Solstice story by moi-- #freeread Happy holiday!

 Solstice of the Whirled

by Helgaleena

originally published in 

A Dark Roasted Christmas Volume 2

(out of print)

I will close my eyes and my body will come loose.

Were it not for their bindings, my breasts would be slapping against my ribs with every basket I lift. But the solstice is nearly here and I must set an example to the others. When the day is at its longest, when the sun dips down as close as it plans to come to the long horizon, there will be dancing into the whirl. But before that comes feasting upon the spring’s first plantings.

The heat and humidity are so heavy that my skin feels cooked soft, as if it is leaking like a sieve everything inside me out into the whirled. It’s a relief to lick the sweat off my own upper lip. High above the tallest forest tops the relentless sun is making hot and cold air currents into equally relentless wind. But even those atop the fermentation vat are not high enough to feel it. Nothing stops the myriads of little insects from flying in to die and add their nutritious flavor to the brew.

The basket is taken by another and lifted higher, from hand to hand until its load of sap and fruit is tipped into the aperture. The top man is unsteady, giving in to the potent fumes. His lover tugs at his ankle, urging him to switch places.

In this heat it won’t be long before the drink is ready for us to drum and dance into the whirl and see where it takes us.

****

I am licking sweat from my upper lip again. Pounding, chanting, drinking from the passing gourd dipper, inhaling the aromas of smoldering herbs mixed with the tang of myriad bodies, we sway in waves of joined hands, in and out from the center. The familiar tingle of watching spirits makes me smile; all is well with my people, those here and those who went before. My throat is nearly hoarse from the repetitious chorus even with all the drink to ease it. My limbs are trembling from the exertion of the dance and the relentless noise I help to push ever louder. That tiny momentary taste of my own salt is all the sustenance I am going to get before I am flying free.

I close my eyes away from the incense sting and my body loosens. I am away between the spheres, between heartbeats, flying between the layers of the whirled to wherever the Goddess takes me.

Sister sun’s brilliance has come as close as ever it may come, blowing heat at us this longest day, and now must pause to inhale. Shadow rushes in to replace my body’s overload.

The Goddess takes many. I sense them around me like droplets of mist from a forest leaf in the colorless haze. It is our way. When our mortal shells fall exhausted from the stress of preparation, the depredation of illness, or transported by the dancing and drumming of worship, we visit the great whirlpool that turns our world. It is made of lightning and air and the edges of fire meeting water. It is made of the sparks of all the living things that inhabit the solid and the liquid and the gases, rubbing forever in great spirals all around.
Some call it the magic mill and say it vomits out every sort of riches. Some call it the maw and say it swallows everything and turns it into nothing, a nothing so terribly heavy it cannot be moved. Those who have been this way say it is a gate or a tunnel or a belly or a wheel. The bright sky becomes what I walk on and the hard earth becomes what I breathe and all of us are scattered and fly free.

****

Deep under the ground in caverns on the other end of the whirled there is a sleeping twin to me. The self she has wrapped in many layers of fur and wool, with wood and rubbed metal between fabric and rock, is very different in appearance, but what does that matter in the dark? Hot springs bubble up steam condensing droplets that have taken the time to dissolve the stones into shapes. Fire deposits tunnels of hot and cold around its greedy feeding, leaves its prints of greasy ash upon the cavern ceilings, but in the wise woman’s cocoon she barely breathes.

Not all of her people can sustain such a state of stillness, even in the season of sleep. But it is her sacred duty to make certain there are creatures of flesh throughout the long season to feed them all. Without them the hunters can do nothing but despair, and lash out at the weak and hungry at home.

Her dreams take her along the trails of the spirits of other creatures even more deeply asleep than she is-- serpents in tumbled masses, fish and frogs cold as ice, bruins and rodents and beetles snug in leaf piles. This is the road to where the sun has hidden itself, far away on the other side of the whirled, never showing itself at all on this longest night.

The mill of the world grinds out powdered ice far above the surface of her land under the far off stars. In my land the obdurate sun has goaded up giant winds to blow us all onto our faces on the longest day. Armies of us abandon ourselves there to fly in spirit, evaporated into mist that freezes as it rises ever higher into clouds. Then the clouds are blown down at our land again, dropping precipitous where the shifting wind bends the trees sideways.

Some, like me, turn and blow down on other lands, such as the land where my twin seeker follows the hibernating herds down, down into the navel of the whirl. I am so thirsty. Like wraiths my fellow ice particles are drawn to the spirit dreamers. In a flash my light goes to her ember and both of us quicken.

We meet. The tiny spaces between our substances comb themselves together and set up a vibration, shivering us, compiling us.

My copper skin is instead now freckled and milky, and my hair is turned into wires of orange instead of small dark tufts. I come to her hot quiet redolent nest in solitary hush, to the taste of breaths re-breathed beneath the blankets, the brightest light my mind’s eye.

Her layers of fat no longer conceal her tiny bones and instead she has lanky limbs, lashed together tightly by tested sinew, sculpted by air and motion. She comes to my dried out husk on the dancing ground surrounded by commotion and heat and screaming hurricane tumult, horizontal rain as warm as blood.

Neither of us is content in our momentary new stations. She does not like being unable to hear her own harsh cries of ecstasy over the din of the throng and storm. In the swimming unity of inner and outer moisture, threatening to dissolve her spark, are also rot and the creatures who seek it. For this she is too open and alive, and she cannot remain.

For my part, I dislike being a mute secret immobile under muffling layers of protection. When I am invisible I feel as if I no longer matter. Not mattering is moribund and stale and I would rather be dead than entombed with my panic. I can’t stay so closed.

Back we rush along the dream roads toward one another again, stretched into one another’s shape and overtaxed. Need for the other brings us face to face. Mirrors for each other, we offer our shocking experiences of light and dark as wordless visions.

She sees me seeing her snug abundance. It is delicious and plump as a juicy fruit. I see her seeing the hot mist of my breath in a fertile crush. It is like a strong drink heated enough to intoxicate before it is even swirled around the tongue.

She takes my her-sense and puts it on. I take her me-sense and use it as a veil for my dream bones. We are ourselves again but better. Goddess in us loves Herself.

Her ground is white and her sky is dark. My ground is dark and my sky is white. My face lowers to her heart and her face lowers to mine. Our hands interlace, right in right, left in left. Her up is my down and around us revolves the darkness and light of the whirling world.

Her mouth finds my breast and makes a ring of teeth and suction. Such a hunger for my taste! I feel bright fire and fierce bliss that rages into a glad shout and a grin that reveals all my dream teeth, lets out my seeking tongue to touch spotted skin. Her breast is a hot perfumed fruit and its stem is her stiffening nipple. As I lap at it, the flex and contraction of its million pores let out sweet nectar for me to swallow down, down, latching on and pulling it all the way in.

