Thyri's humble little shack out back

[Annisthyrienne]

*A gasped intake of breath at your touch, hinting of delights to come. My hand tightens on your thigh momentarily, awakening a desire for another kiss. I turn to you, lips parting slightly.......

That is when I feel it. The regretful tug of the real world pulling at me. My eyes show the disappointment as I realize I cannot stay longer. I take your hands in mine, as if I could hang on and stay by force of desire, and take one last kiss before I begin to fade from view.*

This interlude was all too brief, sister. But I'll have to visit your cabin soon. After all, we are neighbors, and it is long past time I visited. When I come, I'll bring something delicious to share in front of your fire. That should be cozy.

 

[Britwitch]

A muted whine, a wish for more but an understanding that more will have to wait for another time.

A kiss and a warm, lingering, embrace before you vanish.

Too brief indeed but a visit will be wonderful...my door is always open, anytime...and I'll be looking forward to it, lovely one...thank you, for the sweet welcome, will be sure to return the favour when your path leads you to my cottage...

 

[Annisthyrienne]

A new determination: It is terribly apparent that I cannot write seriously when I have Yahoo chat open. Every time a person posts a chat comment, the damn program makes a noise, then continues to blink incessantly, demanding my attention in a most distracting manner. It's even worse when the chatter posts in sentence fragments, taking several posts to complete a thought. It's like an endlessly ringing phone.

And I was raised too politely to learn to ignore this. The thing is, I know my friends want to chat with me. They want to spend time with me because they like me. I'm flattered by that, and I want to give them what they want. But I can't get any writing done like that.

I also cannot write when I have Lit loaded up. I feel compelled to keep checking to see what people have posted. And usually it's not even all that interesting or pertinent to me, but it's some kind of mental sickness that I just feel like I have to read every post in every thread that is made. The only exceptions being when people are roleplaying a scene, which I consider to be private, and don't peak in on. The other exceptions are the Visual Inspiration and usually the Gifs threads, because of the upsetting things people post there.

In any case, I have determined that on nights when I intend to write in response to my stories, I will have to turn Yahoo off entirely, and leave Lit reading for after I'm finished writing.

Apologies to those friends who want to chat with me or spend time with me online, but those who await a post response deserve my time and effort too. In some cases, you are the same person.

 

[Scuttle Buttin']

You can turn those sounds off, at least, though I don't think you can turn the blinking off.

I'm sort of the same way, actually. Plus, the little noise it made was annoying over the music I was listening to. I don't need a sound when I'm already looking at the screen, it's not a phone in my pocket.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

I'll investigate the sound thing, but really it's the flashing that bothers me. With this version of Windows, it flashes in the tray below, and flashes through the 'transparent' window borders of other programs too. Damn thing is insistent: 'Look at me! Look at me!'

 

[Firmhanded_Daddy]

A new determination: It is terribly apparent that I cannot write seriously when I have Yahoo chat open. Every time a person posts a chat comment, the damn program makes a noise, then continues to blink incessantly, demanding my attention in a most distracting manner. It's even worse when the chatter posts in sentence fragments, taking several posts to complete a thought. It's like an endlessly ringing phone.

And I was raised too politely to learn to ignore this. The thing is, I know my friends want to chat with me. They want to spend time with me because they like me. I'm flattered by that, and I want to give them what they want. But I can't get any writing done like that.

I also cannot write when I have Lit loaded up. I feel compelled to keep checking to see what people have posted. And usually it's not even all that interesting or pertinent to me, but it's some kind of mental sickness that I just feel like I have to read every post in every thread that is made. The only exceptions being when people are roleplaying a scene, which I consider to be private, and don't peak in on. The other exceptions are the Visual Inspiration and usually the Gifs threads, because of the upsetting things people post there.

In any case, I have determined that on nights when I intend to write in response to my stories, I will have to turn Yahoo off entirely, and leave Lit reading for after I'm finished writing.

Apologies to those friends who want to chat with me or spend time with me online, but those who await a post response deserve my time and effort too. In some cases, you are the same person.

-Hugs the lovely elf-

I have done the same thing for some time now. When I want to write I most of the time turn off pager, or never turn it on in the first place because I need to keep in the right mindset to write posts. Chatter about other things is a distraction when you are trying to form words.

