I meant to have a story posted today but man, holiday weeks are always weird. Compounding the usual work rush, my girlfriend's mother is coming to visit. The last time we visited her mom, the two of them had an hour long fight about how to park a car. The mom seems to be locked into a mindset that her daughter is 16 and the daughter takes every little comment as personal condemnation of her entire life. The idea of spending two days in that kind of mental environment depresses me greatly.
I can't blame the visit on my lack of writing. I've been plugging away on my werewolf story for so long I am starting to daydream about the magical time before I started the story. That is pretty normal for a long story and since I have one freaking chapter left, I almost expected that feeling. I did take a short break and wrote the story I did earlier this week and that was a lot of fun. Long stories can be very rewarding but sometimes it feels great to execute an idea from start to finish within twenty-four hours. I just have to make sure I don't end up writing a dozen short stories before finishing the wolf story.
I doubt I will post anything between now and next week. If don't post anything, let me say now that I am thankful for all of my readers and all of my commentators. I hope you enjoy your family and your time off.
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Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
Fiction: Quest for Manhood
It was the day of the Quest. In the modest village of Fangcrack, the youth of the village gathered before the Great Seer. Nash was eighteen years old and eager to prove himself. He hoped to earn himself a second name half as good as his father, Kor TigerSlayer. With a good name, he could ask for the hand of the innkeeper’s daughter, Fara. With a poor name, he may have to marry his aunt, Maggie Nutcracker, who although she owned a large farm, had also out lived five of her husbands.
Nash thought about Aunt Maggie’s mighty thighs and shuddered.
To read more, click Whole Post
The Great Seer was so old that her second name was long forgotten. The old crone stumbled to the circle that had been drawn in the dirt. She shook the Quest Cup, rattling the sacred dice that allowed the Gods to speak such small mortals. The old woman took a long time to shake that the Quest Cup. She said it was to allow the Gods time to decide but Nash suspected the Great Seer wanted to enjoy every moment of a day where she holds everyone’s attention.
First was Warl, a slow lad of thick frame and a thicker mind. The Great Seer shook the Quest Cup and spilled the dice onto the ground. She studied the numbers and then looked Warl in the eye.
“You must bring back ten wolf pelts!” the Great Seer announced. The village cheered. It was a good quest. If he succeeded, he would be known as Warl WolfKiller. If he failed, well, he would be known as Warl Wolfmeat. That’s if he lived of course.
Next was Hana, a tall girl who some say was a little too smart for her own good. The Great Seer shook the Quest Cup and spilled the dice onto the ground. The ancient woman studied the numbers and consulted a chart that was inscribed on her walking stick.
“You must learn the names of all the gears for the mill house,” the Great Seer announced. The village applauded. That was a good quest. If she succeeded, she would be known as Hana GearMistress, and be able to make a living fixing things. If she failed, she would be known as Hana NotSoSmart and maybe become a waitress at the inn.
It was Nash’s turn. His heart pounded with fear. He took a deep breath and calmed his mind. Did he not practice his warhammer every day? Didn’t he run every day down to the river and back so that he could be swift? Did he not eat wisely, avoid liquor and do a thousand push ups every morning? He wanted to be a great hero and so he pushed his body at every moment for just this day. The Gods had to have a purpose for him.
The Great Seer shook the Quest Cup a good long time. She looked at Nash while she shook the dice. Her piercing eyes took in his long black hair, his mighty shoulders and the many many many muscles that covered his body. She spilled the dice onto the ground and it seemed to Nash that she barely looked at the numbers there.
“You must undergo a secret quest!” the Great Seer announced. Murmurs went through the village. A secret quest! Only the greatest of names could be earned with a secret quest! More importantly, only Heroes went on secret quests!
Nash was afraid. Would he have to slay a dragon? Would he have to capture lightning? What great deed did the Gods need him to do?
He bent down and let the Great Seer whisper in his ear. As he heard his quest, he frowned, he grimaced and then he grinned.
Later that night, Nash went to the castle of Lord BlackTower. He left behind his weapons and armor. He dressed only in black and even smeared the black mud of the river on his face and hands.
His mighty arms and legs easily scaled the walls of the castle. Powerful fingers that held onto swinging warhammers clung tightly to cracks in the wall. Incredible thighs propelled him upwards while the moat lurked below. Arms that could crush skulls held on to the wall no matter how hard the wind blew.
Inside the castle, his sleek body crept like a panther. Without a single sound he made his way deep into the fortress. When a guard did come across him, his fists crashed into them like a mighty boulder against their jaws.
Finally, he reached his goal. He made his way to the bedchamber of Lady Talleya, the young newlywed bride of Lord BlackTower. Eighteen bars secured her door but it only took Nash three kicks to break his way in.
Lady Talleya did not cry out when this dark stranger entered her bedchambers. So far her marriage had been something of a mystery. Lord BlackTower had lain with her only once before spending the rest of the night with his knights. After that one disappointing night, Lady Talleya waited every night for her husband to come to bed but he seemed to enjoy the company of his knights and their lances more.
“Who are you?” Lady Talleya asked.
Nash was not the wisest of his friends but he was wise enough. “Do you care?” he asked.
Lady Talleya thought about it. She cast the bed sheets from her body and revealed her young body. There were no night clothes on her curvy form. There was no cap for her long golden hair. There was no belt of chastity protecting the secret bush of her sex. When the neglected bride looked at Nash’s body, there was no doubt as to what she wanted.
Nash came to her bed. It was his first woman. It was his first quest. He did what he thought heroes would do. He took his mighty weapon in hand and put it to use. Over and over he swung the weapon that the Gods had given him.
Over and over, Lady Talleya asked him to swing again.
When he could swing no more and when Lady Talleya was so exhausted that she would not walk straight for a week, Nash finally pulled out. The Lord would have a son and the future of the Kingdom was secured for another generation. There was also a healthy dose of hybrid vigor added to the royalty gene pool but only Darrel HorseFucker would understand would that meant.