We drink each other forever and until the end of forever. Above her I feel my below, dancing and swaying like a tree trunk, my waving legs the branches, my toes the twigs, between them the honeycomb. I know that below her, up in my sky, the speckled skin filled with rolls of succulent flesh will be rubbing against itself, making moist sensation and scent rain out.

Lightning of climax streaks into every extremity of each of us and pounds forth our red blood. The longest day and the longest night we are swirling in both, the whirled through us able to celebrate.

Will we remember this after the long climb back to space and time? The whirled will tell. 

 Enjoy a delicious taste of holiday erotica from an alternate future, courtesy of

The Den of Debauchery's Subannex - Sunday Story Time.  This is a complete short story, set in the Eight Thrones universe. It was originally published in A Dark Roasted Christmas



One Gift at a Time

This Christmas the anthology isn't available, but Angelia Sparrow's  other Eight Thrones Series books,  Nikolai and Niko-chan, are available  at her own press.



NIKOLAI by Angelia Sparrow
(now available at Inkstained Succubus, along with the other Heartland Universe novels)



NIKO-CHAN by Angelia Sparrow


The Den of Debauchery's Subannex - Sunday Story Time

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY Final chapter

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter as a stand alone short story.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

Chapter Thirty
Old and New

“Go away, Heidi;’ he says; “you are a figment of the collective Virgens unconscious.”

He says that to a gorgeous Technicolor woman hovering over his bed? Okay, Ole Lindendahl is a
big fat meatloaf not worthy of my trying to associate with. He quit writing songs for the band
immediately after Heads Up, the first collaboration, and just hit the skins, getting fatter and
balder. I don’t think he has any hobbies besides drumming and mowing the lawn and drinking
beer. When he’s not staying in his room at the Steel Virgins Ltd, I can barely locate him unless
he’s thinking about the music. Let his wife and kids in Encino have him to themselves.

Steen dying just meant the end to Lindendahl. He feels retired, and only showed up here for the
probate stuff. I am not even going to bother with Tiger-fingers. Murray Lin seemed a little too
eager to kick Rufus out of the property and start his damn music school here, all tax deductible.
Right after the funeral Rufus caught him breezing through the downstairs studio, making entries
into his Blackberry and talking as if it was a done deal into his little headset.

“Lin, who are you selling the farm to?”

The pianist in the pinstriped suit let out a long-suffering sigh. “Nobody, Rudy. It’s just in case--”

Dixon roundhouse kicked him through the picture window. Admittedly he was already a bit
buzzed; there was Jack Daniels in the glass he set carefully down first. Alarms went off, the
bodyguards came running, and he ran out to pick Murray up out of the hedge and tell him how

sorry he was. Yet another news item to sell albums, Steen would have said. At least they agreed
that it was too soon to decide the future of the Ltd.

While the window was awaiting repair, Rufy and I moved back into the bus. Everything still
works. Being Rufus, there was a party, and plenty of hangers-on, some of whom were willing to
fiddle while he played mandolin. The ferrets are long gone so nobody got nipped. But we all got
very drunk, even me, because I shared my man’s intoxication. Tia and the boys were there, and
even the Moffs. Moffs aren’t allowed in the house, though.

Cammie even felt Rufus up, which amused us both quite a bit. Lily pulled her off him at last,
saying it was practically incest. ‘Don’t gross me out; go for Germaine,’ is how she phrased it.
What can I say? She’s a Moff.

Rufus’ eldest grandchild by Junie, Germaine, has gradually moved in with him. Junie doesn’t
want him to be alone. Whatever Patty might think, to her he’s dad. Biology isn’t everything.
Since he’s too mature for a lot of the stereotypical grandson behaviors, he’s just sort of a
brotherly companion. And he goes to community college too; it’s all very beneficial to his
education—pre-med.

Sometimes I think he might notice I’m there. When he catches Rufus mumbling to me aloud,
which he will do sometimes for emphasis, I think he wonders. Silver hair and wrinkles excuse a
lot, to the young. I wonder if he gets his pipes cleaned as often as his grandpa does? He doesn’t
always come home at night.

 When the Moffs were here for the ‘wake’ I did take special notice of Lily. She did have a sort of
a glow about her. I mentioned it to Rufus and he just smiled and let it slide.

He plans on going to a jam session down in the valley this evening—all acoustic. It’s so lovely
when I can attend. They play for pleasure and not money. Rufus has grown his beard out
especially, and wears spectacles he doesn’t really need, in order to be anonymous. Believe it or
not, Cammie and Tia play there too. He says Cammie is going to go bald like Ole if she doesn’t
give up drumming.

But I am not in the mood for music. I am remembering Steen, away from his music. It was such
a shock to find him all alone in this very bus one day, while Rufus was off getting ‘she dumped
me’ sympathy from his many ladies. He was making quite a cross country trip out of it, actually.

But Steen was not at the Bolthole looking for a bear or a twink. He had gotten the keys from
Manny and let himself in here.

I’d been missing Internet access because it wasn’t on Rufy’s mind at all just then, so when the
bus PC went online, it drew me. And there was Steen, even without his ferrets; they’d all been
left with the kids as if nothing had changed.

He spoke aloud, bitter as that horrible coffee boiled through aluminum and wire that he cooked
himself sometimes. “Anna doesn’t want me there. I have to wait for visitation days.” He met my
five eyes, even the ones on my chest, then let me flow down from around the monitor where I’d
been hovering and curl around him like a big fluffy blanket of twinkles. I pressed my tiara to his
creased brow, trying to smooth it.

He was almost a stone again, but not from rage; it was leaden sadness, and it cost him much
effort to heave a sigh against it. Then he blinked exactly once and wrote in my mind’s eye, our
easiest form of speaking. It’s happening. No way to stop it. His eyes were wide open and staring,
and tears simply dripped out of them and rolled into his beard. They were not focused on
anything, but I looked over at the monitor to see what he’d pulled up anyway.

It was the middle daughter Lise’s page on Zango. She was calling herself Pizzagrrrl90. There
was a photo of Bjarne and a caption—Cutest stink-butt. Rufus had been right. The kids had
blogs.

 When the little digital readout in the corner of the screen said seven, Steen shook himself and
took a few breaths. ‘Visitation’ or not, this was the time of day when he made seven calls to
seven phone numbers, even Lily’s. Anna would answer for the baby and hold it to his ear,
because she wouldn’t dream of interfering. And every conversation this night contained the
words, Jeg elsker deg, which means I love you, more than once.

When he got to little Nina, she just cried into the phone, and so did he. She was six. Eventually
he simply told her to take very good care of Ronya, who is a ferret, and ended the call. In
retrospect I think that was the hardest one for him.

When all the calls were made, he opened his shirt and began to claw at his own chest. It looked
like he wanted to tear his own nipples off. He only stopped when I plastered myself all over him
front to front and blanketed him with whiteness, and even then darkness was leaking out of his

 pores, from his back and his scalp until his head looked inky black. He kept moaning, “It hurts,
Heidi; it hurts.”

