weaver-29-07-21-a-question-of-perspective/

Wordle

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/07/19/wordle-250/

Lessen

Urgency

Maniac

Bushes

Road

Steep

Headlights

Scream

Impenetrable

Human

Lurk

Fickle

 

Wordle

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/07/26/wordle-251/

Suction

Death

Bridge

Petrify

Nightshade

Neck

Peel

Weapon

Little

Bodies

Rumor

Verklempt- overly emotional and unable to speak.

 

Putting My Feet in the Dirt

http://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com

 

Reedsy

https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/

Submitted to the Write about an introvert and an extrovert who are best friends prompt.

The piece was also inspired by these prompts:

Write about someone who wants to stay home alone, only for their plans to be disrupted.

Start your story with a character saying, “Are you coming tonight?”

 The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)


Creative Commons License

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

This work is the intellectual property of Naughty Netherworld Press/Poetry of the Netherworld.

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it. Odysee’s reblog function is called repost, which makes things confusing since reposting is considered a no-no on most platforms. It’s fine to share the post using the repost function on Odysee. It is not okay to copy-paste the material into a new post.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

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http://bit.ly/morennp


Shadows of Yesterday is FREE From July 13 - July 18 #MFRWHooks #MFRWSteam #MFRWAuthor #8Sunday #RainbowSnippets #SnipSun

 


Genre:
M/M erotica, sci-fi

Length:
3000 words (approximate)

Mature Content Advisory:
Although this post doesn't contain explicit content, it makes no (ahem) bones about the explicit activities occurring in the mysterious (and sexy) Temple Bratuns. So, if that sort of thing really is not your bag, Baby, this is your cue to return from whence you came and give this post a miss.

The story that the excerpt is taken from does contain explicit content. 

Blurb:

Peregrine Varga is deep under Finn Storm’s spell. The mysterious monks of Temple Bratuns have never combated the influence of a siren before. They will need to dive deep into Peregrine’s psyche and open the shrouded passage of his subconscious if there is any hope for the enchanted roughneck to ever regain control of his senses.

Short Snippet:

“Release the supplicant from the bondage bench,” Brother Mateus ordered.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Iker inquired. “He tried to run last time you did that. My knees are still shaking after the pounding that Brother Saiful here just gave me. I’m not sure that I’d be able to subdue him if he decides to bolt.”

Notes 

If all you wanted was a tiny taste, you're done here. But if you're ready for a full scoop, keep reading!

Buy links follow the rest of the snippet.

Extended Snippet

“I think he has been subdued by the masterful probing he just received from the delightful Ohannes,” Brother Mateus reasoned. “I believe that he is ready for me to begin a different kind of probing. Brother Peregrine, we will begin by shining a luz into the hidden passages of your mind before my staff stretches your back passage to its outer limits. What do you say, meu caro amigo1? Would you care to join me for um pingo?”

“Yes, I’d like that,” Peregrine replied, a docile smile on his face.

“Esplêndido! Oh, we have tapped into something here. It is as though a própria vida2 has simply drained from your strong body. Such a segredo terrível3 you must be holding onto! Well, amigo, there is no secret that can maintain its power when exposed to a luz. Fear not, we will draw this shadow out, at first gently, then we shall hit it with everything we have in our arsenal. No more will it plague you, and if I am correct, you will be free from the clutches of a sirene du mer. Brothers, release your supplicants! It is time now to relax and enjoy um pingo and easy conversation.”

“Perry, you look terrible,” Iker noted, hurrying to his friend’s side. “Are you sure this is the right time for a coffee break, Brother Mateus? He looks like he needs a hospital!”

“A hospital has no medicine that can heal him, meu amigo,” Brother Mateus cautioned. “This is a sickness of spirit, not of body. This shadow has had its hold over your friend’s mind long before a sirene du mer cast his spell. The harder he fights, the stronger its grip becomes. We must draw it out slowly if we are to have any hope for o triunfo.4 Amigos old and new, sit down, relax, enjoy um pingo! We grow os grãos de café5 here in our own gardens and the milk comes from os grãos of the prized Gakels bush. I have been told that os grãos de Gakels produce the creamiest milk.”

A battle raged in Peregrine’s mind, but he was too defeated to rage or attempt to run. He wrapped himself in the comfortable robe presented to him by one Brother Parry Anish Balodis, a tall, sinewy young fellow with flaxen hair and sparkling blue eyes the color of the skies in pictures that Peregrine had seen from Homeworld Earth.

