Frightful Four

Instead of doing a Halloween theme story this year, I'm going to share with you four horror related books, movies and blogs that I enjoy. I don't know about you, but I always get in the mood for Halloween around the middle of November but by then, everyone has moved on to sappy Christmas stuff. I also think that thematically, horror is the closest genre to erotica. It's all about the buildup to the actual act more so than the act itself. Hopefully these four items will get you in a horror mood.

First up is 'Severance Package' by Duane Swierczynski. This fun horrific story is about a shell company set up by a shadowy secret agency. Not everyone in the company knows who their ultimate bosses are, which is unfortunate because when the agency decides to eliminate the company, they do so with extreme prejudice. Ever want to kill your boss? Well the fucker is trying to kill you. Bloody wackiness ensues.

There is so much to recommend this book. For one thing, it is fast. I mean, it is finish-it-in-one-day fast. My girlfriend and I blazed through this book because it is just that economical. What fascinates me and makes me jealous as a writer is that Duane crams in so much character development with his office violence. A book like this should be shallow but it's not.

'Severance Package' might be the best action movie you'll read this year.

The polar opposite is 'The Terror' by Dan Simmons. It's a fictional account of a real life Northwest Passage explorer team. Wait, don't run away from this period piece just yet. Did I mention that instead of frostbite and starvation, what seems to be killing the crew is an unholy snow monster from Hell?

Clocking in at 784 pages you would expect this novel to be a slow crawl of icy doom but you're wrong. Much like Severance Package, this book moves fast. The first chapter opens with the poor ships already trapped in the ice and being stalked by the monster. It's 784 pages because there are a shit load of people to kill. In this day and age, I am grateful for a horror novel that starts the thrills in the first chapter.

Half National Goegraphic, half 'The Thing' and half Edgar Allen Poe, this monster of a book is perfect for reading during the cold winter.

Let's say you want a good movie to scare the shit out of you. 'Midnight Meat Train' is a movie adaptation of a Clive Barker short story. Due to studio politics, this one went straight to video and I actually saw it on Demand. It's a gruesome story about a photographer who notices that some people don't get off of late night subways.

This kind of story could be a stupid gorefest but it was surprisingly intelligent. The photographer is obsessed and almost fascinated as opposed to just acting foolish. We don't get inside the mind of the killer but there is almost a tinge of pathos with him. The absolute lack of humor in the movie is a welcome change from most modern horror. This is a dark story that uses speculation to break up the tension instead of jokes.

It is really a shame this never made it to the theaters. It's miles away from films like Saw and Hostel in that the set pieces are revolve around fear, not torture.


For my last entry, I want to highlight a blog. And Now the Screaming Starts is one of my daily reads ever since it introduced me to 'The Terror'. It's an intelligent Horror blog that avoids the traps that so many other horror blogs fall into.

The first trap is the attitude that the past was superior. It gives credit to the great movies of yesterday but it is always on the look out for today's great classics. Imagine a sex blog that only reviewed porn movies from the 70's. Or imagine a sex blog that only posts pictures of Betty Page. You have pretty much imagined 90% of the horror blogs I run into. It's okay to have a blog dedicated to the past but unless you do it as perfectly as Groovy Age of Horror,

The second trap ANTSS avoids is this irrational hatred of Torture Porn movies that dominates so many horror blogs. I myself have no interest in seeing Hostel or Saw, but I don't declare them the end of civilization like some blogs do. ANTSS is a fan of Saw and writes such intriguing analysis that I am half tempted to see it. He's not a crazed cultish, he's a smart man who knows how to deconstruct something. I wish we had more people like him in the sex blogger community.

So there we go. I hope you found something to scare you this season. I hope you sleep with the lights on and jump when you hear an unexpected sound. When you want to read something that gives you a different kind of shiver, come back and maybe I'll have something for you.

Fiction: The Reluctant Actress Part Three

It was a silent cab ride back to their room. Mr. Dillon read the new book the collection had bought. Claire just tried not to groan too much as every bump in the road was transmitted right to her sore bottom.

They said nothing as they walked into the lobby. The manager breathed a sigh of relief that Claire was fully clothed. She didn’t care. Walking was reminding her of how much her ass hurt, and she just wanted to make it back to their room.

Once they were inside, Claire could hold back no longer.

“You lied to me,” she said.

“ ‘You lied to me, Mr. Dillon,’ ” he corrected.

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Claire scowled. “Mr. Dillon, you told me that by playing the role of a domineering woman, I could seduce Mr. Sweitz. He wasn’t seduced at all! I just pissed him off!”

“You aroused his passions,” Mr. Dillon said. “I call that seduction.”

“If you wanted him to spank me, why not have me adopt a character who likes that sort of thing? Why did I have to go and make him angry?”

“Whining does not become you,” Mr. Dillon said. “And we tried that, remember? Your version of Sandy was pathetic, so I thought a different approach would be better.”

“You could have told me,” Claire said. She took off her skirt and looked at her ass in the hotel mirror. The welts were turning purple.

Mr. Dillon laughed. He stepped up to her and put his arm around her. His hand brushed against the damp moss of her pubic hair. “And are you telling me you didn’t like it, Ms. Currie?”

“No, Mr. Dillon.”

Mr. Dillon removed his hands. “Here, take the book and bend over the bed.”

Claire groaned. “Are you going to spank me, too?”

Mr. Dillon unzipped his pants. “Bend over, Ms. Currie, and flip to chapter 7.”

Claire bent over the bed. Her glasses slipped forward as she looked down. She opened the paperback book and flipped till she came to the chapter he requested. That is when she felt Mr. Dillon’s hand on her hips and his cock at the entrance to her sex.

With one long, slow thrust, he was inside her.

“Start reading,” he said.

Claire groaned as her sore ass came in contact with Mr. Dillon’s body. “Yes, sir,” she said.

“Martha trembled in fear,” Claire began. “She knew she was in trouble. She was late coming to rehearsal, and because of her adventure in the parlor, she never had gotten a chance to study her role as she had been asked. Ted had asked her to come to his office to discuss her dereliction in her studies and performances. She was sure he was going to kick her out.”

Claire paused as Mr. Dillon slowly fucked her. After 10 really nice strokes, she continued.

“When Ted walked in, the first thing he did was push Martha down into the hard wooden chair.

“ ‘You have been very naughty, Martha,’ he said.

“ ‘I can explain, sir,’ Martha said.

“Ted slapped her. Martha cried out, and he slapped her again. Her cheeks burned from the touch of his hand, but Martha realized that she felt another burning between her thighs.”

Claire stopped again. Her own ass was still on fire from the brutal spanking, but like Martha, Claire felt an even greater fire from Mr. Dillon’s cock. His pace was slow but relentless. He plunged within her like he owned her. He fucked her at his pace and for his pleasure.

“Keep reading,” Mr. Dillon said.

“Ted grabbed her by the hair while with his other hand he opened his pants. His enormous cock was hard and pointed at Martha’s face. She remembered how big it had been when he fucked her yesterday. She remembered how it had threatened to tear her apart. When he pulled her head to his cock, Martha screamed in protest. He gagged her protests with his cock.

“Martha choked on his cock, but he forced himself into her. She was humiliated at this new perversion. Who lets a man put a cock into her mouth? What kind of woman would let her tongue touch the veined member? Worse, what kind of woman would shiver as Martha was doing? Could she be enjoying such debasement?”

“I think so,” Mr. Dillon said. He began to fuck Claire a little faster.

Claire moaned her agreement and kept reading. “Martha sucked on his sweaty cock. She licked the salt with her delicate tongue. She tried to push him away, but Ted’s iron hands kept forcing her down. His balls were pressed against her chin, and Martha’s nose was buried in pubic hair. Martha struggled as his giant cock reached the back of her throat, but he would not let her go.

“He fucked her mouth. He fucked her lips as roughly as he had fucked her cunt yesterday. Martha realized that eventually he would spend himself, and she was horrified at the thought of swallowing his seed. As horrible as that was, Martha felt that familiar tingling in her cunt that told her that it might also be fun.”

Mr. Dillon groaned. His hand dug into Claire’s hips. His slow, casual fucking had transformed into fast, hard thrusts. Her spanked ass bounced off his body, and each bounce sent a delicious shiver of pain up her spine.

Claire lost her place, and she would be punished for it later, but she kept reading.

“Martha kept fingering herself, just as Ted had told her to. She remembered what the stage manager had done with his fingers the other day, and she touched her cunt just like that. Martha buried her fingers, getting them deep inside her. She imagined Ted’s cock there, fucking her cunt just like he was fucking her mouth.

“Ted’s hands wrapped themselves in Martha’s long brown hair. He was pulling so hard that tears were rolling down Martha’s cheeks. It didn’t slow him down at all. He used her cruelly, interested only in his own pleasure.

“Martha’s pleasure was increasing. She was going to come. She was going to come on her own fingers like some sort of harlot. She was going to come with a man’s cock inside her mouth. Oh, how horrified her aunt would be to see her now!”

Claire paused as her own desire overwhelmed her. Reading about Ted’s cock in Martha’s mouth made Claire desire a cock in hers. Her ass was stinging from the contact with Mr. Dillon’s body, feeling like she was being spanked all over again. His cock felt perfect inside her, and she wanted nothing more than to have inside her always and forever.

“Keep reading, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. His voice was deep and demanding. He was close. It was time for them to both reap their reward.

“Ted’s cock shot into Martha’s mouth. Martha was surprised by how much she liked the taste. It filled her mouth, and slid down her eager throat. Her tongue milked his cock for every drop.

“At the same time, her cunt had its own climax. She clenched hard around her fingers, squeezing herself with pleasure. She kept thrusting inside herself, riding one orgasm after another.”