I don’t want to tell any more. Steen or Steena might not want me to tell, and I know the Steen I
am remembering wouldn’t. I can’t always fix it when they hurt.

But as I sat here leaking remembered sadness, Germaine walked in. He looked right at me, and
then rubbed his eyes. Rufus had already left for his acoustical date. He knew nobody should be
using the PC, especially not some naked chick wearing a crown.

He’s getting his nerve up to say something….

“I didn’t believe it…”

Now this really cheers me up.

~

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 29

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter as a stand alone short story.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

Chapter Twenty-Nine
Pocket Buddies

Dear Diary,

Just now Steen snagged me for a kiss before they begin the show in Moscow. He also wanted to
help me understand what it is that Rufus does before a show that makes him seem so much like a
furnace. He’s like a conduit of something I can’t explain and neither can Steen, but we lay there
in his pocket and watched.

What Steen wanted of me before the show was to center himself within himself. It’s a meditation
skill, he says, but “it’s easier with a bint than alone.” All I know is, it’s not sex exactly, but more
like he drinks from my belly with a straw and I drink from his. Rufy would be pulling me to him
like an elastic, and not before the show. It just demonstrates that my two husbands are not
identical and interchangeable, even to me. What they bring to the performance onstage is also
unique.

When we’re on the road and he can’t look out the windows, Steen gets carsick, so he takes a pill
of something that makes him sleepy. Rufus often has us both in his pocket during the journeys,
even though Steen is actually asleep in his bunk.

Once I came to visit Steen in his bunk. I thought I would get to know my new husband one on
one. He rolled his long golden arm over me and gathered me to his chest. I looked deep into his
eyes, as my breasts were exploring the swirls of his chest hairs, and watched them change colors

like a kaleidoscope as they reflected my tiara. Steen prefers to keep what we do private and I am
not going into detail, but the point is, we loved. And when he drifted off to sleep his own private
sleep, I looked around and recognized the inside of Rufus’ pocket.

A wisp of thought drifted to me from the man himself as I felt him brush us with his elbow.
You’re my babes in the woods. I could almost feel him smiling. He liked having us cuddled into
his pocket like this, even though he was so big compared to us that we could forget he was there.
There are things I can do for Steen that even Anna would not. It’s amazing how much more
tranquil he became once we began it, and how seriously he values these things, enough to be my
husband.

But you could say that instead of being in the closet, we’re in the pocket. Rufus now and then
puts me in Steen’s pocket, just for variety, but it’s up to me how long I stay. And the things
Steen likes me to do in his pocket are different from what I do next to the skin of my Rufy, and
again, the details are not for anyone else. It will suffice to tell you about some of the fine things
Rufus and I get up to.

I mentioned that once Steen was there disguised as a pen? Well, I sometimes am running myself
up and down Rufus when he’s as big as a tree trunk, when he’ll have to concentrate on
something else and I suddenly find out it’s a pen I’m caressing with my arms and legs instead.
Yes, he actually slips me away from his cock and moves me to the pen before I even realize! I
used to sulk a bit about it, but it comforted me to feel the warmth of his torso filtering through
the cloth and I would get over it pretty quickly. Nowadays I try waiting around until he’s done
with whatever it was, and then give a ‘pen-show.’ But if it takes too long, I’ll be off to blog or
some other intellectual pastime.

I have done Heidi the snake charmer, humming and stroking him to giant hardness. I have done
Crushed by World’s Biggest Balls. I have hidden in the Hiding Bush at an inch high until it was
convenient for me to be larger with him, between the steering wheel and his chest. He has
concealed me in his palm and licked me all over, but especially between my legs. I have
explored inside his socks. I’ve even ridden his tongue around inside his mouth. Most often,
though, I am curled up like a ferret or a kitten, napping in a familiar pocket.

 If Steen is there too, sometimes it’s my job to wake him up. But he is awake and out in his
world…

...oh, when I wrote that it was a very happy time. I wonder if Rufus misses having both of
us in his pocket.

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 28

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter as a stand alone short story.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

 

 

 Chapter Twenty-Eight
Proposal Wizards

 

 

 

 Dear Diary,

I am now happily married to two husbands. We had our own ceremony privately because the
nations they come from don’t believe in having more than one husband or wife at once, but we
do, obviously! I have two rings, and so do they.

Last night Steen proposed and I said yes. They were very ceremonious about how they
Let the record show that I was interrupted for still more honeymoon behavior just then and it’s
several hours later and the guys need to get ready for the show in Brussels now. I have my brain
to myself for a bit. This narrative is not going to be at all chronological. I’ve lost count of the
many ways they have devised to make me feel cherished. My beauties. My larks. My husbands.

It all started the day before when coincidentally I had been checking up on the news feed for
Virgen Steel and there was a little sentence about Rufus. It said he was happily married with
three children. That they left out Junie and the grandkids should have got me thinking it was only
half truths, but no, that teeny phrase ‘happily married with children’ started me in on feeling
inadequate. Not only can it never be true for us two, but they were completely going on as if his
quiet divorce hadn’t even occurred! The flesh woman wins again, I was thinking.

It didn’t occur to me that Rufus might have been sly with the interviewer, saying he was happily
married and had three legitimate kids, not specifying to whom. Anyway I was somewhat

 avoiding the bed until rather late, when Rufus was napping, just a weepy miserable mist of
myself. Steen showed up and tried to have some fun with me but I was a poor substitute for
being by himself I think, not interested in coming for him by any method at all. At last he
mumbled “aw for helvede” the way he does and shook Rufus to tell him something was wrong
with me.

Mister Blue eyes opens them wide and all at once I’m boohooing all over his chest about how it
says he’s happily married and I must be an absolute idiot thinking that I am more than a
convenience to him and sorry it just came as a shock and I’ll be better and more cheerful once I
spend some time in between, but then, before I can melt away Rufus begins screwing me
desperately, forcing the pleasure into me before I can deny it.

I at last relaxed and lit up because yes, he pleases me, and yes I still want him no matter what—
but when I came I still disintegrated into between for a bit, just as I said. I simply had to. I had to
accept deep in myself that the words on the net were less true than Rufus loving me. Then I was
calm enough to come back.

It might have been a couple of days or a couple of hours; the bus was very quiet. And the men
were waiting for me. They’d tangled themselves together and Steen’s deep gold head was to the
left and Rufy’s flame red to the right on the pillow of brown Beaver.

 

 Steen’s one visible eye flashed a slit of green up at me and then he visualized in my mind
deliberately—a ring. He had visualized every curve and facet of it, a twist of two metals, gold
and copper, clear as if he’d used CAD. When he sensed my admiration, and that I knew what it
symbolized, he did a very surprising thing: he put it on my finger with his mind! I had forgotten
he was a wizard with very strong thoughts.

