Roxy Katt's Blog

[image error]Genre:  Romance (Contemporary/Historical)

Length: 17000 words (50 pages)

Format: ePub, Mobi

Publisher: Ninestar Press

This is truly a delightful book.

This book is a lesbian romance and coming of age story about young Harriet Little and tomboy Jackie Auglaize.  The path is not quite smooth for either of them however, as Harriet is not always sure what she wants.

The 1950s are maybe the most heavily stereotyped decade of the previous century, and it is difficult to write about them without an over-larding of negative stereotypes or the sickly scent of “Happy Days” nostalgia.  Janelle Reston, however, has avoided both extremes with a portrait of two young people caught in the tensions of the time.

The portrayal of Jackie is one of the strongest parts of the book.  As a child she is described as looking like “Dennis the Menace.”  There is subtlety in the nature of her gender, however, and in what it is that attracts Harriet to her.  Yes, Jackie is a Tomboy, and yes, she is a mechanic, working on Volkswagens at a time others might have looked askance at them because of their association with the recently defeated Nazi regime, but this is no over-simplified girl-in-pants character.

From the first page  to the end the pacing is very good.  It might slow down just a tad around the middle, but it picks up again without much delay, and on the whole is handled very skillfully.  And this is just what is needed as Harriet’s desires turn this way and that between Jackie and her rival, Mandy Pinkerton.

Check this book out.  You will very much enjoy it!

Leather, Livery, and Love is a comical erotic romance by yours truly to be published in the next couple of months or so by NineStar Press.  Let’s take a peek, shall we?…

Miranda unzipped the zippers alongside the calves of the black leather pants.  Then she stepped into them, and slowly eased them up her knees.  Things became more difficult as she slid the pants over her thighs, but she eased them up, alternating one thigh after the other.

She began to think of Abby, and her “ball bra” began to stretch.

You stop that, she said to herself, or you won’t be able to zip up the front of these.

She could see that bending over would not be easy once the pants were on all the way, so at this point she bent over to close the zippers over her calves.

Now for the black leather boots.  They were dramatic, shiny, and would run to the knees.  They were platform boots with a higher heel than Miranda had ever worn.  Oh dear, she thought, I’ll have to set the seat of the car way back when I wear these.  Miranda pushed her feet into them and zipped each one up the side.  Standing up, she nearly fell over.

This would take some getting used to.

Then Miranda tugged the pants up over her hips, slowly gyrating them for leverage as she did so.  Her cock bulge poked through the unzipped front.  She reached behind herself and drew in her breath as she buttoned the three buttons behind her, then slowly pulled the thick, double-ended zipper down over her cock, between her legs, and up over her bottom.

The next stage of what was to become her morning ritual was the jacket, which she wriggled into with some difficulty.  She did up the zippers on the forearms and then tightly buttoned herself up along the left side.

With her gauntlets and cap on now, Miranda stood before the full length mirror in her apartment.  The tight uniform, with its long, close fitting collar, exaggerated the length of her neck and the narrowness of her shoulders–especially relative to her wide, round hips.  She turned around, and craned her neck to get a look at her backside.

It was curious, that zipper going all the way down like that.  Theoretically, it was possible for someone to sneak up from behind, and… Miranda shuddered and pushed the thought away.

Miranda stared at herself.  What would that cheeky Abby think of me now? she thought.

She felt like she wanted to slap the girl’s face and then kiss her.

Miranda’s cock stirred again.

She let her hands drop down to her sides and stood boldly upright.  Then she twisted her hips this way and that, looking at her arse.

Not bad, she thought, not bad at all.

She faced the mirror head on.  My god, she thought, These pants make my dick look enormous.  Can one really strut about in public, drive to town and all, displaying oneself so?  Apparently.  Is it respectable to do so?  Apparently.  She was the chauffeuse of the Countess herself, the most eminently respectable woman in the region.

It’s pitch dark in this room, but the catburgler was here earlier as an undisguised and formally invited dinner guest, remembers the layout, knows her way around.  By day she is an ordinary hausfrau, a mother of teenage girls, but right now she is a sophisticated, masked sex icon, a mistress of darkness and stealth.

Her sensitive fingers turn the knob of the wall safe; quietly, the tumblers click inside.

It took me more time to get into this rubber catsuit than it will take me to get into this safe, she purrs to herself.  She turns the handle, swings the door open.  She bends forward into the safe a little.  The shiny black rubber on her big firm ass expands as she does so, the rubber squeaks a little.