 

[DarkWarrioress]

I'll investigate the sound thing, but really it's the flashing that bothers me. With this version of Windows, it flashes in the tray below, and flashes through the 'transparent' window borders of other programs too. Damn thing is insistent: 'Look at me! Look at me!'

*nodnod* That flashing light thing, I can't ignore either. I usually put up that I'm busy and writing or I may just go invisible with the only person who can see me is FD.

The sound yes, you can stop that using your Alert and Sounds option or if you don't use your comp to listen to music, you can mute your speakers. But, that flashy thing. I'm not sure about that one. I'm still checking it out.

I usually don't disturb people when I know they're writing. Unless told I can.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

A new story idea: Fairy Lover

I was thinking of an idea for a fairy story just this last week. In my idea, a modern man discovers a fairy in his home. The fairy is curious about human sexuality, and wants to experience it for herself. The catch is that she is only 6 inches tall when he discovers her. But there is a way through her fairy magic for her to grow in size. Each time she ingests a male's semen, and then cums herself, she grows just a little. First she gets to be about 8 inches tall, then maybe the size of a Barbie doll, then after another two or three 'meals' of his cum, she gets to be maybe a foot and a half tall.

She keeps finding creative ways to get him to cum over her or on her, or somehow feed her his cum, then help her get off so she can grow. Within a few days, she is the size of a small child, about 3 feet tall, but she is a fully sexually developed being, not a child. She's just small. Yet still she is not quite big enough to have full penetration intercourse with him. So she must dine on more of his cum, and have more orgasms herself to grow a little more.

She tells him about her plan, and that when she finally gets to experience what it's like to have sex with a human, it will make her pregnant, and then she'll leave and go back to her own dimension.

The thing is, he has become very fond of her and doesn't want her to leave. So he pretends to help her grow, agreeing to 'feed' her his cum and help her have her orgasms, but secretly he has no intention of letting her get pregnant and leave him. He wants to keep having kinky sex experiences with her in as many ways as possible while avoiding vaginal intercourse that could impregnate her.

 

[palemoon2035]

*knocking on the door on my Elvish friends shack. Carrying a six pack of my favorite hard cider, simply called K. I don't think they make it anymore, but I stockpiled quite a bit.*

knock, knock, knock

Isn't it strange, the magical attributes we give cum in our stories?

 

[Annisthyrienne]

*Inviting my friend in for a visit and a drink, I kiss her cheek and give a warm hug.* Yeah, it's the magical elixir of life, isn't it.

 

[palemoon2035]

I just think it is funny. Interesting-funny. In real life, it has the most magical power of all, to create life. Then, as you read stories here or on other sites, it can do so much more. It can make fairies grow *winks*, make people shrink, hypnotize them, turn women into men, give creatures "energy", or open a portal to the underworld as a demon gives a human woman his seed. A magical thing, cum.

I brought some K if you would like to try.

*hugs the beautiful Thyri*

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Sure, I'd love to try some. I haven't had many different brands of cider; Woodchuck and Hornsbys are my favorites. But I tried an Irish brand a few weeks ago and liked it. But stay away from the Michelob brand. It's awful!

 

[palemoon2035]

I stay away from Michelob anything.

*opens a bottle and offers*

I am lucky to live near a grocer that carried many varieties of cider for someone reason. It is as if they know what I want.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

I stay away from Michelob anything.

*opens a bottle and offers*

I am lucky to live near a grocer that carried many varieties of cider for someone reason. It is as if they know what I want.

*Slipping one arm around you as I accept the offered bottle, taking a swig.* Mmm, not bad at all! You are a lucky woman to have such a selection to choose from.

So what did you think of my story idea?

 

[palemoon2035]

*Slipping one arm around you as I accept the offered bottle, taking a swig.* Mmm, not bad at all! You are a lucky woman to have such a selection to choose from.

So what did you think of my story idea?

The dissapointing thing about K, and probably the reason for its downfall, is that the bottles are actually a bit smaller than your standard 16 oz.

*finishes off the bottle*

And yes, that is why I stopped by. I wanted to say that I love your story idea. It sparked my train of thought about cum. I love a good story that takes something we know, and turns it into something new... If that is what I am trying to say. I am getting tired.

I had a fairy roleplay via IM with someone once. She kept trying to turn it into something about sex with Unicorns. Anyway...I love your idea!

