Ladies, gentlemen and subscription podcast listeners, this is Professor Rios reporting from the frozen shores of Antarctica! After a perilous journey, Captain Cleaver has finally brought the Dirty Secret to this isolated continent.
I had planned to conduct this podcast with the team’s sex blogger, Velvet-Thighs, but she has undergone another identity crisis. She has forsaken her lesbian lover, Dr. Vette, and has recently been enjoying a romantic tryst with our expedition leader, Ian Xavier. She has changed her blogger name to Journey of the Heart, which quite frankly sounds like a bad 70’s concept album. She insists that I am unqualified to properly chronicle the exploits of our expedition leader and will be maintaining her own account. Personally, I think blowing his cock should be enough of an ego boost for Mr. Xavier without having his own personal recorder.
Anyway, landing at Antarctica was not without its own perils. Another expedition had taken our chosen landing spot. How rude! Professor Heinsor is trying to prove some nonsense regarding climate change and penguin migration. I politely communicated to him that he needed to move his expedition several miles away from us so we could get started in peace and quiet without all this penguin shit everywhere. Professor Heinsor declined my request which I would like to be entered into the record of the tribulations that I have to face in my quest for science.
Negotiations deteriorated when a member of Professor Heinsor’s team made an off color comment to one of our dominatrixes. Mistress Natasha Volkov was deeply offended when a crude scientist asked her if she would care to warm up the ice with her glorious ass. The resulting slap of his face was entirely expected but when she stripped him down to his underwear and forcefully violated his ass with a penguin.
Well, things just got violent after that. Our other explorer, Ulysses Cameron, shoved someone’s face in some penguin shit. Dr. Vette cut off a man’s nose with a jagged piece of ice. Dr. Nagi, that delicate flower of womanhood, tore a man’s ear off but to be fair, I suspect his ear was already fragile with frostbite. I myself may have kicked Professor Heinsor in the head a few times. Once a fight breaks out, it is hard not to get into the spirit of things.
After a good day and a half of fighting, Professor Heinsor decided to move his team to a better location. My team suffered next to no casualties except for poor Professor Banwitz. Apparently our other dominatrix, Mistress Wanda Violence, mistook him for a member of the other side and did something traumatizing to his crotch area. Hopefully he can just walk it off and be ready for our land journey which begins tomorrow.
As a disagreement between scientific parties, this may not be our proudest moment as an expedition, but as a team bonding experience it couldn’t be beaten. I saw the normally brusque Mistress Volkov actually let Cameron touch her ass after a few beers. Dr. Vette provided some comforting of a sexual nature to Professor Banwitz which is odd because I was 99% sure she was a lesbian. Dr. Nagi even let me pick some penguin shit out of her lovely hair.
I have high hopes that after such a successful first day in Antarctica, that the rest of our journey will just as enlightening.
.JPG)
Monday, July 30, 2012
Friday, July 27, 2012
Play With This:Secret Societies
I had a friend who had a very geeky daughter. This tiny tot devoured Tolkien, Harry Potter and anything else she could get her hands on. She was like barely 9 if I remember correctly and she had already decided that kids her age at her school were useless. She wasn’t depressed though. She was patiently waiting for her invitation to Hogwarts to be delivered. The parent often confessed to me that even though he told her that Hogwarts didn’t exist, she merely accepted his denials as a test of her faith.
As sad as that story is, the kid has a point. Real life is way too boring. There just has to be a place where people just as interesting as her exist. She just hadn’t found it yet.
Which brings us to erotica. Current fads aside, often the regular society that surrounds us is not nearly as interesting as the people who read erotica. The average reader has to feel this same sort of longing. If only they could get an invitation to where all the other dirty people hang out.
As all erotica writers know, desire is the most inspiration for writing. We should be creating these secret societies and we should be taking advantage of that longing for an invitation.
What kind of secret society is it? It doesn’t have to be a place of learning like Hogwarts, although sex schools appeal to a large number of readers. The secret society can be dedicated to goals as lofty as bringing sexual freedom to their members to goals as simple as getting its members laid. The underlying theme I think is most important is that whatever the goal is, it coincides with the secret wishes of the character that receives the invitation. Few things are more euphoric than finding out yes, other people like the same perverse things that you do. Society at large may not approve of you and your sick ways, but your secret society does.
