The Woman Of The Walls Is Writing Furiously - Blog Posts

In books, they also bring their friends back to reality if are suffering from The Complacency. It's a very specific type of guy.

I am a strong advocate of bringing back that guy who messes people's lives up just a little bit, especially if they have their priorities in the wrong order.

I've seen this character in books, and occasionally in real life. They tend to appear when they are among a hypocritical group of people who have a very strong sense of decorum and manners.

I am a strong advocate of bringing back that guy who messes people's lives up just a little bit, especially if they have their priorities in the wrong order.

I'm honestly just fascinated with having an elf-like lifespan. But I think even a 100 year life extension would be good for the human race. I feel like people make so many rash decisions because 70-80 years is a short time.

It seems like people only become wise when they are 60+, by which time you have only 10-20 years left. Imagine if you were wise and still had most of your life ahead of you.

Thoughts on Life Extension

I think the human race needs an additional 100 years of (healthy) lifespan. I honestly think it'd solve some of our problems and probably make us chill out in general.

The pressure to have children by 20 to 30 in most places would no longer exist. That is something you don't have to worry about until you're 50 or 60, by the time you are more wise to the ways of the world and you can avoid being trapped in a terrible relationship for the sake of the children.

The young would be much more reluctant to take part in wars, as there is far more life ahead of them. Artists and writers would have more time to create closer to their true potential. There'd be less reason to have a midlife crisis and the mad drive to accumulate enough savings for retirement would not be as pressing.

The memory of historical failures would stay around for far longer. Those who lived through the horrors of industrialisation, slavery and totalitarian movements would not let the young make the same mistakes. People would be harder to fool. Imagine if a politician tried to slag off unions in front of voters who were child labourers in 1900. Politicians will take long-term threats more seriously, because there's a good chance they'll be seeing the consequences.

At the same time, accidental death would be more frightening. We'd probably be a more cautious species - the effects of this would flow into many areas. Technological progress would slow from a furious boil to a reasonable simmer as society would have more time to think about the New Things critically and test them with greater rigour. Think of how many lives have been lost over the decades because we were blazé about Asbestos.

At the same time, there might be greater hierachy related to age. The young might have less of a say in society, as they are encouraged to gain more knowledge and experience first. Those who are close to the end of their lifespan might be treated worse, because this is a more distant prospect to most people. Though it might not necessarily turn out that way; since people live longer they are more likely to become disabled by accidents, so society puts more resources toward ensuring the disabled and eldrely can live full lives.

Thoughts on Life Extension

I think the human race needs an additional 100 years of (healthy) lifespan. I honestly think it'd solve some of our problems and probably make us chill out in general.

The pressure to have children by 20 to 30 in most places would no longer exist. That is something you don't have to worry about until you're 50 or 60, by the time you are more wise to the ways of the world and you can avoid being trapped in a terrible relationship for the sake of the children.

The young would be much more reluctant to take part in wars, as there is far more life ahead of them. Artists and writers would have more time to create closer to their true potential. There'd be less reason to have a midlife crisis and the mad drive to accumulate enough savings for retirement would not be as pressing.

The memory of historical failures would stay around for far longer. Those who lived through the horrors of industrialisation, slavery and totalitarian movements would not let the young make the same mistakes. People would be harder to fool. Imagine if a politician tried to slag off unions in front of voters who were child labourers in 1900. Politicians will take long-term threats more seriously, because there's a good chance they'll be seeing the consequences.

At the same time, accidental death would be more frightening. We'd probably be a more cautious species - the effects of this would flow into many areas. Technological progress would slow from a furious boil to a reasonable simmer as society would have more time to think about the New Things critically and test them with greater rigour. Think of how many lives have been lost over the decades because we were blazé about Asbestos.

At the same time, there might be greater hierachy related to age. The young might have less of a say in society, as they are encouraged to gain more knowledge and experience first. Those who are close to the end of their lifespan might be treated worse, because this is a more distant prospect to most people. Though it might not necessarily turn out that way; since people live longer they are more likely to become disabled by accidents, so society puts more resources toward ensuring the disabled and eldrely can live full lives.

