Nobilis Erotica

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This month's patron-funded story is "A Certain Tantarii" by Andra Dill, narrated by Scottie Calif. Starting this month, supporters of the Patreon campaign will be getting chapters of the third book in my Monster Whisperer series, "Monster Whisperer Third Class"  
This month's story is a "command performance" story funded by patron Arioch Morningstar, who signed up on the $100 level for a story written to his specifications. If you want a story like this, go to the Nobilis Erotica Patreon campaign. Or if that's a bit pricey for you, there are plenty of options for your budget.  
This month's patron-funded story is "Accursed" by Lynne Sargent, read by Lauren Harris. It finally happens one night. As she’s always been told it would. Sure, she thought that it had happened before- but she was mistaken. Haven’t we all been? But no, this time it happens. They are in bed. It is a work night, and she is riding him again. They try to rotate positions, for many reasons: excitement, change, because the magazine told them to so they feel like they should. It doesn’t much matter to her, though; Mostly they all feel the same. But not this time. This time the thunder cracks outside and she feels herself crack with it. he is conjoined with him one moment; the next she is sound. And now she knows what it is supposed to feel like. As it reverberates through her body she keeps on plodding, rolling her hips over the valley between his thighs until his face contorts the same way she supposes hers must have. How funny, that he did not notice. That he still does not notice, but of course he is asleep before she has even dismounted. He snores, but that night it is the echoes of the thunder that she hears in her dreams.
This month's patron-funded story is "Dino Space Pirates" by Stu Chebooch, narrated by Nobilis Reed. The ship hung derelict in space. Puffs of gas escaped intermittently from the hull. Its drive engine lay ripped open, inner parts exposed. The fuel had long since evaporated. Inside the hull, two people were working. “Crap,” said Marianne Vega. She pushed back from the machine she had been working on, holding out the soldering iron. “There's hardly any battery power left. This will keep life support going for another few hours. Maybe five, if we're lucky.” Peggy Terrid took the soldering iron and put it back on the work table. It clattered slowly in the low gravity. “How about a distress call, Captain Vega?” “No good,” she replied. “The hyperwave fried during our last call. If anyone had heard us, they'd be here by now. It was a war zone, after all, we're the last thing they'll be thinking about. We could send radio waves, but they won't be received for months. We'll be long dead. Us and our 25 passengers.” She looked at the soldering iron. “We may as well turn off the rest of the gravity. Divert everything to life support.” As Peggy packed up the tool box, Marianne Vega placed a hand on her shoulder. “Dismissed, Lieutenant. I'll be on the Bridge. Do as you see fit.” “If it's all the same, I'll be there with you, Captain,” Peggy replied. Captain Vega made it to the bridge before the gravity cut out. She strapped herself into her Captain's chair. Eighteen adults and their children had put their trust in her to get them out of the war zone. “It should have worked, damn it,” she muttered. “One lousy stray shot.” Peggy Terrid came onto the Bridge. “Gravity out in two minutes,” she announced, then took a seat at the navigator's station. The gravity lessened, then went to free fall. The lights dimmed. Captain Vega drifted, then began to doze.  Minutes passed, and rolled into hours. Her head drifted to one side in the microgravity, weightless. Her eyes blinked, then squeezed open. A red light was blinking on the console. “Peggy...” she started. But Peggy was already on it. “Incoming signal, Captain,” she said briskly. Her swiftly moving fingers activated the console. Captain Vega straightened in her chair. “Full lights. Onscreen.” “Ahoy, the ship!” called a voice. “Dinos...” Peggy said in a low whisper. “Captain Skraark of the Free Wind,” he announced. Reptilian skin covered a massive face. The nose protruded from a combined mouth and snout. His crest extended well above his head. The scale of the other ship was hard to discern from the viewscreen, but Dinos were usually over eight feet tall. Captain Skraark waved a scaly hand. The claws on his fingers extended for several inches and looked very sharp. “What is your status?” “See for yourself,” Captain Vega replied. “Yes. Yes, we have,” he replied. “We actually came in for salvage, then noticed a faint signal of active life support. How many are you?” “Twenty seven,” she replied. “Two crew, the rest passenger. What do you seek?” she asked. “We offer the usual deal,” he replied.  “I've heard of your terms,” she responded.  “Well then,” he went on. “If you agree to the deal, then find your volunteer.” “I just want to be sure that my passengers will be safe.” “Captain!” he exclaimed. “We are...free traders...but we have our honor. None of our species has ever reneged on this deal.”  “Screen off,” Peggy announced. She swiveled her chair to face Captain Vega. “You can't be serious! I've heard Alliance soldiers talk about their...deal! Death here on the ship would be better.” “I might choose that for myself,” said Captain Vega. “And accept your choice as well. But there are twenty five other people counting on me.” She pulled her clothing to make herself as formal as possible. “Screen on.” Reluctantly, Peggy pressed the controls to reactivate the communication link. “Captain Skraark, I accept your offer,” announced Marianne Vega stiffly.
