'Bomb Queen' by Jimmie Robinson

'Bomb Queen: Woman of Mass Destruction' by Jimmie Robinson is self contained comic book about a sexy evil supervillian dictator of a town that may be more evil than she is. She runs the town of Newport City; killing people who offended her, molesting those who arouse her and humiliating every one for the sheer joy of it. 'Bomb Queen' as a book is a power mad sexual fantasy gone horribly crazy but unlike 90% of Internet erotica that deals with these same themes, Jimmie Robinson brings some intelligence and insight to the project. This is less of a story about a sexy villianess who rules a city as it is about the kind of city that would have such a person as it's champion.

Newport City is a twisted place. Crime Zones exist in the city where anything is legal. The population revels in the decadence. Someone's death is entertainment. Instead of sympathy they have scorn for the weak. There is no innocence. The average citizen takes pride in their perversion. These people love Bomb Queen because she embraces their values and so they forgive her anything.



The first collection is about a race for mayor of Newport City. The incumbent is a lackey for Bomb Queen while the challenger is running on a platform to clean the city of crime. Ass, tits and bombs ensue.

The first time I read this book, I thought Robinson was making a statement about the kind of people who would re-elect a war criminal to a second term. Another time I thought he was making a statement about the youtube generation who will make the most depraved videos into instant hits. Now I realize that Bomb Queen is not a thinly veiled reference to something in the real world as much as it is making us think about ourselves, the audience.

I stopped reading Usenet erotica because so many stories there were about illegal acts that disturbed me. I would trudge through dozens of rape stories to find a BDSM story I liked. Even when a story was labeled as just BDSM, sometimes rape or even killing would makee a surprise appearance. After awhile you stop being disgusted with the stories and start speculating about the writers and their readers. How was this entertainment to them? Was it for the horror? Was it for the power trip? Was it pure sadism or a sort of thrill of darkness? It is easy to make judgments but sexuality is never simple. Jimmie Robinson understands that and I applaud how he doesn't voice judgments himself. He just tells a story about the strange connection between monstrous acts and the people who see it as entertainment.

And one thing 'Bomb Queen' is, is entertainment. Fights abound. Horrible deaths occur on every other page. The costume designs are works of art when it comes to crassness. Rape, pedophilia, and incest are background jokes which never let you forget how fucked up all of this is. I read each issue alternating between grimacing, laughing, thinking and being exhilarated.

So give 'Bomb Queen' a try. All four mini-series are in collections now. If you have to read a comic about superheroes, might as well read one that has a crazed half naked bomb throwing bad ass chick, right?

Dr. Otto Von Madd Says:

"Although the invention of a Universal Translator would help us talk to alien species in the future, the real scientific breakthrough will be the Universal Sex Aid, which will allow sex between alien species regardless of anatomy differences. Language is important, but you can never really communicate until you know what makes someone's eyes/eyestalks/sensory bud/antennae clench in pleasure."

Bending Over

Monday afternoon found me holding my girlfriend's ankles while she bent over the back of the dryer. Her round ass was on perfect display. Pink striped panties peeked out from gray shorts. She grunted as she reached for the dryer vent tube. I watched her buttocks clench from the exertion.

It was the most fun I had in days. I had made close to a hundred trips up stairs while carrying boxes. I had argued with a sleazy moving company. I had spent an entire day putting together a huge desk from Sweden. I deserved to watch her ass.

It was so tempting to play with her ankles. I wanted to spread them and open her golden thighs. I wanted to bend down and bite her tightly clenching ass. I wanted to take a picture and save it for a rainy day. I wanted to climb on top of that wonderful ass and fuck her. I couldn't stop staring at that perfect ass that was completely at my mercy.

"I almost got it!" she said. She wiggled. She grunted. She cursed. She got sexier by the second.

I held onto her ankles. Right now she needed me to hold her steady. Fuck, my dirty clothes needed me to hold her steady. No matter how tempting her ass was, no matter how much I wanted to bend over and bite right where I knew her sex was, I stayed good. I behaved.

"Alright, pull me up," she said.

"You got it?" I asked.

"Yep."

I held onto her ankles. "Good."

Moving Hell

The move was pretty successful except for any part dealing with the moving company we hired, "All My Sons". If you are moving in Atlanta, avoid them at all costs. They made promises and broke every single one of them. When we argued, fought and threatened, they would actually do what they said they would do, and act like they were doing us such a huge favor. They were quite easily the sleaziest people I have ever dealt with, and my ex-wife's mom was a heroin junkie.

Don't use "All My Sons" moving company in Atlanta. That's my public service announcement for the day.

I do however have an amusing story about my new neighborhood. I was throwing away boxes when an attractive woman came up to the dumpster to throw away her items. She asked me if I was moving on, or moving out. I said out, and she became very excited.

"You're going to love this place," she said. "We are having a lot of people moving out, people that need to be moving out."

Oh joy! That sounded nasty. Was she talking racial prejudice? Maybe criminal elements? I looked her over and tried to guess who she thought the undesirable types would be. Let's see, she was black so I ruled out other black people. She had two pieces of bling, one was a glittering cross and the other was an American flag pin. I guessed she didn't like Hispanics or maybe Indians.

"What kind of people?" I asked.

She looked me in the eye and said, "People who needed to mind their own business," she said. "People who care too much about what other people are doing."

Okay, I was not expecting that. That sounded like something a kinky or alternative person would say. I was a bit confused and she just added to it.

"The management figured out these people were bad, so they hiked up their rents and drive them out. Now it is going to be a paradise around here."

I changed my assessment of bigot to possible drug user. I know that is awfully judgmental of myself, but hey, I had just dealt with that moving company and was thinking about my ex-mother in law heroin user.

"I hear you," I say, which is my standard non-committal agreement for crazy people.