Claire’s reading was harshly interrupted. Mr. Dillon had grabbed her black hair and yanked her head back. He was thrusting harder while he pulled her hair. Claire knew he was going to climax. Like a good librarian, she squeezed her cunt tightly to help him on his way.

Mr. Dillon shouted, and Claire felt him climax. Her own climax happened instantly. His pleasure was her pleasure.

When he let go of her hair, Claire slumped forward. Exhaustion overtook her. The spanking, the fucking and the reading had done her in. The afterglow had taken the last of her strength. She couldn’t possibly move another muscle.

“Not bad, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “I have compiled a list of characters you need to study next. I have a rigorous schedule of erotic archetypes you need to master, and I will test you on each and every single one. When I say ‘test,’ I am of course referring to comprehensive fucking and spanking while you maintain your character.”

Claire found she had plenty of energy to move.

the end.

Fiction: The Reluctant Actress Part Two

“Are you ready, Ms. Currie?”

Claire nodded. She was standing very straight. They were outside the door to Theodore Sweitz’s bookstore. Claire was not only ready, she was eager to show how much she had learned.

“I have studied the book you gave me,” Claire said. “There were quite a few cruel, overbearing characters, but I chose the character Olivia Flay as my inspiration. I studied every scene she was in. I have practiced her speech and her mannerisms. I will be heartless, humiliating and full of venom.”

Mr. Dillon looked pleased. “Good. Mr. Sweitz has always had a weakness for dominatrix types. He is an avid collector of female domination erotica. Just put him down at every opportunity, and that will keep him so aroused that I will easily negotiate a better price. One quick question: Why did you choose Olivia and not the main character?”

“Simple,” Claire said. “Olivia sounds a lot like you.”

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Mr. Dillon smiled. “That is an excellent reason. Come, he is expecting us.”

Theodore Sweitz answered the door. He was much younger than Claire had expected. Instead of the usual doddering old man, Mr. Sweitz was barely in his 40s. He was exceptionally tall and loomed over them.

“Oliver, it is good to see you again,” Mr. Sweitz said. “And who is your lovely accomplice?”

Mr. Sweitz held out his hand to Claire. She almost ruined her character by taking his hand. She caught herself and just looked down on his hand like it was covered in filth. She snorted with affected annoyance.

“This is Claire Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “You’ll have to forgive her rudeness; she’s British.”

Claire was offended, but the look of irritation on Mr. Sweitz’s face kept her silent. He looked offended, too, but he quickly mastered himself. That small chink in his demeanor encouraged Claire to push her advantage.

“This is Mr. Swiss?” she said to Mr. Dillon. “I thought you told me he was handsome and posh?”

Mr. Dillon did something Claire didn’t think was possible. He blushed. “I am very sorry, Theo; I haven’t taught her how to behave around clients yet.”

Mr. Sweitz sighed. “No need to apologize, Oliver. I’m sure you will break her in. Please, come in.”

They stepped inside. Claire was taken back by how upscale everything was. It wasn’t a bookstore; it was a gallery that happened to have books. She recognized several expensive volumes right away. This was a man who was used to selling at high prices. She was going to have to step it up.

“What a quaint little place, Mr. Swiss,” she loudly declared. “It reminds me of the cabin I stayed at for my summer breaks.”

Mr. Sweitz snapped his head towards her. He started to say something, stopped and started again. “It’s Sweitz actually.”

Claire looked at him as though he were a small child. “Are you sure?” she asked.

Mr. Sweitz’s mouth opened and closed a few times.

“Theo, maybe it would be best if we go right to business,” Mr. Dillon said. “I just have to see this pristine copy of ‘The Reluctant Actress’ with my own eyes.”

Mr. Sweitz’s shoulders relaxed a bit. “I felt the same way when I heard about it. It’s right over here in this case.”

They walked over to a glass case. Claire recognized the moisture-proof seal and the special light-protection glass. Mr. Sweitz opened the case and handed it to Mr. Dillon. Claire couldn’t help peeking over Mr. Dillon’s shoulder.

“Amazing,” Mr. Dillon said, and Claire knew he meant it. “I recognize it, of course, from the copy the collection has, but the condition is unbelievable. Where on earth did you find it?”

“I have my sources,” Mr. Sweitz said. He was very proud of himself. Claire had seen that collector’s pride before. As librarians, she and Mr. Dillon had wooed widows, climbed through boxes of books and done all sorts of tedious work. It was all worth it when you found that one special book.

“Oh,” Claire said. “You hire people to search for you. Expensive, but it’s better to hire professionals than blunder through yourself.”

“Ms. Currie,” Mr. Sweitz said with an icy tone, “I discovered this book by myself. I tracked down various publishing invoices and traced the ownerships of adult bookstores that operated around the time it was published. This book is the product of a year’s search, thank you very much.”

Claire was taken aback. Luckily, there had been a very similar scene in the novel she’d studied.

“Ah,” she drawled, “It took you a year, Mr. Swiss? Is this a new hobby for you?”

Mr. Sweitz began to say something, but Mr. Dillon quickly interjected.

“Theo, have you noticed that there is an epilogue?” he asked. “Our version ended with chapter 30.”

“Well,” Mr. Sweitz said, gathering his thoughts, “I believe that the epilogue was dropped during the second printing. It has no sex in it, but it wraps up the story.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Dillon said. “This certainly elevates the importance of this copy.”

“My, my, what a lucky boy you are, Mr. Swiss.” Claire said in what she knew was an infuriatingly condescending manner.

Mr. Sweitz snapped his head towards her. “It’s Sweitz! It’s German. It’s not Swiss like the cheese!”

“Oh,” Claire said. “My mistake, Mr. Swish.”

Mr. Sweitz’s lips twisted into a growl. For a moment, Claire was afraid that Mr. Dillon had been wrong. Mr. Sweitz didn’t seem aroused. He just looked pissed. She kept expecting Mr. Dillon to stop her, but he just kept smiling and looking at the book. Apparently, he thought she was doing well.

“Mr. Swish, I feel as though we have gotten off on the wrong foot,” Claire said. “I apologize if I have somehow offended your very sensitive nature with my comments. I am used to dealing with grand men who have steel resolves and virile passions. I see now that you are a minor player in the book-collecting world and I apologize for not treating you with the gentle touch that you require.”

Mr. Sweitz was speechless.

“Theo,” Mr. Dillon said, “I think your price is very reasonable and well within our budget.”

It was Claire’s turn to be speechless. Did Mr. Dillon think she had failed?

“Really?” Mr. Sweitz said. Claire relaxed when she heard how flustered he sounded. “I mean, great. I knew I was asking a lot, but I also knew the collection would think it was worth it.”

“Most certainly,” Mr. Dillon said. “But, if you knock 25 percent off your asking price, I will let you spank Ms. Currie for her rudeness.”

Mr. Sweitz smiled. “Deal. May I use a paddle?”

Mr. Dillon nodded. “I was going to recommend it. Ms. Currie’s bottom is very well-padded.”

“Sir?” Claire asked. This was happening too fast for her to understand.

“ ‘Sir’ now, is it?” Mr. Sweitz said. “I bet you’ll get my name right now, won’t you?”

Claire looked at Mr. Dillon. His face was impossible to read. She decided to go with the last command her boss had given.

“Mr. Swimp,” Claire said, emphasizing the “wimp,” ” I doubt I will even notice what you are doing.”

Mr. Sweitz gritted his teeth. He grabbed Claire by the arm and forcefully walked her over to a leather couch. He shoved her down over the arm of the couch. Her glasses flew from her face, landing on the other side of the couch. Claire squealed as she fell, her three-inch heels kicking behind her. She felt his hand lift her skirt to reveal her panties. Because it was a Friday, her panties were strawberry pink.

“Can I take off her panties?” Mr. Sweitz asked.

Claire was curious herself.

“Knock off another 5 percent and you can,” Mr. Dillon answered.

“Done,” said Mr. Sweitz.

Claire’s panties were roughly pulled down, leaving her brown buttocks completely defenseless. He kicked her legs apart, making her spread wide on his leather couch. She tried to lift her head, but Mr. Sweitz’s hand grabbed the back of her head and forced her back down. He pinned her there, smashing her face into the cushion.

“You were looking for this?” Mr. Dillon said. “I saw it hanging and thought I would grab it for you.”

Claire felt cold wood touch her ass. It must be the paddle Mr. Dillon had brought as a gift. It occurred to her that if Mr. Sweitz were a meek submissive man, a paddle would have been a poor gift.

“Thank you, Oliver,” Mr. Sweitz said. “I do find this paddle is the best tool for dealing with a rude mouth. Where did you say you found this?”

“There’s a carver in North Carolina who makes them,” Mr. Dillon said. “He lives in a cabin making endless paddles. He doesn’t make any effort to sell them, so I have to drive up every once in a while and buy them in person. Nice man, though a bit crazy.”

“He makes an excellent paddle,” Mr. Sweitz said. He brought it down hard on Claire’s ass. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Currie?”

“Ouch!” Claire said. “Maybe if it were wielded by a real man and not a weak little bookwhore like yourself!”

“We’ll see about that,” Mr. Sweitz said.

Claire heard the paddle swooshing through the air a split second before it smashed into her round bottom. It was a hard blow with no mercy whatsoever. The next blow was harder. The next was even worse.

Mr. Sweitz’s hand kept her face pressed into the couch. Over and over the paddle landed on her cheeks with no rhythm except the speed of his anger. He was favoring her right buttock, most likely because of where he was standing. She tried to lean away from the paddle, but Mr. Sweitz’s swinging kept up with her. There was no escape as he relentlessly spanked her ass. She had pissed him off, and her ass was paying the price.