He put it onto the other hand to the one where Rufy’s elastic ring is. And his thought was quite
clear, like an announcement from a speaker right in my head: are we more symmetrical now?
And the answer is of course, yes, yes!

I reached for him and let him show me how he feels and what he knows of me, which is so much
because he is so wise. I am so very glad of him. As we embraced, I noticed that Rufus was
watching. He was our witness, and now, because we are three and not two, these clever men had
devised a special consecration just for this moment.

 

 Gently Steen spread my sparkling legs as wide as they go, short of a splits. Then he took the
hand he’d just put the ring on and placed it between my legs with his over it. Rufus sat up on the
other side of me and put my hand with his ring on it there too. Aloud Steen said in a low voice,
“Now then bint, frig yourself.” I could tell Rufus was highly pleased. He’d taught me how.

You tell Me how that can seem romantic! But it did. I could feel my eyes wide and rolling like
Betty Boop and my whole face grinning as if it might fold in half. I squeezed my breasts together
so the nipples bobbed and wiggled my fingers as they pressed them ever deeper into my own
crotch and made myself come like a spring welling up, showering us all, the way Rufus taught
me.

Even as I was distracted by my own joy, they each seized one of my feet and kissed it. It was a
Fivefold Kiss! That is something Steen had showed us. Next they each took my knee and kissed
higher. I was so happy I was floating up to the ceiling of the bunk, and their mouths followed me
up, each kissing at the juncture of my legs where the creases are, Steen’s soft mustaches and
Rufy’s full lips and harsh stubble. They guided me down lower again, Rufy’s tongue sliding up
my belly like I was an ice cream, until each of them had a breast to kiss. I felt Steen’s powerful
picking hand tighten around my arm as they bore me back to the mattress, nearly lost in the
reveling they were doing in my breast and heart light.

At last they moved up my throat and each kissed me on the mouth. Rufus was thinking I was
splendid. Steen was thinking I was a goddess now. I felt every eye on my whole body sparkling
as brightly as my tiara. Then they proceeded to meat and drink and meat and drink with me
between them almost as if they shared a brain. Every thing they did was perfectly symmetrical to
the left and the right of me and I came like the lightning in a thunderstorm. I am sure I squealed
aloud. Somehow they got both their penises into me at once, creating when the two heads
touched their own fountain, not of light but of magic.

When they were both trembling and shrinking, yet held together by me still, they each raised one
of my hands. They were thinking the same thought—do you like this?

 
And my answer was, of course, I do; I do! I do.

Then Steen began to seriously pay court to my left breast and fuck me with the erection that grew
in the next minutes, while Rufus slid higher and feasted like a starving man upon my sparkling

face. Every time I thought I would dissolve in joy and leave them, they kept me filled with new
sensation, Rufus thrusting into the palm of my hand like a red hot plethora of delight. It was
solve et coagule.

When finally we rested, Rufus rolled to my left and Steen rolled to my right, each clasping one
of my legs between theirs, facing me. I must have been grinning like a porch light. Rufus
propped his head up on one elbow with my arm snaking beneath his head and looked at me like
some sort of marvel. Steen was putting my bright wiggy head in the crook of his arm beneath the
dun tent of his hair. I felt the tendrils of dark yin energy snaking from my belly to theirs, flowing
gently in both directions to be transmuted. I saw them inhaling the heart effulgence from my
chest, letting it fill their minds. And then their hands met above me, palm to palm. For the first
time I noted the matching plain gold rings upon their middle fingers. How long had they been
there before I was even alive?

The most perfect concentric crescendo to all this was that Rufus raised me up to his lips as he sat
cross-legged. Then Steen sat on him with me in between. Slowly I lowered myself onto Steen
while Rufus made me exactly the right size to face him and kiss him while he grew to fullness in
Steen. I don’t know how long we sat this way, each of us nearing complete dissolution and
taking deep calming breaths to retreat back to one another. I felt that I was the wick in their
lamp.

My two husbands are splendid together. The interrupting ‘honeymoon behavior’ I mentioned
went like this:

I was hovering round the PC inputting this, wondering why nobody else is in the bus this day,
and suddenly Steen is flopping onto me in the swivel chair, grinning and growling and waggling
his eyebrows. He fills me with himself until I am absolutely fulfilled! But I am wondering what
became of Rufus.

 

Then Rufus is thrusting Steen into me. He’s the top layer. Steen has my knees wide and is getting
hard all over again from Rufus in him. The expression on his face is manic glee—I can see every
one of his flashing teeth! This is a new facet of them both that I had never thought to see off
stage. I’m sure my face must be registering my incredulity and awe. I think I might have thought
that word clearly, splendid—

 

 I see Steen thinking of his own splendor!--which causes him to dive on me like a raptor and my
legs to shoot straight up into the air. I wonder why the chair isn’t falling to bits under us. Rufus
grabs my calves and begins rocking us as if they are a steering mechanism on a sled going down
a slope. I am coming fiercely and squealing, possibly out loud. Steen has come again but he’s
hard nearly instantly from what Rufus is doing to his insides. Still, he might slip off the chair
completely unless I wrap my legs around the three of us, so I do. My ankles meet in their
familiar station at the small of Rufy’s back.

Rufus is ringmaster for this. He’s diabolical. He gets Steen by the hair and pulls his shoulders up
where he can bite and gnaw. Oh it looks so HOT! When Rufus starts them moving again I move
too, and soon I am flapping my arms and drumming and kicking with my heels at Rufus as I yell
my joy. Like a shower of sparks from a Roman candle the man on the top ignites in his release,
and it rolls down through Steen and into me even as I am flopping like a landed fish in my
amazement and pleasure.

When I am able to focus my eyes on my sweaty and spent husbands, they are looking down at
me abashed. For some reason they need reassurance from me, the female, that I am not put off by
what they were just doing. Now really, it wasn’t any more ‘gay’ than other stuff they’ve done
with me, was it? But I don’t put it in that snippy way. Instead I tell them how awesome and
splendid and godlike they were. It’s oh so true. I humbly thank them for including me in it.

It turns out that they put the whole crew into a hotel just for one night, on purpose, so that they
could marry me in this way. Steen has been planning it ever since he first read this blog. That’s
when he knew I was not a disloyal worm in the apple, but a true being with loyalty to my
husband. He trusted in the powers that formed me to be best for us all and let me into his heart all
the way.

Overnight I have been transformed by Steen’s wizardry into a shiny happy married lady. I’m
consecrated unto them. It’s wondrous. And needless to say this is going to be a private entry, not
a public one.

 ~

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 27

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter as a stand alone short story.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

Chapter Twenty-Seven
Big and Brown

“Ooh ain’t she big and brown?” Rufus was yelling at the kegger being held for everyone and
their press agents by Steel Virgins Ltd. Get in, Heidi, pretty please, he was simultaneously
begging me with his mind. He was waltzing around with the rubber doll in her new battle metal
getup, in honor of the new album. This was one of those special occasions.