"I just got a call from husband," she said. I was still throwing away boxes because when you buy a desk from Ikea, Ikea thinks you need enough cardboard to build your own Ikea franchise. So I was trapped while she kept talking.

"My husband is in Beirut," she said.

"Oh wow," I said. "I didn't know we still had troops in Beirut."

"Beirut, New York," the woman said. "But he was in Iraq, and they dropped him off in Beirut. He called me and wanted me to come pick him up. They just left him there."

Keep in mind that I had been moving all weekend and was fucking exhausted. I smiled and nodded. I felt like there was a sales pitch coming.

"I'm taking that car," she said, pointing at a jeep. "How much money do you think it will take me to drive to New York?"

Notice how she did not ask how long will it take, or how many miles? She wanted to know how much money. After dealing with the sleazy moving company and now about to be hit up for money, I felt like I was back in North Carolina again. I was almost homesick. I was also really bad at math but being a writer I am genetically incapable of not giving an anwser no matter how bullshitty.

"Oh at least 200 dollars," I said. I still have no idea why I picked that number.

She looked me up and down and smiled. "Listen, how can a woman like me earn two hundred dollars right now?"

Did I just get propositioned? Sometimes I wonder if being a sex writer destroys my ability to have normal conversations. I think my porn brain thought it was ludicrous that a woman would try to scam me out of money, but propositioning me was less insulting.

I said, "I have no idea," which by the way is non-committal anwser number 2.

I turned around to throw some garbage out and when I turned around, the woman was already heading to her car. No good-bye or anything.

Damn, I was actually looking forward to the follow up pitch. For a brief moment I thought I might have totally misread the situation but then I realized the whole situation was pretty ridiculous no matter how you saw it.

Oh well. That's what writing is for, filling in the blank spaces that reality drops the ball on.

In Transit

Tomorrow I move to a new undisclosed location with two bedrooms. Woot! I get my own erotic office where I can create new exciting stories without sharing space with a television and a dining table.

I am of course both excited and terrified to move. I mean, what if my computer explodes along the way? What if the new place is infested with prudish Baptists? What if my new land lady is a sexy black woman with a British accent who's a big fan of sex bloggers? Mmmmm.

Anyhoo, I hope to be back up and posting on Tuesday. Wish me luck.

Advanced Erotica

I think that a mistake we erotica writers make is that we forget how saturated our readers are with porn. Readers have a basic level of erotic comprehension that far surpasses the readers of just ten years ago. Readers know about swingers, bondage, submission, polyamory and exhibitionism. Although there will always be a crop of readers, both young and old, who will be experiencing their first Coming-of-Slave story, a growing majority of readers will become bored as they read such basic level erotica.

Erotica needs more second level porn. That is a tricky concept in itself. I am not referring to more extreme porn, or highly fetishized porn. The world doesn't need more pierced tattooed erotica bragging about how on the edge it is. What I am suggesting is more porn that takes advantage of the reader's level of comprehension.

A lot of porn spends it's time introducing erotic concepts to readers as if the reader just escaped from a Mormon commune. There is no need for that anymore. We can produce stories that ask the next question- Can a newly trained slave find happiness when her master lends her to his swinger brother? Can a lifelong exhibitionist control herself when she moves in with her two very introverted lovers? Can a breath play masturbator and his escape bondage painslut make their relationship work?

Those are extreme examples but you know, they are not outside the scope of the average reader's knowledge. As erotica writers, it is time we move from educating people about kink and start applying what we know to make more enriching stories. We can bring our readers, and ourselves out of the 'See Jane Fuck' level of readership and into some modern day erotic classics.

If it Makes You Happy

Softcore model and perpetual crush object, Erica Campbell, has decided to retire. To the amusement of porn lovers, she has declared that she is leaving porn to serve Christ.

Man, J.C. gets all the babes.

Erica has always had a special place in my heart. I came across her pictures years ago on Usenet. She was so damn beautiful. I've never been able to figure out what quality that she has that entrances me, but I suspect its just simple beauty. I can think of models sexier, models more innocent and models more amazing but Erica was just damn pretty.

As a porn writer, people like Erica are constant inspirations. When you write so much porn, and read so much porn, your sense of perspective fades. You start thinking orgies are a logical conclusion to a story, you think all women might enjoy a spanking in the right circumstance and you don't even blink when you read a story about institutionalized bondage. You get so caught up in trying to explore and expand your own horizons, that you lose track of the base impulses that drove the basic parts of your libido in the first place.

I have to admit that Erica's declaration of love for Christ made me giggle a little. Declarations of faith are indistinguishable from parody. On the other hand, she could have just left modeling and never given an explanation at all. She announced her faith because she wanted to share it with her fans, and no matter what you might think of someone's beliefs, that's a pretty nice thing to do.

I want to focus on one thing she said on her site.

I understood the loneliness of the people that I would talk to...because I myself was so lonely. The more I shot...the deeper my darkness got.....the more I understood the pain of others. My friends and my fan. There is ONE common thread to so many of us online here.....the need to be loved, accepted, cared for, the need to have SOMEONE understand you and connect with you. At the end of so many of these emails was that loneliness. SO many men have asked me what they were doing wrong, how to find a special girl like me for THEM. How to fill that "void" in their hearts...in their souls. For a long time I thought I was helping to fill that void in the lives of so many, and in a way I was. But it was all a lie. I could never fill that void for anyone...only be a sinful band aid for it. Only cause the loneliness to deepen....only cause my own soul to ache more.

That paragraph could have came from any of a dozen bloggers and sex writers I have been friends with over the years. People are so tied up in the unhappiness of their sex lives. People look to porn writers, bloggers and writers for answers and you know, we just don't have any answers. We have compassion, we have sympathy and beleive me, we are hoping for you to find happiness. I will never have the success Erica had, but even my own small success has flooded me with heartbreaking letters.