“A thousand blessing upon you,” Lady Talleya said. You may have all the gold you wish my handsome hero!”
“No milady,” Nash said. He placed one hand on her kiss covered breast. “I was told by the great Seer that you would give me my name. That is all I ask.
Lady Talleya reached between his legs. She felt his mighty weapon return. She giggled as she thought about how much longer her Lord would be with his knights.
“You are now Nash NightHammer,” she said. “Now return to your quest, brave hero!”
Nash NightHammer did as the Lady told him. As he re-entered her royal garden, he realized that with a great name, came many greater ladies to quest for.
The end.
Nash thought about Aunt Maggie’s mighty thighs and shuddered.
To read more, click Whole Post
The Great Seer was so old that her second name was long forgotten. The old crone stumbled to the circle that had been drawn in the dirt. She shook the Quest Cup, rattling the sacred dice that allowed the Gods to speak such small mortals. The old woman took a long time to shake that the Quest Cup. She said it was to allow the Gods time to decide but Nash suspected the Great Seer wanted to enjoy every moment of a day where she holds everyone’s attention.
First was Warl, a slow lad of thick frame and a thicker mind. The Great Seer shook the Quest Cup and spilled the dice onto the ground. She studied the numbers and then looked Warl in the eye.
“You must bring back ten wolf pelts!” the Great Seer announced. The village cheered. It was a good quest. If he succeeded, he would be known as Warl WolfKiller. If he failed, well, he would be known as Warl Wolfmeat. That’s if he lived of course.
Next was Hana, a tall girl who some say was a little too smart for her own good. The Great Seer shook the Quest Cup and spilled the dice onto the ground. The ancient woman studied the numbers and consulted a chart that was inscribed on her walking stick.
“You must learn the names of all the gears for the mill house,” the Great Seer announced. The village applauded. That was a good quest. If she succeeded, she would be known as Hana GearMistress, and be able to make a living fixing things. If she failed, she would be known as Hana NotSoSmart and maybe become a waitress at the inn.
It was Nash’s turn. His heart pounded with fear. He took a deep breath and calmed his mind. Did he not practice his warhammer every day? Didn’t he run every day down to the river and back so that he could be swift? Did he not eat wisely, avoid liquor and do a thousand push ups every morning? He wanted to be a great hero and so he pushed his body at every moment for just this day. The Gods had to have a purpose for him.
The Great Seer shook the Quest Cup a good long time. She looked at Nash while she shook the dice. Her piercing eyes took in his long black hair, his mighty shoulders and the many many many muscles that covered his body. She spilled the dice onto the ground and it seemed to Nash that she barely looked at the numbers there.
“You must undergo a secret quest!” the Great Seer announced. Murmurs went through the village. A secret quest! Only the greatest of names could be earned with a secret quest! More importantly, only Heroes went on secret quests!
Nash was afraid. Would he have to slay a dragon? Would he have to capture lightning? What great deed did the Gods need him to do?
He bent down and let the Great Seer whisper in his ear. As he heard his quest, he frowned, he grimaced and then he grinned.
Later that night, Nash went to the castle of Lord BlackTower. He left behind his weapons and armor. He dressed only in black and even smeared the black mud of the river on his face and hands.
His mighty arms and legs easily scaled the walls of the castle. Powerful fingers that held onto swinging warhammers clung tightly to cracks in the wall. Incredible thighs propelled him upwards while the moat lurked below. Arms that could crush skulls held on to the wall no matter how hard the wind blew.
Inside the castle, his sleek body crept like a panther. Without a single sound he made his way deep into the fortress. When a guard did come across him, his fists crashed into them like a mighty boulder against their jaws.
Finally, he reached his goal. He made his way to the bedchamber of Lady Talleya, the young newlywed bride of Lord BlackTower. Eighteen bars secured her door but it only took Nash three kicks to break his way in.
Lady Talleya did not cry out when this dark stranger entered her bedchambers. So far her marriage had been something of a mystery. Lord BlackTower had lain with her only once before spending the rest of the night with his knights. After that one disappointing night, Lady Talleya waited every night for her husband to come to bed but he seemed to enjoy the company of his knights and their lances more.
“Who are you?” Lady Talleya asked.
Nash was not the wisest of his friends but he was wise enough. “Do you care?” he asked.
Lady Talleya thought about it. She cast the bed sheets from her body and revealed her young body. There were no night clothes on her curvy form. There was no cap for her long golden hair. There was no belt of chastity protecting the secret bush of her sex. When the neglected bride looked at Nash’s body, there was no doubt as to what she wanted.
Nash came to her bed. It was his first woman. It was his first quest. He did what he thought heroes would do. He took his mighty weapon in hand and put it to use. Over and over he swung the weapon that the Gods had given him.
Over and over, Lady Talleya asked him to swing again.
When he could swing no more and when Lady Talleya was so exhausted that she would not walk straight for a week, Nash finally pulled out. The Lord would have a son and the future of the Kingdom was secured for another generation. There was also a healthy dose of hybrid vigor added to the royalty gene pool but only Darrel HorseFucker would understand would that meant.
“A thousand blessing upon you,” Lady Talleya said. You may have all the gold you wish my handsome hero!”
“No milady,” Nash said. He placed one hand on her kiss covered breast. “I was told by the great Seer that you would give me my name. That is all I ask.
Lady Talleya reached between his legs. She felt his mighty weapon return. She giggled as she thought about how much longer her Lord would be with his knights.
“You are now Nash NightHammer,” she said. “Now return to your quest, brave hero!”
Nash NightHammer did as the Lady told him. As he re-entered her royal garden, he realized that with a great name, came many greater ladies to quest for.
The end.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Commission: Claire Currie by Alex Dai
I'm not sure why Claire isn't wearing a skirt, but she swears having her ass available like that helps her read better. I think Mr. Dillon approves.