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Sex with unicorns, eh? I've heard of that before. And you will never believe this, but I was reading a Manga comic just after I posted that idea, and the comic was about almost the same concept. In the comic, the fairy was discovered by a college student who collected figurines and masturbated to them. So he quite naturally saw her as a living figurine. Only when he covered her in his semen, she grew to the size of a real woman all in one shot. The only trouble is, she didn't stay that way. Inevitably they had sex, and when she came, she shrank back to her normal size

 

[palemoon2035]

So it was a sort of exchange? She could harness it for awhile, but if she clikaxed she gave it back? It cums and goes, as they say. I like the idea that the growth require multiple encounters. It draws things out. So much can happen.

I am a lover of any story with creatures of fantasy. Fairies, elves, gnomes, demons, succubi, nagas, aliens, etc. There are fewer limitations as the characters are no longer bound by standard human physiology.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

So it was a sort of exchange? She could harness it for awhile, but if she clikaxed she gave it back? It cums and goes, as they say. I like the idea that the growth require multiple encounters. It draws things out. So much can happen.

I am a lover of any story with creatures of fantasy. Fairies, elves, gnomes, demons, succubi, nagas, aliens, etc. There are fewer limitations as the characters are no longer bound by standard human physiology.

Yes, me too. We're already human, and we already know what is possible with us, so why not explore fantasy a little deeper. I've had so many fantasy roles that were not human. Obviously the elves and dark elves, but also centaurs, a collectible doll that comes to life, and several others. And of course there are always the werewolves and vampires, even ghosts.

 

[palemoon2035]

I agree completely. I know the human realm well enough. I want to imagine a body with wings, tentacles, or eve fur.

Well, it is late. I must go. *hugs my friend and traces my figer tips along her back*

Take care and sweet dreams.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

I agree completely. I know the human realm well enough. I want to imagine a body with wings, tentacles, or eve fur.

Well, it is late. I must go. *hugs my friend and traces my figer tips along her back*

Take care and sweet dreams.

*Hugs* Good night.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

New story idea: The Roleplay

This is really an idea within an idea I guess. The main idea is a fantasy story.

It is an unprecedented time. For the first time ever, a fragile truce has been negotiated between the forces of Human and Orcish. As part of the treaty, the Orcs will turn over the captives they have collected from their various raids. The humans send a troop of soldiers to conduct this prisoner release, and to make sure the victims get back to their homes and families. The troop is led by a veteran human warrior, an officer in their Ranger corps, perhaps. He or she is someone who finds themselves in the peculiar position of having to deal closely and reasonably amiably with these monsters who so recently he/she would have gladly put to the point of the sword.

Not only that but the commander in charge is overwhelmed with petty little problems surrounding the transfer and release of the prisoners. Not only are the Orcs hard enough to deal with, but it seems that any provocation could ruin the fragile truce, and the commander overseas a company of soldiers spoiling for a fight with these brutes.

And the Orcs have the damnable peculiar trait of taking every part of the treaty terms in their most literal sense. So when the treaty said that all prisoners taken in raids over the last five years be turned over to the humans, it was supposed to be all human prisoners. But suddenly the commander finds himself/herself responsible for non-human prisoners too, some of which are races who themselves are foes of the humans. One such prisoner is a Drow woman. There is no love lost between her and the humans she now finds herself in the custody of. At least the orcs were a foes her people respected for their battle prowess.

While no longer a slave of the orcs, she is not exactly free either, and as far as she is concerned, has only traded one set of masters for another.

Now for the twist.

The idea above is just the plot of a role playing game being played out. And the deal is that the person playing the Drow woman (me?) is new to role playing games, just trying it out to indulge a friend. The more experienced gamers have set the stakes high. The rules are that whatever takes place in the game must be actively acted out in real life.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Story Excerpt: Centaur Mistress

(First post by my beautiful and wonderful partner, Sasha.)

The dirty white tents stood in a random arrangement in the small clearing. Fires were lit and the sound of clashing swords filled the air, mixed with the chill fall wind coming from the north. Wrapped in a brown fur mantle and wearing worn leather boots, Keleth moved into the pines on the edge of the clearing and hesitated.