Secret societies is a term that makes a lot of people uncomfortable. Shit, the Klu Klux Klan is a secret society and who wants to be like those assholes? It usually evokes images of the Templars, or bad History Channel specials. But you know who else was a secret society? The Underground Railroad. You know who else is a secret society? A BDSM club in most states. They do not want their names known.
Just because a group is organized and secretive doesn’t make them evil assholes who want to take over the world. It could mean they just don’t want anyone noticing who they are fucking.
Here are three examples of possible Secret Societies for your writing.
The Happy Housewives Club – Being a stay at home housewife can be terribly boring unless you join this Club. Their goal is simple; let their husbands enjoy all that work stress and social climbing while the housewives get fucking laid. Most of the housewives fuck each other, engaging in complex lesbian games that would blow the minds of their vanilla husbands. The Club usually invites new members with a neighborhood house warming party that involves casseroles, local coupons and strap-ons.
The Secret Society of Submissive Sluts – Sometimes a submissive decides that fuck it, they are not in the mood to date and they just want to get dominated with no string attached. Or maybe these submissives want to be owned for the weekend by someone who doesn’t want to psychoanalyze them. Or maybe they are just horny and once a week, they call the S.S.S.S. and take the plunge.
Whatever the reason, this society is something of a placement agency. They put the sluts in a challenging environment with no long term commitments. The society itself becomes the dominant.
The League of Sex Bloggers – You don’t think sex bloggers just make all that shit up do you? Of course not. Founded by Anais Nin, the League hopes to sponsor sexy writers so that the world is always supplied with new porn. To aid in this, the League sends struggling writers on expeditions to sexy places. They give sex bloggers new sex toys and strange artifacts from a sexier time. In desperate situations, they even provide sex bloggers with alluring sexual partners to inspire them.
The membership fees however, are brutal.
As sad as that story is, the kid has a point. Real life is way too boring. There just has to be a place where people just as interesting as her exist. She just hadn’t found it yet.
Which brings us to erotica. Current fads aside, often the regular society that surrounds us is not nearly as interesting as the people who read erotica. The average reader has to feel this same sort of longing. If only they could get an invitation to where all the other dirty people hang out.
As all erotica writers know, desire is the most inspiration for writing. We should be creating these secret societies and we should be taking advantage of that longing for an invitation.
What kind of secret society is it? It doesn’t have to be a place of learning like Hogwarts, although sex schools appeal to a large number of readers. The secret society can be dedicated to goals as lofty as bringing sexual freedom to their members to goals as simple as getting its members laid. The underlying theme I think is most important is that whatever the goal is, it coincides with the secret wishes of the character that receives the invitation. Few things are more euphoric than finding out yes, other people like the same perverse things that you do. Society at large may not approve of you and your sick ways, but your secret society does.
Secret societies is a term that makes a lot of people uncomfortable. Shit, the Klu Klux Klan is a secret society and who wants to be like those assholes? It usually evokes images of the Templars, or bad History Channel specials. But you know who else was a secret society? The Underground Railroad. You know who else is a secret society? A BDSM club in most states. They do not want their names known.
Just because a group is organized and secretive doesn’t make them evil assholes who want to take over the world. It could mean they just don’t want anyone noticing who they are fucking.
Here are three examples of possible Secret Societies for your writing.
The Happy Housewives Club – Being a stay at home housewife can be terribly boring unless you join this Club. Their goal is simple; let their husbands enjoy all that work stress and social climbing while the housewives get fucking laid. Most of the housewives fuck each other, engaging in complex lesbian games that would blow the minds of their vanilla husbands. The Club usually invites new members with a neighborhood house warming party that involves casseroles, local coupons and strap-ons.
The Secret Society of Submissive Sluts – Sometimes a submissive decides that fuck it, they are not in the mood to date and they just want to get dominated with no string attached. Or maybe these submissives want to be owned for the weekend by someone who doesn’t want to psychoanalyze them. Or maybe they are just horny and once a week, they call the S.S.S.S. and take the plunge.
Whatever the reason, this society is something of a placement agency. They put the sluts in a challenging environment with no long term commitments. The society itself becomes the dominant.