Claire couldn’t see the paddle, but she knew it was wide, hard and very painful. She knew it was big enough to cover an entire buttock with one hit. She didn’t know what color the paddle was, but she was sure her brown ass was turning a dark red from all the spanking. The paddle was an enigma, almost as mysterious as the trap Mr. Dillon had set for her.

Claire could not stop thinking about how angry he was. Every paddle swing was as harder than the last. There was no seduction or art. It was pure passionate hate. Such fierce passion was flattering to Claire. She had gotten under his skin, and her poor bottom was feeling just how well she had succeeded. Claire couldn’t help wonder if Mr. Sweitz was this passionate when he fucked. Her wet pussy felt certain of it.

The paddling stopped. Mr. Sweitz pulled Claire’s hair, lifting her head.

“Say my name,” he said.

“What?” Claire said between gasps.

“Say my name correctly!” The paddle landed on the center of her ass for emphasis.

“Mr. Sweitz,” she moaned.

“Louder!” he snapped.

“Mr. Sweitz!” she yelled.

He smashed her face back into the leather. The paddle returned to her ass, taking the pain to infernal new heights. Her ass took every blow while her legs kicked uselessly. The more the paddle struck her brown ass, the more moisture she could feel dripping from her sex.

Claire tried to imagine Olivia in this position. She tried to picture how the snobbish woman would handle being punished. Claire pictured the tantrum Olivia would throw, worried that perhaps she had failed in her impersonation. The paddle landed once more on her abused ass and she stopped worrying about her performance. She doubted she could survive antagonizing Mr. Sweitz much more than she already had.

His hand pulled her head by the hair again. He said something, but Claire didn’t catch it. The incredible tenderness of her ass made every movement painful.

“Say you’re a paddle-hungry slut,” Mr. Sweitz repeated.

Claire saw Mr. Dillon sitting across from them. His head nodded towards her barely half an inch.

“I am a paddle-hungry slut,” Claire said. The wet spot she made on the arm of the couch proved it.

“Louder!” Mr. Sweitz snapped.

“I am a paddle-hungry slut!” she yelled.

He released her hair and stepped back. “Yes, I know you are. Be sure to clean up that mess you made. There is leather cleaner in the cabinet.”

Claire blushed till her cheeks were as red as her ass.

To be continued,

Fiction: The Reluctant Actress Part One

Claire Currie was being tested. Her boss, Mr. Dillon, had taken her for a long cab ride that ended on a busy street corner. They stood together on the corner while Mr. Dillon looked at his watch. Claire didn’t know exactly what the test would be, but after spending a year with Mr. Dillon, she had come to know his moods. Today he was short-tempered, very arrogant and constantly looking at her cleavage. Yes, today was a testing day for sure.

She tried to relax but it was impossible. She was an assistant librarian for the Collette-Ashbee collection; relaxing was not part of the job description. The librarians gathered erotic books from all over the world so that the books could be preserved and stored for the enjoyment of the collection’s elite owners. In the course of a year, Claire had personally handled books that were worth millions of dollars. She had read erotic works written in secret by famous authors. She had masturbated to stories and poetry that defied imagination. Such constant stimulation did not make for a soothing lifestyle.

At least this time, Claire had an idea of what the test was about. About two weeks ago, Mr. Dillon had given her a book and told her to study it. It was a silly little book from the ’60s called “Sandy Asks for It.” In overly dramatic language, the book told the adventures of a nymphomaniac who manages to fuck half of Chicago, primarily through begging and throwing herself at men. The plot was nonexistent, and the characters had obviously been designed by someone with limited experience with women.

As a modern feminist, Claire was offended by the shallow female characters. As a black woman, she was offended by the racial stereotypes. As a British citizen, she was offended by the poor grammar and word choices. Claire studied it nonetheless. She researched the publishing company, the author and even the kind of paper used to print the book. She probably knew more about this book than the author ever had. Whatever test Mr. Dillon had for her, Claire was determined to be ready for it.

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Mr. Dillon finally spoke. “Ms. Currie, I see that your attire is professional and appropriate for a librarian today.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dillon,” Claire said. It was a curious statement for him to make. She was wearing the same thing that she wore every day; button-down shirt that stretched across her generous breasts, a black skirt and thigh-high stockings. Today was Wednesday, so her brassiere and panties were electric blue as per Mr. Dillon’s schedule. Her black hair was held back by a silver headband, and gold-framed glasses were the only adornment he would allow on her face. The three-inch heels were a bother out here on the street, but a year of practice would keep Claire on her feet.

“Your technical skills have become quite good,” Mr. Dillon continued.

Claire was so shocked by this rare praise that she couldn’t help interrupting. “You really think my skills have become good?”

Mr. Dillon blinked in surprise. “I meant to say they were adequate, of course. Barely that, to be honest.”

Claire nodded. Mr. Dillon felt that praise only weakened librarians’ abilities, but sometimes he forgot himself. She had learned to cherish his praise, no matter how much he denied it a moment later.

“As I was saying,” Mr. Dillon said, “your skills at indexing and book care are adequate, but there is more to being a librarian than just filing and identification. There is an art that we of the Collette-Ashbee collection have perfected over the years when dealing with the collectors and sellers of our precious prizes.

“It is the art of seduction.”

Claire smiled. She thought of the vigorous fucking Mr. Dillon had given her the previous day. “I thought we had covered that last night, Mr. Dillon.”

He frowned. “I am not talking about fucking booksellers, Ms. Currie. We are librarians, not prostitutes. I am talking about the art of seduction.”

He stepped closer and placed a finger on Claire’s chin. He traced his fingernail across her lips. Despite the busy street, Claire found herself getting immensely wet.

“Ms. Currie,” he continued, “people who buy or collect erotic books do so because they like erotica. Now, as we well know, there is a huge difference between actual sexual relationships and the ones depicted in erotica. Erotica is fantastic, unreal and masturbatory. It taps not into what is real but into what readers wish was real. Do you understand?”

Claire nodded.

“Good,” he said. “One of the tools we use when we negotiate with sellers is to exploit their interest in erotica. Every collector wishes that the crazed sluts he reads about were real. Or perhaps she wishes that every man secretly desired to be chained down by a woman. Whatever their particular fetish, if we can figure it out and exploit it, we can often drive down the price of the book.”

“How do we do that?” Claire asked. “As you said, we are not prostitutes. We can’t be expected to fuck every collector who has a book to sell.”

“Of course not,” Mr. Dillon said. “However, the very unreality of erotica means that most collectors are helpless when they actually encounter a person who seems to have stepped out of an erotic book. A seller who refuses to budge a cent on his price becomes far more willing to lower it if he is talking face to face with a Catholic student who really does like to be spanked. Seduction is the art of getting what you want by exploiting your target’s sexual preferences. For example, you paid a lot more attention to me when I touched your lips just now.”

Claire blushed.

“In one week,” Mr. Dillon continued, “we will visit a bookseller I know by the name of Theodore Sweitz. He claims to have a pristine copy of O.M. Murphy’s classic, ‘The Reluctant Actress.’ The copies the Collette-Ashbee collection possesses are in very poor condition. If his copy is as perfect as he says it is, he can command his own price. Our job as librarians is to use whatever powers we have to stretch the budget of our employers. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mr. Dillon,” Claire said.

“And now we come to your test,” Mr. Dillon said. “I gave you a book to study. You have had two weeks. I want you to pretend that I am a stodgy seller of books who loves begging, simpering nymphomaniacs. You are to talk and act like the character Sandy. You may start now.”

“But Mr. Dillon,” Claire began, “there is no way I could act like that sniveling idiot. That was a character written by some misanthrope who thinks women are cock-hungry sluts.”

Mr. Dillon looked unimpressed. “You certainly have the pointless whining down, but it is a poor imitation. Take off your panties.”

Claire looked around. The street was crowded with impatient people rushing to their destinations. She and Mr. Dillon were already getting in people’s way. It was an impossible place to fulfill his request. Claire knew that was the point.

“Right here, Mr. Dillon?” she asked.

He frowned. That was his only answer.

Claire took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and started hiking up her skirt. One hand snaked under her skirt and tugged at her panties. Her other hand kept her skirt pulled down so she wouldn’t flash the entire city. Taking off one’s panties with one hand is hard enough, but trying to do it quickly and discreetly only made it harder. She could feel the heat rushing to her face as she pulled her panties down past her stocking-covered legs. Claire nearly fell over when she tried to pull her foot out of her panties, and of course, Mr. Dillon was no help whatsoever.

As she stood back up, she could feel her face. “Here they are,” she said.

He took them. “Good. You have until we reach the street corner to beg me like Sandy would.

Mr. Dillon started to walk briskly down the street. Claire chased after him. She was aware of the looks on people’s faces. Most were confused, but far too many of them smirked at her display.

“Wait, Mr. Dillon,” she said. “I can do this, just give me a moment.”

He kept walking. “I doubt you have more than a minute before we reach the corner.”

The corner was awfully close. She stepped closer to him and almost whispered her response so as to not attract any more attention. “Oh, please, Mr. Dillon, please fuck me. I would love to have your big old cock inside of me again.”

“Pathetic,” Mr. Dillon said. “Sandy never spoke softly. She was too horny to be discreet. Here we are at the corner. Undo five of the buttons on your shirt. And hurry before the light changes.”

Claire looked down, “Five? That will go below my bustline.”

“Aren’t you the clever fashion expert?” Mr. Dillon said. “Perhaps you should be a dressmaker instead of a librarian.”

She said nothing. A group of people was waiting for the light to change. The last thing she wanted to do was argue this in front of them. Maybe if she did it quickly enough, no one would notice.