Art done by the fantastic Alex Dai.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Fiction: Employee of the Month
Dr. Paula Penberg was in a hurry to get to her laboratory this morning. Last night she had made a breakthrough self-mending fishnet stockings. The first trials had shown promise and she had forwarded the results up the Von Madd Laboratories chain of research. If the tests today proved conclusive, Paula might revolutionize fetish clothing for the next century.
As she entered the Innovative Fashions Department, she took a moment to admire the sign hanging above the entrance. The Von Madd Laboratories Employees of the Month board was a constant source of amusement to her. There were no names on the board. All that was ever displayed were erect cocks and very moist looking vaginas. The cocks and the vaginas changed every month, although Paula’s expert eye recognized that some genitals made return appearances.
Paula thought it was a brilliant mockery of the competitive nature of other laboratories. At her past jobs, scientists were terribly competitive and constantly back stabbing each other for more recognition. Paula felt that the science was the important part, not the glory. She always took the Employees of the Month sign as proof of Von Mad Laboratories dedication to the art of Erotic Science.
She walked into her laboratory and discovered her boss, Dr. Otto Von Madd himself waiting for her. He was holding a gold plaque in one hand and a strange phallic device in the other.
“Sir?” she asked in surprise.
“Congratulations Dr. Penberg!” he said. “You’ve earned your place as an Employee of the Month!”
To read more, click Whole Post
“The self-mending fishnets work?” she asked. Her first priority was always her work.
“They work extremely well!” Dr. Von Madd said. “In fact, in one test they self mended to the point of encasing the wearer in a web. Applied Bondage Restraints is going to do a side study.”
“That is great news!” Paula said. She paused as he handed her the plaque.
“For Exemplary Work in the Fields of Fetish Clothing Innovation, Dr. Paula Penberg is awarded the Employee of the Month for November 2008!”
“There really is an Employee of the Month?” she asked.
Dr. Von Madd held up the purple phallus. “Oh yes, now please remove your pants and underwear. We’ll need to take your picture.”
She smiled. “That is a very amusing joke, Doctor.”
Dr. Von Madd wasn’t smiling. “There is no joke, Dr. Penberg. This is for science. Now please strip.”
Paula did as he asked. After all, didn’t Dr. Von Madd possess over 6000 patents? He was a world renowned genius. Science was what he did.
Slipping out of her pants was easy enough but Paula hesitated when it came time to take off her sheer blue panties. It was an odd thing to strip for your boss, even if it is an erotic scientist. She knew sexual harassment was a condition of her work contract but distantly she always suspected that was a joke too.
Paula was starting to realize that there were fewer jokes here than she first thought.
When she was bottomless, Dr. Von Madd pushed her gently to her chair. He knelt down between her legs and parted her thighs. His strange purple goggles hid his eyes, so she wasn’t sure if he studying her shaved sex or admiring it.
He placed the purple dildo at her sex. It was surprisingly warm. Up and down he slid the dildo; gently opening up her vagina. A slight vibration emanated from the dildo. It was so faint Paula almost missed it. Once it began to slide into her, the vibrations increased till they were impossible to ignore.
“Oh,” Paula groaned. “Is this part of the prize.”
Dr. Von Madd didn’t look up from her sex. “Prize? Of course not. This is to increase arousal so that we get an accurate measure of your Depth Sensitivity.”
The dildo pushed further in. Paula groaned as it expanded and lengthen. She gripped the table behind her as the dildo filled her better than any cock had ever done.
“Oh, I see!” she said.
Dr. Von Madd let go of the dildo and placed his hands on her thighs. His fingernails scratched her as he leaned in for a better look. Paula resisted the urge to grab his hair. The increasing vibrations were making it very hard for her to control herself.
Dr. Von Madd began to speak. “Did you know that all the major breakthroughs in time displaced orgasms have been made by men who possessed cocks that leaned to the left?”
“What?” Paula said. The dildo was stretching against her g-spot.
“And did you know that women who have a clitoris smaller than average tend to make the most breakthroughs in humiliation techniques?”
“Ahh, no, I didn’t know that,” Paula said. She didn’t understand how, but the dildo was now twisting inside her. The feeling was better than divine.
“It is quite fascinating,” Dr. Von Madd said. “Genital isometrics shouldn’t have any impact on cerebral achievements but my data says otherwise. It could all be garbage but you never know. I’ll keep collecting data from my best and brightest till I prove it one way or another.”
The dildo was pulsing now. It moved back and forth, shifting its weight like an experienced lover. Paula could feel her toes curling but she possessed enough awareness to think about Dr. Von Madd’s methods.
“Do you measure all of your Employees of the Month?” she asked.
This time he did look at her. “I must admit that I have a talented male and female staff that usually does this. I mean, I can’t be measuring cunts all day long.”
“Then,” Paula said before a spasm of pleasure made her gasp. “Then why are you here now?”
He looked back down on her sex. “Because your work was brilliant.”
Paula climaxed instantly. As soon as she came, the dildo flew out of her body and into Dr. Von Madd’s waiting hands. His goggles were clicking, no doubt taking pictures for his data. Paula realized it was also for the board outside her department.
Dr. Von Madd stood up. “Congratulations on your achievements,” he said.
Paula was still panting. She was starting to see the benefits of employee recognition after all.
As she entered the Innovative Fashions Department, she took a moment to admire the sign hanging above the entrance. The Von Madd Laboratories Employees of the Month board was a constant source of amusement to her. There were no names on the board. All that was ever displayed were erect cocks and very moist looking vaginas. The cocks and the vaginas changed every month, although Paula’s expert eye recognized that some genitals made return appearances.
Paula thought it was a brilliant mockery of the competitive nature of other laboratories. At her past jobs, scientists were terribly competitive and constantly back stabbing each other for more recognition. Paula felt that the science was the important part, not the glory. She always took the Employees of the Month sign as proof of Von Mad Laboratories dedication to the art of Erotic Science.