I do not like the negative connotation snakes have in our culture. They are symbols of duplicity and evil. The symbolism of the shedding of their skin is often sinister, but I think it is not so. We adore the caterpillar's drastic transformation into a butterfly, but it is one-time only. The mythical phoenix transforms, but only after it dies.

The snake may shed any number of times in its life, which it does to slough off parasites. It represents a more gradual, real process of transformation. I shed my old habits and ways, yet I am the same person. And then people find the embarrassing old skins and wave them in the air or immortalise them in a museum, which sucks.

Tasha, The Satyr-Maiden

Part 1 | Part 2 coming soon

types: satyr, breeding/pregnancy kink, ovipositor

At my brother's wedding there was nobody better suited to make the speeches than a satyr. Never mind that public speaking would drive Tasha into a nervous spiral for an hour beforehand. No, she was always expected to be the natural-born presenter. I hated my family for their closed-minded ways and felt a similar way toward Tasha's parents, who expected her to put on a show at any major function and be their respectable satyr-daughter.

But, she did look mighty fine from the side. A ray of light hit her through the chapel windows as she stood up to make her speech about people she barely knew. Her face was slender and long - her ears were like two floppy muscle shells and the fur on them was a pleasant grey. When she had to make a speech, she spoke in breaths that halted at the end of each sentence.

She wore a modest skirt with buttons in an attempt to conceal her ass, but her curves couldn't be fully contained. A warmth crept up toward my womb. I couldn't help but take in her solid shoulders, her powerful arms and hands - that is where her real confidence lay.

She spotted me out the corner of her eye, and that made her lose concentration. Damn! I felt so guilty I looked away at my idiot brother and his soon-to-be-wife, who was staring at her nails.

I got up to stock up on nibbles and cake, and I realised I'd left a nice sticky mess on the seat.

When I got back with a platter full of goodies, the atmosphere had become dreadful. My Tasha was slumped onto her seat and she had a stormy look. Words Had Been Said.

There was no pleasing these fools. I walked her back to her car and I stole the platter, because she would be ravenous when she calmed down.

At our ranch, Tasha stared out the kitchen window, she had been quiet for seven whole hours on the trip back. I still felt guilty, about distracting her and about not Having Words with my family. I intended to make her feel better. I slipped an arm around her and felt the muscles below her diaphragm relax.

"You didn't do anything wrong. If that's what you're thinking." She said in her soft, gravelly voice.

I traced the soft skin in between her ribs.

"I just felt like I messed things up for you." I said. Then my fingers inched toward her breasts and I lightly pinched a single nip and she let out a sigh.

"The other too." she sighed again, and I obliged. Then she leant her bountiful ass into me and I nearly fell backward.

"I should have never accepted their requests. They will learn to accept me soon enough." she said as I started making circles around her breasts.

"They won't. Fuck that kind of family. You're the only kind of family I want." I said - my throbbing mess wanted to feel her thighs.

She seemed surprised by this and she pulled away from me, turning to face me, the tips of her ears fluttered a little.

"You know, last time this happened to me, my ex was too afraid to even come back with me. He stayed by his family and then came back to me later trying to say he loved me. But when he left me, it was over." said Tasha. Then she went to a huge jug of coffee that had been brewed in the morning and gave herself a big ol' cup.

"What I'm saying is I trust you, my dear. Because I know you won't leave me out in the cold." she replied.

I felt relief at not having done her wrong, but I still had that painful thirst for her, as she loved to toy with me and deny my pleasure.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that." I whimpered so apologetically, as if I were the one who had left her in the cold. She smiled with a look in her eye that I hadn't seen before. She guzzled the whole mug of the cold black stuff in one magnificent swoop, then she cupped my chin in her left hand.

"It's high time we made something together." she whispered, making my hairs stand on end.

At the start of our relationship, I looked for advice what to expect when dating a satyr woman. The satyr women are a wilder people, the other human women said. But, if they if she trusts you enough, she can impregnate you with her own eggs and a spell, and you can give birth to...things. Little biological machines, given just a pinch of life force and a purpose (of course, you could create a baby if you truly wanted).