May's Patron-funded episode (yes, I know it's late) is "Kentaurida" by Mason Hawthorne, narrated by Nobilis Reed. In the grey predawn the dense, ancient forest pressing right up to the edge of the road looms over George, as he picks his way along, careful not to turn an ankle in the deep ruts left by farmers carts and post wagons. He’s heard that this forest is untouched since ancient times, the last virgin wild lands this side of the continent, powerfully haunted, according to the common folk, and a stronghold of the old gods. It is cold, and the stars glitter in the sky, the husk of the setting moon is all the light George has to find the marker he was told of. It is an old thing, standing as tall as a man, the carved stone weathered by the centuries. The head on top is still well formed, and Hermes’ sly, gleeful smile beams from atop its square pillar. As George approaches he can make out, at the appropriate height, a carved penis standing at a jaunty angle from a stylised bush of pubic hair. He stops in front of it, and reaches out to touch the stone penis for good luck. Turning from the herm, he tightens the straps of his pack and fords his way into the forest. It is black under the cover of the trees, even the moon’s feeble light lost, he strains to see the obstacles in his path, and more than once loses his footing on the slick leaf litter and uneven coils of roots. Soon, George is breathless with exertion, and sweating; his shirt clings to his skin. Clammy and chilled, he must pause for a moment to tug his collar away from his throat and adjust his pack. It is so quiet, even the birds are silent; there’s not a sound aside from his laboured breathing and the crunch of dried leaves under his boots. George fits his fist against his side to ease the ache in his ribs, and a prickle crawls up the nape of his neck. What is that sense of hushed watchfulness that surrounds him? Why does it feel as though his every move is being scrutinised? George shakes himself off like a dog—isn’t it silly to believe all those folk superstitions—he squares his shoulders and carries on, labouring up the slope. But then, he is here because he believes in the folk tales. Because they say that beyond the curses and malevolent spirits, there was the chance to gain a miraculous cure, or the power of divination, or a dozen other such boons. The cure is all he wants, some kind of treatment. If he has come all this way to find nothing, he thinks he may as well die.
Here is the annual event we hold at Balticon every year, plague or no plague. This year our madlibbers are Stephanie Burke, Valerie Griswold-Ford, Grig Larson and Charlie Brown. 
This month's patron-funded story is "Arachne" by Emily L. Byrne, read by Jo Bennett. 
This is the second (and final) half of "Sauce for the Gander" written by Nobilis Reed and narrated by Vivienne Ferrari. Find my interview with Leela Sinha on the PowerPivot podcast Listen to Monster Whisperer on Audible  
This story was commissioned by a Patreon supporter who generously signed up at the $100 level. It's a story set in the Monster Whisperer universe, narrated by Vivienne Ferrari.
Happy 13th birthday!  This podcast is now a teenager. This month's story is "Salt Water" by Alexander Whitman, narrated by Nobilis Reed.
The much dreaded Office Christmas Party happened.
This month's patron-sponsored story is "Bell House Invitation" by M. Christian, narrated by Michael Robbins. This is an excerpt from "Hard Drive: The Best Sci Fi Erotica of M. Christian" 
This month's patron-funded story is a straight erotic horror tale by Gustavo Bondoni.  The narrator is Nobilis Reed. Patrons are now receiving episodes of a popular public domain planetary romance that has been "de-expurgated" by Nobilis Reed.  Join up at patreon.com/nobilis to hear at least two chapters a month.