Claire reached up and undid the first button and then the second. A man standing beside her started staring when she got to the third. So much for discretion. The man licked his lips when she opened the fourth and the electric blue bra was revealed. When she undid the fifth, she thought she heard him moan.

The walk signal flashed, and Claire breathed a sigh of relief. The relief faded as she walked across the street. Drivers turned their heads as her open blouse flashed her electric blue bra. As people walked toward her, their eyes snapped to her, searching for some hint of dark breast.

When they reached the other corner, Mr. Dillon spoke again.

“Beg, Ms. Currie,” he said. “Beg as if your brassiere depended on it.”

Mr. Dillon walked away, and once again, she had to chase him. This time, she didn’t lower her voice or try to be discreet. She knew his threat was serious, and there were still several long blocks back to the hotel.

“Please!” she cried. “Please let me suck your cock.”

A pedestrian whipped his head around at her plea.

“More creativity, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said.

“Oh, Mr. Dillon,” she said, “I would lick you like you were ice cream until your cock sent all of your syrup down my throat.”

A passing woman pointed at Claire. “Have more pride in yourself, woman! No man is worth it!’

Claire ignored her. They were almost to the street corner, and Mr. Dillon walked awfully quickly. “Mr. Dillon, please let me lick your balls, rub your cock all over my face and jack you off until you come. I want you to use me like the slut that I am. Please let me suck your cock. I would do anything!”

“You can suck mine!” a young man said.

“Fuck off,” Claire snapped. She clapped her hand over her mouth. Claire couldn’t believe she had spoken that way.

“Almost,” Mr. Dillon said. They were at the corner now. “I want your bra in my hand before the light changes.”

Claire was sure that there were more people on this corner than there should have been. Maybe Claire’s vocal theater had attracted the crowd. She knew there was no getting around Mr. Dillon’s request, though. She would just have to do it very quickly.

There is an art to removing a bra without taking off your shirt. There was no art now. Claire reached into her open blouse and slid down one strap. With the blouse already half-open, it was easy to pull her arm out.

The only issue was that there were now six guys and two women looking right at her. All eight whistled in appreciation. Claire quickly worked her other arm out as the group watched. When she slid the cups under her breasts, the people watching stared at the wonder of her heavy breasts. She quickly reached behind her to unclasp the bra, not realizing that this arching of her back would force her breasts out of the already mostly open blouse. There was appreciative applause until she pulled her shirt back over herself. The crowd groaned in disappointment.

When the light changed, Claire kept her hands on her shirt as she crossed the street. She tried to keep it shut, but her large breasts were straining against the material of her silky blouse. If anything, keeping her shirt tightly shut was just emphasizing her breasts more.

“Keep your hands behind your back,” Mr. Dillon said once they had crossed the street.

Claire did as he commanded. She tried not to look down at her open shirt although she could feel the wind on her breasts. The only problem with looking straight ahead was that she kept seeing how people were staring.

“One more block to go,” Mr. Dillon said. “Impress me, Ms. Currie.”

Claire didn’t even want to know what new humiliation would result from a bad performance. She tried to think back to that insipid book. Sandy talked endlessly about her pussy. Claire tried to get over her distaste for the character and just give Mr. Dillon what he wanted.

“Please, Mr. Dillon,” she said loudly and clearly. “My little pussy is so empty right now. I want you to fill it with that big hot cock you have. I want you to stick it right in me till I come all over it. Fuck me from behind, fuck me with you on top, or fuck me any way you want, just fuck my biff until you shoot all inside me.”

“Very good,” Mr. Dillon said. “Unfortunately, ‘biff’ is a British term, and Sandy was a rather poorly traveled American. That was not an acceptable performance.”

Before Claire could argue, a man tapped her on the shoulder.

“Your shirt is open,” he said.

“Yes, I know,” Claire responded. “I’m a librarian.”

The man was too confused to respond. Or maybe he was too dazzled by her large tits.

Claire was about to try again with Mr. Dillon when she realized they were at the hotel.

“Damn it,” she said.

“I know. Your skills are truly awful,” Mr. Dillon said. “Open the sides of your skirt up to mid-thigh. Go on; we’re not going inside until you do it.”

Claire bent over, and her heavy breasts fell out of her shirt. She ignored them, but it was hard to ignore the whistles and shocked cries of people passing by. Claire reached for the bottom of her skirt and popped the buttons as quickly as she could. Button by button, she revealed more of her slender legs. When she reached her thighs, she tried to stop, but Mr. Dillon insisted that she keep opening buttons until the skirt was open to a mere three inches below her waist. Now anyone could see the tops of her stockings, which made her look even more undressed.

“Am I going into the hotel like this?” Claire asked.

“Of course, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “Maybe if you appear to be a nymphomaniac slut, you’ll do a better job of sounding like one.”

Claire nodded. They walked towards the hotel entrance. She felt the wind whipping through her skirt and over her bare sex. The doorman greeted Mr. Dillon with a smile; he greeted Claire with an open mouth of surprise.

They walked into the hotel, and Mr. Dillon’s brisk pace slowed to a bored stroll. Claire could feel the eyes of everyone in the lobby. They could see her bare legs with every step she took. They could see into her blouse as she jiggled toward the elevator. Claire could see the questions in their eyes, as well as their lust and their silent accusations. They thought she was a slut at best, a whore at worst.

“May I help you?” a hotel manager offered. He said it with the air of disapproving authority, but Claire could see the desire in his eyes when he looked at her chest.

“No, thank you,” Mr. Dillon said. “We’re just heading to our room. Carry on.”

“Uh, OK,” the manager said. He kept staring as they walked past. Claire realized that Mr. Dillon was right; people do lose their minds when confronted with a living fantasy.

They entered the elevator, and Claire was relieved to see that it was empty.

“One more try, Ms. Currie,” Mr. Dillon said. “You have seven floors to succeed.”

The elevator started to rise. Claire’s heart raced with excitement. Back in the hotel room, they might fuck. Walking around nearly naked had terrified her, but it had also aroused her. She was wet and ready. She was tingling with adrenaline and terror. She seized her own desire and tried again.

“Mr. Dillon, please, oh, please, fuck me silly. I would love nothing more than to throw my ankles over your shoulders as you fuck the hell out of me. I want it bad, Mr. Dillon. Worse than you can even imagine. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. You can penetrate me anywhere you want. Fuck my ass, fuck my mouth or fuck my cunt; just fuck me.”

Mr. Dillon smiled. “Take off all of your clothes and hand them to me.”

Claire groaned. She took off her shirt first. “What did I do wrong?”

“The word ‘penetrate’ is a bit too highbrow for the character of Sandy,” Mr. Dillon said. “The repetition of the words ‘fuck me’ was very lyrical but again, a little too good for Sandy. She is a simple-minded slut. You sound like a very intelligent woman.”

Claire had removed her skirt while Mr. Dillon was talking. she began rolling down her stockings. “Thank you, I think. What do we do now that I am naked?”

The elevator door opened. “You will come to the room, of course,” Mr. Dillon said. “Once we’re inside, I will try to fuck some sluttiness into you.”

He stepped into the hallway. Claire followed, naked and humble. She carried her clothes as they slowly made their way down the hall. No one saw them, but it didn’t matter. Claire was humiliated by her inability to perform as a librarian. The nudity was just a footnote.

Inside their room, Mr. Dillon taught her how to beg.

To be continued,

Shon's Seven Somethings

I despise Memes. I see them as the cellulite of the blogging world. They exist everywhere and quite frankly, we could all stand to lose them. Having said that, Roxy said some nice things about me lately so I will sorta participate just this once.

The Meme is seven facts about the blogger. Isn't that Monday through Sunday for most blogs?

Fact One- When I was a teenager stealing Playboys from my stepfather's stash, Ms September 1977 was my favorite Playmate. Holy shit she was hot. I wanted to marry her. I wanted to fuck her. I wanted to be her best friend. As I grew older I always had a fond place in my heart for her.

Till I hit 25 and realized she looked a lot like my mom.










Fact Two- You know how some actors want to direct? Well as a porn writer, what I really would love to do is write songs. Sigh, I have so many bad songs stashed in my scraps folder. I even wrote a song for my Volleyball story called 'Two Against the Sand'. It's atrocious.



Fact Three- 'Planet Terror' is the first movie my girlfriend and I saw together. It was so over the top, so damn funny and so thrilling that we bonded through shared trauma. She kept her face buried in my shoulder for about 20% of the movie. No one else we know seems to like the movie which is cool. It's our movie.

Fact Four- I have this missing gene that affects how I get along with other sex bloggers. I don't understand why people that post links to other sex articles somehow makes the link poster the kick ass one. To me they are the waiter that brings me the food some awesome chef made. I don't get it.

Fact Five- I know all the songs to 'The Producers'. Actually, that movie subtly changed my life. Stop the world, I want to get on. Okay, it took me a few years after seeing it to change my life but I sure as hell played it a lot during my divorce.

Fact Six- I get so much inspiration out of other people's writing blocks. When I read a blog where someone has quit writing, I feel like I have to write harder so I don't end up like them. I am not sure if my subconscious thinks we're in some sort of a race where the last one still writing wins.

Fact Seven- I like Witches. I have a few that I collect and keep around my desk. I prefer my witches sexy, silly and with really big hats.

Erotica Threat Level: Halloween Orange

It's been a strange October for me. Long time readers may have wondered why I didn't do a month long celebration of Halloween this year. The short anwser is that I have not been in the usual festive mood. The long anwser is that the month of September was so stressful work wise that I promised myself that I wouldn't push myself to do anything in October. I gave myself the month off and it's been kind of nice.