The League of Sex Bloggers – You don’t think sex bloggers just make all that shit up do you? Of course not. Founded by Anais Nin, the League hopes to sponsor sexy writers so that the world is always supplied with new porn. To aid in this, the League sends struggling writers on expeditions to sexy places. They give sex bloggers new sex toys and strange artifacts from a sexier time. In desperate situations, they even provide sex bloggers with alluring sexual partners to inspire them.
The membership fees however, are brutal.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Fiction: The Oracle
It began at the flea market. I found it tucked away between a box of men’s magazines and a sewing machine. It was a rainy day and not many of the sellers had shown up for today but I was compelled to come anyway. That might be why I found it first.
The statue depicted a nude woman with amazing breasts. The breasts were a size too large for the body and yet the statue stood perfectly fine on its slender base. It appeared to be made of silver but the weight was too light. The woman had short curly hair and her face was a curious mix of racial features that made it impossible to identify. It could have been a white woman, an African, an Asian or a Hispanic. Whatever she was, she was beautiful.
The seller was confused when I pointed it out. He didn’t seem to think it was his. That was not too unusual, most of these flea markets are staffed by people who buy and sell every day. I just assumed that he forgot that he owned it. He didn’t have a price tag for it so he charged me sixty-six dollars. For once, I didn’t haggle and I paid his price.
I didn’t buy anything else that day. Holding that statue in my hand, I lost my usual passions. I was no longer interested in old books, vintage typewriters or Death Bringers concert posters. In fact, I had a giant erection in my pants and my throbbing cock was all I could think of.
I went back to my car and set the statue down in the passenger seat. I started the car and then turned it back off. A drop of rain had landed on the statue and it was sitting on the statue’s right breast. It clung to the statue’s breast and I was jealous of it.
Please understand that I am not a pervert. I jack off every other day but I don’t have enormous porn collections on my computer like some guys. I don’t have a girlfriend but I am not looking either. I am a regular guy and I don’t usually act this way.
I opened my pants. My cock was pulsing as I wrapped my hand around it. Usually I masturbate with tissues or a towel to catch my come but I didn’t care. I didn’t even spit in my hand as I started to jack off.
It was a rainy day but there were still people in the parking lot. I didn’t care. I looked at the statue and jacked my cock. Those perfect breasts looked so soft and pliant. I wanted to lick the raindrop off the statue but I didn’t. It was sexier seeing it there.
I came pretty quickly. I made a huge mess in my car. Normally I feel a twinge of shame afterwards but this time I just felt a tremendous relief. With a hand covered in come, I felt good.
When I got home I tried to find out more about the statue. There was no maker’s mark and the internet gave me no clues. It was hard to find anything about a statue of a naked woman.
That night I dreamed of the statue. It came to life and was a black woman. She pulled me to her tits and it was like sinking into heaven. I kissed her breasts while I wept. I snuggled into the canyon of her magnificent mammaries. I cried for joy when she invited me to slip my cock between her mountains of wonder.
I fucked her tits. There was no need for lubricant. My cock slid back and forth between her tits like they were made for me.
The tits told me things. It was the crazy impossible knowledge that you can only get in dreams. The tits told me who really created the universe. The tits told me what lurks underground in secret cities. The tits told me the sex secrets of a celebrity cook. The tits told me where orgasms come from. The tits told me why people still vote Republican. It was all insane and it all made sense.
I came in my dream and I awoke to sticky sheets. My underwear was soaked with come. I laughed and thought about the crazy things the tits told me. I expected that when I was awake, that the weird things I had dreamed would sound even crazier. Instead, they made more sense.
That was too much for me. By the time I finished with my shower I had decided to get rid of the statue. It was what I usually do anyway. I often bought things, keep it around for awhile and then sell it on an internet auction site to make room for something new. I was just speeding up the process.
I took a few pictures of the statue for the auction site. My cock was hard the entire time. This time I could certainly see the African features more clearly. Funny how my dream made it easier to see.
I posted it with a starting bid of sixty dollars.
I went to work and tried to forget about the statue but it was hard. So was my cock. Even though it was a dream, I could remember with perfect clarity the feeling of slipping between those lovely lady lumps.