This month's Patron-funded story is "A Dance of Queens" by Sacchi Green, narrated by Nikki Delgado. After the story, there's an excerpt from a new podcast, "Fuck Humans"   
This is the companion piece to last month's sandbox tradeoff.  In this one, I'm presenting a story I wrote in the universe of Julie Cox's "Capricious" novel. Buy the Capricious ebook Get the Capricious audiobook  
This month's patron-funded story is "Spawning Grounds" by Julie Cox, narrated by Nikki Delgado. I shifted my weight back and forth and stretched my wings, fidgeting, rolling them in their sockets. I still wasn't used to them; they were new, only a few months old. The feathers had finally come in all the way, the central shafts opening like strange mottled brown blossoms. They were lighter than they looked, but I still had trouble with my balance. I knocked into things. These days, I was far more graceful in the air. “Angela, you gotta relax,” Ester said as she tightened the straps of my backpack. “You’re going to be alright. Some tentacle monsters are scary, but Celpin are as docile as they come.” I nodded. I knew that better than she did; I was the park ranger, after all. She might study them in the lab, but I watched them day after day. I’d watched their numbers dwindle, falling as the birds they cooperated with for spawning disappeared along with so many other species on the planet. Climate change was a bitch. At least this time it was because of a volcanic event, and wasn’t our species mucking about that did it. “You’ll be ok,” she said again, but I think she was talking more to herself than to me. “I’m ready,” I said. “I’ll be waiting when you get back.” She wasn’t looking at me. She was nervous and didn't want me to see it. “Break a leg.” I stepped to the edge of the ledge, opened my wings, and jumped.
This month's patron-sponsored story is "Arvent4299" by R. Tusker, read by Violet Jade. "Arvent4299. That's my access password," said N-04, her synthesized voice not betraying a hint of nervousness. Her client nearly spat out his drink in response, not expecting a serious answer to his question. "Wait, hang on. That's a joke, right? You're joking." Her client chuckled, setting his stein on the bar counter. "Let me guess. I try to hack you with that password and it'll blow up my tablet. Or it's actually your kill code and you'll go 'Destroy All Humans' on me." N-04 frowned, the glare of her faintly glowing eyes cutting through the murkiness of the lounge. "The assumption that all synths have a kill code has caused an undue amount of stress for human-synth relations. I gave you my access password, and I will revoke it if you continue to act so foolishly. Or if you’re not bold enough to use it." N-04 sat and watched the TV as the client paused and tentatively pulled out his tablet. Porn was on. There was never anything but porn on in these hookup lounges. All things considered, this side gig could have been worse. The pay was decent, and the benefits were amazing, with free access to a human-synth relations agent, subsidies for maintenance costs, and access to a server for mind-uploading. All you had to do is bend over and let corporate perverts with more money than charm have their way with you. Technically, all a client paid for was your company for the evening, but the more of yourself you gave up, the better the payout, as long as client uses what you offer. Most synths stick to the baseline, some light conversation and maybe a handie, but N-04 had aspirations, and aspirations need more than 14 credits an hour. "Holy shit," her date whispered, breaking her line of thought. "I'm in." "Took you long enough. You have access to most of my operating system. You can change whatever you wish, do whatever suits what fantasies lie in that little head of yours. As long as you don't break the the terms of the contract you signed with Escortcorp. So nothing against the law, no messing up my clothing, and no denting my chassis." The client looked back and forth between N-04 and his tablet, his bemusement clear on his face. "Why?" he finally sputtered out. "Because it's either this, cancelling this appointment or listening to you blather on about fantasy football all night. This is the only route that actually seems fun." She smiled cattily. These sort of nights always went better when she poked fun at the client. Always getting mad, going overboard and getting hit with a massive bill. "So go on. Dominate me. Impress me." The client scowled and began to frantically peck away at his tablet, his bemusement turning into indignation. After a few moments, N-04's arm locked at the elbow and jerked roughly upwards, then downwards. "So, this is your fetish, huh?" she quipped. "You must like your handjobs super intense." "Do you mind?" he growled. "I'm testing the movement controls." "If it took you that long to pull that off, I should probably go home. By the time you figure out how to really fuck me up, it'll be--" N-04 was cut off as the client, roughly controlling one limb at a time, managed to force her body off of the bar stool and stand it up. She sneered at him as he locked her into a pseudo T-pose and rotated her. Leering at the hot pink minidress and nylons - the standard uniform for greeters at her actual job- and the curvy body of metal, plastic and synthflesh that lay beneath. "You done twirling me around like a Barbie?" she sniped. The client grinned and pressed a few buttons. Slowly, N-04 bent over the bar, her dress riding up her hips until the bottom of her underwear, a pink thong, came into view. He brushed his hand against her ass tentatively and a shock ran through her body.
This is "Having Her for Tea" a straight BDSM story by Harley Easton, narrated by Terry of the Smut Podcast. This episode is sponsored by the generous patronage of Nobilis Erotica listeners.    