Heidi Paaskelin, the real one, is operatically trained, like so many of those Finns, and she can
also play the accordion. It seems every band up there needs a male growler and a female aria
singer and prehistoric clothes; hers was no exception. The main reason Rufus chose her for this
elaborate deception was her name. Though I did think the bear skin she holds around her hips
with that big belt like a wrestler’s was a bit Beaver-like. On stage it looks like its jaw has hold of
one of her legs; this one was just a hank of fake fur the right size and color, but it was soft. I
spent a bit of time stroking it with my sparkles, reconciling myself to confinement albeit with
Rufus holding me. Then I dived in.

Rufus paused with his wisecracks and nursing on the beer bottle long enough to welcome me
with a sloppy kiss. When he pulled away his face was liberally smudged with bright red warpaint.
I must admit, it was satisfying to see the effect our kiss had on him from this vantage, and
to feel his fingers digging so deeply into my shoulders that air was displaced into my belly.

He grinned in triumph directly into my eyes. The beer bottle was empty now, so he tossed it
away, causing the person it hit to swear, and grabbing some attention. Then he brandished me in
the air and howled as he wiped the paint around, smearing the remainder of it in streaks over his
chest. All eyes were definitely on us now. Cameras flashed. Then he cradled me in his arms as if
we were doing the tango, nearly treading on my bare conical foot stumps (how I loathed their
toe-lessness) while he murmured sweet sounding nonsense to me with his red hair all around our
faces. Now and then he’d pause to wrap one of my arms around himself for a moment, or nibble
on my neck. The crowd parted for us, hooting and guffawing, cameras like a storm of bright
flashes I tried to ignore.

When we were abreast of one of the phone cubicles with a folding glass door, he pulled me in
with him and shut it on the crowd. I could see Dan the bodyguard’s back, but he was purposely
leaving a space where the gawkers could glimpse what Rufus was doing. Except for everyone
looking, it was like old times.

“Oh Heidi, you were perfect. You are perfect,” he said into my cheesy borrowed red hair. I
squealed as loudly as I could and sent maximum inflation into the arms around him. He already
had his trousers undone. Now he shoved the whole business, belt and all, down to his knees and
pounded me into the wall. I began to hate the metal bikini top like Princess Leia’s that they’d
dressed me in because it was between my rubber and his gorgeous skin. I was tempted to
abandon the material and just mist all around the booth but I refrained. Really, it was no worse
than the belt. And they were being so NOISY out there!

But when I came, and he soon followed, I no longer cared what they might be able to see. It was
too wonderful the way pearls of sweat were springing out of his beautiful skin wherever there
was not a greasy red streak. I simply merged my happy sparkles with the cubicle’s air and
enjoyed the perfume of him to the fullest.

Later, when we were breathing again more regularly and he was using the inflatable me for a
pillow, we made a phone call. It answered on only two rings. “Dixon Hill,” said a sweet young
voice.

“Hey, Tia. Is your mom there?”

“Daddy, are you drunk?”

“Indubitably.” He chuckled indulgently at the censure in her tone. “It’s my image I have to
maintain, honeycakes. Now lemme talk to your maw.” And Mistress Patty was eventually
brought to the phone.

“Rufus?”

“Hey, Peapod; thought you’d like to hear it from me first. Me and Heidi are gonna be all over the
front page the next couple of days. Tell your chum bucket lawyers.” And then he hung up. And
after that he cried until his nose was red, all over that big brown fake bearskin. The stalwart Dan
kept people away. And Steen and the boys were keeping the crowds entertained by licking fake
blood off daggers.

Rufus had done what she asked. She could pretend her children’s dad was not a queer until they
got old enough to live away from her at last.

He and Steen made sure it backfired though, the day Tia turned 21. They held another press
conference to tell the world they were married. By then ‘Heidi’s Big Brown Beaver’ had been a
novelty hit for nearly a decade.

“I think it was that threesome with Heidi that decided us,” Steen joked. Both of my men are so
good at shoveling the shit.

“Naw; I just decided after two bad marriages I’d only settle for a virgin,” Rufus wisecracked,
dodging a fake blow from Steen. On the way down he got hold of the famous goatee and yanked
him in for a passion show.

I am sure that they kept very quiet about that particular bit of news over at Dixon Hill.

 

http://www.metalbattle.ca/

~

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 26

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter as a stand alone short story.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

Chapter Twenty-Six
Damn Lily

Anna had this habit of taking in waifs which Steen takes the wrong way. She herself had never
been a waif, and he has. He knows firsthand the rodent desperation of the truly rootless and fears
it. I think it’s why he continued until the very end to write Virgen Steel songs and make albums
even when he could no longer tour. Every two years, like seasons, there would be the tour. He
simply refused to stop making a product, though many critics began to say there was nothing
new there. He had to have something to sell, always.

“We have so much, herre,” was her refrain, accompanied by that dimpled soft smile as sweet as
an apple. He would growl and say it should be for their own first, and she would go on to ask
him if he saw his seven wanting for anything, anything at all, and of course they were not, in fact
they were spoiled, but she taught them good habits as well as how to be generous and how to
undermine a spouse’s fears with reason.

He would have to content himself with glowering at the strays and frightening off the worst of
them before they stole too much. They could hide nothing from him; their natures were as
transparent as window glass to him, while his Fru Bountiful steadfastly believed whatever they
told her for a sob story. She was polite that way, letting their lies unravel at their own natural
speed and then telling them goodbye.

So it came to pass that very few of the strays became permanent parts of the Herren household,
until Lily the eldest began to interfere. For she was a natural leader, was Lily, with stardom
written upon her palms and shining from her brow. Her destined collaborators in the Moffs were
drawn to her by sheer magnetism from the far corners of the world.

The new regime of ‘Lily’s gang’ had already been founded when I was being born of Rufus’
misery in his horrid first marriage, though it gained in momentum when she began her own band
in her late teens. In this she was Daddy’s girl. Her musical talent got her discovered by an agent
who had no idea she was a descendant of Virgen Steel, in a London coffee bar the Moffs were
jamming in. They transcended the sad Pierrot ‘emo’ style that was in vogue with their overlord
vehemence, though they dressed to blend in with hair in multicolored streaks and white faces.

At that time she was still small enough to fit on his lap, not the runway model Valkyrie she grew
into later. So she got commiseration from Papa Steen about how to fire temperamental bassists,
or how to put out without making empty promises of forever. He didn’t mind Cammie, one of
the strays, becoming a permanent part of her life. He warned her about Chris and Tintin. He let
her make her own mistakes. But she overestimated her own influence with him.

