Nobilis Erotica

This episode of Nobilis Erotica is sponsored by Literotica, the world's most popular online community of self published erotica authors and readers for over 20 years.

"Paper Doll" was written by D. Mark Alderton, and is narrated here by Nobilis Reed.

D. Mark Alderton has been published by Circlet Press, and was co-editor of the recursive collection, "Like a Circlet Editor." In another life he writes for mainstream publications and is the author of several books of fiction and non-fiction. Most of his family and friends would be quite surprised.

"I was in mid-fuck and I was bored.

Not surprising. People think testing and refining 'mates is a dream job. Right? All it is, in most people's minds, is spending every day having sex with partners designed to be perfect, from their vat-grown bodies to the actual people running the simulacra. Not everyone can do this, of course. You have to be able to “read” both the 'mate and the puppetmaster.

The physical signs are obvious: Cardio. Heightened respiration. Flushed skin. Copious lubrication. And, naturally, physical responsiveness. Our clients don't simply want to go through the motions. They could do that without our help. They want to feel it as an authentic experience.

I suppose I'm fortunate in that I have the appropriate “talent” for the job. I can not only check off the physical signs. I can read the mental ones. Is the 'mate making an effort to connect? Since I'm in her mind, I can tell. Is the puppetmaster seeing that she is in the moment, so to speak? The good ones – and I've worked with the best – make you forget this is work for hire. For the half hour or hour that you're together, she not only has eyes only for you, but is becoming increasingly aroused by what you do, and makes sure to let you know it.

This is sex taken to the level of perfection. “Better than the real thing” the ads say. It's being with a 'mate whose goal is not only your pleasure but making sure you know that your ministrations are beyond compare. It's brilliant, really. By making both sides of the physical act flow back to the customer, satisfaction is guaranteed.

We run the alphabet soup of every possible sexual orientation and proclivity, although my specialty is within the range of male/female combinations. I don't know if the men and women who test the male 'mates experience it in quite the same way but then, as you might imagine, this isn't the sort of job where we hang out in the coffee room and compare notes.

So, we'd been going at it for a bit. This 'mate was brunette, a tad plump in the current fashion which is to say in all the right places. She was on her back, her legs wrapped around mine, pulling me into her core. Her nails gently scraped my back and the nape of my neck. Her hot breath was at my right ear as she hissed, “Don't stop! Don't stop.” I could feel her puppetmaster, Ilene, graze my thoughts, looking for clues as to what would really turn me on. We had not been paired before, so this was truly a test run for both of them."

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The baking heat of late summer was upon her, and the flies were out. Iris wiped the sweat from her brow, and stuffed another blackberry between her teeth. She knew she shouldn’t. The more blackberries she ate herself, the longer she’d take to fill the basket, and the longer she’d need to stay out in the sun. But she couldn’t resist the temptation. The berries hung amid the thorns, juicy and succulent. She thrust her hand back into the bush, and grabbed a couple more. The thorns scratched, but the prize was worth it. The sweet, tart taste ran over her tongue. Delightful.

But her fingers were now sticky with berry juice, and the sweat was running again. And there were the flies, hovering and buzzing. Never mind her miserably half-full basket.

This was hotter than last summer, by far. Or any of the seventeen other summers of her life.

Maybe it was the terrible lack of wind. Other times, the salty tang from the south – the sea lay two days’ donkey-ride from her village – might have relieved Iris’ pain. But today? The air hung like a hazy and listless shroud. To be trapped outside on such an afternoon, why, it was like being cooked alive inside a brazen maze. A maze choked with bushes and thorns.

Iris gritted her teeth. A plan formed in her mind.

The festivities of Sungit were yet tomorrow night. She could nap in the shade for a few hours, at least until the coolness of evening. Then she’d fill her basket, and hurry home. Her mother might grumble, but her mother wasn’t out in the afternoon heat. She was bowing and scraping before Sungit’s stone altar, along with all the other mothers. So long as Iris delivered a basketful of blackberries by nightfall, that was what mattered.

Besides, the visiting Priest ate half the fruit offerings before the ceremony, and the goddess never seemed to mind. Sungit felt generous these days. The harvest had not failed in a full twelve years, and the grain ran plentiful.

Iris’ heart fluttered, as she glanced around her. There was no-one in sight, nor could she hear anyone talking or singing. Perhaps everyone else thought similarly: the day was just too hot.

This week, we have another fanfic! "Heavy Weapons and How to Use Them" was written by Armengard and is read for us by longtime fan of the podcast, Sola Balisane.

The September patron-funded story is "The Antidote" by Lisabet Sarai, narrated by Louise Cooksey.

“Yeah, I can get it—well, I can tell you where to get it. But it’s expensive.”

Merle and I huddled together on the bench in the 52nd story roof garden of the New Sears Building where we worked. Even here, talking was risky. There were certainly cameras, but mikes were less likely out in the open.

“I’ve been saving. How much do you think it will cost?”

Merle named a figure four times what I had squirreled away.

“Gads, Merle! It’s not gold!”

“No, it’s more valuable than gold. What do you expect? People will pay almost anything for the forbidden.”

I blinked and looked away, not wanting her to see my incipient tears. After a few deep breaths, I thought I could continue the conversation without embarrassing myself. My friend wasn’t fooled.

“You really want this, don’t you, Lena?”

“More than anything.” It was true. I’d been experimenting on my own trying to reverse the effects of the government’s anti-sex interventions, with no success at all.

No one knew exactly how the drugs were delivered. I went two days eating nothing, drinking only rainwater gathered on our unit’s balcony. The fact that Jeff traveled so much for his job had made it easier. I just waited until he was away on one of his trips. Then, physically weak but determined, I hacked through the net filters to one of the most notorious underground porn sites, hosted, according to Merle, in Kazakhstan.

Nothing. I felt nothing. I watched the contortions of the naked bodies, the penetrations and the climaxes, and felt no desire, only a vague, painful sense of loss.

This month's Circlet Press sponsored story is "The Bridge" by Shanna Germain, which originally appeared in "Only in the City: Erotic Tales of City Life" edited by Nico Vreeland and Cecilia Tan. It's read by Nobilis Reed.