Harder to forget was the knowledge the tits had told me. I saw the celebrity chef on a magazine cover and it seemed so obvious what perversions she does. I felt a tremor from a passing subway train and I knew what the short men underground were up to. I heard my conservative coworker bitch about healthcare and I knew what he was really afraid of.
When I got home I checked the auction site. The current bid was six thousand dollars. That was crazy.
I had dinner and watched television. I kept thinking about the statue. I jacked off twice more. Coming three times in one day was some sort of a record.
That night I dreamed of the statue again. This time she was Asian with flawless skin and beautiful black hair. She pulled me to her tits and I sucked on a nipple. I dreamed she masturbated me as I sucked.
The tits told me things again. I tried not to listen but their ideas went straight into my head. The tits told me why my last girlfriend cheated on me. The tits told me why people like vampire erotica. The tits told me what that famous teenage singer really was.
A loud knocking woke me up. It was the incessant pounding of an angry hand. I got out of bed with my cock forming a tent in my boxers. I glanced at the statue beside my bed and this time I could plainly see the Asian features. How could I have mistaken them for African before?
The knocking resumed and I rushed to the door, which is weird because I should have been pissed at the knocking at the late hour. It is hard to describe, but I felt like I was in trouble.
There were three people at the door. The one in front was a woman with long blonde hair. Behind her were a short redhead woman and a tall white man. They wore black masks across their eyes like they were bank robbers from the 40’s.
Even odder was their shirts. Each of them had a cut in their shirt that revealed their right breast. The blonde woman had a heavy tit exposed that was pale and marbled with pale blue veins. The redhead had a small perky tit with a butterfly tattoo. The man’s tit was a bit hairy.
“We are here for the Oracle,” the blonde said. “You must give it to us and us alone.”
I knew they were talking about the statue. I mean, what else would three masked people with their tits hanging out be here for?
“Put a bid in like everyone else,” I said. “Wait, how did you get my address?”
“The Order of the Tit have many connections,” the blonde said. “We are only the true worthy inheritors of the power of the Oracle and we demand you give it to us. We will not sully the Oracle by paying for it with mortal currency but we shall make you an offer. Natalie here will suck you cock or take it up her ass, whichever you prefer in exchange for the Oracle. Steve is here for the same offer if your tastes are more masculine. Either way, we want the Oracle.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Or you can have them both if you wish,” the blonde said. “Hell, you can have me as well. We number over a thousand members and you can have us all if you desire. Just give us the Oracle before it decarnates.”
“De-car-what?” I said. “Wait, what is the Oracle?”
“Newbie! You don’t deserve to know!” the redhead snapped.
The blonde held up her hand. “No, Natalie, the Oracle appeared to him. Perhaps he is worthy. Tell him, Steve.”
The man nodded and spoke. “No one knows what exactly the Oracle is but when it appears, it grants forbidden knowledge. It always appears as a great work of art and within a few weeks, it disappears. It reappears usually around six years later. Last time it appeared, it was a sexy towel in Puerto Rico. Before that, it appeared as a jpeg that couldn’t be copied. Some say that it taught prehistoric man how to have oral sex and-“
“That is enough, Steve,” the blonde said. “As you can see, the Oracle imparts important knowledge, knowledge that must belong in the right hands and kept away from the uneducated. It is too important to sell to a random person on the internet.”
“I need to think about this,” I said. “Come back in the morning? No wait; come back at six in the afternoon? After I get off from work?”
“It could decarnate tonight!” the redhead snapped. “There is so much to learn! Why is that shitty book about bondage so popular? What is the right way to have a poly relationship? You have to give it to us!”
“Yeah, come back at six,” I said. I closed the door.
That was freaky. I should have called the cops but what they said made a certain kind of sense. I mean, with all the weird dreams I have had, it was as good an explanation as any.
I locked the door and checked the lock on the back door. When I peeked outside the window I saw that they had gone. I went back to bed.
This time I dreamed that the statue was a Hispanic woman. Her skin was a luscious brown and her tits were topped with dark nipples the color of the night sky. This time the Oracle got down on her knees and took me into her mouth. I grabbed her heavy tits and my fingers squeezed and played with the malleable marvels of her flesh.