She walked into her laboratory and discovered her boss, Dr. Otto Von Madd himself waiting for her. He was holding a gold plaque in one hand and a strange phallic device in the other.
“Sir?” she asked in surprise.
“Congratulations Dr. Penberg!” he said. “You’ve earned your place as an Employee of the Month!”
To read more, click Whole Post
“The self-mending fishnets work?” she asked. Her first priority was always her work.
“They work extremely well!” Dr. Von Madd said. “In fact, in one test they self mended to the point of encasing the wearer in a web. Applied Bondage Restraints is going to do a side study.”
“That is great news!” Paula said. She paused as he handed her the plaque.
“For Exemplary Work in the Fields of Fetish Clothing Innovation, Dr. Paula Penberg is awarded the Employee of the Month for November 2008!”
“There really is an Employee of the Month?” she asked.
Dr. Von Madd held up the purple phallus. “Oh yes, now please remove your pants and underwear. We’ll need to take your picture.”
She smiled. “That is a very amusing joke, Doctor.”
Dr. Von Madd wasn’t smiling. “There is no joke, Dr. Penberg. This is for science. Now please strip.”
Paula did as he asked. After all, didn’t Dr. Von Madd possess over 6000 patents? He was a world renowned genius. Science was what he did.
Slipping out of her pants was easy enough but Paula hesitated when it came time to take off her sheer blue panties. It was an odd thing to strip for your boss, even if it is an erotic scientist. She knew sexual harassment was a condition of her work contract but distantly she always suspected that was a joke too.
Paula was starting to realize that there were fewer jokes here than she first thought.
When she was bottomless, Dr. Von Madd pushed her gently to her chair. He knelt down between her legs and parted her thighs. His strange purple goggles hid his eyes, so she wasn’t sure if he studying her shaved sex or admiring it.
He placed the purple dildo at her sex. It was surprisingly warm. Up and down he slid the dildo; gently opening up her vagina. A slight vibration emanated from the dildo. It was so faint Paula almost missed it. Once it began to slide into her, the vibrations increased till they were impossible to ignore.
“Oh,” Paula groaned. “Is this part of the prize.”
Dr. Von Madd didn’t look up from her sex. “Prize? Of course not. This is to increase arousal so that we get an accurate measure of your Depth Sensitivity.”
The dildo pushed further in. Paula groaned as it expanded and lengthen. She gripped the table behind her as the dildo filled her better than any cock had ever done.
“Oh, I see!” she said.
Dr. Von Madd let go of the dildo and placed his hands on her thighs. His fingernails scratched her as he leaned in for a better look. Paula resisted the urge to grab his hair. The increasing vibrations were making it very hard for her to control herself.
Dr. Von Madd began to speak. “Did you know that all the major breakthroughs in time displaced orgasms have been made by men who possessed cocks that leaned to the left?”
“What?” Paula said. The dildo was stretching against her g-spot.
“And did you know that women who have a clitoris smaller than average tend to make the most breakthroughs in humiliation techniques?”
“Ahh, no, I didn’t know that,” Paula said. She didn’t understand how, but the dildo was now twisting inside her. The feeling was better than divine.
“It is quite fascinating,” Dr. Von Madd said. “Genital isometrics shouldn’t have any impact on cerebral achievements but my data says otherwise. It could all be garbage but you never know. I’ll keep collecting data from my best and brightest till I prove it one way or another.”
The dildo was pulsing now. It moved back and forth, shifting its weight like an experienced lover. Paula could feel her toes curling but she possessed enough awareness to think about Dr. Von Madd’s methods.
“Do you measure all of your Employees of the Month?” she asked.
This time he did look at her. “I must admit that I have a talented male and female staff that usually does this. I mean, I can’t be measuring cunts all day long.”
“Then,” Paula said before a spasm of pleasure made her gasp. “Then why are you here now?”
He looked back down on her sex. “Because your work was brilliant.”
Paula climaxed instantly. As soon as she came, the dildo flew out of her body and into Dr. Von Madd’s waiting hands. His goggles were clicking, no doubt taking pictures for his data. Paula realized it was also for the board outside her department.
Dr. Von Madd stood up. “Congratulations on your achievements,” he said.
Paula was still panting. She was starting to see the benefits of employee recognition after all.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
State of the Erotiterrorism
One of the worries I have for my blog is that maybe it will become outdated. Back when evil control freaks ruled the land, the idea that erotica could be equated with moral terrorism seemed almost inevitable. I could easily see Internet sex bloggers being jailed for corrupting the high standards of sexless white people. Now that Obama rode in on a Unicorn and saved the free world before he even took office, I worried that maybe my blog title will become a relic.
Luckily Newsweek came to my rescue. They have a nice long essay on why some people think Obama is the Anti-Christ. I'm not making that up. A major news magazine gave a platform to crazy white people so they can explain why the end times are coming. Apparently the United States condoning torture, wiretapping U.S. citizens and killing millions of Arabs to get some oil wasn't the sign of the Beast I thought it was. Apparently to have a real Anti-Christ you need to be brown and promise a middle class tax cut.
My favorite bit-
Strandberg says Obama probably isn't the Antichrist, but he's watching the president-elect carefully. On his Web site, he has something called the Rapture Index, a calculation based on signs and prophecy of the proximity of the end. According to Strandberg, any number over 160 means "fasten your seat belts." Obama's win pushed the index to 161.
Did you get that? According to some guy's made up chart system, Obama is pushing the Rapture Index to 161. It's like a Jenga mountain made of lies, false assumptions and fake math. It is the Eight Wonder of the Stupid World.
With that in mind, I think it's safe to say that fear, paranoia and most of all, hatred of anything different is going to be at an all time high. Wohoo. Erotiterrorism is going to be topical for at least another 8 years.