For Erica, she thinks the cure is God. I hope it works for her. For me, I think happiness comes from personally working on it. I write to entertain and to create an ideal erotic happiness that people will strive for. So far that has worked for me.

I'm going to miss Erica. I am a little saddened that there won't be any new pictures of her. Selfishly, I want her to keep modeling. Personally though, I am happy she has answers for the problems she faces.

Washing and Writing

The Official Erotiterrorist Muse, Pam Grier, is washing her gorgeous body. That must mean I am writing my ass off. I am on chapter 6 of my long story and man, it feels like I have written a dozen chapters. I think I will write faster now because I have the character's voices down now, but I have a few scenes coming up that has me a bit nervous.

I don't want to give away the story but let's just say it centers around a sport. Writing sports action is surprisingly harder than I thought it would be. I've written sex. I've written fight scenes. I've written sex fight scenes, but sports is another beast. I find myself visualizing a sequence of actions but I don't have the vocabulary of sports terms to illustrate the scene. I look the terms up and now I know the right terms, but will my readers? I's a tricky balancing act.

There is also less sex than my usual stories but comedies are like that. This reminds me of a new bit of wisdom I want to trademark now.

Dying is easy
Comedy is hard
Sex comedy is fucking dog rape

A lot of sex is inherently funny. We make funny noises. There is always tension. Parts get squished and other parts go where they shouldn't. Writing sex comedy is insane because you are building tension in the readers, and normally the comedy OR the sex releases the tension. In a sex comedy, you're somehow letting both do the job without undercutting one another.

Make it too sexy, and the comedy becomes cute or adorable. Bleh.

Make it too funny and the sex is as arousing as Viagra spam.

As a final note; some free advice to writers. The reason you get your best ideas in the shower is that washing your body requires both hands which stimulates both sides of your brain. You've washed yourself so many times that your brain in on autopilot and you have all this excess brain power to use. I sometimes will take a shower in the middle of the day when stumped writing and it often helps.

If Pam Grier is in your shower, do not expect your brain to function as well. I'm just saying.

Fiction: Perversion Part 4

Satan had come to Summer Hill, Rachel Cage knew. There were signs that couldn’t be ignored. They were subtle signs, but a devout woman like Rachel could see their meaning.

That proper little wife Carol Gilson had been neglecting her duties. She hadn’t shown up for the PTA meeting. She hadn’t baked anything for the church cookie sale. Mrs. Gilson had barely come out of her house. All she did now was stay inside and work with that woman Diana Moon.

Stephen O’Sullivan used to be at his store every hour of the day. He had been so invested in his store that he couldn’t stand to be away from it. Now he arrived in the morning, went straight to his office and stayed there till that outsider woman Diana Moon came to his office. According to Rachel’s spies, barely 10 minutes passed and they both would leave the office. After that, Mr. O’Sullivan spent the rest of the day at home or hanging around town. He acted like a schoolboy without a care in the world.

What most disturbed Rachel, though, was that even Deacon Adkins had changed. He had been to be a fiery, almost arrogant warrior for the Lord. His sermon last Sunday had had none of his usual fury. He had seemed almost meek and distracted. It was like his mind was on greater things, which was just silly. What could be greater than harassing the damned? Worse, when he saw that hussy Diana Moon, he sighed and his eyes went glassy like those of a man who was looking upon the Virgin Mary herself.

Rachel sighed and picked up her vibrator. A week ago, Rachel would have led the town in a witch hunt against the evil Diana Moon. She would have rallied the entire town and driven that woman out of the county. But that was before Rachel had owned a one-of-a-kind Deluxe Massager with special pulse modulation.

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She turned it on, and it felt like the Rapture was happening between her legs. It was hard to believe that she had once been afraid of this wonderful toy. Diana had given it to her, telling her some lie about how it would help with the arthritis in her knees. Diana had sworn it was purely a medical device, and at first, Rachel had believed her.

But the first time the vibrator had touched her knee, Rachel knew better. She should have turned it off right then and prayed for her soul, but she didn’t. Rachel had moved the massager with special pulse modulation up her knee, up her thigh and right to where no man had ever touched her.

“Sweet Jesus!” she cried.

The vibrator pulsed against her special parts, and Rachel Cage felt her worries buzz away. In fact, a lot of things Rachel used to care about now seemed meaningless. Girls wearing skirts? Condom commercials on television? Mexicans moving into that house down the street? What did Rachel care?

All she cared about was between her legs, vibrating, buzzing and pulsing her to another sacred orgasm.

Some worries did creep into her mind. This morning, Diana had admitted that she wasn’t really there to help the town stop an adult bookstore from moving in. Rachel had sat there in shock as Diana had detailed how she’d corrupted each member of the Summer Hill Decency League.

“It was easy,” Diana said. “Mr. O’Sullivan just needs a blowjob every morning, and his stress pretty much dissolves. Mrs. Gibson needed a little sexual recognition for what she does, and her over performing nature mellowed out. As for the good Deacon, I just gave him a taste of what he preaches against. Now he can’t think of a convincing argument against a good hard fuck. “

Rachel had listened to it all in silence. Her biggest concern had nothing to do with Deacon Adkins’s crisis of faith or Mrs. Gilson’s depravity. No, all she had worried about was that Diana was going to take back the massager with special pulse modulation.

The vibrator did a quick three-beat pulse, and Rachel sighed happily. Diana had said she could keep the vibrator. She’d said a lot of other things, too, but quite frankly, Rachel hadn’t been listening.

“Remember that secret conspiracy of hedonists and perverts out to destroy decency in America?” Diana had asked. “Well, that’s who I work for.”