The tits had a lot to tell me. They told me of the Order of the Tit and how jealous they were of Oracle’s secrets. The Order was there when O was being branded. The Order created the secret pleasure palaces of the Rockefellers. The Order kept the sex books of Charles Dickens for themselves. The Order decided who gets to enjoy our wicked world.
The tits told me that knowledge, like tits, is nourishing when given freely. The tits told me that tits, like knowledge, can be cruel when denied. The tits told me that there is a place for both.
The oracle took me out of her mouth before I climaxed. As I held her tits, she jacked my cock. I climaxed on her bountiful brown breasts.
The tits had one more thing to tell me. Covered in my come, they told me that the window for my kitchen had the weakest lock of all.
A crashing sound woke me up. I heard angry cursing the sound of a dozen people in my house. Someone knocked down some dishes and someone else tripped over my exercise bike in the living room. Yeah, I always trip on that thing too.
My underwear was full of come but I couldn’t worry about that. I jumped out of bed and grabbed the statue. I thought about going out my window but before I could, the bedroom door burst open. A black guy with his right nipple exposed charged me.
I hit him with the statue. I swung it by the legs so he got clobbered by the tits part of the statue. The guy went down like a log. I wasn’t sure if I gave him a concussion or maybe he was having a vision.
A white guy came at me and I showed how non-racist I was by knocking him out too. The redhead from earlier ran at me and I took her out too so that proved I didn’t discriminate by gender either.
“Just give us the Oracle and you won’t get hurt!” the blonde from earlier screamed.
“Fuck off!” I said. A big guy was blocking the door to outside but a statue swing to his nuts put him down. You know, for a secret organization that has been around for centuries, they couldn’t fight for shit.
I ran outside and I saw a white van pull up. The doors opened and a pretty black girl leaned out. She had on pink robes that exposed her breast. I slipped in the grass and fell on my ass.
That was when I noticed the robes covered her left breast, not her right.
The rest you know. Now I am a member of the Fellowship of the Tit. I have sworn the Six Oaths on Six Tits and now I too wear the pink robes. My left nipple is exposed to all for sexuality should be free and never censored or controlled.
Together we shall learn the secrets of the Oracle and tell the world. We will bring in a new age of sexual enlightenment to all who want to hear. We will not turn you away because you read the wrong books, see the wrong movies or like the wrong things. We are the Fellowship of the Tit and the Oracle is for us all.
The statue depicted a nude woman with amazing breasts. The breasts were a size too large for the body and yet the statue stood perfectly fine on its slender base. It appeared to be made of silver but the weight was too light. The woman had short curly hair and her face was a curious mix of racial features that made it impossible to identify. It could have been a white woman, an African, an Asian or a Hispanic. Whatever she was, she was beautiful.
The seller was confused when I pointed it out. He didn’t seem to think it was his. That was not too unusual, most of these flea markets are staffed by people who buy and sell every day. I just assumed that he forgot that he owned it. He didn’t have a price tag for it so he charged me sixty-six dollars. For once, I didn’t haggle and I paid his price.
I didn’t buy anything else that day. Holding that statue in my hand, I lost my usual passions. I was no longer interested in old books, vintage typewriters or Death Bringers concert posters. In fact, I had a giant erection in my pants and my throbbing cock was all I could think of.
I went back to my car and set the statue down in the passenger seat. I started the car and then turned it back off. A drop of rain had landed on the statue and it was sitting on the statue’s right breast. It clung to the statue’s breast and I was jealous of it.
Please understand that I am not a pervert. I jack off every other day but I don’t have enormous porn collections on my computer like some guys. I don’t have a girlfriend but I am not looking either. I am a regular guy and I don’t usually act this way.
I opened my pants. My cock was pulsing as I wrapped my hand around it. Usually I masturbate with tissues or a towel to catch my come but I didn’t care. I didn’t even spit in my hand as I started to jack off.
It was a rainy day but there were still people in the parking lot. I didn’t care. I looked at the statue and jacked my cock. Those perfect breasts looked so soft and pliant. I wanted to lick the raindrop off the statue but I didn’t. It was sexier seeing it there.
I came pretty quickly. I made a huge mess in my car. Normally I feel a twinge of shame afterwards but this time I just felt a tremendous relief. With a hand covered in come, I felt good.
