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Nobilis Erotica

Author: Nobilis Reed

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Nobilis writes erotic science fiction stories and shares them with you in audio format.
502 Episodes
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This week's episode is part 4 of "The Dryad's Dream" by Marjorie Greene, read by Honey Rambler. REMINDER: Marjorie Greene's stories contain non-consensual monster sex.  This one more than usual. Listener discretion is advised. This episode is sponsored by the patronage of listeners like you!
Capricious Chapter 1

Capricious Chapter 1

2015-02-1406:26

Chapter 1 of Capricious by Julie Cox. Narrated by Nobilis Reed This chapter is presented as an introduction to this audiobook. You can find the whole novel here.
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.
This month's Patreon-funded story is "The Long Night of Tanya McCray" by Michael M. Jones. It's narrated by Louise Cooksey, who is also the narrator for "Incursion at Gene Bunker Four" I was lost. My guidebook’s maps were either out of date or outright fabrications, my smartphone’s GPS claimed I was somewhere in the Atlantic before running out of power, and every set of directions I’d begged from passersby had led me further into the labyrinthine neighborhood of Puxhill known as the Gaslight District. Now, with night falling, the antique lamps which gave the area its name flickered to life, casting mocking shadows against uncaring brick walls and dark windows. I stood on the corner of two nameless streets--one little more than an alley--and threw up my hands in frustration. My excursion had started well enough earlier. The Gaslight District had evolved out of Puxhill’s original settlement some centuries past, a chaotic tangle of narrow streets, scenic courtyards, and old buildings. It was a cultural melting pot, a unique blend of backgrounds and beliefs. During the day, you could find treasures and wonders in its tiny groceries, bookstores, and curio shops. Where it bordered the normal parts of the city, like Caravan Street or Tuesday University, you could find popular hangouts and hotspots. My mistake had been in venturing too far off the beaten path. Camera in hand, I went searching for new and interesting shots, not heeding those who said it would be a bad idea. “Tanya,” I told myself, “this is all well and good, but standing here isn’t helping. Puxhill Through The Lens won’t get finished if you vanish, never to be seen again.” I squared my shoulders, pretended I’d given myself a really good pep talk, and picked a direction. Hopefully, I’d find somewhere still open, where I could get proper directions or use the phone. For all of its many tiny nameless streets, the Gaslight District was still a finite area in a much larger city. Several blocks later, I wasn’t so sure. Twilight had fallen, and I hadn’t seen a single other person in ages. I pulled my denim jacket close as a chill ran through the air. All I saw were closed doors, dark windows, and capriciously dancing shadows. The silence broke. Raised voices. Harsh laughter. A pained cry punctuated by a soft thud. Jingling chains and scuffed movements. Common sense told me to head away from what sounded like certain trouble; other instincts urged me around the corner, where certain trouble was already in progress.
This is the first chapter of "Monster Whisperer Second Class" the sequel to Monster Whisperer.  The remaining chapters will be exclusive to the Patreon campaign. If you want to go back and catch up from the beginning: Get Monster Whisperer on Amazon Get Monster Whisperer on Audible Get Monster Whisperer on iTunes  
This episode of Nobilis Erotica is sponsored by Literotica, the world's most popular online community of self published erotica authors and readers for over 20 years. "Paper Doll" was written by D. Mark Alderton, and is narrated here by Nobilis Reed. D. Mark Alderton has been published by Circlet Press, and was co-editor of the recursive collection, "Like a Circlet Editor." In another life he writes for mainstream publications and is the author of several books of fiction and non-fiction. Most of his family and friends would be quite surprised. "I was in mid-fuck and I was bored. Not surprising. People think testing and refining 'mates is a dream job. Right? All it is, in most people's minds, is spending every day having sex with partners designed to be perfect, from their vat-grown bodies to the actual people running the simulacra. Not everyone can do this, of course. You have to be able to “read” both the 'mate and the puppetmaster. The physical signs are obvious: Cardio. Heightened respiration. Flushed skin. Copious lubrication. And, naturally, physical responsiveness. Our clients don't simply want to go through the motions. They could do that without our help. They want to feel it as an authentic experience. I suppose I'm fortunate in that I have the appropriate “talent” for the job. I can not only check off the physical signs. I can read the mental ones. Is the 'mate making an effort to connect? Since I'm in her mind, I can tell. Is the puppetmaster seeing that she is in the moment, so to speak? The good ones – and I've worked with the best – make you forget this is work for hire. For the half hour or hour that you're together, she not only has eyes only for you, but is becoming increasingly aroused by what you do, and makes sure to let you know it. This is sex taken to the level of perfection. “Better than the real thing” the ads say. It's being with a 'mate whose goal is not only your pleasure but making sure you know that your ministrations are beyond compare. It's brilliant, really. By making both sides of the physical act flow back to the customer, satisfaction is guaranteed. We run the alphabet soup of every possible sexual orientation and proclivity, although my specialty is within the range of male/female combinations. I don't know if the men and women who test the male 'mates experience it in quite the same way but then, as you might imagine, this isn't the sort of job where we hang out in the coffee room and compare notes. So, we'd been going at it for a bit. This 'mate was brunette, a tad plump in the current fashion which is to say in all the right places. She was on her back, her legs wrapped around mine, pulling me into her core. Her nails gently scraped my back and the nape of my neck. Her hot breath was at my right ear as she hissed, “Don't stop! Don't stop.” I could feel her puppetmaster, Ilene, graze my thoughts, looking for clues as to what would really turn me on. We had not been paired before, so this was truly a test run for both of them."
This month's patron-funded story is a lesbian historical piece with a dash of genderfuckery titled "An Incident in Whitechapel" by Emily L Byrne.   It's read for us by Joanna Bennett.  
This month's Circlet press sponsored story is "The Leshi" by Raichyll Mae Fine, originally published in "Like a Sword: Erotic Tales of High Fantasy,"  edited by Cecilia Tan. It's narrated by Nobilis Reed.  
This month's Circlet-sponsored story is "The Shock of the New" by D Mark Alderton. It originally appeared in "Like that Spark: Erotic Tales of New Relationships" edited by Marcy Harris, published by Circlet Press. The story is read for us by Erin Kazmark of the Melting Potcast.
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Comments (6)

robin bell

episode 429, an un-natural gift. I thoroughly enjoyed this story. Thank you, the author and the narrator for your time and work making the podcast.

Mar 20th
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robin bell

This is an excellent story, well written and well narrated. Thank you for it.

Oct 16th
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robin bell

That is a fun story.

May 29th
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robin bell

I thought the Dryad's Dream well written and well performed. Thanks for all the hard work that went into it.

Jan 1st
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Bandanna__Pete

found lessons to be very helpful, instructive, and fun...xie xie👬

Dec 7th
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robin bell

steamy steampunk, thoroughly enjoyed listening to it. Please may we have some more.

Nov 4th
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