AudioThrust

Here is chapter 1 of "Cagefighting Nuns in Tanks" a 9-chapter novella. You can get the rest of this story by supporting the AudioThrust patreon campaign. Written by Nobilis Reed, narrated by Vivienne Ferrari, audio produced by Peter Elfman.

Welcome listeners! Soon it will be time for this podcast to come out of its chrysalis, transformed into a glorious new form. Here is what is going to happen: 1> The format is changing. Instead of focusing on short stories, I'll be presenting short stories, novellas, and perhaps even novels. They will be written by me, and they will come out when they come out. Working to a deadline was stressful and I need to reduce the stress in my life. You'll receive a bunch of episodes, and then a hiatus while I write the next season. The podcast will be closed to submissions for the foreseeable future. 2> The focus is changing. For most of the content, you'll need to be a supporter of the Patreon campaign. On the free, public podcast, you'll get teaser chapters and short stories. The one dollar level of the podcast will get short stories and first chapters, and access to the Nobilis Erotica archives. The three dollar level will also get full novellas and novels. The five dollar level will also get bonus material such as narration bloopers and reactions. 3> The branding is changing. The podcast and patreon campaign will now be "Nobilis Reed Presents: Audiothrust" or just "Audiothrust." The change will be automatic; you don't need to subscribe to a new feed and you don't need to follow a new Patreon campaign. I'm transforming the existing ones. 4> The team is changing. I'm enlisting the marvelous Vivienne Ferrari as my go-to narrator, and I've got an audio editor and sound designer to handle the editing gruntwork. They are my co-equal partners in this new venture. With the current plan, Audiothrust will be emerging and spreading its wings in the first quarter of 2025. Happy New Year!

This month's patron-funded story is Bitter Luck by J Aster. It's narrated by Nobilis Reed. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class

This month's patron-funded story is Time by PM Amaras and Paul Driggere. It's narrated by Nobilis Reed. For an ad-free version of this podcast, support the patreon campaign. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class

This month's patron-funded story is The Haunted Vagina by Matthew Barron. It's narrated by Bliss Morgan. For an ad-free version of this podcast, support the patreon campaign. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class

This month's patron-funded story is "The Bacteria that Evolved on the Trip to Zebulon 83" by Patrick Mannus. It's narrated by Nobilis Reed. For an ad-free version of this podcast, support the patreon campaign. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class Charlie didn't think much of the reports of cancer-related deaths on the Zebulon-83 colony ship. They were sad to hear people had died, sure, but to Charlie, the deaths weren't personally more upsetting than the radiation-related leukemia deaths after the toxic train spill. If anything, they were more pissed about the train spill deaths because that was the government's negligence at work. The Zebulon-83 deaths seemed like just bad luck as a result of transit-related radiation exposure during cryopreservation. Charlie took slightly more notice when it came out that all the Zebulon cancers were prostate, breast, ovarian, and endometrial. Not so much because that meant anything to them scientifically speaking, but because it was just kind of odd. Charlie worked in IT, but even they could recognize that it was unusual for the cancers to cluster like that. When it came out that the cause of the unusual cancer clustering was unregulated growth of hormone-altering intestinal bacteria that had evolved during the flight to Zebulon-83, and that said same bacteria could be directed to change people's genders more effectively than any hormone supplements, Charlie sat up and took notice. They sent the article to a fellow comms satellite IT specialist. They didn't work for the same company, but even though it was a growing field, there were still few enough of them that you just knew the other commsatties. And Charlie had always kind of had a crush on Morgan. Morg. Check it out. Interesting tech coming out of that Zebulon-83 colony ship. When they'd met at a commsatty conference, which was really just a place to use illicit and non-illicit substances and talk shit about the companies they worked for and all the exploits they had over the companies if they were ever wrongfully terminated, Charlie had been drawn to Morgan. They just got the sense of a kindred spirit. When your body was not always the right fit for your soul, you could see the same mismatch in others. And Charlie had seen that in Morgan.

This month's story is "Blackberry Picking" by Daniel Stride, narrated by Calyopi Utterances. For an ad-free version of this podcast, support the patreon campaign. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class 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.