This is the "Dirty Mad Libs" panel we did at Balticon 53, featuring the prose-distorting skills of Laura "Spence" Nicole, Starla Huchton, and Stephanie Burke. If you've got the Nobilis Erotica Podcast App on your phone, look in the "Extras" section for the unedited version in all its two hour glory.  This includes all of the calling out of parts of speech, responses from the audience, and of course the Stupid Viking Drinking Game.
This month's patron-supported episode is a female solo-ish story by T R Mortenson, narrated by Louise Cooksey. The Nobilis Erotica Patreon Campaign is SOOO close to the $150 mark we can taste it! Will you be the patron who takes us over the top?
This month's patron-sponsored story is "Right Where I Want You" a superhero femdom story by Brantwijn Serrah, narrated by Nobilis Reed. The Nobilis Erotica Patreon campaign is TANTALIZINGLY close to the $150 mark where I'll be able to afford to pay authors $50 per story. 
This lesbian vampire story was written by Michael M Jones and is read for us by Vivienne Ferrari. This episode was brought to you by the generous patronage of Nobilis Erotica listeners.
This month's Literotica-sponsored episode is "Quality Assurance" by Selbryth Lannigan, narrated by Nobilis Reed. Listen through to the end for a special announcement!    
This episode is sponsored by Literotica.  "Equinox" was written by Brantwijn Serrah and is read for us here by Scottie Calif. If you like Scottie's voice, you can hear her narrate "Freespire Nights" on Audible. Listen through to the end for a short promo for the Smut Podcast.
The Patreon funded story for February is "The Chemical Trace of Amour in The Solar Winds, Like Lilacs on a Desert Breeze" by Roger Leatherwood. It's read by Nobilis Reed. We thought the aliens would come to visit us one day. That we wouldn't be the ones to go out into space and find them. Because we never had the resources to do true, extensive interplanetary travel. The government was forever stuck in domestic policies and snafus, by which I mean earth-bound. Politics and international tensions prevented all but a few face-saving and performative probes from leaving our atmosphere to orbit, possibly land on foreign objects and other planets as some grand statement of man's supposed legacy to conquer the universe. Or at least, the closest parsec of it. But even then, our satellites and probes would dig in the dust of Saturn's moons and find rhodium. Or gold. Or liquified krypton. Which would stop all attempts at further exploration and turn the exercise into how to best mine, transport and exploit the new motherlodes. So when the aliens finally presented themselves, making themselves visible after, what they claimed were months of observation beforehand, it was expected, obvious and in a way a relief for the officials in our command office. Particularly Capt. Lightheart. He had an aggressive idea the aliens would be militaristic and come in hard and without warning. Lightheart, a fellow more misnamed than anyone I'd ever met, kept insisting we wouldn't be ready to take on the aliens, however much warning and how docile, their sudden appearances might be. Lightheart had access to high-level surveillance information Bridgette and I didn't have. Ominous radio signals, disturbances in the solar flare patterns, strange bogies sighted in formations over the beaches of Bermuda and Cancun, avoiding scrambled Air Force jets. Above our pay grade. But Bridgette had a different idea of the aliens. That if they had spent all the energy and time to find us in the solar system, and to come visit us, their intent wouldn’t be simply to destroy us. It would be to understand us. Make friends. Maybe teach us high science concepts. My view, well, I thought the likelihood of some other species visiting Earth was extremely unlikely. Even though I worked at the Pan-US Extraterrestrial Surveillance Service. I was the press liaison, so I took every bit of news with a grain of salt. Never thought a story too good to be true ever was. The reason why I was here, at PUSESS where the existence of aliens was the entire point of the organization, was I think I was always attracted to smart girls, and girls like Bridgette, brainy and able to spout equations as easily as recipes for mixed tropical drinks. Those were the kinds of girls who hung around PUSESS. Post-grad docs who loved to dream, read science-fiction and wool-gather around a world in which women were in charge. Turns out my prediction was much less accurate than Bridgette's, who expected world peace, and Lightheart's, who expected total domination. The truth was a little of both.
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Podcast Details

Created by
Nobilis Reed
Podcast Status
Active
Started
Jan 30th, 2007
Latest Episode
Sep 19th, 2020
Release Period
Weekly
Seasons
3
Episodes
583
Avg. Episode Length
25 minutes
Explicit
Yes
Order
Episodic

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