“If you cannot save me, Brother Mateus, release me to the ocean to live out the remainder of my cruel life,” Peregrine murmured as he sipped the coffee beverage the high priest placed in his hands. “Either that or kill me. Death would be preferable to this war raging in my soul.”

“I know you are unhappy, meu caro amigo, but give your cares to me for tonight,” Brother Mateus implored. “I truly believe that we can heal this wound from which bleeds your happiness.”

Buy Links

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Free to own from 13 July - 18 July

Regular price 99 cents.

https://bit.ly/CHVIIAZ

This story is also available as a PDF for my patrons at any level, starting at just a buck a month.  https://www.patreon.com/posts/51984050

You can purchase the first five hot Cloned Heat Cliffhangers for your erotica collection, or read them free with Kindle Unlimited. 


Notes
For the foreseeable future, I will be posting to the Big Four blog hops once a month and the Roost Recommendations at http://ornerybookemporium.blogspot.com will be a monthly rather than weekly feature. 

I will be publishing far less WIP material. It doesn't generate much interest, and it takes a lot of time and effort to create the posts. My first thought when I wake up in the morning is "oh, hell, not this shit again." So I need to scale back the amount of promotion I'm doing and allow myself and my stories to heal.

Again, I am deeply grateful to everyone who donated to Tara's chemotherapy. You really did make things easier.

Let's Go To the Hops








The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)


Creative Commons License

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

This work is the intellectual property of Naughty Netherworld Press/Poetry of the Netherworld.

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it. Odysee’s reblog function is called repost, which makes things confusing since reposting is considered a no-no on most platforms. It’s fine to share the post using the repost function on Odysee. It is not okay to copy-paste the material into a new post.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

Want more?

Get it here!

http://bit.ly/morennp

Update: Naughty Netherworld Press and Readers Roost

 

The Tower from the Azathoth Tarot Deck

Hello Naughties and Roosties.

Things are going to hell in a handbasket, and every time I think that I'm okay to keep pushing myself, that ends up being not true. I'm afraid that I've behaved like a bit of an ass, and to anyone who was on the receiving end of that, I apologize. 

For the time being, I'm going to confine myself to doing one session of blog hops when the new Cloned Heat book comes out. This means that for the foreseeable future, the Roost Recommendations posts will be monthly rather than weekly. 

I will still do the Insecure Writers Support Group.

I may occasionally do other blog hops outside of the Big Four, but I've honestly found that I don't get much feedback from participating in these. 

While I'm not going to stop writing entirely (like anyone cares if I do or I don't), I'm going to keep my WIP stuff a lot closer to the chest. I always thought that people would enjoy watching a work in progress, but nobody seems to be very interested. It takes effort to create the posts, so if they don't have an audience, I don't see any reason to make them.

I learned a long time ago that for people to take an interest in a woman's work, she has to be pretty. I'm not and never have been. I guess I kept hoping that people's attitudes would evolve and that we as a society would come to realize that looks are an overall meaningless attribute, but, if anything, things have only gotten worse.

Somebody once said that music was better when ugly people were making it. I think the same is true of writing. People who are writing from the most wounded part of themselves often produce the most powerful work. 

The general public doesn't want the kind of work where someone has torn out their heart and spilled their guts. They want the shiny, the sparkly, the effervescent, soda pop, bubblegum. They don't want to see the scars behind the mask of perfection. I give the people the scars.

Oddly enough, after seeing the Black Mirror episode "Rachel, Jack, and Ashley Too," I think that Miley Cyrus may understand this better than just about anybody except for Britney Spears.

Anyway, after sitting there shaking and feeling like I am utterly losing whatever is left of myself and my questionable sanity, I realize that I really need to take care of myself. I'm 56 years old and my health isn't great. I need to tend to my body's needs and cultivate the haunted garden of my heart so I can keep pissing people off for at least another 40 years.

Your support is appreciated more than you know.

~Ornery Owl (still not Charlotte) Has Spoken~


Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors

Believe me, if I could get away with it, I'd be doing this.

Insecure Writers Support Group 7 July 2021

 


Well, what do you know? Here I am a day late and a dollar short, like usual.

This month's question:
What would make you quit writing?

I may have already come to that point. 

I'm tired as hell of knowing my work will never find an audience because I'm just a huge weirdo who is going to write what I like to write regardless of whether it's popular or not. 