Another reason is that when I do get in a spooky mood, I've worked on my yet-to-be-titled BDSM Werewolf story. The falling temperatures and overcast days have been great for getting into the mood. I've written some really nice Rude Sex scenes and I think you're going to like. You might be reading it in January but you'll like it.

What is interesting to me is that a lot of the blogs I read in all sorts of topics have all communicated a lack of interest in Halloween this year. I am going to go out on a shaky limb and blame the election coming up. For a lot of people, a bad outcome in the election would be more horrible than a zombie plague. I have a lot of anxiety related to this election and my brain can only process so much stupidity in such a short time.

Next week I'll post a three part Librarian story and I might make the schedule Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday with a Halloween post on Friday. I might just round up my favorite horror related books and movies this year. I usually hate top ten lists but this year I have read some really great horror and I want to share.

*Female Ash picture from Dragon*con2008.

Fiction: Party Girl

“Just one more cock,” Shelly thought. She was tired but it was a good kind of tired. Her jaw hurt, her nipples were sore and her pussy was tingling from how many people had been between her thighs tonight. Shelly should be thinking about heading to bed, but damn, she wanted just one more cock. Or pussy. It was that kind of party.

What a party it was! Shelly couldn’t remember a better party than this. Von Madd Laboratories was throwing an orgy for all the success they have had recently. Shelly couldn’t even remember what exactly it was that was so amazing. One thing she did know was that when scientists as a sexual science laboratory party, they do a lot of fucking. Everyone is already in a state of horniness, but throw in a mood of celebration and you have an orgy that would make Romans blush.

Shelly looked around the room. There was a guy she didn’t recognize. He was bald but it worked for him because he was so muscular. She wondered what field he worked in. More importantly, she wondered how he would work her.

To read more, click Whole Post


She pulled herself off the couch. Her shirt and bra were missing, lost long ago when the party started. That was ok; her pert breasts had no complaints tonight. Shelly shook her long blonde hair and let it fall across her chest. She adjusted her thong and went up to him.

“Hey you,” she said. “What are you celebrating tonight?” She handed him a drink she forgot she had.

He took a sip of the drink and smiled. “I just finished a Universal Vibrator! It uses biorhythmic feedback to adjust its vibrations.”

Shelly was feeling tipsy but she was still a genius. “Oh? How on earth did you overcome Morgan’s Theory of Increasing Tightness?”

The man’s eyes lit up. One thing brilliant minds like is another brilliant mind that understand how hard the solved problem was. He took another sip of the drink and moved closer to her.

“I used an adjusted Tess scale that factored in body heat,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if it would work, but it did!”

Shelly nodded. “Of course! Oh man, why haven’t anyone else thought of it? Dr. Von Madd is going to make you a division head with this development! What’s your name? I want to know who’s ass I should start kissing”

He laughed. “My name is Alec, Alec Mier. What’s your name?”

“My name is Shelly,” she said. “Hey, have you tested your Universal vibrator yet?”

“A few times,” Alec said. “Why? You want to come by the lab and try it?”

“I tell you what,” Shelly said. “I’ll give you a blowjob right now if you let me test it later.”

Shelly watched Alec choked on his drink. She said nothing as he looked around. At the bar, an Asian man was vigorously fucking Ms. Rogel from Applied Lubrications. Two women he recognized from Intelligent Restraints were 69-ing on a couch. A gorgeous black Amazon was giving handjobs to two members of Human Resources. Guys were often taken back by Shelly’s directness but they soon realized it was just that kind of a party.

“Sure!” he said.

Shelly dropped to her knees like she had done a thousand times at this party. She tugged his pants down where his hard cock was already waiting for her. Into her lips it went and Shelly moaned. His cock belonged in her mouth.

“Oh god!” he cried. His hand went to her hair. He gently stroked her hair but Shelly knew what he wanted. She reached up and closed his hand around her hair and he tightened his grip. He knotted her long blonde hair in his hand and Shelly could feel his cock grow harder.

She sucked. Her fingers toyed with his balls. Her tongue played with the base of his cock. Her lips experimented with the amount of suction. Shelly knew a hundred different tricks to do with her mouth.

Alec’s knees began to buckle. “Oh God, I need to sit for this.”

Shelly chuckled, which had an interesting effect on Alec with his cock still in her mouth. She placed her hands on his thighs and gently pushed him backwards. He took a step back, and Shelly followed on her knees, still keeping his cock in her mouth.

“Oh god, oh god,” Alec repeated. Shelly looked up at the blissful look on his face and knew he liked it. She followed him on her knees, extending her neck just a bit so it would look more like he was dragging her by his cock.

When they finally reached a chair, Alec collapsed into it. Shelly deep throated him, sucking him all the way down. She reached for his hand and placed it on one of her breasts. Her tender nipples, played with so many times tonight, became so hard under his fingers.

“Damn, your breasts are perfect,” Alec said.

Shelly said nothing but she sucked harder. Her breasts had received a million compliments but it always gave her a slight tingle to hear it.

“You know,” Alex said between moans, “I had always heard about the Party Room but I never guess it was this nice. I mean, a non stop orgy that has lasted for over a year? That just seemed like a myth until I made my breakthrough and got invited. What did you do to get invited?”

Shelly paused in her sucking. She placed his cock on her cheek and thought about it. It didn’t come to her at first. Too many vodka tonics and celebrant scientists had literally fucked her brains out. As she ran her tongue over the tip of his cock, it came back to her.

“Oh yeah, my team finished a prototype for the new Sexual Artificial Intelligence,” Shelly said. “The new version will have better false memories and will believe it’s human.”

“Damn,” Alec said with admiration. “Your team perfected the Happy Sexbot Project? That is a miracle in programming.”

Shelly smiled and squeezed his hand against her breasts. “Funny, I thought how your cock felt in my mouth was a miracle.”

Alec groaned as she took him back in her mouth. She stuck her tongue out and licked his balls while his cock was deep in her throat. His hands squeezed around her breasts and her hair in appreciation. Shelly knew he was close.

“Oh yes, this is a miracle too,” he said. “But think about it, an artificial intelligence that doesn’t know it’s unreal. That would solve the problem of a self aware intelligence mutating into unwanted protocols. It would also be great for those users who prefer the illusion of a human partner. Plus, it would be pretty sweet for the A.I. All it cares about is sex when it gets laid next. I’m almost jealous.”

Shelly sucked harder. Her thighs squirmed as desire filled her. She thought about what Alec said. That would be awesome. Sucking, fucking and flirting forever sounded pretty damn nice.

But in the meantime, there was Alec’s cock. Shelly felt the rush of semen hitting her throat. Alec’s groans were music to her ears. He clenched hard on her breast and the pain filled Shelly with pleasure. She always got off on the other person’s orgasm. It made her feel so complete.

Shelly held on, sucking and licking until his wilted cock slipped out of her mouth. Only when she knew he was completely sated did she rest her head on his thigh. He looked down on her with the adoration that comes from afterglow. Shelly’s afterglow was just as real.

“Oh thank you,” Alec said.

“Thank you,” Shelly said. “And congratulations on your discovery.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Wow, I feel drained and I just got here. Oh well, Maybe I should go ahead and leave. I have a twenty-four hour pass. I could always come back later. Hey, what are your plans?”

Shelly sighed. She had sworn on one more cock but you know; now she was really in the mood for pussy. Or maybe she wanted a woman to fist her. Shelly couldn’t pick just one. It was that kind of a party.

“Oh, I’ll be around,” she said.

Flow To Write

'Tao of Photography' is a beautiful book that encourages photographers to use Tao principles in their photography. It encourages the photographer to escape their preconceptions, their judgments and their own expectations to create art. I am terribly oversimplifying the book but I find explaining Taoist ideas is a lot like explaining your dreams. You know what you were feeling at the time of the dream, but you might never get someone else to feel the same way you did.

I bought the book to help with my photography and the irony is that I take far less pictures now. I like composing pictures for my photography but after reading the book I am far more sensitive to when I am in a creative mind set and I do my best to take advantage of it right there and then. In photography that means grabbing a model, some props and a location. For writing it means I start telling the story right there. As you can see, writing is just easier.

I find it funny how restrictive I can be on myself as an unpaid erotica writer. I have a Librarian story that I plan to post next week but I thought of a new story today and I almost didn't write it because I felt that readers might get bored with the same characters again. I'm writing a long BDSM story and interrupting it for this extra Librarian story seems like a lack of discipline. I have two Halloween stories that would be more appropriate for the month so shouldn't I be working on them instead?

The answer is simple: write the story that is in me now. A year ago I wouldn't have done that. That's crazy but it's how it is.

I never think that stories come from a divine place or some sort of magic muse but I do think that the energy and will to do the work needed to tell those stories might be. Writing can be a pain sometimes but when it is not, when it is bubbling and flowing like sex then it feels like magic. I feel like Harry Potter wielding the One True Ring while getting a blowjob from Lara Croft. When you get that feeling, it's crazy not to write whatever is pushing that feeling through you.

Being more creatively spontaneous goes against everything I do actually. I like schedules. I love making lists. I play resource management computer games for fun. Hell, I like making big long stories and their outlines. I still plan to do that. The change comes from knowing when to stop and seize a creative moment when it happens without talking myself out of it.

Commission: Claire Currie by Alex Dai

The Collette-Ashbee Collection places many demands on Claire Currie. Here Claire is developing her upper body strength by carrying stacks of priceless erotica while her panties have been pulled down to her knees. Why is her shirt open? Because Mr. Dillon likes it open.

Claire was drawn by the always awesome Alex Dai.