Keleth, standing only a hair taller than most children, shook as she got her first glimpses of the stately women she could now be company to: the flash of armor, the flowing chestnut hair and the flanks of a horse, before the clash of swords again. Keleth wished she’d had a choice to come to this place, but her servitude was decided by her mother, who wanted her out of the house, and also by bringing a flow of coin into her parent’s pockets. The young woman would never see any of the gold herself. Her livelihood in the place would be provided by the camp cook and her new Mistress.

With a breath and forced courage, Keleth approached the entrance to the camp, toward two guards, standing ten feet tall, holding spears. The centaur on the right had a black horse’s body, and pale human skin covered by leather, with long, black hair in a braid. The centaur on the left had a grey horses body with creamy skin also covered in leather. They both stayed still but eyed her closely, pointing their spears.

Keleth trembled as she approached, holding out her papers for them to inspect. A nod, and withdrawal of spears in silence told her she could go through, and the centaur with black hair pointed towards a tent on the west side of the encampment. Keleth stayed close to the surrounding ring of tents, away from the sparring warriors, and prayed that none would approach her.

Each warrior's tent was dirty white, but the flap was marked in specific colors to represent the standing and skills of the warrior. She knew which to look for, so couldn't mistake the tent, which seemed set apart slightly, away from the others. This centaur was not the general, so the isolation was unusual, but that was not for Keleth to understand. Her fingers checked to make sure her hair was in place, long auburn hair in a delicate braid, and tried to make her trembling go away. It would not do to show such fear in front of her new Mistress.

Keleth's training for her servitude in the last several months had involved learning how to care for wounds, how to clean properly for a centaur, to do some cooking, how to tend fires, clean weapons, and tend to all the centaur's personal needs. This group of centaurs had been entrenched in the northern area for weeks, and had suffered some losses against some wild men who kept coming down from the mountains. The girl who tended Keleth's new Mistress was taken in the night, when getting wood for the tent's fire, and hadn't been seen again.

Before Keleth could announce herself, the tent flap opened. The tent itself was about 12 feet tall and looked like a small cottage, making Keleth feel even smaller than she truly was. She took a step back as the shadow of her Mistress appeared, framed by firelight behind the tall figure.

****************

Brighid pulled deeply from the wineskin, the bladder quickly depleting its contents and soon to join the other three tossed carelessly on the floor. She hoped the vintage would blunt the memories, but nothing could take them away. They would always be there when she closed her eyes, she thought. Her head was swimming, and her vision quivered at the edges.

She laughed at the sensation, but it came out harsh and bitter, an exclamation forced from a ragged gust of breath.

She denied it was a sob. She could do that, as long as the wine supply held out. And if not wine, then perhaps she could make a late night raid on the human village for cider or something else. Despite her love of grain porridge to eat, she didn’t care for its taste when brewed into alcohol. Tonight she might make an exception if those visions returned.

She wrinkled her nose at the smell permeating the tent. It must have been pretty bad if she noticed it, her own smell, Brighid thought. She needed a keeper. 'Attendant', they liked to be called, but she knew how they really felt about the duty. To them, she was barely more than an animal. The king might as well have sent stable boys to care for her and her Sisters. And in fact, that had been how it used to be, until one of the boys got caught fucking his Mistress. That would have been a sight, she thought with a snort. It hadn’t been so pleasant for her shamed Sister though. She was ridiculed right out of camp.

After all, what could a human lad have been packing to offer a centaur mare? She probably barely felt anything, Brighid imagined. But she supposed that sort of thing was more common than anyone let on. Even some of those who ridiculed the most were probably guilty of seeking the same distractions to escape the horrors of battle day after day. And it’s not like there were any stallions around. The war had ground on too long for that. Their menfolk had been among the first cavalry units to be formed. Those left now were either too old, too young, or too crippled with battle wounds to fight now.

And that is how the happy accident was discovered. Turns out the female centaurs were better at unit tactics, more effective as a cavalry troop than the males, who often would lose themselves in a sort of battle lust that made them take too many chances individually. They tended to be closer to each other too, less prone to fighting among themselves. That promoted better unit cohesiveness. The mares fought together, lived together, they stuck together.

All but Brighid. She’d heard some of the whispered rumors when she passed. 'She’s fought too long', they said. 'She’s not stable.' 'She’s a danger to herself and maybe others too.' They think I should be put out to pasture, Brighid thought, then laughed at her own pun. Still, the Northmen were tough and persistent raiders, and the casualties were still mounting. Like it or not, they still needed her. There weren’t many with her experience, and fewer still with her nerve.