Luckily Newsweek came to my rescue. They have a nice long essay on why some people think Obama is the Anti-Christ. I'm not making that up. A major news magazine gave a platform to crazy white people so they can explain why the end times are coming. Apparently the United States condoning torture, wiretapping U.S. citizens and killing millions of Arabs to get some oil wasn't the sign of the Beast I thought it was. Apparently to have a real Anti-Christ you need to be brown and promise a middle class tax cut.
My favorite bit-
Strandberg says Obama probably isn't the Antichrist, but he's watching the president-elect carefully. On his Web site, he has something called the Rapture Index, a calculation based on signs and prophecy of the proximity of the end. According to Strandberg, any number over 160 means "fasten your seat belts." Obama's win pushed the index to 161.
Did you get that? According to some guy's made up chart system, Obama is pushing the Rapture Index to 161. It's like a Jenga mountain made of lies, false assumptions and fake math. It is the Eight Wonder of the Stupid World.
With that in mind, I think it's safe to say that fear, paranoia and most of all, hatred of anything different is going to be at an all time high. Wohoo. Erotiterrorism is going to be topical for at least another 8 years.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Prey Drive
I like it when she runs.
It starts with teasing. She finds a button and she pushes, pushes and pushes. Her head weaves as the full bloom of her ego comes to the forefront. She challenges me, she provokes me and then she goes one step too far.
And I growl. If I was a dog my ears would flatten. I stand up and she knows that I am pissed. Not angry mad pissed, just not-going-to-take-it-anymore-from-her pissed.
She laughs and then she runs.
I chase. I have to. When she runs, she is never more attractive.
I'm taller so I'm faster than her.
I'm stronger so she can't keep the doors closed.
I'm enraged, so she can't wrestle me off of her.
I take my revenge. Her nipples are mine to bite. Her mouth is mine to use. Her ass is mine any way I want it.
I make her cunt pay for her crimes.
It starts with teasing. She finds a button and she pushes, pushes and pushes. Her head weaves as the full bloom of her ego comes to the forefront. She challenges me, she provokes me and then she goes one step too far.
And I growl. If I was a dog my ears would flatten. I stand up and she knows that I am pissed. Not angry mad pissed, just not-going-to-take-it-anymore-from-her pissed.
She laughs and then she runs.
I chase. I have to. When she runs, she is never more attractive.
I'm taller so I'm faster than her.
I'm stronger so she can't keep the doors closed.
I'm enraged, so she can't wrestle me off of her.
I take my revenge. Her nipples are mine to bite. Her mouth is mine to use. Her ass is mine any way I want it.
I make her cunt pay for her crimes.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Hideous Thing Inside
Pity the lonely porn writer. To create a story about Werewolf Rude Sex porn story told in first person, the porn writer has to segregate his mind and fucking write. He can't be cracking jokes, thinking about Von Mad Laboratories and making witty observations about sex and life. The fucker needs to write and more importantly, he has to rip off his clothes and howl at the moon so he can understand just what his poor rutting dom character is going through.
Or maybe he just likes ripping off his clothes for fun. Don't judge.
I'm about 2/3's done with the story. Well, chapter wise I'm 2/3's done but rewriting as we all know is a bitch. I keep adding things which makes me go back and rewrite chapters until the forward progress is painfully slow. Cripes, I was on chapter five before I realized I wanted to incorporate trophies. Nothing says Alpha Male Bastard like keeping trophies of your fucks. It's adolescent but it just rings true.
Being a dom is never easy, but putting down on paper what a certain dom thinks is an exercise in constant non-censorship. I like making a submissive cringe. I like being selfish. I like hurting someone and then laughing when they complain. It's just not an easy thing to type, read and build on.
It is fucking fun to write, and I hope it will be fucking fun to read.
Or maybe he just likes ripping off his clothes for fun. Don't judge.
I'm about 2/3's done with the story. Well, chapter wise I'm 2/3's done but rewriting as we all know is a bitch. I keep adding things which makes me go back and rewrite chapters until the forward progress is painfully slow. Cripes, I was on chapter five before I realized I wanted to incorporate trophies. Nothing says Alpha Male Bastard like keeping trophies of your fucks. It's adolescent but it just rings true.
Being a dom is never easy, but putting down on paper what a certain dom thinks is an exercise in constant non-censorship. I like making a submissive cringe. I like being selfish. I like hurting someone and then laughing when they complain. It's just not an easy thing to type, read and build on.
It is fucking fun to write, and I hope it will be fucking fun to read.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Two Fingered Journey
Her fingers walk down my chest
Stepping on my nipple
climbing and then descending my belly
pushing through the curls of my hair
gentle fingersteps on my cock
destination reached, they begin to dance
Stepping on my nipple
climbing and then descending my belly
pushing through the curls of my hair
gentle fingersteps on my cock
destination reached, they begin to dance
Friday, November 07, 2008
Commission: Yes, Claire Can
Claire Currie may be a British citizen but she appreciates greatness when she see it.
Commission done by the ever brilliant Alex Dai.
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Fiction: The Quiet Ones
Claire Currie awoke to the sound of snoring. It was a rising crescendo that then dropped like a heavy book off of a table. It was a slightly unsteady rhythm of sound and fury. If it was a steady rhythm, Claire might have been able to get back to sleep but no; the not quite repetition was enough to keep her awake.
Mr. Dillon wasn’t a loud snorer, but the arrangement of this hotel suite placed his bed three feet away from the couch Claire slept on. She always slept on the couch. Even though they always ordered a room with a King size bed, Mr. Dillon insisted that Claire did not sleep with him. It was unprofessional he said.
So Claire spent every night for the past year in her employment to the Collette-Ashbee collection sleeping on things that were not beds. She had slept on couches when she was lucky, and on floors when she was not. One time the only room available had two single beds and Mr. Dillon used that second bed to hold his luggage.