Certainty

I love writing short stories but the really awesome thing about writing a lengthy story is that every morning I know the anwser to that horrible question- what am I writing today? There is none of that fingernail biting where I beg my brain to come up with something brilliant and new right now.

Today I am writing about more rude sex with strangers. There might be a scene where a man eats while getting a blowjob. It depends on how I feel at lunch.

Rough Stuff

The current long story I am writing has a lot of rough sex. I laugh as I type that because I shy away from cutting, asphyxiation and punching, which means that my version of rough sex would seem like Sandra Bullock movie to someone like Tess. I write scenes of fucking that lightly touches on ideas of humiliation and coercion but really, how rough can it be when it's all consensual?

It's got me thinking that I need a new term. Maybe I should call it Rude Sex. The guy shoots his load in an inconvenient place and says unflattering things. The women don't mind having ripped clothes and use four letter words. Slut, bitch and whore are terms of affection. It's the kind of sex that gives boys the wrong idea about women but gives some women delicious warm feelings inside. It's the kind of sex that gets you uninvited to blogger parties.

Man, I got turned on just typing that. I need to get back to writing some more rude sex.

Commission: Choice by Dualmask

This is the Choice, my favorite character from City of Heroes. She's drawn by Dualmask who has many talents but fight scenes and great looking black women are what caught my eye. He graciously drew this for me before putting his commissions on hiatus to pursue his own projects. Here Choice is fighting local crime at the start of her career when she wore spandex. Not the best option for clothing when fighting thugs. There is something ironic to me that Choice is experiencing a Janet Jackson wardrobe malfunction.

Obligatory character biography information-

Jalle Brown came from a poor neighborhood and from a terrible family. She watched her older siblings fall into the traps that a bad neighborhood offered, from going into crime to getting knocked up and married. Jalle decided that she was going to be the only one to decide her own fate.

Meanwhile, in the Spring of 2002, so many choices were being taken away from people. The freedom for gays to marry, the freedom to control your own body and the freedom to vote was all under attack by a corrupt government and a shell shocked population. Jalle realized that the entire country that she loved was being denied the ability to choose their destinies.

So after training in the Martial Arts and attaining complete mastery of her body, she donned a mask and put on some spandex. She fought crime and championed human rights as the Choice.

Now let me tell you something, playing a black female civil rights superhero in an online game was an eye opener. Racial discrimination from other players was a strange thing to run into in a game where we fight Nazis. Even though I was playing one of the most powerful classes, a lot of male players resented having a female doing the bulk of the heavy lifting. People were also offended by even the name of Choice, often asking me if I was some sort of abortion champion.

What I found interesting was that I listed my character's history in her bio but I never talked in game about her beliefs. 99% of the time I was just kicking bad guys, and the other 1% I was helping newbies out, but I would get these angry messages from assholes that were offended that the character existed. That only encouraged me to keep playing her.

The flipside was that I also received messages from players who were inspired by her. I got a lot of compliments from black players who were happy to see a black hero that was not a disco throwback with a giant afro. I think it was important for them to see a black hero someone was taking seriously. That has informed my writing on a lot of levels.

Thankfully after the 2004 elections the racism and sexism died down. I kept playing City of Heroes till my divorce and I loved every minute of it. Choice is one of my favorite characters that I have ever made and perhaps one of the ones that I am most proud of.

Fiction: Master of Spanking Part Six

Michael looked at the cave of the Great Dragon. It seemed kind of small.

"I'm just saying, that for a Great Dragon, he has a cave that looks smaller than my Geo back home."

Lo nodded. "The Master of Spanking is very perceptive."

Michael waited for more but nothing came. "That's your polite way of saying 'so what', isn't it?"

Lo gave him a very slight nod.

"Well Lo," Michael began, "if I don't come out alive-"

"The Master of Spanking has nothing to fear," Lo interrupted him. "When I first met you, you were nothing more than a lowly delivery boy. You defeated the Eight Sisters with only a few cuts that have mostly healed. Mei Rou herself vouches for you, what more can we ask?"

"Thanks Lo, that means a lot coming from you," Michael said.

"I mean, who cares if you were never trained in the Hundred Hand Slap? What does it matter if you have not plunged your hands into burning sand every day since you were an infant? Why, I bet it won't even come up that you couldn't name the sixteen pressure points that makes an ass clench! You'll be fine."

"Ok, you can stop making me feel good now," Michael said. "Let's do this."

Oh, one last thing, Master," Lo said. "Mei Rou asked me to tell you something. She said that the fire in her bottom is almost cool, and she humbly requests that you return to her to reignite it."

Michael smiled. "God, I love older women."

Michael went into the cave. The sunlight lit the cave until Michael was twenty feet in. Darkness engulfed him and when he turned around, he couldn't even see the way out.

"Who comes to feed me another skull?" a voice called out. The voice was loud but oddly feminine. It reminded Michael of phone sex commercials.

"Me, Michael Yan!" he responded.

"Are you another fool that others call Master?" the voice asked. "I already shitted one of you fools already."

Michael could feel a hot breath on his neck. It was like standing in front of a furnace.

"I have it damn good authority that I am the real Master actually," Michael said.

A light appeared behind Michael. When he turned around, he saw a giant woman, twenty feet tall. Everything about her was massive. Her breasts were the size of oil barrels. Her hips were as wide as minivan. Her ugly face was as big as the moon.

"Do you think you can walk in here and spank me, little man?" the woman roared.

Michael didn't anwser at first. Instead he listened to his soul. His heart was loud, but not scared. His mouth watered at the thought of such a big ass. His hands itched to move.

He laughed. "Great Dragon, your ass is mine!"

He jumped behind the woman. Swinging his entire arm, he struck her buttocks with a mighty WHAP!

The giant woman screamed and shrank down ten feet. A red stripe appeared on her ass.

"Little man, I am not some bitch that can be spanked into submission!" the Great Dragon roared.

Michael shook his head. "That's not what I think."

He jumped up and grabbed her by the ear. The giant bent over with his hand. Michael grimaced as the Great Dragon roared in pain. Michael knew that hurt because it was the same thing Grandmother Yan would do when she spanked him as a child.

"Bad dragon!" Michael scolded. His hand smacked her ass with outraged fury. This wasn't the kind of spanking Michael gave Mei Rou, this was the spanking you gave a naughty child: harder and faster with the sacred justice that comes from being a fed up parent. He didn't spank as much as he whupped.

The Great Dragon screamed in pain. The Giant changed shape but Michael held onto her ear. Now she was human size and shaped like a porn star in all the right places.

"Let me go and I'll fuck you crazy," the Great Dragon said.

Michael kept spanking.

The Great Dragon changed shape again. Now she was the ugliest woman Michael had ever seen. Hair grew from her ass, moles decorated her skin.

Michael kept spanking.

The Great Dragon changed shape again. Now she was a man, with a hard cock bouncing between his legs.

Michael kept spanking. "An ass is an ass," he said.

The Great Dragon changed shape again. Now she was in the shape of Grandma Yan, yelling and cursing just like she would.

Michael kept spanking. "That's just sick," he said.

The Great Dragon changed shape again. Now she was huge. Covered in scales and sporting a great horned head, her body snaked and coiled like a serpent for miles.

"After I eat you, I am going to eat that thrice damned monastery and all that live within it! Their skulls will be shitted all over the world!" The Great Dragon's breath was like a butcher's shop.

Michael paused. Somehow, he still had the Great Dragon by the ear, and somehow his hand was still inches from her ass, but now he saw the Great Dragon in it's true glory. It was immense. It was like a mountain that hated. How dared he think he could defeat something so magnificent.

He thought of Mei Rou and her perfect ass. Michael knew he needed to be worthy. He didn't want to save the world in that moment as much as he wanted to save one particular ass.

Michael spanked the Great Dragon even harder. The Great Dragon grew smaller and smaller. He spanked until the Great Dragon was smaller than a gecko, and then Michael let him go. The Great Dragon ran into a corner and whimpered. It would be another fifty years before it grew brave enough to be a threat again.

Michael knew then the secret of the Master of Spanking. It wasn't about knowing special moves, or receiving special training. It was about loving the asses of the world more than any fear of death.

The Master of Spanking walked out of the cave. He didn't slow down when Lo dropped to his knees and sang the Master's praises. The Master could care less. He knew that his concubine was waiting for him and that her bottom needed him

Better Sex <> Better Writing

In my marriage I was not what you could call remotely sexually happy. My ex-wife and I had incompatibility issues that arose shortly after we got married. This is what happens when you marry at 19. I started writing mostly as a way to express myself sexually in a guilt free environment. I wrote my dreams, my fantasies and most importantly, I wrote about sex the way I wanted it to be, not the way it was.

What started as self therapy became a hobby I really enjoyed. Sex as a topic is rarely handled well in fiction. A majority of erotica stories that are written feel incredibly shallow to me, while the other end of the spectrum are stories that have sex but the real focus is some sort of disgust with the sex. I think sex can be fun, intelligent and arousing, and I love writing it that way.

A few years into our marriage, my ex-wife suggested we try polyamory and get our own partners. I suspect she suggested it because she was bisexual, although some days I suspect she suggested it because it took the pressure off of her to have sex with me. Regardless of the motives, it put me in perpetual dating head space for a good ten years. I was already writing and my fan mail was giving me a swollen head to go with my swollen member. My stories advertised me as a sexual person in a way, and I met lovers through my stories.

That in itself is not a healthy way to go. Since writing is something that intrigues me, I often write about things that interest me at the moment, not things that I am interested in all the time. I often met submissives who wanted the absolute strength my dom characters had instead of the rather overly sensitive hard on myself man that I am. It was like I was always answering someone else personal ad.