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This month's patron-funded story is Dragon Enough by Genevieve Amsterdam. It's narrated by Vic. For an ad-free version of this podcast, support the patreon campaign. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class

This month's patron-funded story is "Apple of Sodom" by Plangdi Neple. It's narrated by Bisi Alimi. For an ad-free version of this podcast, support the patreon campaign. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class

This month's story is "The Lion Tamer" by Cecilia Tan. It's narrated by Vivienne Ferrari. This episode is sponsored by BLOOM Intimate Audio Stories Use promo code "NOBILIS" to save 50% on a premium subscription! and The Sisters of Rapture RPG supplement. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class For an ad-free version of this podcast, support the patreon campaign. Yes, Steven, yes, feel the power of the blood. You must control it or it will control you. I circle him slowly, and his blindfolded eyes still turn toward me, like a flower blindly following the sun. He cannot move his head far, not with his wrists bound above his head. His cheek meets his upper arm as I pass behind him, swishing the whip as I go. I continue around, and he turns his face toward the other side, listening to the slight whisper of the leather tail against the floor and the steady, slow tap of my heels. How much of him at this moment is animal, instinctively following the sounds of danger... or maybe the scent of food, of my blood? And how much of him is intelligent being, calculating when I will strike, anticipating what I will say, and how to react? I brush a gloved finger over his bare nipple and he moans, a sound that seems to send a vibration straight between my legs. He is so hungry right now, not for blood--he's had plenty of that--but for everything I have promised. Control, discipline, ecstasy, and release. A fine sheen of red appears on his chest. His body still reacts much the way a normal 28-year-old man's would, only now he has only blood instead of sweat, only blood instead of semen or tears. I cluck my tongue. "Control the blood," I whisper, for that is what he is here to prove he can do.

This month's patron-funded story is "One Summer Evening" by A. N. Tate. It's narrated by Nobilis Reed. This episode is sponsored by Literotica. For an ad-free version of this podcast, support the patreon campaign. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class

This month's patron-funded story is The Love you Make by David Hill. It's narrated by Scottie Calif. This episode is sponsored by Literotica. For an ad-free version of this podcast, support the patreon campaign. Pick up Monster Whisperer, Second Class Harriet wasn't frightened by the close encounter—at least, honestly, not very much—because she had seen it all before in the movies and on television: the blinding lights in the sky stabbing down toward her car, the problems with the ignition, the headlights, and the other electrical circuitry. The trembling of the earth beneath her tires, the feeling that what she was experiencing was all a dream. Even though, of course, it wasn't. What did surprise her was that, after the whole passé rigmarole was over, she hadn't been abducted. No alien implants, no pointless medical experimentation, no bizarre attempts at communication. The only departure from script—the only thing out of the ordinary—was that, as the ship rose into the night sky on pillars of blue light, one bright beam pointed to the asphalt in front of her Toyota, calling her attention to a small metallic object that had evidently been deposited there just for her. She got out of the car, picked the thing up, and brought it home. "What do you think it is?" she asked John after describing the strange episode along Pennington Road. "Sure looks like a cock to me," he answered. Which it did, being about six inches long and tubular, with two small oval attachments on one end and a tiny vertical slot on the other. "Be serious." "Seriously, Harriet. Maybe it's some kind of alien dildo. Or maybe it's an extraterrestrial pocket comb. Who knows? If you want, I'll take it into town and drop it off with the police. Could be they might figure out what the damned thing is." Harriet shook her head, reluctant to relinquish possession of the alien artifact, no matter what it eventually turned out to be. This question intrigued her for the remainder of the evening. After John left for the ten-to-six shift, she abandoned her usual boring routine of sitcoms, news, and late-night talk shows. Instead she sat on the couch and fiddled with the thing. She turned it over in her hands, wondering what it was, who had made it, how it was used, where it was from, why it had been left there on the road for her. Her husband's observation stuck in her mind, though, and she couldn't stop herself from thinking that, yes, the object truly did resemble a penis—albeit a stylized one made out of metal with a matte silver finish. Moreover, she observed, it looked remarkably like John's very own, being somewhat tapered and almost exactly identical in length. This made her feel nostalgic. And a little randy, too, since—what with the difference in their timetables now that John was working nights—it had been quite a while since their last romantic entanglement. As a matter of fact, Harriet couldn't exactly put her finger on just when they'd made love recently. Definitely not within the past couple of weeks. Had a month or more really gone by? She tried to remember. The very effort of recollection hammered home the point that too long had passed. She ultimately focused on an evening not too different from this one, except that she wasn't alone. He was there with her, and it was more than obvious what he had on his mind as he caressed her in long, slow, masterful shuddering strokes from shoulder to haunch.