It had shocked Rachel. That was when she realized she had never really believed there was a conspiracy in the first place. Or maybe she had but she just didn’t care anymore. Rachel was thinking about how much more she could use the massager if she didn’t have a house guest.

“You’re probably wondering about those letters of recommendation from other towns,” Diana had said. Rachel hadn’t wondered, but Diana had kept talking.

“I did the same operations on them,” Diana said. “I seduced them, corrupted them and then recorded all of their transgressions. Blackmail is crude, but it does wonders.
“For example, the members of the Summer Hill Decency Committee will agree to cease any protests against the adult bookstore and otherwise behave themselves. If they don’t, DVDs of their recent sexual adventures will find their way into every mailbox in Summer Hill. I have picked up a lot of footage from the camera in my purse. Oh, and you’ll also write me a glowing letter of recommendation for the nice people of Stancil’s Point. The school board there is getting ready to institute abstinence-only sex education.”

Diana had waited, as if Rachel were going to protest or maybe scream at her. Rachel smiled as she thought about how confused Diana had looked. Rachel had stood up, walked to her desk and written her a letter on the spot.

“Can you leave today?” Rachel asked.

Diana had nodded. “There is no rest for the wicked.” The young woman had looked almost sad. Rachel wondered how long she had been doing this. Once again, she realized she didn’t care. She only wondered if Diana got as much joy as Rachel had from falling from grace. Rachel doubted it.

Diana was gone within the hour. Rachel hadn’t bothered to tell her fellow Decency League members about their new situation. She had gone upstairs, taken out her beloved toy and spent the next hour enjoying her new sinful state. Rachel had already reached three orgasms.

She turned the dial up higher. Diana had been right. There was no rest for the wicked.

The end.

Fiction: Perversion Part 3

Deacon John Adkins liked lists. The Ten Commandments were a list. The books of the Bible were a list. The signs of the apocalypse were a list. The sins that tempt the good people of Summer Hill with impure urges were an ever expanding list that Deacon Adkins kept a close eye on. He made adjustments to his list every day. It was his greatest duty as a Christian and a constant source of comfort to him.

Salma Hayek. Vibrators. Mrs. Gilson’s perfume. Wet hair.

He sat inside the church as he added to his list. He was supposed to meet with Ms. Moon this morning. They were going to discuss strategies for getting rid of the adult bookstore that was trying to move to town. They could have met at the diner or maybe the Deacon’s home but he preferred the church. During the week, the church was always empty. That let him work on his list in private.

Public swimming pools. Women joggers. Cinderella. High heels.

The list was the secret to his success as a Deacon. Every Sunday, after the preacher was done making everyone feel good about Jesus, it was up to Deacon Adkins to bring the fear of Hell into people’s lives. He would preach and let each and every one of the flock know that he was onto them. He would tell them how they lusted after movie stars, dirty things on the Internet and the beautiful women of their community. He would work his list into his sermon, striking at the very libido of the community. Deacon Adkins kept his nose buried in dirty things so that he could best speak against them.

Blond highlights in red hair. That hussy on the local morning news. Pink panties. British accents.

“I agree. She does look like a hussy.”

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Deacon Adkins jumped out of the pew. Diana Moon was standing right behind him. Somehow, she had managed to walk in and read over his shoulder without him noticing. Nobody sneaked up on Deacon Adkins when he made his list. If one of the flock saw his list, they might misinterpret it.

“Ms. Moon, do you always sneak up on people?” He let a touch of righteousness into his voice. It was the same tone he used right before he started to talk about the evils of hip-hop music.

“I do apologize, Deacon,” Ms. Moon said. She came closer to him, and she smiled in a very sinful manner. “The truth be told, I was sneaking up on you because I have heard that you are the best speaker in the entire state. I wanted to see if I could catch you practicing or maybe writing a speech.”

She was getting really close to him. He began to notice things for his list, and he started to catalog them: a healthy bosom inside a modest sweater. Honeysuckle perfume. Full, sinful lips. Long black hair you just wanted to grab.

“Deacon Adkins,” Ms. Moon said when she was standing right next to him, “you understand sin.”

He nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“You see what the evil perverts try to pump into our society every day.”

Deep blue eyes like pools of water. A voice that made his crotch come alive. Skin without a single blemish. Cleavage that opened beneath a crucifix.

“I do,” he said. “I see it all.”

“That is why we need you on the national level,” Ms. Moon said.

“National level?” he asked.

She nodded. “I have been talking to some very important contacts whom I can’t name right now, but they own and operate several television networks you may have heard of. We’ve been looking for a champion who understands the kind of enemy we face today. We need someone like you, Deacon, someone who can preach the truth to the world.”

A mouth you wanted to fuck. A voice you wanted to hear cry out your name. A body you wanted to own. A woman you could command.

“I know the truth,” he said. “I hear it in my head.”

“”I know, Deacon,” Diana said. “You speak out against sin because you know how tempting it is. Not everyone can be as strong as you.”

“But,” she said, and Deacon Adkins heard fear in her voice, “my contacts, they are a little worried. They say you give wonderful speeches, but they fear that you are lacking that little extra something that would make you great. There is some element missing that is keeping you from being the next nationwide religious leader.”

“What is it?” he asked. He could feel greatness stretch out before him like the vast valley of Ms. Moon’s cleavage. Other ideas added themselves to his list, filling him with lust and desire. Cadillacs. Fine watches. Secretaries with diamond earrings.

“What is missing?” Deacon Adkins asked.

Diana reached for his pants. She unbuttoned them and pulled out his manhood. He was hard. He was always hard when he made his lists.

Fingers that gripped like iron. Fingernails that stroked and teased. A palm that fit under the balls.

“What are you doing?” he groaned. But he did not stop her.

“What you need to become the new prophet of the Lord,” Diana said. She held onto his manhood while she pulled down her skirt. Off it came, and he could see the bare flesh she had underneath. The list in his head grew louder.