There it is: the priceless and gigantic ivory dildo.  She smiles in smug delight.  Perhaps, when she takes it home she thinks, she will even play with it a little before she sells it.

But she does not know that she has already been outwitted.

Poised behind her, in the small but determined hand of the mansion’s lowly maid is a common toilet plunger; that length of the handle not in her hand is covered with crazy glue.

Against the shiny black rubber of the burglar’s large and unsuspecting bum the open mouth of the plunger makes an obscene and voluptuous farting sound as the little maid pushes it home.  Emitting a cry of confusion, the catburglar instantly stands upright, reaches back, discovers the handle of the plunger with both hands.

And now she’s fucked.

It’s a little heartbreaking, actually, the speed and inevitability with which she is reduced from the powerful and sophisticated feline to a shocked and confused cartoon rubber cat, yanking desperately on the strange thing stuck to her bottom.  “Wh-who’s there?” she cries, tottering about the room on her great-heeled boots, her suit squeaking at the strain of her yanking, her great rubbery cheeks bouncing this way and that as she strives desperately for freedom and dignity.

And the maid can’t stop laughing, laughing in the dark.  “Oh you stupid, big-assed bitch.  You look ridiculous.  Well, I may as well call the police now.”

“Please don’t call the police,” begs the burglar in sudden panic, “I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes!”

The maid reaches up (for she is much shorter than her victim) and whispers something shocking in her ear.

“Oh!” cries the catburgler, shocked.

The little maid laughs.  “That or the clink, my dear.”

Nervously, the catburglar bites her lower lip, reluctantly nods her assent.

With one hand the maid reaches into the safe for the dildo, with the other she slowly unzips the nice, plump cunt of the catsuit.

“OH!” interjects the burglar, closing her eyes, biting her lip again.  The full, fat lips of her mature vagina push forth from the open zipper.

“Are you a lesbian, my love?” asks the maid.

“N-no…”

“Well, let’s see if we might change that…”  And then, feigning second thoughts, “well, I don’t know.  Perhaps this is unethical.  Maybe I’ll just call the police.  I’ll leave your cunt hanging out, of course…”

“No!”

The maid laughs.  “Beg me.”

“What?”

“Beg me to fuck you then, with this dildo, if you don’t want the police to see your sweaty pussy.”

“Fuck me.”

“Oh come, now.  You can do better than that.”

“Please fuck me.  Fuck me with that big dildo… uh… please shove it in my pussy and …”

“Oh my god!  You’re wet, aren’t you?”

“I am not!”

The maid explores with a finger, presses the evidence to the burglar’s mouth.  Oh yes you are.”

The burglar giggles and babbles with shame.

“You didn’t really think I was going to blackmail you into sex, did you?” says the maid.  “Shame on you, catburglar.  Actually, I will just free you and let you go.  You can even take the dildo–in your hands that is.  I’ll get the solvent.  The dildo isn’t mine, anyway.  And it’s insured…”

“What?”

“Disappointed?”

“What the fuck?  But you were going to…” wide-eyed with disappointment.

The maid laughs out loud.  “Tricked you dear.  I know what you want!  Now you still have to beg for it!”

“Bitch!”

The maid laughs, the blacksuited cat thief begs for sex.  And just as the maid touches the priceless dildo to the priceless cunt she whispers in her victim’s ear: “don’t be an idiot.  This is just cat and mouse.  And I’m the cat.  As soon as you got your big ass in the window I was going to take your pussy no matter what.”  And with that, she slowly pushes the dildo home, deep, deep, all the way home.  And then she plays with the cat’s clit for a while, and then she slowly zips her pussy back into its bulging rubber container.

The cat totters on her heels, drooling, on the verge of orgasm, cunt stuffed with ivory.  With one last squeeze of her cunt the maid makes her come.  And when she has come, the maid takes her downstairs, still bound by the humiliating plunger, and sets her free out the front door, where she staggers down the street stopping to groan and come here and there, tottering down the street to where her ride awaits her.

Gilly was in the stables rubbing down a mare when she heard slow footsteps stopping behind her.  She stood up straight and turned to see a buxom, narrow-waisted woman tightly clad in proper riding gear: white blouse, black tie, helmet, and faun-coloured jods that were wrapped around a pair of large, lazy looking hips.  She had her leather-gloved hands on those hips and her head was cocked to one side, suggestively.