That is because when it comes to the extrasensory, Lily Herren is as blind as a baseball bat. She
has his lovely hazel eyes, her mother’s curvaceous proportions writ large, a fabulous singing
voice, his athletic grace, and his scheming mind, but she also jumps without looking for a spot to
land. Nobody told her that the reason her father lands on his feet is because he can see five

seconds into the future. When she lands, it is often with a thump and a crash that makes
headlines. ‘Moffing it up’ is what they call it now. And an early casualty was her parents’
marriage.

Steen never let me into his private dreams; I’m not sure whether he could, not having imagined
me first. But he is in Rufus’ dreams quite a lot, as a guest, as I mentioned before. And both of us
could not help but notice he was having nightmares. He’d show up for a Rufus scripted night
adventure as if he’d just gotten away from something distasteful. And sometimes when he was in
the bed and Rufus had already finished sleeping, Steen would be moaning and mumbling that
mashed potato language he grew up with, so low I don’t even think a Dane could make it out.

The kicker, literally, was when he suddenly yelled “Anna!” And the blankets all flew onto the
floor when he sat up, shocked awake.

He shied away from Rufus as if touching would give him a shock. “Herren, what the fuck?” said
Rufus, as his band-mate took the sheet with him down the aisle of the bus toward the shower.

I took things into my own sparkly hands then and insistently dreamed of Steen until he made an
appearance there in my own dream space. That I have my own dreams shows how real I actually
am, and that I could imagine Steen clearly enough to bring him there pleased me.

 “Please, Steen,what is bothering your sleep so much? The three of us are an alliance on

 this level at least, and when you are unhappy, so are we.” I had not brought Rufus, because

 of how Steen had shied from him in the bed. I hoped that would help him explain.

My dream Steen had reddened, sore looking eyes. And for some reason his ears seemed
unusually large and pointed at the ends. “It’s because the children can’t tell what you really are.
Lily has heard of you, my dear, but she thinks you are a real woman someplace. She’s telling all
sorts of maerchen to Anna, and it is hurting us, as man and wife.”

I had tested Lily on that myself, as soon as Steen decided to bring her on tour with us this time.
He wanted her away from Chris and Tintin’s bad habits, two of the strays who were on their way
out of her circle a little too slowly for his fatherly taste. So he told her she should leave her
Moffs for a season and guest star with the Virgens. He got her a group of reliable backup
musicians, all old enough to mind their manners around him.

But no, Lily can’t hear my hum, can’t see my twinkle, and walks right through me like a ferret
going through a cobweb. Steen said it’s common for the wizard talents to skip a generation in

any case. He didn’t choose his Anna for that. So not even Bjarne the baby has ever noticed me,
not even when I stuck my hand down his diaper. Ugh—never again…

“You have not been a parent, Heidi. We feel each hurt our children get. Yes, we even do not
mind the smell of the baby’s farts, because it is our child. This is instinct. If Anna believes these
silly things Lily repeats, she will take Bjarne away. It is like taking away one of my fingers.” He
began to cry big wet tears all over my dream space. Soon we were in a big puddle of them and
his nose was swollen and red. I held him all round with my marshmallowy soft and flexible
dream arms and did the best I could to coo and soothe. And I touched all his fingers with the
ones I’d been working on growing for myself, to reassure him.

Sure enough, he had seven extra at the moment, growing out of the backs of his hands in an extra
layer, like scales of a fish. If I looked closely I could see little faces on each one where the nail
would be.

I thought of the little Heidi I’d had once in Rufus’ dreams and resolved to make myself one of
those again sometime. How different it would be though, to have a completely new individual,
not a copy of you at all, who was a part of you like that!

It was a bit frightening. How it must hurt to have them grow up and yet, what a relief to have
them no longer fighting against you to be the way they thought was best.

I looked down at the Lily finger, and her brother Nils; they were the two biggest. It was as if they
were developing cracks along where arms and legs should be. I saw the Lily finger wagging
itself as if trying to come loose from Steen’s poor hand. Nils was waving his head digit around a
bit as if looking about, though it had its eyes shut. But his was a lot less restive than Lily’s.

“No,” said Steen, “there’s no stopping it. They will grow up and be themselves. I only wish they
could see and hear as much as their weird father, that is all, my dear. But if I do tell them the
truth, the advokats for Anna will put me in the nut house where there will be no way to provide
for the children. She cannot think of you as anything but another human woman, my poor Lily.
And saying you do not exist is impossible at this point.”

“I wish Anna could see me.” We both sighed. The last time Steen had tried to convince Anna I
was there, it had upset her rather a lot. She didn’t mind him pretending he had an incubus; that
she just took as another of his games. But for some reason, the feminine in Anna would not
tolerate someone of her own sex around her Steen. Perhaps she thought that she was no longer as
beautiful to him after all the things her body had been through to make the children.

We simply held each other until he woke up. Whatever came next was not going to be pleasant,
and it was bound to come, as surely as a hurricane.

The talk of the Herrens’ divorce is what got Patty started. She was a very tolerant woman; hadn’t
she taken in Junie and raised her as their own? If there had been other by-blows of Rufus’ own
DNA, she would even have taken them too. Tia and the boys were not raised to feel at all
superior to Junie, even if she looked nothing like the rest of them with that Orphan Annie fuzz of
caramel and her chocolate eyes.

But the conclusions she came to about the ‘Heidi’ business were a bit different. Putting the
pieces together, she finally realized that there was a closer bond between her husband and Steen
than could be accounted for professionally. They weren’t just workmates and drinking buddies.
Whether they shared a girl or not, what were they doing in the same bed? Did they touch each
other? Did they—

Sadly, when Rufus had been on the road, Patty had gotten involved with a local church, for
socializing and community support for herself and the children. They had summer camps and
Bible schools and the thought of what her Rufus was doing with other women was just part of
the way men were, but with another man? No . That was abomination. He would never touch her
again.

She’d sort of slid away from him carefully every time he’d hugged her, this time he got home.
After dinner, in the TV room in their loungers, kids off to bed and her hands full of knitting and
his full of the remote, she’d finally just said it:

“Heidi is really Steen, isn’t she?” Her rage was pouring off her like heat off an electrical
element. She spent a lot of her self control on keeping her hands busy and her lip from curling
into a snarl.

The content Rufus had been feeling being back at home shattered like toffee hit with a hammer.
His eyes blackened to indigo and his face sagged in fifty places. Slowly, he just looked at her,
shaking his head. Then he turned back to the television and hid his eyes in his hand. He didn’t
know where to start.

He stayed so still and quiet while I did all the raging, despite the fact that she couldn’t see or hear
me. You hypocrite! What about the thousand and one girls he’s been with? Why didn’t they
bother you? How can you hate him for this? It’s love, too! I was tempted to fly at her and do—I
don’t know what. It wasn’t as if she was any sort of threat, nothing like a bar fight. She was just
sitting there, radiating her poison. In the end, all I could do was watch, and wait, just like her.