Tasha slapped me on the ass. "Get out of your head and into bed" she commanded me. So I rushed off to our bedroom and I fell into the lush duvet on our king-sized bed. My wetness was leaving a damp mark on my jeans that was only getting larger.

I slipped out of everything so when Tasha walked in, her eyes surveyed me up and down admiring my hills and my valleys as if I were a picturesque piece of land she was going to fuck.

"Now, this is important my dear. What sort of thing do we want to make?" she said. I was at a loss. I just wanted her to fall on me. Then I thought of the the garden, for some strange reason. The aphids were killing all the roses in the yard.

"I wish for a ladybug to kill the aphids" I replied.

Tasha cocked her head to the side in slight confusion as she knew nothing of gardening, only that its results could sometimes be delicious.

"Then a ladybug we shall make." she said and her eyes fell on my glistening lips. She leaned over me and put a hand on my lower belly, whispering in my ear a spell in the divine language of Dionysia and a little knot I didn't know existed before widened within me.

"The spell is to protect your womb, my dear, and to kill any pains of labour." she said. I stared her in the eyes. I had no patience left, I stole the first kiss from her and how soothing her lips felt. Offended, she pulled away and made revenge kisses down my neck, and I inhaled the faint woodland scent of the fur on her shoulders. Then my hands reached for her shirt and nearly ripped the buttons off opening it, grabbing her already numb B-cups, Tasha moaned into me.

She wouldn't let me have it for long and she forced me back down, her arms wrapped their way around my lower back and she kissed my nipples like they were the last thing on earth. I tried to buck my hips to find some friction on her, but she wouldn't give me any.

"I'm not gonna knock you up yet, my little princess." she commanded, making her way down to my belly, she lifted me and held my ass with her muscular frame, kissing circles around my hips and then skin below my belly button for agonising minutes. I complained and wailed at her, and my throbbing clit poked out a little from under my folds and she couldn't help herself from dipping her tongue in, circling it, until I felt her lips gently suck on it and I saw her goat-like ears just flopping onto both my thighs.

My hips bucked against her lightly, finding enough rhythm between us to send me over the edge, and the contractions rolled through me, drenching the bedsheets in puddles. Yet she had merely ploughed me, she was yet to fertilise me, she still needed to fill my cavernously empty cunt.

Tasha got out from between my legs and away from the bed and she stood over me. She had a devious expression on her face. She still had her black pants on, and there was a delicious bulge in them. It was her ovipositor, her girldick, I needed it. Now.

She said only one word - "Beg".

I got on my knees and spoke of how I'd write stories about her, I told her about how I'd let her fuck me in the mornings, but she soon stopped me.

"Romantic, but that is not at all necessary my love. You never mentioned letting me wipe the wall with your body" she said so smoothly.

"No, but I might you." I replied, surprising her. Her nipples swelled at the suggestion and she let me ram her muscular frame against the wall. Then she let me run my hands down her rugged curves, over the fine golden hairs that ran in between her breasts and covered her belly like beautiful, rampant weeds. My fingers unbuckled her belt, but the her leg found itself between my thighs. My mind lost control of my body, my hips grinded wildly against her leg. I have to admire her restraint, I was ruining her favourite pants, our nipples rubbing togeather, and her bulge so tantalisingly close.

Then she took back control and slammed me against another wall. My hands finally unbuttoned her fly and then slipped off her pants. Underneath was her smooth ovipositor, erect, wide open and covered in her own stickiness. I held her ass and pushed her ovipositor into my mess, but she thrust only very lightly and shallowly to tease me. I bought my whole body weight down on it, Tasha’s eyes fluttered, and her knees bucked. I gripped her ass, encouraging her to fill more of me. That drove her wild, as if she were almost possessed, and she forced me into a mating press against the wall. She pinned me like a picture frame. The picture - Tasha, thrusting ever more greedily and deeply into me, her willing mate, my feet no longer touching the floor. Her tension gradually built within me, until she burst, my moans went with her rhythm as her eggs pumped into me.

To be continued…

Part 1 | Part 2 coming soon!