It also exerted a pressure on my stories that I was not aware of till lately. I edited myself because whether I was looking for lovers or not, I knew my stories reflected me. I over explained myself in my stories. I avoided topics like male submissives because I know writers have their sexual identities branded through their stories. If I was to ever met that dream submissive, it wasn't going to be because I wrote about the perfect female dominatrix.

I could write a ton about what it is like to be in a poly situation where your primary relationship is in trouble, but that is something I don't even like thinking about much less writing. Let me just point out that it made me feel like I was single during my marriage in that I didn't have any one person who accepted me sexually the way I am. I would meet submissives who accepted me, which could be empowering but when my ex-wife would inevitably hate their guts, I would break up with them. It would strip me of any comfort I derived as well as really wrecking my self esteem.

On a more visceral level, being sexually frustrated meant I wrote a lot of stories just to have some sort of release. I didn't write as much as I transferred. I think I wrote a lot of great stories that way but it is impossible to write objectively in that kind of frame of mind.

So here I am now, divorced and living with a wonderful woman who loves me completely. My ex-wife would sometimes say that if I ever were sexually happy, I would stop writing. I used to agree with her. Now I know better. Being with a woman who accepts and loves me hasn't stopped my writing but it has certainly changed it.

For one thing, I feel like I have permission to do stories without fear of how a potential girlfriend will interpret it. The Victoria storyline in my Volleyball story was a female dominant story which is something I would never dream of attempting. Writing about a submissive male doesn't make me submissive, but man, when you're in that uncertain dating world, you don't take chances.

The other thing I have noticed about my writing is my willingness to go out on a limb. I always want my readers to be entertained, and I never take them for granted, but I don't have the added pressure of trying to attract anyone. I can write Master of Spanking (which concludes tomorrow!) and not worry about if I am coming across as too unserious.

I go back through some of my older stories and I wonder if I have lost some of the desperate passion that permeated my work but you know, I just don't care. Last night I wrote the first chapter to my BDSM Werewolf story and if I do say so myself, that shit was hot. Getting laid certainly hasn't affected my judgment on what makes for a hot scene.

I think having a better sex life doesn't make for better writing, but I do know it makes for a lot happier writer. I hope in the coming years that my well laid ass can still entertain and hold your attention.

Master of Spanking Part Five

Michael Yan's ass hurt. He thought it was appropriate. The Monastery of the Master of Spanking apparently only had the hardest stools in the world for their guests to sit on. Michael suspected there was a deep meaning there but he was too much of an American to know what it was.

He sat there along with ten other Chinese men who happened to share his same birthday. Lo had gone inside some grand hall to discuss his merits with the other monks. From what Lo said, the monks were debating whether or not to even test Michael because he was born in America. From what Michael understood, reincarnation was old fashioned when it come to traveling.

Michael had tried to engage the other candidates in conversation but none of them spoke English. That didn't stop the others from talking to each other. Michael closed his eyes and let their incomprehensible speech lull him into a trance.

It was quite peaceful actually. The chatter had it's own rhythm and Michael began to imagine a form of spanking that would be based on speech patterns. He had thoughts like these all the time but for once, he suppressed his sense of shame long enough to explore the idea in his mind.

The chatter stopped. Curious, Michael opened his eyes to see why they had stopped. Standing before him was the most beautiful he had ever seen. She was older than him, at least forty years old but in her eyes he saw something he had never seen before. It was understanding.

"You," the beautiful woman said in terrible English but with a wonderful voice. "Come with me."

"Um, sorry," Michael said. "I am supposed to wait here for the monks."

The woman smirked. "And do you always do what old men tell you to do?"

Michael thought of his father whom he always seemed to infuriate. "No," Michael said. He stood up and followed her.

When the beautiful woman turned around, Michael looked down at her bottom. Although she was heavily wrapped in robes, Michael could see the shape of her ass underneath. It was the most beautiful ass outline he had ever seen. A tear came to his eye.

They walked down halls and through doors.

"What is your name?" Michael asked.

"Mei Rou" she said.

She led him into a bedroom.

"Umm, my name is Michael," he said.

"I know your true name," she said. "You were thinking about spanking. I saw the look on your face. My beloved had the same look many many times."

"Who was your beloved?" Michael asked. He found a strange sense of anger within him towards this asshole that Mei called beloved.

Mei Rou smiled. "He was you, in another life."

She unfastened the belt to her robe. It fell around her ankles. She was nude underneath her robe. Mei Rou turned her back to him and showed Michael her ass. It was just as beautiful as he had imagined.

"I have to tell you," he said. "They don't know if I am really the Master. They still haven't decided."

Mei Rou shook her head and moved to the bed. She bent over in a graceful motion like a Queen. Her ass was higher than her head. She looked over her shoulder towards him and smiled.

"And how will they know?" she asked. "Tests? I was the favorite concubine of the Master. When he died, I served Shi Da. He was a good man, but no Master. I am the only test you need."

Michael swallowed hard. Desire was filling his mind but what made him hesitate was just how beautiful Mei Rou's ass was. He was afraid. He wanted to be the Master of Spanking just to be worthy of spanking that ass.

"Strike me," Mei Rou said. "I have waited twenty-five years to feel the hand of the Master again. Spank me, your most faithful lover."

Michael closed his eyes. He let go of his fear. When he opened his eyes again, the sight of the most perfect ass in the world greeted him.

He started by touching her ass gently. He ran his fingers over her smooth skin. He cupped the curves of her bottom with his hand. His hand squeezed a little and he felt her ass clench in response.

His heart pounded so hard he could hear it. It was a mighty drum calling him to action. It was a rhythm that begged for an answer.

The first spank was so light that only a trained concubine like Mei Rou could even feel it. She groaned in pleasure. The light taps peppered her bottom, striking her like gentle raindrops on her perfect skin.

Michael increased the force. Using both hands, he smacked her bottom like a drum. He didn't think, he just let his hands do what they pleased. Sometimes only the tip of his fingers struck her bottom while other times he hit her ass with the full length of his hand. In minutes her entire ass was turning red.

"Oh thank you," Mei Rou moaned and Michael smiled. He hadn't even started.

The spanking went faster. Michael didn't allow himself to think as his hands went faster and faster. He smacked her ass in time with the rapid beating of his heart. He delivered painful blows to her round bottom that made him wince. He struck so fast that if it wasn't for the constant roar of skin hitting skin, he wouldn't be sure his hands had touched her.

Michael spanked and spanked and spanked. The sounds of her ass being struck joined in chorus with his the pumping of his heart. The sounds of Mei Rou's moans accompanied the beats like a melody. The whistling of the air as he swung his hands joined in harmony. He began to chant his praise for Mei Rou's bottom, giving lyrics to the music they made together.

After a time, the spanking stopped. He slowed down to the gentle patter that he started with. With one final touch of his finger on her tender ass, he ended the song with Mei Rou's shuddering gasp.

He stepped back and she collapsed on the bed. Mei Rou rolled over and screamed as her spanked ass touched the silk sheets of the bed. She opened her legs and held her ankles.

"Master, fuck me," she said.

He did. When he slid into her, he felt something strange in his chest. It wasn't till he started to thrust that he knew what that feeling was. The missing piece of his heart was no longer missing.

Fiction: Master of Spanking Part Four

China was a lot rockier than Michael expected.

Not that Micheal had seen much of China. Lo had some sort of pull with the government that allowed Michael to not even go through customs. They had jumped off their international plane and right into a small chartered plane. The only thing that made that tight cramped space bearable was that the Eight Sisters were crammed in the plane with him. Their soft flesh pressed constantly against him and their eyes were filled with worship. Michael could get used to that.

Once they touched ground again, Lo instructed the sisters to take Micheal's luggage to the monastery. Lo had asked Michael to come with him down a long rocky path.

"You said the monastery was filled with wealth and luxury, right?" Michael asked.

"Oh yes," Lo said. "The Master of Spanking never wants for anything except for new asses to spank. And even then, there is never a shortage of women who desire his hard hand."

"Well, why aren't we going there?" Michael said.

"Because I have not been entirely honest with you as to why we need you here," Lo said.

"I knew it," Michael said. "I knew it was too good to be true. I mean, a paradise for a reincarnated guy who loves to spank people? That's just silly."

Lo sighed and kept walking. "The monastery is a paradise, but I have yet to tell you the story of why the Master of Spanking has such wonderful wealth."

"Long ago," Lo began, "the Great Dragon plagued the land."

"A dragon?" Michael said. "For real? Big, scaly and breathes fire?"

Lo shook his head. "No, Western dragons are vulgar and crude. Chinese dragons are magnificent terrible forces of nature. You can not describe them, for they just are. Now let an old man tell you a story on a hot day."

"The Great Dragon terrorized China. It destroyed dreams, it crushed hope and it devoured the will of the people. Of course, the great heroes tried to stop the dragon.

The Master of Farming took his mighty hoe and tried to cultivate the Great Dragon. His hoe was broken and his skull was shitted out into the land.

The Master of Swords took his greatest sword and tried to stab the Great Dragon. His sword was broken and his skull was shitted onto the land.

The Master of Poetry took his greatest pen and tried to soothe the Great Dragon. His pen was broken-"

"And his skull was shitted onto the land," Michael finished. "I get the point."

"Well, there were a lot of Masters back then," Lo admitted, "so maybe it's best we move on. Sixty-six Masters died until the Master of Spanking was left. He took not a paddle but only his bare hands. He walked into the Great Dragon's cave and then he emerged. The Great Dragon was defeated."

"Wait a minute," Michael said. "He won? How did he do it? And what is that awful smell?"