Fortunately for Claire, being a librarian for the world’s rarest collection of erotica kept her so busy that she usually collapsed at night. Mr. Dillon believed that a librarian should be physically fit as well as mentally fit. Her every day routine involved carrying heavy loads of books or standing in very compromising positions while Mr. Dillon berated or molested her. By the time Mr. Dillon retired to bed, Claire was always ready to pass out.
To read more, click Whole Post
She tried to go back to sleep but it wasn’t the snoring that kept her awake. Recently Mr. Dillon had found a book written in 1983 that was becoming an obsession of Claire’s. It was called “The Quiet Ones’ and it might have been the best book Claire had ever read. It told the story of woman who joins a sort of sex cult. The cult lives in a sprawling mansion that resembles a haunted house. No one in the cult spoke, but they fucked endlessly. The woman, who is never named in the book, spends her entire time trying to figure out the mystery of the house while enduring silent sex act after silent sex act.
Sometimes Claire was sure that the main character might have been dead and this was her heaven. Other times Claire was sure the book was a metaphor for society and the plight of the individual. Most of the time though, Claire just thought the silent fuck scenes were hot.
Claire rolled over onto her back. She wore nothing. Mr. Dillon had forbidden her any sort of night clothes. The only thing she was allowed to cover herself with was the spare comforter that Mr. Dillon always requested from room service.
One of the reasons for this rule was because he liked the ritual of her stripping down to nothing before the lights turned out. He would silently admire her heavy brown breasts, round ass and the black bush of her sex. Claire would lotion up her skin before going to sleep and Mr. Dillon always enjoyed watching.
“It’s like watching a book being slipped into its cover,” is how he described it. For Mr. Dillon, that was his version of flattery.
Tonight her lack of clothes was a good thing. Claire was too aroused to sleep. She stroked herself. With one hand she squeezed a hard nipple while the other hand played with her clitoris. Her fingers danced over her sex. She pulled, poked and twisted with the same merciless manner that Mr. Dillon employed. Pinching just made her wet these days and Claire’s pussy could take a lot of pinching.
The sound of Claire’s wet fingering joined the chorus of Mr. Dillon’s snores. Claire’s toes dig into the arm of the couch. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. Mr. Dillon allowed her to masturbate, but waking him up was a serious offence.
She had three fingers in her. A scene from the book came to her mind. It was a scene that took place under a staircase. Three men took turns with the woman, each of them fucking her ass. The narrator kept describing the crimson flowers that made up the wallpaper under the staircase in between descriptions of how much the woman’s ass was being pounded. Even as Claire masturbated, she wondered what the significance of those flowers could be.
Claire fucked herself faster. Mr. Dillon said that the author, R.P. Aktins was an unknown pseudonym. The author was never discovered and no other work is attributed to them. The real meaning of his book would always be a mystery. Since it was porn, no serious effort to preserve it or research it would ever happen except for what the Collection would do.
She remembered the look on Mr. Dillon’s face. He was usually so stern and confident but when he said that, his face was so different.
“Ms. Currie, when the world is too dismissive to appreciate genius, we are the last line of appreciation.”
Claire never thought Mr. Dillon was sexier than when he loved porn. She stroked herself faster, imagining Mr. Dillon fucking her ass in a silent staircase. A stuttering gasp escaped her lips as she climaxed.
When her body stopped shaking, Claire opened her eyes. She put her fingers in her mouth. That was the way Mr. Dillon preferred she clean herself. One by one she licked her fingers clean. She was very thorough and made sure to get every drop of her desire.
Claire felt sleep creeping in on her. The afterglow sapped the last of the tension from her body. She pulled the blanket tight around her and surrendered to her exhaustion.
She realized she didn’t hear any snoring.
The blanket was torn from her body. In the darkness Claire could barely see a hulking form loom over her. A hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her leg apart. Weight came down on the couch and Claire felt a naked body between her thighs.
A hot hard cock slipped into her still wet cunt.
This was the other reason Claire slept naked. She wasn’t the only one kept awake at night by the erotica they collected. The difference is Mr. Dillon never needed to masturbate. That was what Claire was for.
Claire groaned as Mr. Dillon fucked her. He was silent except for the occasional grunt. In the middle of the night, Mr. Dillon saw no reason to speak to Claire. His hard cock was all that mattered. Burying it deep inside Claire was the only the intercourse they needed. If he used his mouth, it was only to bite down on one of Claire’s nipples. In the middle of the pitch black night, Mr. Dillon could always find her nipples.
Claire shuddered as his teeth captured her nipple. Her thighs clenched as he rammed into her. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as he took her. She was there for his pleasure. It was her duty.
Mr. Dillon climaxed in silence. His body shook and then it relaxed. For a brief moment, he melted into her. Their bodies were as close as pages.
He got up and returned to bed. Claire heard the condom being thrown into the waste bin. Claire reached around on the floor and recovered her blanket. As she drifted to sleep, it was easy to imagine that the weight of the comforter was Mr. Dillon’s body.
In the quiet hotel room, the librarians slept.
Mr. Dillon wasn’t a loud snorer, but the arrangement of this hotel suite placed his bed three feet away from the couch Claire slept on. She always slept on the couch. Even though they always ordered a room with a King size bed, Mr. Dillon insisted that Claire did not sleep with him. It was unprofessional he said.
So Claire spent every night for the past year in her employment to the Collette-Ashbee collection sleeping on things that were not beds. She had slept on couches when she was lucky, and on floors when she was not. One time the only room available had two single beds and Mr. Dillon used that second bed to hold his luggage.
Fortunately for Claire, being a librarian for the world’s rarest collection of erotica kept her so busy that she usually collapsed at night. Mr. Dillon believed that a librarian should be physically fit as well as mentally fit. Her every day routine involved carrying heavy loads of books or standing in very compromising positions while Mr. Dillon berated or molested her. By the time Mr. Dillon retired to bed, Claire was always ready to pass out.