When I got home I tried to find out more about the statue. There was no maker’s mark and the internet gave me no clues. It was hard to find anything about a statue of a naked woman.
That night I dreamed of the statue. It came to life and was a black woman. She pulled me to her tits and it was like sinking into heaven. I kissed her breasts while I wept. I snuggled into the canyon of her magnificent mammaries. I cried for joy when she invited me to slip my cock between her mountains of wonder.
I fucked her tits. There was no need for lubricant. My cock slid back and forth between her tits like they were made for me.
The tits told me things. It was the crazy impossible knowledge that you can only get in dreams. The tits told me who really created the universe. The tits told me what lurks underground in secret cities. The tits told me the sex secrets of a celebrity cook. The tits told me where orgasms come from. The tits told me why people still vote Republican. It was all insane and it all made sense.
I came in my dream and I awoke to sticky sheets. My underwear was soaked with come. I laughed and thought about the crazy things the tits told me. I expected that when I was awake, that the weird things I had dreamed would sound even crazier. Instead, they made more sense.
That was too much for me. By the time I finished with my shower I had decided to get rid of the statue. It was what I usually do anyway. I often bought things, keep it around for awhile and then sell it on an internet auction site to make room for something new. I was just speeding up the process.
I took a few pictures of the statue for the auction site. My cock was hard the entire time. This time I could certainly see the African features more clearly. Funny how my dream made it easier to see.
I posted it with a starting bid of sixty dollars.
I went to work and tried to forget about the statue but it was hard. So was my cock. Even though it was a dream, I could remember with perfect clarity the feeling of slipping between those lovely lady lumps.
Harder to forget was the knowledge the tits had told me. I saw the celebrity chef on a magazine cover and it seemed so obvious what perversions she does. I felt a tremor from a passing subway train and I knew what the short men underground were up to. I heard my conservative coworker bitch about healthcare and I knew what he was really afraid of.
When I got home I checked the auction site. The current bid was six thousand dollars. That was crazy.
I had dinner and watched television. I kept thinking about the statue. I jacked off twice more. Coming three times in one day was some sort of a record.
That night I dreamed of the statue again. This time she was Asian with flawless skin and beautiful black hair. She pulled me to her tits and I sucked on a nipple. I dreamed she masturbated me as I sucked.
The tits told me things again. I tried not to listen but their ideas went straight into my head. The tits told me why my last girlfriend cheated on me. The tits told me why people like vampire erotica. The tits told me what that famous teenage singer really was.
A loud knocking woke me up. It was the incessant pounding of an angry hand. I got out of bed with my cock forming a tent in my boxers. I glanced at the statue beside my bed and this time I could plainly see the Asian features. How could I have mistaken them for African before?
The knocking resumed and I rushed to the door, which is weird because I should have been pissed at the knocking at the late hour. It is hard to describe, but I felt like I was in trouble.
There were three people at the door. The one in front was a woman with long blonde hair. Behind her were a short redhead woman and a tall white man. They wore black masks across their eyes like they were bank robbers from the 40’s.
Even odder was their shirts. Each of them had a cut in their shirt that revealed their right breast. The blonde woman had a heavy tit exposed that was pale and marbled with pale blue veins. The redhead had a small perky tit with a butterfly tattoo. The man’s tit was a bit hairy.
“We are here for the Oracle,” the blonde said. “You must give it to us and us alone.”
I knew they were talking about the statue. I mean, what else would three masked people with their tits hanging out be here for?
“Put a bid in like everyone else,” I said. “Wait, how did you get my address?”
“The Order of the Tit have many connections,” the blonde said. “We are only the true worthy inheritors of the power of the Oracle and we demand you give it to us. We will not sully the Oracle by paying for it with mortal currency but we shall make you an offer. Natalie here will suck you cock or take it up her ass, whichever you prefer in exchange for the Oracle. Steve is here for the same offer if your tastes are more masculine. Either way, we want the Oracle.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“Or you can have them both if you wish,” the blonde said. “Hell, you can have me as well. We number over a thousand members and you can have us all if you desire. Just give us the Oracle before it decarnates.”
“De-car-what?” I said. “Wait, what is the Oracle?”