I have tried time and again to write according to a formula and every time I end up going back to writing what I want.

I'm tired of the things I write being torn apart so I end up hating them.

I initially liked this story after I wrote it. After everyone else got through picking it apart, I came to hate it.

I think I'm there. I think I'm done. 

My stories will die with me, and neither will be missed.

Readers Roost: Roost Recommendations 5 June 2021

Readers Roost: Roost Recommendations 5 June 2021:   Image by lil_foot_ from Pixabay How are you doing, Roosties? For many of us in the Northern hemisphere, it's too hot outside. Stay in...

Despite falling apart at the seams mentally, I've got the Roost Recommendations up and running! I wasn't sure that I'd be able to. Spread the word and help your friends and family find their next great read.

Reflections Of #8Sunday, #MFRWHooks, #SnipSun



Good morning, afternoon, or whatever. I had a dandy week going off the rails, how's your life been?

I sincerely wish to thank everyone who has contributed to helping with Tara's medical costs. We have a long way to go, but your assistance has made it a little easier. There will be no new AC for my car. The compressor is blown and it would cost $1300 to replace it. I need to make this car last for another 3 years until I can tap my 401K, get the RAV4 Hybrid that my son and I have been discussing ever since we moved out here to Podunk on the Plains, and relegate the poor old Fusion to being an auxiliary vehicle.

Moving on, I have a depressing not-so-little slice of creative fiction for you. For those who wonder if I write anything besides dumb erotica that nobody reads, the answer is, yes indeed I do. I write poetry, fantasy, science fiction/speculative fiction, and moody, broody reflections on my extremely fucked-up life that nobody reads. 

I will provide the first eight sentences below, and if you wish to read beyond that, it's up to you. Links to the writing prompts and acknowledgements follow the piece.

Reflections Of

I am the monster of every story.

I am an overgrown and unappealing flower with fading petals.

The knot of tears around my throat has crystallized into my design, creating a hard lump in the notch of my collarbone.

In my youth, the contour was visible, and predatory men longed to sink their teeth into it.

I wish that I could at least exchange youthful beauty for the wisdom of age, but although my face is wizened, I am not wise.

I have always been a dowdy mutant with the vague shape of a woman.

Never was I a pale and delicate artifact to be treasured like precious jewelry carved from mother-of-pearl.

What slight appeal may have been endowed on me in the morning of youth continues to dwindle with every passing day in the afternoon of my life. 

If that's all you wanted, you're dunzo, get outta here.

If, on the other hand, you're a glutton for punishment, stick around.

I trade chicory for coffee because they have a similar taste, but I can no longer tolerate caffeine.

Day by day life loses any sense of exhilaration.

I remind myself that most of the stimulants I chose were artificial.

Caffeine, nicotine, amphetamines.

I was always running from myself.

Always fleeing the monster in the mirror.

I thought that if I ran fast enough, I might escape the hideous reflection looking back at me, if only for a while.

I ran into the clutches of liar after liar promising me that I was his one and only, his forever, his girl.

Only to have him turn out to be another abuser, another loser, another cheat.

“You bring all your misery on yourself,” one of them sneered at me as I stood hollow and lost in his living room that smelled like urine.

There were bandages on my wrists from self-inflicted cuts.

He had introduced me to the tramp that he was fucking on the side.

After he told me I was the only one.

He forced me to watch pornography.

Not just humans, mind.

He made me kiss his feet.

He told me that he would take his love from me if I refused to obey.

How could I think that was love?

Why did I stay?

The pretty people can never understand.

When you are as hideous as I am, the monster in the mirror gives the orders.

“Find someone to gimme shelter,” she demands.

So, when men would lie to me and tell me that I was pretty, it didn’t matter how ugly they treated me.

Being told that she was beautiful was the most important thing to yesterday’s stupid girl.

A shambling mound, a loathsome lump, a parody of femininity.

When you are these things, you allow anyone with slippery words to tear your heart to pieces.

Twenty-three years have gone by, and I still feel sick when I think back on it.

Men don’t treat you right when you’re the monster in the mirror.

I know I’m better off alone, but I find no solace in my own company.

I would never look at myself, but I still must brush my hair.

I would tell any man who approached me these days with slippery words and predatory intent to go fuck himself sideways.

I don’t have the patience for lying lotharios.

I would rather keep the company of listless lions and doomsday dungeons.

I convinced myself that my stories would be my salvation.