To read more, click Whole Post
She tried to go back to sleep but it wasn’t the snoring that kept her awake. Recently Mr. Dillon had found a book written in 1983 that was becoming an obsession of Claire’s. It was called “The Quiet Ones’ and it might have been the best book Claire had ever read. It told the story of woman who joins a sort of sex cult. The cult lives in a sprawling mansion that resembles a haunted house. No one in the cult spoke, but they fucked endlessly. The woman, who is never named in the book, spends her entire time trying to figure out the mystery of the house while enduring silent sex act after silent sex act.
Sometimes Claire was sure that the main character might have been dead and this was her heaven. Other times Claire was sure the book was a metaphor for society and the plight of the individual. Most of the time though, Claire just thought the silent fuck scenes were hot.
Claire rolled over onto her back. She wore nothing. Mr. Dillon had forbidden her any sort of night clothes. The only thing she was allowed to cover herself with was the spare comforter that Mr. Dillon always requested from room service.
One of the reasons for this rule was because he liked the ritual of her stripping down to nothing before the lights turned out. He would silently admire her heavy brown breasts, round ass and the black bush of her sex. Claire would lotion up her skin before going to sleep and Mr. Dillon always enjoyed watching.
“It’s like watching a book being slipped into its cover,” is how he described it. For Mr. Dillon, that was his version of flattery.
Tonight her lack of clothes was a good thing. Claire was too aroused to sleep. She stroked herself. With one hand she squeezed a hard nipple while the other hand played with her clitoris. Her fingers danced over her sex. She pulled, poked and twisted with the same merciless manner that Mr. Dillon employed. Pinching just made her wet these days and Claire’s pussy could take a lot of pinching.
The sound of Claire’s wet fingering joined the chorus of Mr. Dillon’s snores. Claire’s toes dig into the arm of the couch. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. Mr. Dillon allowed her to masturbate, but waking him up was a serious offence.
She had three fingers in her. A scene from the book came to her mind. It was a scene that took place under a staircase. Three men took turns with the woman, each of them fucking her ass. The narrator kept describing the crimson flowers that made up the wallpaper under the staircase in between descriptions of how much the woman’s ass was being pounded. Even as Claire masturbated, she wondered what the significance of those flowers could be.
Claire fucked herself faster. Mr. Dillon said that the author, R.P. Aktins was an unknown pseudonym. The author was never discovered and no other work is attributed to them. The real meaning of his book would always be a mystery. Since it was porn, no serious effort to preserve it or research it would ever happen except for what the Collection would do.
She remembered the look on Mr. Dillon’s face. He was usually so stern and confident but when he said that, his face was so different.
“Ms. Currie, when the world is too dismissive to appreciate genius, we are the last line of appreciation.”
Claire never thought Mr. Dillon was sexier than when he loved porn. She stroked herself faster, imagining Mr. Dillon fucking her ass in a silent staircase. A stuttering gasp escaped her lips as she climaxed.
When her body stopped shaking, Claire opened her eyes. She put her fingers in her mouth. That was the way Mr. Dillon preferred she clean herself. One by one she licked her fingers clean. She was very thorough and made sure to get every drop of her desire.
Claire felt sleep creeping in on her. The afterglow sapped the last of the tension from her body. She pulled the blanket tight around her and surrendered to her exhaustion.
She realized she didn’t hear any snoring.
The blanket was torn from her body. In the darkness Claire could barely see a hulking form loom over her. A hand grabbed her ankle and pulled her leg apart. Weight came down on the couch and Claire felt a naked body between her thighs.
A hot hard cock slipped into her still wet cunt.
This was the other reason Claire slept naked. She wasn’t the only one kept awake at night by the erotica they collected. The difference is Mr. Dillon never needed to masturbate. That was what Claire was for.
Claire groaned as Mr. Dillon fucked her. He was silent except for the occasional grunt. In the middle of the night, Mr. Dillon saw no reason to speak to Claire. His hard cock was all that mattered. Burying it deep inside Claire was the only the intercourse they needed. If he used his mouth, it was only to bite down on one of Claire’s nipples. In the middle of the pitch black night, Mr. Dillon could always find her nipples.
Claire shuddered as his teeth captured her nipple. Her thighs clenched as he rammed into her. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as he took her. She was there for his pleasure. It was her duty.
Mr. Dillon climaxed in silence. His body shook and then it relaxed. For a brief moment, he melted into her. Their bodies were as close as pages.
He got up and returned to bed. Claire heard the condom being thrown into the waste bin. Claire reached around on the floor and recovered her blanket. As she drifted to sleep, it was easy to imagine that the weight of the comforter was Mr. Dillon’s body.
In the quiet hotel room, the librarians slept.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
Behold the Power of Tit
Four years after Janet Jackson flashed her breast, we have a black President.
I joke because the outrage over Janet Jackson's wardrobe blessing was considered such a horrible thing. Trying to ban gay marriage was okay, turning a blind eye to Enron was okay and apparently getting a Purple Heart in Vietnam was something only coward glory hound liberals did, but it was simply terrible that a black woman flashed a breast at the Super Bowl. America at times appeared to be filled with crazy people.
And now those crazy people elected a black man with the Star Trek-like name of Barack Obama. Damn. We live in interesting times.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
Scarlet Drake Says
"This is Scarlett Drake. I'm a super-villainess who uses a pirate theme to commit my crimes. Did you know that pirates in the Caribbean used democracy all the time? The Captain was the highest authority in combat, but the entire crew voted on matters such as where to sail, how to divide treasure and which bar wench to fuck first.
If you are an American and you've voted, great job. Have some rum on me. If you are not voting, my question is why the fuck not? Are you telling me that illiterate scurvy ridden sea dogs with syphilis had a greater sense of civic duty than you do? I should stab your useless carcass with my laser cutlass.
