QSFer Korin I Dushayl has a new queer space opera erotica book out (bi, gay, lesbian, polly, trans MTF), The Lady & the Spyder book 2: Spyder’s Truth.
One by one the Righteous Order of Piety Purists seizes the governments of settled planets and colonies. The Dominatrix Lady Cassandra, exiled from her home, struggles to shelter her slaves and clients from the Pietist quest to confine citizens to a sexless, joyless existence.
Liberation of a devoted collaborator spirals into a violent confrontation. To protect her allies, Cassandra and her slaves capture Piety Purist militants disguised as missionaries. But, the Pietist prisoners’ presence aboard Truth, endangers both crew and spaceship.
Pursued by ships equipped with sophisticated tracking and weaponry, Spyder uses his wits, his crew’s talents, and everything he can demand of Truth to keep them all alive.
Sitting next to Toad as he maneuvered the ground shuttle through the heavy traffic surrounding the spaceport on Slix’s moon, Tamara goosed the signal on the datpad again. No matter what she tried, she couldn’t get a lock on Salshi’s security cameras.
Toad’s almost black eyes, partially hidden by his eyelid folds, darted in every direction as the shuttle crawled toward the center of the dome covering the settlement. He dodged pedestrians and pulled over to let faster vehicles pass them.
Despite his slow speed, they were getting too close for Tamara to get useful information before they arrived at Salshi’s. Doesn’t matter if I have the codes if the signal’s not strong enough to get out of that corrugated dump that passes for a nightclub on this chodela moon. Switching to messaging, she sent a note to Salshi asking her if she could do anything to boost her cameras’ signals.
Tamara got no response, but two minutes later she finally locked on and punched in the security codes. She tapped Toad’s arm to let him know she had connected. He pulled around behind a deserted warehouse and stopped the shuttle.
Turning in her seat, Tamara passed the datpad back to Spyder who sat behind her, with their Lady sheltered between him and Bunk. He reviewed the vid before sharing it with the other two men.
“Might be easier to determine who isn’t carrying a weapon…looks like they’re all packing.” Spyder pointed out suspicious bulges visible on the security camera feeds — in pockets, under jackets, and on legs.
Bunk ran his hand over his shaved head. “Bunk. How do you tell the phalatu Pietists from the normal crowd Salshi pulls in?” He handed the datpad to the Lady.
She pointed to several figures who stood out in the rough and tumble crowd — too well groomed, clothing too clean, sitting too straight in their chairs. “We can’t just wander in there now. If they recognize us, they’re liable to start shooting. Or take hostages.”
Bunk nodded. “If they take bar patrons captive, chances are they’ll have some of their own pretend to be victims. We can’t be sure those you pointed out are the only ones there.”
Tamara examined the figures pictured on the screen more closely. She could distinguish those the Lady had indicated, but if any of the others were plants, she had no way of knowing.
The Lady shrugged. “That doesn’t leave us any choice. We use Plan B. Let’s try not to kill anyone.”
Bunk shook his head. “More important let’s not get any of us killed.”
The Lady’s chin rose up toward her bottom lip, and for a moment Tamara wondered if she would call everything off. Instead, she nodded at Toad. He turned back to the console, restarted the shuttle, and pulled back onto the roadway.
Tamara shifted in her seat to adjust the prosthesis between her legs. Even this far away from Xoriyan, the Lady insisted she wear it and bind her breasts to maintain her alternate identity as the male slave Pup. Tamara didn’t mind flattening her tits, but she really had no use for any male anatomy, even if it was fake.
She took a pair of dark, protective goggles from the gear bag between her feet and secured them on top of her head so she could quickly pull then down over her eyes. Then she handed one pair to Toad and passed three pairs to Spyder for those in the back. He handed two autoguns forward and she checked both ammo loads.
When they pulled up next to the fluorescent pink, corrugated metal structure splattered with glitter-painted red hearts, a half dozen scooters, a neon orange shuttle, and three in more common rust red and olive green, were parked on either side of the entrance.
Tamara took a deep breath. Just once she’d like to visit the place without preparing for battle first.
As a FemDom, I.G. Frederick knows first hand the beauty of symbiotic D/s relationships filled with love. As an observer she sees the many ways BDSM turns ugly. She writes about abusive and tragic interactions as Korin I. Dushayl.
I.G. Frederick trades words for cash, specializing in erotic and transgressive fiction and poetry since 2001. Her erotic short stories appeared in Hustler Fantasies, Forum, Foreplay, and Desire Presents, as well as electronic, audio, and print anthologies. Her novels receive high praise from readers, critics, and other authors.
Ms. Frederick owns the man she adores who, although dominant in the rest of his life, demonstrates his love by serving as her submissive.