No gaff for this girl, not on your life: for her jods had a gigantic bulge between the legs where the “sailor flap” buttoned up tightly with eight big, black buttons.  A girl ought to know better than that, thought Gilly, she ought to keep such a thing cinched back between her legs where it won’t provoke people.

“I’ve heard,” the woman said to Gilly in a low, confident voice with the poshest of English accents, “that you’re the one to come to if a girl wants to ride.”  It was pretty clear she wasn’t talking about horses.

The nerve of those cowgirls down the hill, thought Gilly, always spreading lewd rumours about me just because of that one time they caught me all tied up by that adorable little riding instructor, and damn the insolence of this woman in assuming those rumours are true.  These rich bitches and their posh outfits and their fantasies about stable girls!  And those fucking cowgirls are probably laughing about this right now, wondering how I’ll handle it.

I’ll handle it, alright, she thought.

Gilly blinked at the woman and paused.  She smiled, batted her eyes a little.  “You want to ride?”

The woman took another step towards her, held out a finger and gently stroked Gilly under the chin as if she was offering an apple to a horse she liked.  “I certainly do,” she said.

Damn this presumptuous bitch, thought Gilly, smiling coyly.  “Well, right out back of the stables I should think,” she gestured for the woman to go ahead of her.

The woman smiled at her with wry confidence, turned, and went towards the door where Gilly was gesturing.  Walking behind the woman, Gilly noticed what a big, round, firm ass she had, which she had no problem sashaying back and forth with the utmost pride.

Without missing a step, Gilly silently grabbed a short length of rope from a peg on the wall as she passed by it.  Then, when both women had just stepped through the door to the yard outside, Gilly wound up and gave that complacent fat ass a tremendous whack with her bare hand.

“OWW!” cried the shocked woman, reaching back with both hands.  In a trice, Phoebe had her wrists bound together.

“So you like to ride horses, do you?  Well, I like to milk cows.  And I haven’t squeezed a nice fat teat in the longest time.”  Gilly pushed the protesting woman up against the wall of the outside of the stables and calmly popped the buttons of her bulging flap, one by one.

A gigantic cock flopped out swaying, dangling, with a great pair of plums to match.

“Hey,” cried the woman, spluttering in rage and confusion, “I’m in charge here, I always take the lead, you…”

“Shut the fuck up, wiener bitch,” said Gilly, and pressed her lips to those of the woman, pushed a tongue deep down her throat.  She seized the dangling cock and squeezed it hard, pulling on it.

Instantly, the cock began to stiffen.  The woman groaned helplessly into Gilly’s mouth as she continued to kiss and tongue her laughingly.  Then Gilly broke off the kiss, still squeezing and pulling the helpless, bucking cock.  The woman’s large breasts heaved up and down under the crisp, white shirt.

“How dare you!” she groaned, obviously deeply ashamed and delighted at having been taken prisoner like this, “no one has ever dared to …” Gilly silenced her with a smack on the face.  It felt to Gilly then like the woman was about to come.  There was nothing, thought Gilly, like a true submissive who had mistaken herself for a dominant.

“Listen up, sausage girl,” said Gilly, with a voracious smile, “I don’t much appreciate your presumption in just walking up to a girl and thinking she’s going to let you ride her just because you wave your fat dick in her face.  Do you understand me, dairy cow?”

“Dairy cow?  How dare…”

Gilly smacked her again.  “Do you understand me, cow?”

“Y-yes, I think so…”  The woman was positively ecstatic with humiliation.

“You are going to give me milk now, and you’re going to do it because I’m telling you.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Better.  Any objections?”

“No ma’am.”

Gilly bent over and swallowed the cock, big as it was, whole.  She sucked it mercilessly, squeezed it with her lips and tongue, until the poor woman bellowed and squirted, shooting a hot stream of cum down Gilly’s laughing throat, blubbering in gratitude all the while.

When Gilly was done with the woman she buttoned her fat dick up for her in her breeches again, gave her a tender kiss, but left her hands tied behind her back.  “It’ll give those cowgirls down the hill something to think about.”

“But how in the world will I explain this to them?  What will I say to…”

“You can tell them anything you like, sugar, they’ll know you’re my filly now, and they won’t lay a hand on you except to untie.  Now you get on down there, I have work to do.”  Then Gilly stepped towards her with a menacing smile, and put a hand lightly on the woman’s bulge.  “And if you don’t step lively, I’ll unbutton your horse dick again and then even I can’t answer for how they’ll handle you.”