I hoped my peculiar little tales would find an audience.

So far, I have lied to myself as much as those hopscotching hillbillies and hurtling hitchhikers of my yesteryears lied to me.

This is the danger when you are the monster in the mirror.

Everybody lies to you.

I learned the truth long before I was seventeen.

The author of that song said that dreams are all they give for free to ugly duckling girls.

But she lied too because dreams come at a price.

Besides, she has made clear her position on large women that she deems unattractive, so I don’t trust her very much.

I have always related to the protagonist in Mr. Lovecraft’s tale of The Outsider when he realized why the partygoers screamed and ran into the night at the sight of him.

For although nepenthe has calmed me, I know always that I am an outsider; a stranger in this century and among those who are still men. This I have known ever since I stretched out my fingers to the abomination within that great gilded frame; stretched out my fingers and touched a cold and unyielding surface of polished glass.

I am the monster in the mirror.

I am the outsider.

I will never be anyone’s first choice.

I am not even the consolation prize.

I am the one that men sniggeringly dare each other to have sex with.

I am the butt of the joke.

I am not even seen as human.

Once I dreamed that love would come in and sweep me up away.

But the monster in the mirror shall not find love even in her dreams.

The little friends who once gave me love have been gone for years.

It is too expensive to keep pets, and my heart will never heal from those losses.

Every day is a struggle to keep going.

Even the stories in my mind begin to grow dim.

I have found nobody to care for them after I am gone.

Without an audience, they will die with me.

It seems that nobody wants even to share in the flights of fancy of someone so far removed from beautiful.

I wish that I could say that I have made peace with what I am.

That I have triumphed despite being horrible to behold, but I have not, and I never will.

I am doomed to walk into the darkness alone.

There will be no kind words, no acclaim, and it will be no great loss, for I was never anything but the monster in the mirror.

The sight of me is hideous, there is no doubt, but there is an aching sweetness buried within.

A thousand pinpricks in my sorrowful heart remind me daily of all I’ve lost and what I never had to begin with.

Acknowledgments

“The Outsider” is a story by H.P. Lovecraft, first publication Weird Tales April 1926.

The line “the knot of tears around your throat is crystallizing into your design” comes from the 1967 song “Albatross,” written and performed by Judy Collins.

“Gimme Shelter” is a 1971 song written by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards and performed by The Rolling Stones.

“At Seventeen” is a 1975 song written and performed by Janis Ian.

“Once I dreamed that love would come in and sweep me up away” is a line from the 1977 song “Here Come the Tears,” written by Rob Halford and Glenn Tipton and performed by Judas Priest.

The line “besides, she has made clear her position on large women that she deems unattractive, so I don’t trust her very much” refers to derogatory remarks that Ms. Ian has made about big women on various occasions. While I still like her music, I have been disappointed by her intolerant attitudes towards people that she deems physically unappealing.

Prompts Used

Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

First Line Friday

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/07/02/first-line-friday-july-2-2021/

Music Prompt

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/06/25/gimme-shelter-challenge-185

Wordle

https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2021/07/05/wordle-248/

Exchange

Overgrown

Fading Petals

Chicory

Pin Pricks

Thousand

Wizened

Notch

Mother-of-pearl

Contour

Dwindle

Afternoon

Putting My Feet in the Dirt

http://puttingmyfeetinthedirt.com

Listless Lions and Doomsday Dungeons

Hopscotching hillbillies and hurtling hitchhikers

Reedsy

https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/

Submitted to the Write a story that involves a reflection in a mirror prompt on 5 July 2021.

 Let's Go To The Hop




 The Icky, Sticky, Nit-Picky Legalese If You Please (Or Don't Please)


Creative Commons License

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.

This work is the intellectual property of Naughty Netherworld Press/Poetry of the Netherworld.

Reblogging is acceptable on platforms that allow it. Odysee’s reblog function is called repost, which makes things confusing since reposting is considered a no-no on most platforms. It’s fine to share the post using the repost function on Odysee. It is not okay to copy-paste the material into a new post.

Sharing a link to the post is acceptable.

Quoting portions of the post for educational or review purposes is acceptable if proper credit is given.

Want more?

Get it here!

http://bit.ly/MoreNNP

I'm going for Baroque today!


A Playful Swat (Saturday Spankings)

Genre: M/M erotica, sci-fi Length: 3000 words (approximate) Mature Content Advisory: This post is on a bone-cation in Pound Town. In other w...