Lo ignored the last question and kept walking. "No one knows what the Master of Spanking did. He told no one but it was clear the Great Dragon preyed on the people no more. The locals showered great wealth upon him, until one day, fifty years later, the people could feel the ground tremble around the Great Dragon's cave."

"Oh, the dragon was still alive?" Michael said.

"Yes," Lo said. "And the Master went back in, and came back out. He said that it would be another fifty years before the Great Dragon would trouble the land again. He never told anyone what he did, but when he passed away, he was reborn, and he battled the Great Dragon once more. On and on this has continued, until this very day."

"That smell is getting unbearable," Michael said. "Is that normal around here?"

"Four months ago, Shi Da, the latest Master of Spanking, went into the cave of the Great Dragon. He went in four months early, for the Master of Spanking always felt it was best to do these things ahead of the appointed time."

"Wait, there's already a Master?" Michael said.

Lo shook his head. He stopped walking and pointed at what looked like a boulder to Michael. The wind shifted and Michael realized it was really a giant ball of shit.

"What the fuck is that?" Michael said.

"That fell from the sky," Lo said. "And in it, we found Shi Da's skull. That was when we knew that he was not the real Master of Spanking."

"Shit," Michael said.

"Yes, and now we need the real Master of Spanking. All around the world, those who survived our tests will meet and one of them will prove to be the Master of Spanking. The one true Master will walk into the cave and do whatever it is that the Master of Spanking does to the Great Dragon. And the Master will enjoy a lifetime of Spanking here at the monastery."

"Shit," Michael repeated. He was trying to guess the size of the dragon that could shit that big of a mess.

What Michael and Lo could not know was that it would not be the wise monks who choose the Master this time.

Fiction: Master of Spanking Part Three

This was the craziest delivery ever.

"Michael Yan, please come inside," the bald Chinese man had told him. "Put the food down on the table."

The fact that the guy knew his name was weird, but the fact that the dining room table was covered in leather and wooden paddles was just plain freaky.

"Hell no," Michael said. "We just deliver food man, we're not an escort service."

The bald man smirked. "Put the food down, Michael Yan. Whether you want to pick up a paddle is up to you."

Michael set the order of fried rice with complimentary egg rolls down on the table. He had never seen this many paddles in person before. Oh, he had read about them online or seen them in porn movies, but never had he been this close to them. His hands itched. It took all of his willpower not to pick one up.

"You may call me Lo," the Bald Man said. "I have spent the last four months searching for people like you, Michael. Excuse me, where are my manners? I need to introduce you to the Eight Sisters."

Lo clapped his hands. A door opened from the kitchen and eight beautiful Chinese women walked out. The first thing Michael noticed was that all of the women were nude from the waist down. They wore modest shirts and nothing else. Their smooth pussies flashed him but what made him swallow was the thought of the bare asses that were just out of his sight.

It took him a minute to realize they were also wielding long knives in each hand.were holding long knives.

"Uh, they are all sisters?," Michael said.

"Correct," Lo said. "They were trained to protect the Master's Concubines in addition to being excellent concubines themselves. Each one is a mistress of weaponry, capable of killing twenty times their own number."

"Michael Yan," Lo continued. "You were born on Oct 15th, 1983, during the 18th hour. Is this not true?"

"What?" Michael said. He was mesmerized by the beautiful women. One of the girls winked at him. "Yeah, the day's right. I'm not sure about the hour. Is this some sort of astrology thing?"

"In one minute," Lo explained, "these highly trained concubines will attack you and try to kill you. However, if you smack their bottom, they will drop their knives and fall to their knees. That is the only hope you have of stopping them before they extinguish the light of your life."

Michael shook his head. "I'm sorry, did you say these chicks are going to kill me?" He noticed that the girl who winked at him was now blowing him a kiss.

"I am sorry," Lo said. "I would rather use more peaceful tests but the world is depending on us finding the Reborn Master of Spanking as soon as possible. Rest assure that if you are not the Master, your death will be swift and with little to some pain. I personally will pray for your soul's rebirth."

The eight sisters approached. The dining room was extremely small with no room to defend himself. Without thinking, Micheal's hand shot down and picked up a long wooden paddle.

"This is insane!" Michael yelled.

A knife darted towards him. Michael blocked the knife with the paddle while his other hand darted like a snake towards the woman's face. He slapped her across the face and when she spun from the force of the blow, his other hand reacted. The paddle slashed down and spanked the woman perfectly across both her buttocks.

Her eyes grew wide and then a smile lit her face. Her knees hit the floor a split second after the knives did. She placed her head on the ground before him, lifting her ass in submission.

"What? How did I-?" Michael tried to say but the other seven women lunged at him.

One knife cut his arm. Another slashed his shirt open. A third knife cut him on the cheek. All around him was flashing steel and the screams of deadly women. The cuts hurt and the sight of his own blood was unreal. It was like a nightmare, overwhelming and terrifying. Michael knew he was about to die.

Lucky for Michael, his soul knew better. When the terror shut down Micheal's thinking mind, his soul took command of his body.

Michael grabbed another paddle. Using his left paddle, he blocked the sharp knives. With the right paddle, he feinted and weaved. Wooden paddles blocked metal weapons with speed and precision. He stood his ground and his paddles formed a perfect whirlwind shield.

Michael felt the fear slip away. He didn't understand how, but the less he thought about it, the better his arms defended himself. The beautiful women tried and tried but they could not hurt him.

He felt something else replace the fear. All these bare asses were in front of him and here he was with two paddles. He wanted to satisfy that craving that lurked within him. Considering that these girls were trying to kill him, it didn't seem so bad to spank them.

WHAP! His arm snaked around and hit an ass from behind.

WHAP! He tripped a woman and then spanked her ass while she fell.

WHAP-WHAP! He struck two asses at once with twin underhand swings.

WHAP! He threw his paddle at a wall and it bounced back and hit a woman's ass from behind.

He was surrounded by kneeling women. There was one sister left. It was the one who had winked at him. The one who had distracted and taunted him.The last woman looked at him and dropped her knives. She bowed deep, speaking in Chinese and Michael couldn't quite understand her. He thought he heard the word 'surrender.'

He didn't care. He grabbed her by the hair and bent her over the table. She squealed and even someone as inexperienced as Michael could tell it was a squeal of delight. She braced herself and lifted her ass towards him.

Michael spanked her bottom. He spanked her without anger or malice, but he spanked her with passion that comes from denying yourself for too long. His hand hit faster and faster, harder and harder on her petite ass.

He only stopped when he saw the tears running down her porcelain cheeks. He backed away, shocked at what he had done. Her ass was as red as cherries. He had been brutal and he had enjoyed every second of it. It was true, he was a pervert.

He almost dropped the paddles but they stayed in his hands. They belonged there.

Michael turned to Lo who was on his knees. The bald man was crying too.

"Thank the Heavens! We have finally found the Master of Spanking!"

Michael turned to the woman he had spanked. He was going to apologize but before he could, she was on the ground kissing his feet.

"Thank you, thank you," she chanted over and over again.

The other sisters crawled towards him. "Me, next!" they all cried.

Michael realized the only person who thought he was a pervert was himself. The next thing he realized was that he was surrounded by women begging to be spanked. This was the happiest moment of his life.

He had no idea that this might be his last week on earth.

Fiction: Master of Spanking Part Two

"You have a hole in your heart."

Micheal's Grandma always had a way with words. She said that to him last year when she came over to the States to visit. He didn't ask her to explain herself. He knew it was true. He was a twenty-five year old second generation Chinese-American in Atlanta, Georgia. It's bad enough being a minority in America, but Georgia? That just plain sucked. Still, it wasn't why Michael was depressed.

It wasn't because he lived with and worked for his parents. It wasn't because his job was delivering pseudo Chinese food to rednecks. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was failing college. All of those things were trivial.

Michael Yan was depressed because he was a pervert. All he ever wanted to do was spank asses. Round asses, flat asses, white asses, black asses, or Chinese asses it didn't matter. As long as they were girl asses, he wanted to spank them.

At the age of seven, Michael has his first erection in first grade. Susan Bradshaw had acted up in class and their teacher, Mrs. CampBell had bent Susan over and spanked her bottom. Poor Michael had felt his pants grow tight along with a sense of loss that he could never figure out. For some reason, he felt like it should have been him spanking Susan's ass.

When he was sixteen, he got to second base with his neighbor, Carrie Cho. Holy shit, she had giant breasts she inherited from her American mother but Michael could care less. He sucked on her nipples because it was the only time she didn't mind him grabbing her ass.

Michael was foolish enough to strike her bottom. He meant to do a gentle tap but instead some strange force seized his hand and he smacked the bejesus out of Carrie's bottom. She screamed.

He apologized as much as he could but Carrie was furious. When she slapped him across the face, Michael couldn't help notice how poorly the slap was done. Her wrists were limp and her arm was crooked.

She broke up with him, the first in a long line of girlfriends who were disappointed in him. Michael loved women but he loved spanking them even more. Some girls were happy to be spanked a little for foreplay, but to Michael it was the only play. Groping, blowjobs and even penetration was just teasing. Spanking is what Michael craved.

The feel of a hot ass.

The sound of hand meeting bottom.

The sight of an ass clenching right before the strike.

Atlanta had a kinky scene but Michael couldn't even let himself think about it. What would his parents think of they knew he went to one of those clubs? For that matter, Michael couldn't imagine himself going to one of those places. He hoped that maybe if he ignored his special cravings, maybe they would just go away. He loves spanking but the feeling of being an outcast ruined the joy he could find.

Michael Yan had a hole in his heart. What he didn't know was that halfway across the planet, the missing piece of his heart was in the shape of a beautiful concubine's ass.