Smooth shaven lips. A red swollen button. A pink vessel waiting to be filled.

“Enter me, Deacon,” Diana said. “Not to sin, but to understand the sin. Experience it so you can warn others!”

“Yes!” he cried.

Diana fell back onto the pew, still holding him by his manhood. She guided him down, down, down into her sex. He entered her, sliding deep into that place where all sin began. She released his cock and grabbed her ankles. Diana spread herself like a harlot for him, but he felt no guilt. They were doing the Lord’s work.

Hot. Wonderful. Tight. Plunging bliss. Wet. Damnation. Pleasure. Wonderful. Wonderful. Wonderful.

He spilled his seed inside her like a Catholic. He kept thrusting. He had forgotten how overwhelming sex really was. Sweaty hip-hop singers and dirty television shows were tempting, but ramming a wet pussy that is literally asking for it? That was something else altogether. This, he could almost argue, was worth being damned for.

All good things must come to an end, and for Deacon Adkins’s erection, it happened 10 minutes after he ejaculated. He pulled out with great reluctance. He was exhausted but also a little humbled. This was what he had preached against, and yet he felt it was too strong. Who could possibly resist these wonderful feelings?

“Don’t look so sad,” Diana said. She let go of her ankles, but she did not close her legs. Her thighs stayed wide apart so that he could see that blessed place he had just been.

Against the wall. From behind. In his bathroom. Behind the pulpit. On the floor.

All he could think about was where he wanted to have sex with Diana next.

“How do people turn away from such wicked treasures?” he asked. “What can I possibly say to make them not do this every chance they get?”

Diana reached for his wilting penis. Even though it was covered with her juices, she started stroking him.

“Deacon, I am prepared to keep doing this until you figure it out.”

to be continued,

Fiction: Perversion Part 2

Carol Gilson, loving mother of two and devoted housewife, sat on her couch. She had just kissed her husband goodbye and was waiting for Diana Moon to arrive. They had set up an appointment to discuss how they were going to stop that filthy adult bookstore from opening. Carol knew she should be rushing around preparing snacks and drinks, but she just couldn’t find the energy. She was depressed.

It had started when she asked her husband how his breakfast was.

“It’s great,” he said. The worse part is that he meant it. To him, the pecan pancakes were delicious, the eggs were wonderful, and the bacon hit the spot. He didn’t have a single complaint. Troy headed out the door and off to work with a big, spoiled smile on his face.

Carol sighed. She had burned the edges of the pancakes, undercooked the bacon and let the eggs get too crispy.

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Once again, her husband hadn’t noticed any of the little things she had done to sabotage his happiness. He also hadn’t noticed how she had starched his socks every so slightly. Last night, he hadn’t noticed when she didn’t fake an orgasm, and the day before he hadn’t noticed that she hadn’t vacuumed the hallway in a week.

It was official. Carol didn’t need to do half the things she did for her husband. All the magazines she had read on how to be a good wife were pointless. All the little secrets she had picked up from television shows, conferences with her friends and reading housekeeping Websites were all for nothing.

Some wives would have taken this as a sign that they could slack off. Not Carol. If anything, it made her very angry. She wanted something to happen, but she couldn’t imagine what it was. So instead of acting, she sat here in her living room hoping for a sign from God.

The doorbell rang.

She put on her best smile. It was the one that everyone liked. It told people she had a good soul.

“Hello, Diana!” she said as she opened the door. “Please come into my home!”

Diana Moon nodded politely and stepped in. She walked around the living room, looking at everything. Diana didn’t say anything, and that made Carol a little nervous. The out-of-town consultant seemed a bit different today. Instead of the bright blouse she’d worn yesterday, Diana was wearing a crisp button-up shirt that seemed more appropriate for a Sunday school teacher. The woman’s long black hair was pulled back and tucked into a tight bun.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee or maybe some tea?”

“No, thank you,” Diana said. She walked around the living room slowly. She appeared very uptight about something. She hadn’t even set down her purse yet.

Carol felt compelled to fill the silence. “Ms. Moon, is it true what you said about a secret group trying to corrupt America? I mean, you hear things all the time on Fox News and ‘The 700 Club,’ but never anything concrete.”

Diana turned to face Carol. “It is a very real group. They designed Janet Jackson’s nipple piercing that she revealed at the Super Bowl. They helped Britney Spears lose her virginity. They are the ones who made green M&M’s into aphrodisiacs. They won’t be happy till the entire world is fornicating.”

“That’s terrible!” Carol said. She felt terrified and a little excited.

“Ms. Gilson, are you dedicated to the cause of removing sin from your town?”

Carol felt a thrill run down her spine. “Yes! I pray every day that I am up to the task.”

“I see,” Diana said. “But how can you say you are dedicated to this righteous cause when I can see that you have let your house fall into ruin?”

“Ruin?” Carol said. The truth of what Diana was saying struck her like a slap in the face. “I have let things slip a little, but I have been busy.”

Carol wasn’t sure why she lied. Maybe it was the disapproving look in Diana’s eyes. Maybe she just didn’t want to admit that she was testing her husband to see how much he would tolerate. Carol knew lying was bad, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit what she was doing. Part of her also wanted to see if this smart activist for God could be fooled.

Diana sighed. “Carol Gilson, I had heard so many good things about you. Ms. Cage told me that you volunteered for every church event. Mr. O’Sullivan said that you were an example to all the other wives in the community. I thought you would be someone I could count on in the war against the bookstore, but now I see I was mistaken. You’re really just a lazy fake who has everyone here fooled.”

“That’s not true!” Carol said. “I work very hard! Even my second-best is good enough!”

Diana was in front of her in an instant. Carol jumped at how fast Diana moved. She almost fell backwards, but Diana had grabbed both of her shoulders. Diana towered over the scared housewife.