“Newbie! You don’t deserve to know!” the redhead snapped.
The blonde held up her hand. “No, Natalie, the Oracle appeared to him. Perhaps he is worthy. Tell him, Steve.”
The man nodded and spoke. “No one knows what exactly the Oracle is but when it appears, it grants forbidden knowledge. It always appears as a great work of art and within a few weeks, it disappears. It reappears usually around six years later. Last time it appeared, it was a sexy towel in Puerto Rico. Before that, it appeared as a jpeg that couldn’t be copied. Some say that it taught prehistoric man how to have oral sex and-“
“That is enough, Steve,” the blonde said. “As you can see, the Oracle imparts important knowledge, knowledge that must belong in the right hands and kept away from the uneducated. It is too important to sell to a random person on the internet.”
“I need to think about this,” I said. “Come back in the morning? No wait; come back at six in the afternoon? After I get off from work?”
“It could decarnate tonight!” the redhead snapped. “There is so much to learn! Why is that shitty book about bondage so popular? What is the right way to have a poly relationship? You have to give it to us!”
“Yeah, come back at six,” I said. I closed the door.
That was freaky. I should have called the cops but what they said made a certain kind of sense. I mean, with all the weird dreams I have had, it was as good an explanation as any.
I locked the door and checked the lock on the back door. When I peeked outside the window I saw that they had gone. I went back to bed.
This time I dreamed that the statue was a Hispanic woman. Her skin was a luscious brown and her tits were topped with dark nipples the color of the night sky. This time the Oracle got down on her knees and took me into her mouth. I grabbed her heavy tits and my fingers squeezed and played with the malleable marvels of her flesh.
The tits had a lot to tell me. They told me of the Order of the Tit and how jealous they were of Oracle’s secrets. The Order was there when O was being branded. The Order created the secret pleasure palaces of the Rockefellers. The Order kept the sex books of Charles Dickens for themselves. The Order decided who gets to enjoy our wicked world.
The tits told me that knowledge, like tits, is nourishing when given freely. The tits told me that tits, like knowledge, can be cruel when denied. The tits told me that there is a place for both.
The oracle took me out of her mouth before I climaxed. As I held her tits, she jacked my cock. I climaxed on her bountiful brown breasts.
The tits had one more thing to tell me. Covered in my come, they told me that the window for my kitchen had the weakest lock of all.
A crashing sound woke me up. I heard angry cursing the sound of a dozen people in my house. Someone knocked down some dishes and someone else tripped over my exercise bike in the living room. Yeah, I always trip on that thing too.
My underwear was full of come but I couldn’t worry about that. I jumped out of bed and grabbed the statue. I thought about going out my window but before I could, the bedroom door burst open. A black guy with his right nipple exposed charged me.
I hit him with the statue. I swung it by the legs so he got clobbered by the tits part of the statue. The guy went down like a log. I wasn’t sure if I gave him a concussion or maybe he was having a vision.
A white guy came at me and I showed how non-racist I was by knocking him out too. The redhead from earlier ran at me and I took her out too so that proved I didn’t discriminate by gender either.
“Just give us the Oracle and you won’t get hurt!” the blonde from earlier screamed.
“Fuck off!” I said. A big guy was blocking the door to outside but a statue swing to his nuts put him down. You know, for a secret organization that has been around for centuries, they couldn’t fight for shit.
I ran outside and I saw a white van pull up. The doors opened and a pretty black girl leaned out. She had on pink robes that exposed her breast. I slipped in the grass and fell on my ass.
That was when I noticed the robes covered her left breast, not her right.
The rest you know. Now I am a member of the Fellowship of the Tit. I have sworn the Six Oaths on Six Tits and now I too wear the pink robes. My left nipple is exposed to all for sexuality should be free and never censored or controlled.
Together we shall learn the secrets of the Oracle and tell the world. We will bring in a new age of sexual enlightenment to all who want to hear. We will not turn you away because you read the wrong books, see the wrong movies or like the wrong things. We are the Fellowship of the Tit and the Oracle is for us all.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Friday, July 20, 2012
Play With This: Mr. Fix
In the world of fiction, sometimes characters run into problems that they can’t solve by themselves. In the crime fiction world, sometimes they need to hide a body or maybe turn someone into a body. Or in the spy fiction world, they need to scrub someone’s identity or create a new one. The key is that sometimes there are problems too big to solve by yourself so you turn to a professional. You turn to someone who will not only fix the problem but will also keep their mouth shut about it.