As a pirate, I am voting for Barack Obama. Seriously, if we have four more years of Republican economics, there might not be an economy for me to steal from anymore. There is no 700 billion dollar buyout for pirates. And that Alaska chick? There is only room for one hot super-villainess and that is going to be me."
Commission Art by Infinite Silence
Monday, November 03, 2008
Lifespan of the Sexy Smart Bitch
Today's media moves at a blistering pace. News blooms, gets analyzed and in most cases, are thoroughly dissected within 24 hours. We exist in a culture that as it tries harder to move faster, it resorts to cliches, stereotypes and summarizing of facts as a form of shorthand. I feel sometimes that everyone, from movies to news channels are reducing the complex issues of the day to short stories.
I noticed this most with Sarah Palin. When the national media first noticed her, they described her as a sexual archetype. She was sassy. She had glasses so she must be smart. She was a hot mom. She was tough and she was a fighter. In short, she was the Strict Librarian. Did I mention that they found her hot?
As man who writes erotica, I was fascinated to see a sexual archetype running for office. Tina Fey was already a niche sex object but now Tina Fey 2.0 was hitting the nation's libido. She was winking right at us, talking like she was scolding us for not returning a book to the Mayberry Library. Republicans stressed her sex appeal. Comedians stressed her sex appeal. Political blogs talked about how she was going revive McCain and make a new man out of him. She wasn't a politician, she was a sexual myth.
If Sarah Palin didn't exist, sex blogs would have invented her.
As a liberal, there is so much to be offended by Sarah Palin but as a sex writer, I am a bit worried for the long term erotic impact she may have. Stiffler's Mom from 'American Pie' didn't invent the MILF but she set the mold for the next 20 years. Sarah Palin is doing the same thing and man, what a mess it is going to be.
I first became worried when I saw Palin bomb her first interview. Now the smart chick was the dumb chick with glasses. Then her creationist views came out, followed by her succession affiliations followed by her inverse-elitism when it comes to Americans who don't come from small towns. With each passing news cycle, Sarah Palin creates her own sexual archetype. She moved away from the Sexy Librarian and now she's crazy church lady redneck femme fatale.
Which is fine. I gladly welcome any new archetypes. I am just a wee bit concerned that she is fucking up the Sexy Librarian. Tina Fey's wink within a wink portrayal of Sarah helps separate the two but our media has a short attention span. Every day I see new images of Palin being Palin. As her image increases, it absorbs the old with the new. I hope it turns into a new archetype and not rewrite the expectations of the Sexy Librarian.
Or maybe not. I am really curious. If Palin loses, odds are she's vanish for another four years until she tries to run on her own. Republicans hate a loser and I have a hard time believing she can do a comeback. If Palin wins, holy fuck will we be plastered with her archetype.
What I am counting on is that the exhaustive speed of the media cycle will burn her appeal out. Joe the Plumber went from media darling to "hey did you know he doesn't pay taxes when he should?' in record time. I saw that some Halloween parties banned Sarah Palin as a costume because it was considered too easy and lame. I think burnout is already settling in and if there is one thing the media can not stand is a has been. Maybe even if she wins the media will try to find a new archetype to pigeonhole her into.
I think the Sexy Librarian archetype will survive Palin. I just hope we don't get a Crazy Hot Redneck Lady archetype to stick around.
I noticed this most with Sarah Palin. When the national media first noticed her, they described her as a sexual archetype. She was sassy. She had glasses so she must be smart. She was a hot mom. She was tough and she was a fighter. In short, she was the Strict Librarian. Did I mention that they found her hot?
As man who writes erotica, I was fascinated to see a sexual archetype running for office. Tina Fey was already a niche sex object but now Tina Fey 2.0 was hitting the nation's libido. She was winking right at us, talking like she was scolding us for not returning a book to the Mayberry Library. Republicans stressed her sex appeal. Comedians stressed her sex appeal. Political blogs talked about how she was going revive McCain and make a new man out of him. She wasn't a politician, she was a sexual myth.
If Sarah Palin didn't exist, sex blogs would have invented her.
As a liberal, there is so much to be offended by Sarah Palin but as a sex writer, I am a bit worried for the long term erotic impact she may have. Stiffler's Mom from 'American Pie' didn't invent the MILF but she set the mold for the next 20 years. Sarah Palin is doing the same thing and man, what a mess it is going to be.
I first became worried when I saw Palin bomb her first interview. Now the smart chick was the dumb chick with glasses. Then her creationist views came out, followed by her succession affiliations followed by her inverse-elitism when it comes to Americans who don't come from small towns. With each passing news cycle, Sarah Palin creates her own sexual archetype. She moved away from the Sexy Librarian and now she's crazy church lady redneck femme fatale.
Which is fine. I gladly welcome any new archetypes. I am just a wee bit concerned that she is fucking up the Sexy Librarian. Tina Fey's wink within a wink portrayal of Sarah helps separate the two but our media has a short attention span. Every day I see new images of Palin being Palin. As her image increases, it absorbs the old with the new. I hope it turns into a new archetype and not rewrite the expectations of the Sexy Librarian.
Or maybe not. I am really curious. If Palin loses, odds are she's vanish for another four years until she tries to run on her own. Republicans hate a loser and I have a hard time believing she can do a comeback. If Palin wins, holy fuck will we be plastered with her archetype.
What I am counting on is that the exhaustive speed of the media cycle will burn her appeal out. Joe the Plumber went from media darling to "hey did you know he doesn't pay taxes when he should?' in record time. I saw that some Halloween parties banned Sarah Palin as a costume because it was considered too easy and lame. I think burnout is already settling in and if there is one thing the media can not stand is a has been. Maybe even if she wins the media will try to find a new archetype to pigeonhole her into.
I think the Sexy Librarian archetype will survive Palin. I just hope we don't get a Crazy Hot Redneck Lady archetype to stick around.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
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