“Carol, you are a slacker and a bad Christian,” Diana accused.

Carol closed her eyes. It was true. She had been testing her husband’s awareness when she should have just been doing the best she could.

“While other wives struggle hard to just keep their house together, you coast and let your house fall apart,” Diana said.

Carol nodded. She knew other wives couldn’t even come close to all the work she did. That had made her proud, but lately she didn’t appreciate it as much.

“Are you willing to give me and the Lord your best from here on out?” Diana asked.

The shamed wife opened her eyes. “Yes, oh, yes, I promise!”

Diana narrowed her eyes. “I’m not so sure. You will have to pay a penance so I know you’re serious.”

Carol felt her heart leap at the thought of redemption. “I’ll do anything! I’ll do whatever it takes to prove I am ready! I want to help keep those perverts out of our town!”

“I’m sure you do,” Diana said. “Doing things get you attention and praise. What you never have to deal with is being punished.”

“What do you mean?” Carol asked.

Diana released her and walked over to the coffee table. She set her purse down and then walked to the end of the couch. The activist undid her belt and slapped her hand with it.

“Mrs. Gilson, the only penance I will accept from a spoiled woman like you will be a good Christian belting. Spare the belt and spoil the wife, I always say.”

Carol swallowed. “Seriously?” Her heart was racing, and she was embarrassed by how her knees were starting to shake. Goodness, this was something she had never worried about from Troy!

“I am always serious,” Diana said. She pointed at the arm of the couch. “Pull down your skirt and bend over. Leave you underwear on. We’re not perverts.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Carol said. She pulled down her skirt and rushed over to position. She wanted to prove herself. More important, she wanted to be properly punished. Carol knew she had been behaving badly, and thank Jesus someone had noticed before she strayed too far!

She bent over the arm of the couch. She used her arms to hold herself up, but Diana’s hand pushed her down. Carol was bent completely over till her bottom was the highest point of her body. Her heart was pounding, but that was to be expected. What she didn’t understand was why her naughty parts were getting so excited?

“Carol, this will hurt,” Diana said. She brought the belt down on Carol’s bottom with a quick snap.

“Ow!” Carol cried. The belt STUNG! Her underwear gave her no protection at all.

“Complaining is beneath a devout person,” Diana said. “Instead, I want you to say, ‘Thank you, Jesus’ every time I hit you. Understand?”

“Yes,” Carol said. Immediately, the belt hit her behind with twice as much force.

“Thank you, Jesus!” she cried out.

Diana struck again with the belt. She kept hitting faster and faster with the stinging leather belt. Carol squirmed, but Diana placed a hand on her back and pinned her to the couch. There was no mercy from the belt. Diana paused only long enough for Carol to shout her thanks to Jesus, and then the belt would land again.

“Thank you, Jesus!” Carol cried. She always meant it.

The belt was relentless. It smote every inch of her bottom. It delivered her bottom from evil. It whipped the sins out of her body. Over and over and over and over again, the belt punished her.

“Thank you, Jesus!” she cried out. No matter how much it hurt, she kept thanking her savior. It helped distract her from the heat that was growing between her thighs. Every lash of the belt was turning her on. Carol didn’t understand why it was happening, but she thought it might have something to do with her soul being redeemed. She was feeling the Holy Ghost. In her red sore bottom and between her damp hot thighs, she could feel the Lord.

“Thank you, Jesus!” she cried.

The whipping stopped. Carol flinched, expecting another blow. Her throat was raw but nowhere as sore as her bottom.

“Did I do well?” she asked.

Diana put her belt back on. “It’s a good start,” she said. “Only time will tell if you have learned your lesson or if you will need more of the Lord’s instruction. In the war against perverts, Jesus accepts only the best.”

Carol winced as she stood back up. Her entire body was tingling. She hadn’t felt this was in years. She felt chastised. She felt invigorated.

“Only your best,” Diana said again. “If you give me anything less, I will have to punish you again.”

“Thank you, Jesus,” Carol whispered.

To be continued,

Fiction: Perversion Part 1

Stephen O’Sullivan’s cock was harder than it had ever been. He didn’t feel like the 40-something owner of a grocery store in a hick town. He felt like a young buck ready to spread his seed into some willing doe. He felt alive. He felt like he had the first time he’d touched a girl’s bra. He had an erection that could have knocked over aisle six, aisle seven and the bread rack.

He thanked his lucky stars that he’d insisted on having the Summer Hill Decency League meeting here in his conference room. Stephen had wanted the meeting here so he could get back to work quickly. If they had had their meeting at Deacon Adkins’s church in those open pews, Stephen would have no way of hiding his erection. Christ, that old spinster Ms. Cage might have had a heart attack if she’d seen the tent pole that was currently straining against his pants. Stephen thanked the baby Jesus that his erection wouldn’t be killing the town busybody today.

The source of his erection was the incredibly tempting Diana Moon. She was from out of town, and something deep in Stephen’s libido was reacting to her big-city ways. Was it the perfect black hair that fell about her shoulders and threatened to cover her right eye? Was it the smell of honeysuckle that seemed to emanate from her? Was it the silver crucifix that was twinkling at the hint of cleavage peeking out of her silk blouse?

Diana took a deep breath before she stood up. Oh, sweet Jesus and his sweeter mother, Mary, it was definitely the cleavage.

To read more, click Whole Post


“Thank you for that warm introduction, Mrs. Gilson,” Diana said. Stephen did a double take. Had Mrs. Gilson said something? Usually, he couldn’t ignore Mrs. Gilson’s dry, judgmental know-it-all voice no matter how hard he tried. The woman bought housekeeping magazines like a Baptist buys wine. Perfection was Mrs. Gilson’s religion.