When at last words came from Rufus, they were in a hoarse whisper. “Don’t make me choose.” I
could feel the pain in his chest where his heart was being ground into pieces.

“Oh no; you made the choice already,” she retorted, and shut the sewing box with a snap. She
stood up with the neatly folded pile of blankets and said, “Sleep here.” The bedding landed with
a flomp on his lap.

His eyes were on her as she paused in the doorway. Her eyes looked a little more liquid now, not
steaming mad, and she was struggling with a lump in her throat as she spoke next. “I filed the
papers yesterday. We can keep it real quiet. I don’t want anybody talking trash about my
children’s father. Just don’t—touch me.” And we heard her hurrying upstairs.

Rufus didn’t sleep there. He stormed out and slammed the door so loud that I am certain Patty
heard it. Then he drove fifty miles to Catriona’s and picked up tequila on the way and drank it
with her when she got off her shift. No, Catriona can’t see me either, but she has an incredible
laugh. Everything in the world strikes her funny, including gruesome tragedy and lewd
lasciviousness, when it comes with tequila. Rufus and I needed to hear laughter very badly.

Even though the tour was over, within a few days both Steen and Rufus were back on the bus. It
took a month of wrestling and arguing before they decided on the best place to buy a house
where they could park it. The house is wholly owned by Steel Virgin Records Ltd and everything
in it contributes to the production of music. Including Beaver and me.

Lily and the Moffs are not allowed here. They made their own way to the place in the tabloids

and the charts that they hold now. And until Munsch left the band, he had a room here just like
Murray and Ole do. In the end, the critics took more notice of that than what Lily did, because it
changed the string lineup. The Virgens had been known for their ‘triple guitar attack’ up until
then, though now and then it was mandolin or lute in the case of Rufus.

Yes, Lily did it. Jurgen the snitch explained to her that he always counted the girls who got on
and off after a gig, and she found out that Jan the blowup doll had once been named Heidi from
Murray, and jumped to conclusions. Steen has never forgiven her, and his solution was not to tell
her she was no longer his daughter, but to tell her she was no longer allowed to associate with his
band. Moffs and Virgens don’t mix.

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 25

 

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter as a stand alone short story.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Twenty-Five
Heel Spurs

 

 

Blog, have I mentioned how beautiful Rufus’ toes are? Probably I have. They are long and
gracefully tapering, just like his fingers, with the same fine red-gold hairs along their tops. In
summertime they even get freckles the way his fingers do. He has taken great care of his feet
because he needs them to be a good athlete, and that means they have never gotten crooked from
pinching shoes the way Steen’s have.

In Steen’s defense, it’s hard to find shoes that big. Nowadays he has them specially made. And
he was not always a wealthy rock star. Once he was a starving rock star who slept curled around
his equipment in the subway sometimes. That kind will wear any shoes close to the right size.
That kind will get joy from the very fact that they pinch and make bloody spots inside them
where they scrape.

I used both my husbands for references in developing my own feet. And of course it began with
wanting lovely feet like Rufus. I enjoy just caressing them with my sparkles sometimes, and
once when I was relatively small and just grazing like a little guppy along his shin hairs, he
simply put his sock on over me. You have no idea how cozy that is.

Eventually I came out again but stayed straddling his foot while he padded around, examining
the articulation of his ankle. As my original design left only conical stumps on the ends of my
legs, it was obvious I needed to add a bend. I also sensed the flexing bundles of ligaments and

little bones running through the arches, echoing the design of the toes themselves deep inside the
flesh.

Each toe has a sort of cushion of meat under where it hits the ground, then it springs in reverse
up away from that place to meet the ground again upon its other end. The whole foot is a
symphony of muscular curves, and the biggest one is called the arch. It’s more like a shell, with
curves going in more than one direction. Who can blame me for wanting to grow some of these
lovely limbs?

Rufus helped by pinching on either side of where the bend ought to be. “There’s more, gal,” he
explained. “There’s also this massive hoof of a bone called the heel, going backwards. It holds
our entire weight all by itself. Get a load of it.” So I did.

I swarmed his heel and circumambulated it with my sparks. I even let him step down on me.
No, that doesn’t hurt. It mainly gave me the insight that if I were to inflate suddenly, the whole
superstructure of Rufus would topple because he really did put all his weight on his heels much
of the time. But he smirked and informed me that he’d probably just bend his knees and ride me
like a surfboard. Now I’ll bet we’ll try that during a dream. He’s always coming up with things.

For now I merely flowed up him like an ‘amazing Technicolor dream coat’ as he put it. I took a
moment to pretend his hair was mine with sparkles on the ends of every red wiry strand. Then I
let him finish getting dressed. I had things to contemplate.

Thinking of toes on my feet was pretty easy. I stuck with five because of creator loyalty, I think.
I started with sparkling pearly nails on each one, the inside toe having a much bigger nail
because it was biggest. The toes fan out laterally from there to make a flap parallel to the world’s
surface. As I visualized the sparkling nail jewelry on the tip of each one and began to fold these
fans up and down, searching for the best place for their bends, I got a sensation in the bottom of
each foot area, where I couldn’t see. There were openings, rimmed with petals like the ones
ladies have in their crotches. NEW MOUTHS! I shrieked in the between. Oh my goodness, they
were like the ones in my hands, only frillier. It was so exciting!

Steen happened to be napping and heard me shriek. I saw his eyes and brows, his trailing
mustachios, come materializing into where I was. As he focused on my new toe work his nose
took shape between as well. He sniffed. It was more like a dog’s sniff than a ferret’s. Then he

brought his lips along to explain. The precise term is chakras, Heidi. These are your lotus feet,
which we are to kiss when you manifest the Goddess. How nice of you to make us some kissable
toes. Then he smiled and his eyes flashed with at least six colors.

He stayed around for a bit to watch me find the right places for them to bend, and told me I ought
to make the heel pointier and larger. I did. I visualized a cone of sparkle membrane to contain it,
like a breast.

That’s when things got away from me and started developing faster than I could think them.
Perhaps it’s because breasts have a nipple, and so a sparkle jewel pattern lodged itself at that
place? It’s just a guess. The point is: it got pointed. And sharp. It was a sixth nail--- no, a spur! A
talon! My toes, which had been developing so gracefully, suddenly grew big to balance it. They
were all huge, like claws. If I had new mouths down here, these were its teeth perhaps, but they
looked nothing at all like Rufus feet now. I screamed again in surprise and disgust.

Steen popped right back of course, his whole head this time, with beard ends waggling and
straws of long hair coming loose from behind his ears. He saw me rolling my eyes in dismay and
chuckled. Then he leered. Bird feet; that’s all they are. Very sexy. I’d kiss them. Goddess Ishtar
has bird feet all the time, my dear.