“Blawwk!” expostulated the woman in some alarm, and went trotting swiftly down the hill, gorgeous big ass and all.

She was followed by Gilly’s laughter.

Forever the writer is plagued by marketing problems that get in the way of writing.  For example, for the longest time I wrote lesbian or f/f erotica.  Then more recently I got into phallogyne (i.e. futa, shemale, etc) fiction.  So, having carved out a niche in one area, is it a mistake to spread into others?  My inspiration these days tends to be towards the phallogyne end (or phallogyne and lesbian couplings) and not so much the purely lesbian fiction.  I often wonder if my audience for the latter dwindles away while I cater more to my audience for the former, even as that audience perhaps has not has as much time to grow in number.  What do you think?

Hell, I’ve even thought of doing what might be called conversion stories.  No, I don’t mean stories about someone transitioning from phallogyne to female or vice versa, but taking one of my phallogyne stories and just reprinting a new version which is basically the same, but with exclusively lesbian characters.  Again, what do you think?

In the mean time, if you are unfamiliar with my work in either genre, check out my Amazon author page:

https://www.amazon.com/Roxy-Katt/e/B01IAFIPXA/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1

Some of my more recent work:

[image error]I’ve already posted about this book winning Silver in the 2017 Independent Publisher Book Awards.

But now this same book has won the Gold Medal in the Golden Crown Literary Society Annual Awards (in the erotica category).  I’m simply chuffed about this!  Editor D.L. King has done it again.

The anthology contains some of the best writers in the lesbian erotica world and a deliciously wicked lesbian story by yours truly called “A Cooking Egg.”  Check it out!

[image error]Morag the futa equestrienne has her haughty and commanding eye on a man or two down at the stables. Could it possibly matter that a seemingly insignificant little maid, in turn, might have her eye on Morag?  Only one of these characters is wearing the super tight jodhpurs, but will she be the one worthy to mount the saddle?  It’s time to find out.  But be warned, “pride goeth before a fall.”  So put on your riding boots and take this story for a canter, won’t you?

Just as an aside, those of you who follow my work know that I am not the most prolific erotica writer on the net, but I do keep producing new works and adding to my “stable” of lesbian and phallogyne tales.  This most recent tale makes about two dozen so far.  I may not be the most clever or industrious marketer, but gradually, quality seems to have been speaking for itself and the number of my fans steadily increases.

[image error]Passion Undiminished, by Shaun Putaine, is a well written story of a man and woman tentatively moving in the direction of a dominant/submissive relationship.  The strength of this work is an emphasis on the psycho-sexual tension and difficulties in negotiating this not always smooth connection.  This is a romantic as well as a sexy story, with a goodly mix of vanilla as well as BDSM activity.  The book is well narrated by William Sullivent, whose attractive voice, I thought, well matched how I imagined that of Tom the protagonist and narrator.

Source: What Donald Trump Can Teach Us About Political Correctness

[image error]A phallogyne is basically a woman with a penis.  This is a catch-all category that includes (but is not limited to) futanari, “shemales,” and transwomen who have had genital reassignment surgery.  “Phallogyne” can refer to any person  who has basically a woman’s body but also has a penis.  How she got the penis (naturally, surgically, by magical transformation, etc.) does not affect her status as a phallogyne. Whether there are testicles or not does not change the fact the person is a phallogyne, and whether she has a vagina or not in addition to the penis does not change her status as a phallogyne.    Defining the term as widely as possible, “phallogyne” might also include male to female transvestites.

“Phallogyne” is not as specific a word as some of those used above, but that in many contexts makes it more useful.  Also, some words like “shemale” have offensive overtones.  “Futa” is also problematic because the futa in a sense seems by now almost to be by definition a kind of sex object.  “Futa” connotes someone who has virtually no humanity beyond the purely sexual dimension.  “Phallogyne,” on the other hand, does not imply that if one is a phallogyne one is nothing but a phallogyne and has no real self or identity beyond that.

Personally, I prefer to use the word “phallogyne” in reference to my own work, because it tends to be more accurate and because it is bereft of the negative connotations of some of the other words used.  For an erotica writer, however, this creates a marketing problem.  “Phallogyne” is gradually becoming known as a term, but is not yet known widely enough that one can market fiction effectively with it.