“First, I want to thank each and every one of you for allowing me to come to your town to aid you in this battle against the devil,” Ms. Moon said. Her face was flushed from the power of her passion. The pink color was creeping down her neck and towards that beautiful valley of cleavage. Stephen had to fight back a groan of lust.

“You have a very serious threat to deal with,” she said. “Some people might say that a small adult bookstore on the outskirts of town is nothing to worry about. We, of course, know better. We know that dirty stories are a gateway to adultery, homosexuality, bestiality, Islam and voting Democratic. This adult bookstore must be stopped, or the very souls of Summer Hill could be damned!”

“Amen!” Deacon Adkins said. “I have said that very thing, but Pastor Miller said it was of little concern. He said we just have to pray that our congregation will resist such temptation!”

“Shameful,” Diana said. She put her hand on her heart; her very round chest happed to be in the way. “There is only one cure for adult businesses, and that is boycotting and public shaming! With my help, you will organize a massive publicity campaign that will bring the entire state’s attention to your small town. You will embarrass those heathens trying to open that sinful place and make them leave.”

“Just like you did for the people of White Creek,” Ms. Cage said. The old lady spoke as though she were reciting the Bible. “According to the letters I received from their pastor, you helped them close down that free health clinic. You stopped the children from getting free abortions and condoms.”

Diana smiled. She looked very humble as she fingered the crucifix dangling between her breasts. Stephen daydreamed about what the view must have looked like from Jesus’s vantage point.

“I am so glad Pastor Copeland spoke so highly of me,” Diana said. “I just helped them get organized, the way I am going to help you The good Christians there were the real heroes. They deserve all the credit. And if the news media want to come in and maybe do high profile stories on all of you, well, good for you!”

Stephen looked around the table and saw a beatific smile on every face. Doing the Lord’s work was one thing, but maybe getting on television was a more earthly reward.

“I want you to understand something,” Diana said. “Satan is out there, but he is helped by sinners. There is a secret organization of sinners who target towns like yours. They find pure, innocent towns where there are no homosexuals, where there are no adult movies, where there are no condoms for teen-agers, and they attack. They bring in lawyers, activists and other scum to destroy your town. Your only hope is to fight back and let them know that if they come here, you will fight back. Are you ready to fight?”

“Yes!” said the brave members of the Summer Hill Decency League.

“That’s what I like to hear!” Diana said. “I have a full plan that you will need to implement, but I prefer to guide and help you act out the Lord’s plan individually. I will be spending time with you and preparing you for the battle with Satan. In the meantime, though, I did just arrive into town, and I would like to rest. Could someone recommend a hotel for me to stay at?”

Oh, sweet Jesus. Stephen thought about offering his home, but he couldn’t imagine what Mrs. O’Sullivan would say about his bringing this beautiful woman home. He decided to worry about that later.

“You can stay with —“ was all he got out before that spinster Ms. Cage interrupted him.

“You will stay with me,” she said. “I have a large house, and it’s been awfully quiet since my sister Esther passed away. I won’t hear of a worker in the Lord’s service staying at a hotel.”

Stephen’s erection shrank with every word the old woman said.

“That would be wonderful,” Diana said.

“All right then,” Mrs. Gilson said. “I am teaching a garden class in half an hour so let’s stop here. Diana, I have tomorrow free, so why don’t you come by my house and you can show me what I need to do?”

“That sounds like a plan,” Diana said. “We can stop here for today.”

“That’s great,” Deacon Adkins said. “I have lots of work to do myself.” The deacon got up and excused himself in a hurry. Stephen wasn’t sure what work Adkins was talking about, considering that the old man had been retired for seven years now. He figured that Deacon Adkins probably hit his foot with a hammer in order to get inspired for one of his fiery sermons on Sunday.

“Ms. Cage,” Dian said, “would you mind if I talk to Mr. O’Sullivan alone for a few minutes? I saw some magazines in his grocery store that have secret feminist agendas. I want to go over which ones he should remove.”

“Oh, my,” Ms. Cage said. The old lady looked like she had been told that snakes regularly nested in her bathtub.

“Really?” Mrs. Gilson said. If Ms. Cage looked terrified, Mrs. Gilson looked a little too excited by the idea.

“Oh, yes,” Diana said. She stood up and walked the women to the door. “You would be surprised what perverts hide in plain sight before you.”

Stephen felt his cock throb as Diana closed the door. He started thinking about baseball and seasonal apple prices. He was trying anything he could think of to make that hard-on go away.

Diana Moon walked over to him. He tried to turn casually in his seat without actually moving his chair. He was doing everything he could to keep his arousal hidden.

“Which magazines are you talking about?” he asked. “I don’t read them myself, so I would have no idea if they contained any secret messages.”

She walked behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Mr. O’Sullivan, I admit I told everyone a lie. I just wanted to be alone with you.”

Yes! Stephen thought. Reality sunk in a moment later. “Really?” he said.

Her hands went down his chest, gliding down his shirt and reaching down to his pants. He almost stopped her, but he felt her silk-clad breasts press against the back of his head. He could feel their weight. It felt glorious.

“You are in a state of carnal arousal,” Diana whispered in his ear.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back. Her hands glided over the bulge in his pants, and he moaned. He wasn’t sorry one single bit.

“It’s OK,” she said. “I saw you staring at me. It was very flattering.”

Stephen groaned again. She unfastened his belt and popped open his pants. She slipped one hand under his underwear and gripped his cock.

“I understand,” Diana whispered. “You’re a man with needs. You’re a powerful man who owns the biggest grocery store in the county. You have a lot of stress, and sometimes it manifests through your manhood. It’s not because you’re sinful, Stephen. This is about stress. Right?”

‘This” was all about Diana’s wonderful breasts pressing into his shoulders, but Stephen wasn’t going to say that. He just nodded. He would agree to anything to keep this going.