Brighid glanced back at her flank where the recent arrow wound still bled through the crude bindings she’d managed. She hadn’t reported it to her captain. She’d received it not in battle, not directly anyhow, and so it would be hard to explain, and would probably result in disciplinary action. Just what she needed on top of everything else, she thought. She pulled another long draught from the skin, shivering, her hide on her flank twitching with the movement, making the wound hurt a little more. The twitch also disturbed the flies that were trying to get at the wounded flesh. Angrily she switched her tail around to swat at them, but as always, they were too fast to flee.

She really needed a new keeper, she thought.

The last one, Cassandra, had been a good one. She knew her place and was quiet. She didn’t complain about the drinking; she just let a centaur be, Brighid thought. She snorted again, a derisive sound, but aimed at herself. ‘Funny how I remember her name now…..now that it’s too late.’ The pain came again, not from the wound in her side, but from the memories at what she’d seen. Cassandra. The girl hadn’t deserved what they’d done to her. Brighid closed her eyes and shuddered at the thought.

She must have dozed a little. She awoke with a start, her senses fully on alert in that strange way that they seemed to tune out the normal sounds of the camp and focus on the different, the new, anything that could signal a threat. She surged to her feet, staggering slightly, and reached for her spear. It took her two tries to get it. ‘That’s the pointy end. Make sure you direct that end at the enemy, Brighid.’ she muttered to herself. She clomped heavily to the tent flap, ready to vent her upset at whoever it was who’d come to bother her in her self imposed misery.

Flipping back the flap, she stopped in her tracks, staring bleary eyed at the diminutive human girl staring wide eyed up at her. The smell of stale wine and sour equine sweat rolled out of the tent with Brighid’s appearance at the opening. She just looked at the other for a long time before Brighid snorted derisively, looking past the little one. “Well? Where’s the rest of you?” she slurred.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Story excerpt: Centaur Mistress

(This part of the story is mixed, with some paragraphs written by Sasha, then alternated by me. Mostly it's in the point of view of each character, but edited together to form more of a narrative.)

The shock of seeing such an unkempt warrior was much more than the shock of the size of Keleth's new Mistress. The scent of stale drink, stale sweat, and stale horse hit Keleth's nostrils hard, but she had been trained with far worse smells and didn't visibly react. There was something else in the air, but Keleth couldn't tell what it was. It was obvious that Mistress Brighid hadn't handled herself well since her last attendant has been taken away. Keleth was grateful that her small leather pack was filled with soap, oils and dried herbs that would help with the scent inside her new dwelling. She would be living at all times with the centaur and wouldn't allow herself to live in squalor.

"Mistress Brighid, my name is Keleth and I'm glad to be your new attendant. If you will allow me, I will start my duties right away, and I will arrange my small place in your dwelling. I can tell you about myself once I've begun to work."

Brighid leaned to one side, slightly, like a ship listing on the ocean. It could have been attributed to her drinking, but she did it to ease the strain in her flank, her wound beginning to pain her again now that the effect of the alcohol was blunted. She wasn't sure what to say to the girl they'd sent her. She needed a keeper, but this one seemed a pretty unlikely choice. Brighid doubted the girl could even reach high enough to properly brush her back and mane.

Keleth waited for the centaur to acknowledge her, but the centaur swayed slightly and the movement mixed with the scent of ale told Keleth that her Mistress was drunk. Keleth sighed, and reached up, and grasping Brighid's much larger hand, attempted to lead the mare back inside. It was a lot easier than Keleth expected, probably due to Brighid's inebriation. When the tent flap was closed, Keleth turned around, and understood the nature of the strange smell. Blood. There was a wound on Brighid's flank that hadn't been treated properly, and Keleth knew at once that it must be festering. Keleth dropped her fur mantle, revealing a wool skirt that was muddied at the bottom, a white linen blouse with a leather corset over it.

Brighid followed the girl inside. It was no use being difficult, and it was too cold out here to argue. Maybe she was a little feverish, or maybe it was the wine's effect. Or maybe she actually missed the attentions of a good attendant. But for whatever reason, she didn't protest or resist. Truth be told, she was taken a bit by surprise when the little human girl quietly took her hand and led her in that confidant, assured manner. She wanted to see just what the girl would do.