But I didn’t want bird feet! I was shivering and recoiling from them as they flexed, each one with
its own muscles to use like little serpents, each one seeming to enjoy its new form almost without
my permission. When he saw the extent of my distress, Steen came completely into the between
and held me. He had to explain still more.

On his lap, safe in a pocket of whatever Rufus was wearing at the moment, I learned about the

way the creatures who are made of meat develop from a single cell meeting another single cell
and starting a pre-programmed chain reaction resulting in fresh new creatures of meat. It was like
a video Steen showed me upon both our mind-eye viewing screens. All of them, the birds and the
reptiles and the mammals, at a certain early point look exactly alike.

He showed me their feet especially. If I didn’t want my feet to look like a bird’s, I could change
them, here. He did it all the time, he said. He’s had lion’s feet and bird’s feet and hooves, just to
frighten people now and then. It doesn’t have to last.

 

Finally I looked down at my talons and my spurs and dimpled my face, pinking up to show him I
was grateful and no longer hated my own feet. Then, creasing my forehead eyes nearly shut with
the effort, I thought my toes into the toes I wanted. I erased the spurs in back into tiny pearly dots
on my heavy and sturdy looking heels.

Steen’s pride in me was like warm syrup . He lifted each foot and kissed each toe. He kissed the
lotuses on the bottoms too. And that was the first time he let me kiss his feet in return.

And because we are discussing Steen’s feet, never mind about the rest.

~

I am releasing The Incredible Heidi Wasabi to the public! ADULTS ONLY chapter 24

Previously I have only shared a G-rated chapter as a stand alone short story.  The bulk of the tale is in fact explicit erotic menage contemporary paranormal fantasy. 

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED-- if it is illegal for persons your age in your location to read porn, stop now.

THE  INCREDIBLE HEIDI WASABI

 by

Helgaleena

Chapter Twenty-Four
The Blog

One afternoon when I was hovering around the computer, Steen saw that I was there and sat
down on me anyway. He saw I had a blog. His alarm was bright and sharp enough to startle me
into turning away from what I was writing and examine him. He held me close, breathing fast,
and I ran my sparkling fingers along his brow and his jaw line. Why wasn’t he proud of me for
having it, like Rufus?

I can’t tell his thoughts as well as I can tell Rufy’s. He just looked at me with those eyes turning
a muddy gray, but still clear as water. Then he sneaked his hand between us, where I had wound
my legs around his waist, and fingered me until I dimpled and flashed with pleasure.

But then for some reason he felt it necessary to say, quietly, “You are a cunt like all cunts still,”
and give me a tiny smile.

Heaven help me, I saw red. That is Rufus’ greatest and worst swear word. But I didn’t fly
backwards. I didn’t push him away, or stop his caressing of me. But I’m sure he could see the
color and feel the vibration of me change and darken. I reached behind me and typed.

CUNT? I am not A cunt. I am THIS cunt. Me I am my own myself and so is my cunt my own and
none other. You know that don’t you? You are so god damn open. You are a bloody wizard
psychic more sensitive than the average human, or haven’t you noticed?

 I sighed, close under the tent of his hair, out my nose. I used my sparkling fingers on the falling
strands and he let me. But he was in turmoil. He wanted to squash me. He bent me backwards
against the screen where I had typed and pinched me between the edge of the desk and his
abdomen. Just then we were interrupted by a ferret. He must have let them loose while I was
occupied.

She was one almost as blond as Steen and very bouncy. She tried to play with him and nipped at
his wrist a bit too hard, so he scruffed her. But for a crucial second he held me instead, so that
there was a pause between the nip and the scruff that confused the ferret, who took it wrong. Her
garnet button eyed muzzle raced around to his other wrist, the rest of her right behind, and she
nipped him again, harder. My, was I glad I wasn’t wearing my latex! It actually hurt Steen that
time.

He swiftly reached right through me to scruff her again, and once her mouth was loose, brought
her up to stare eye to eye into her tiny masked face. His big finger he forced between her jaws,
daring her to nip again. She did not. So he set her down. She raced around at his feet, putting her
nose to them and not nipping, then sped away.

“She had forgotten I’m not a ferret,” he said shakily, putting his hands carefully on the desktop
to each side of me. His eyes were nearly brown.

 I typed right into his eye screen:
You’ve forgotten I am not a psychic.

“Is that why you’re taking notes??” he suddenly raged, breathing like a bellows, his brows like a
storm cloud. I was baffled. It wasn’t like I was talking to the press or anything. And I just wrote
the public entries as if I was a Virgen Steel fan, but I had other things I talked about too. Really,
he ought to read it before he worried.

His picking fingers were dug deep into my arm now. Not much energy was able to travel in and
out of my hand. He really wanted to pop me, didn’t he? Somehow I wondered if it was even
possible, now that I wasn’t bound by the constraints of my inflatable origins. Just then Rufus
came in.

I flashed Rufy’s face into Steen’s head and typed beneath his image, Ask Rufus. Rufus knows.

 “What’s all this about?” said Rufus. He was looking really nice, all brushed and with shiny boots
and buckles, his hair like a costly auburn halo of satin.

“You knew she blogs?”

“Everybody blogs, Steen, even school kids.. She’s not bad at it. And it occupies her. I think she
might actually be a writer someday.” Steen just looked at me, his face going from red to gray,
little red spots starting in his eyes. A huge concept was looming over him like a cartoon vulture,
turning him to stone. I saw it now.

Snitch…

“Did you ask your kids if they have blogs? Bet they do.” Rufus tapped the toe of his cowboy
boot. “Look, I’m not going to disarrange myself over this if I don’t have to, but you’d better let
her up now.” His voice took on his bullhorn stage ring, though it didn’t get much louder. “Let.
Her. Up.”

Steen looked at me warily, seeing if I really wanted up. I did. Let me up, I typed into his mind’s
eye. I gave a sparkling pink pout. His fingers loosened. I whisked my arm out like a slicked
noodle and flew to the ceiling.

I could hardly believe it. Steen was like a stone statue down there in the swivel chair. Rufus knelt
down and spun him around to face him. The clenched hands flopped off the desktop and into
Steen’s lap on the way around. Matter of factly Rufus said, “Did you read it?” His blue eyes tried
to meet Steen’s and couldn’t because Steen wasn’t looking.

No answer. “Of course you didn’t or you wouldn’t be in a funk like this. Just read it.”

His hands opened and then shut again, but otherwise Steen didn’t move.

With a sigh Rufus got up and his boots clacked on the way to the kitchenette and back. He
twisted the cap off the bottle of ale and set it with a thunk next to the monitor. Then he spun
Steen’s chair around to face it and hugged him briefly around the shoulders, his leather jacket
creaking.

“Just fucking read it!” he said, and clattered down the bus steps and out.

I stayed until Steen made a move. I was worried; I had never seen him like this. When his hand
at last closed around the ale bottle, I went away between to think, or something.