“If you are going to do the Lord’s work,” Diana said, “we’ll need to take care of your stress.”

Her hands wrapped around his cock in a very stress-relieving and not at all sinful manner. She pulled his cock free of his underwear and stroked him up and down in a beautiful slow motion that had him groaning.

“This is to clear your mind, you understand?” Diana said.

Stephen nodded. “Just to clear my mind.”

“Could you turn around, so I can reach you better?” she asked.

“Oh, God, yes,” he said. She let go of his cock, and he spun around in his chair. She parted his legs and knelt before him. He could see right down her blouse to the pink lace bra that held her breasts. He felt as though he had discovered a great secret, which made his cock pulse even faster.

Diana brought one of her palms to her mouth. Looking Stephen in the eye, she licked her palm ever so slowly. She returned her hand to his cock and spread her spit over him. He gripped the arms of his chair more tightly as he felt the wetness envelop his cock.

“Such a busy, stress-filled man,” Diana said.

Stephen nodded as she kept stroking.

“I see your kind all the time,” she said. “The big businessman in a small town is always under a lot of stress. You’ve made it to the top, and you just don’t do that by running a good business. No, in a small town, you have to be friends with everyone. You have to have a wife who socializes. You have to be involved in as many little groups as possible. Why, I’ll bet this decency league started as a way for you to show how much you love your community. Am I right?”

Her wet hand kept stroking his cock, but now her other hand was gently cupping his balls. Stephen couldn’t remember the last time a woman had touched his balls with such obvious care. God, his wife wouldn’t even look at his sack.

“Yes,” he said. “A store opened on the other side of town. Fancy lighting and brand-new registers got everybody talking.”

Diana looked up at him with adoring sympathy. “But you showed them. You got involved with stomping out sin. You’re not just selling food; you’re out there protecting their souls!”

Her hand pumped his cock faster, as if inspired by virtuous fervor.

“Yes!” Stephen said. It was so nice to be able to be recognized for the smart businessman that he was!

“Stephen,” Diana said almost as a whisper, “I consider it my Christian duty to relieve your stress. Would you like to spill your seed right onto my breasts?”

He couldn’t speak. He put his hand in his mouth and bit down as his orgasm peaked. He nodded as tried to muffle his orgasm.

Diana smiled as she pointed his cock into her cleavage. Her smile grew wider as he shot load after load down between those beautiful breasts covered in pink lace. The crucifix dangled above his cock, blessing his stress-relieving climax.

“Oh, thank you,” Stephen said. His hand was aching where he’d bitten it. A feeling of great calm and bliss was sweeping over him.

“No,” Diana said, “thank you for all you do for your town.”

She stood up and smoothed down her blouse, then picked up her purse and gave him a very satisfied smile. She didn’t say anything else, although she did wait till he zipped up before heading out of the conference room. Stephen was OK with that. He felt exhausted and a bit dazed by what just happened.

One thing he would always remember was how Diana’s smile seemed even bigger than his own.

To be continued,

Erotica Alert Level: New Story Green

Before I began on my current Long Story Epic, I had written an unconventional four part story. It sat on my hard drive as I occasionally poked it and wondered what it was. It was fun to write but you never know if it will be fun to read. I still don't have a title for it so I will most likely go with the working title, Perversion.

It's a short read so I think I will post one part a day this week starting tomorrow.

My current long story project is rambling along. I have to say that I really miss the joy that comes from working on the same story for a good length of time. It is a lot like having house guests stay over in your brain. Except these house guests are sexy and you get to watch them have sex. They haven't over stayed their welcome yet.

The interesting thing for me is that this long story has Otto Von Madd. He's not a central character, but he is a big presence. it can be a little distracting to have him running around because story ideas just drip off of him. I might write a few quickies while still writing the long story. Usually I strictly forbid myself from writing anything else during a long story. For me it is like writing a Battlestar Galactica season and stopping to write a Bugs Bunny cartoon. It's too distracting. But I am thinking that writing an Otto story here and there would be more like writing a DVD extra for a movie. I'll think about it.

Oh, and Iron Man is a great movie and one that all other movies this summer will be compared to. It has one of the best transformative moment scenes that I have seen in a hero movie. It also has cute robots, a mad playboy scientist and the funniest lab accidents I have seen in awhile. It gets a bit talky at times but never roll your eyes hokey which I greatly appreciate.

Long Story Lessons

Gathered here are my essays on how I go about making a long erotica story. When I first started writing I devoured reading about how other writers went about writing. Sometimes just hearing how a writer thinks helps me understand my own processes and identify what works and what doesn't work for me.

I had been tempted to do talk about how I write but I always worried it would come across as arrogant. I mean, I don't have books in bookstores. I don't have the largest number of readers and I certainly don't entertain offers from publishers like some of my friends do. I am not a commercial success but when you measure my stories by how happy I am with them, I don't have any disappointments. I enjoy writing big stories and I personally would love to read more long stories from other writers.

So here is my method. Here is the way I go about turning an idea into a twenty some odd part story. You don't have to follow it when you do your own long erotic story, but maybe it will give you a place to start. The only thing I ask is that somewhere down the line you explain your own process. We are in a period where the greatest erotica can be written, posted and shared without the limitations of commercial publishing. The only thing holding us back is ourselves.

Solving For Plot

Character Evolutional Theory

The Three E's of Writing

Rewriting and You

Extra Credit

Dr. Otto Von Madd Says:

Erotic science fiction would be more successful if equal attention was paid to the science as it was to the erotic. It is hard for readers to get caught up in the risque adventures of a lusty space pirate queen when the technology for her faster than light spaceship is based on laughable principles that a third year physics major could easily disprove.

Also, there needs to be more stories about dashing visionary genius men and the sexy alien lifeforms with breasts that love them.