Opening her pack, Keleth took out fresh wrapping, part of the supplies given to her, along with healing herbs and managed to find a pitcher of fresh water. All else could wait, including anything Brighid had to say.

Brighid watched the preparations skeptically. The girl seemed to know what she was doing, or at least pretended to know well enough to be convincing. But she seemed so young, perhaps because of her height. How much could she really know? Nervousness made Brighid snide and snippy. She slurred, "Since when has the king decided to send dwarves instead of maidens to attend us, Girl? Shouldn't you have a half-dozen friends with you?"

But Keleth didn't seem to let the remark phase her, as before. Brighid cleared her throat nervously. The sound came out as a low whicker.

"Stay still, Mistress, I will clean your wound. Do not worry; I've been trained to deal with such wounds." Keleth began to cut through the old wrapping and this time did wrinkle her nose. As the wrapping began to peel away from Brighid's flank, the crusted blood caused the cloth to stick to the scabbed wound.

Brighid's hide twitched as she flinched in pain when the scab pulled loose with the wrapping, opening the wound to bleed again. The sudden sharp pain made her kick out, her rear hoof hitting her armor stand, knocking it over with a loud clatter.

Brighid cursed, turning an angry, bleary eyed glare on the small figure standing with arms stretched up to reach her. "That hurt! You can't even see what you're doing!"

Keleth fumed a bit at the rebuke, but was determined not to give into intimidation. Her new Mistress needed her help and she would not be cowed by harsh words from a drunken centaur. "Well then why don't you kneel down, Mistress, so I can tend to you properly?"

Brighid retorted in a surly tone, "Why don't you find something to stand on, dwarf?"

"Because your people don't exactly have a lot of ladders around!" Keleth replied in a low, calm tone, in counterpoint to the shrill sarcasm of her Mistress' words, still refusing to be baited by the name calling.

Brighid glared at her in sullen silence, and Keleth met her gaze, refusing to be turned from her duties. Slowly the implications of the retort sunk in, and Brighid's harsh stern look began to crack as the humor of the words occurred to her. Her eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, and her lips barely turned up. She liked this one's sand, she decided. With a snort, she gingerly knelt on her forelocks, lowering her body so that Keleth could reach her wound more easily.

The wound was in bad shape, swollen red, dirty and infected. It needed to be cleaned first, and then cauterized.

"Mistress, I have to clean and cauterize this wound. Please stay still." Keleth wondered if Brighid was used to such simple orders, but now was not a time to be shy. She took out her small dagger and placed the blade in the fire. Getting a nearby bucket, Keleth poured water over the wound and let the dirty liquid collect in the bucket. After several more washes, Keleth got the hot blade, singed her own fingers slightly, then after steeling herself, she pressed the flat of the blade to the wound.

Brighid tensed at the searing touch, and made a noise of pain, not really a whinny, more like a squeal or shriek mixed together. It was more equine than human, but unlike anything Keleth had heard before. Her flesh quivered, muscles trembling with the pain. She turned to look back at her new attendant, but her eyes held no anger or reproach. The girl was only doing what had to be done. Cassandra might have done the same, but she had always been a meek girl, gentle and shy. This one was different; at least she seemed so up to this point.

Comparisons to Cassandra brought back the memories of the sight of her body, abused and bloody, tortured to a cruel end. Brighid would never forget the sight, she realized as she looked around for another wineskin. Finding none, she sighed deeply, the sound coming out of her humanoid throat as a low shuddering moan. She hung her head, letting tears spill over her long lashes and drip on her withers. There was nothing she could ever do for Cassandra now. Brighid's tearful eyes settled on the diminutive girl applying the fresh bandage as gently as possible. She wasn't Cassandra, but maybe what happened once didn't have to happen again. It could be different this time. Brighid just needed the nerve to do things differently. And it begins now, she thought.

In a subdued voice she asked, "What.....Girl, what are you called again?"

 

[Annisthyrienne]

If anyone is enjoying the excerpts form Centaur Mistress, I've been talking with Sasha, my wonderful co-writer, and we both agree to post more if anyone wants to read it. If this is the case, I would post it in the main role play section rather than all of it here, as it is getting to be a good length now.

 

[Annisthyrienne]

Centaur Mistress is posted on the main board here. I'll post another post to it each morning and evening until I get it caught up to where we are with it. Then update it after that if there is interest.