In the erotica fiction world, they turn to Mr. Fix.
Mr. Fix helps all sorts of people. He helps college kids finish that term paper that they should have been working on all semester instead of attending frat parties. He helps parents find that one toy that their kids want for Christmas but it is already sold out and it is only November. He even helps sex bloggers come up with a post on Monday morning when they have been drinking all night. Mr. Fix is an expert in his chosen field and he is the best one to turn to when you are in deep shit.
By the way, Mr. Fix is not his name. He has as many aliases as there are erotica writers. It would be exhausting to cover all of his other names here, so for the purposes of this article, he will just be known as Mr. Fix.
Why does Mr. Fix do it? Is it for the money? Mr. Fix doesn’t charge any money. His price is your ass. He is going spank the shit out of it. It is going to hurt like Hell but man, that old problem of yours is just history. Don’t try to negotiate because he doesn’t. Don’t appeal to his sense of mercy because he has none. Look, you’re the dumb ass who got yourself into this mess in the first place. Deep down, you suspect that he thinks you are just getting off lightly with a spanking.
It is entirely possible that Mr. Fix is interested in prices other than spankings. Most characters in these situations are so desperate that they will accept just about any price. Mr. Fix could easily demand blowjobs, sex with a spouse or even something as minor as a handjob. The important thing is that it should be something that makes a character and the readers hesitate. It should instantly make someone think “Is getting a good grade for the semester really worth ____?” The price can be anything the writer wants but it should be fixed. It is all or nothing. He is offering an easy way out for your problems for something you may not want to give. Like I said earlier, the character is the dumb ass who got themselves into this mess in the first place.
What does Mr. Fix look like? That depends on the erotica universe. Universes that lean more towards romantic encounters say that Mr. Fix is a handsome man with a slightly foreign accent. In more sadistic universe, Mr. Fix has a big belly, a receding hairline and hands that are a little touchy feely. In some universes, it is actually Ms. Fix and that woman does not fuck around.
How does one find out about Mr. Fix? Word of mouth is always good, but people probably hold back a little bit on what they paid. I have a fondness for mysterious advertisements in local papers. In this internet age, a character might find out about Mr. Fix from their spam folder. Mr. Fix works in mysterious ways.
In the erotica fiction world, they turn to Mr. Fix.
Mr. Fix helps all sorts of people. He helps college kids finish that term paper that they should have been working on all semester instead of attending frat parties. He helps parents find that one toy that their kids want for Christmas but it is already sold out and it is only November. He even helps sex bloggers come up with a post on Monday morning when they have been drinking all night. Mr. Fix is an expert in his chosen field and he is the best one to turn to when you are in deep shit.
By the way, Mr. Fix is not his name. He has as many aliases as there are erotica writers. It would be exhausting to cover all of his other names here, so for the purposes of this article, he will just be known as Mr. Fix.
Why does Mr. Fix do it? Is it for the money? Mr. Fix doesn’t charge any money. His price is your ass. He is going spank the shit out of it. It is going to hurt like Hell but man, that old problem of yours is just history. Don’t try to negotiate because he doesn’t. Don’t appeal to his sense of mercy because he has none. Look, you’re the dumb ass who got yourself into this mess in the first place. Deep down, you suspect that he thinks you are just getting off lightly with a spanking.
It is entirely possible that Mr. Fix is interested in prices other than spankings. Most characters in these situations are so desperate that they will accept just about any price. Mr. Fix could easily demand blowjobs, sex with a spouse or even something as minor as a handjob. The important thing is that it should be something that makes a character and the readers hesitate. It should instantly make someone think “Is getting a good grade for the semester really worth ____?” The price can be anything the writer wants but it should be fixed. It is all or nothing. He is offering an easy way out for your problems for something you may not want to give. Like I said earlier, the character is the dumb ass who got themselves into this mess in the first place.
What does Mr. Fix look like? That depends on the erotica universe. Universes that lean more towards romantic encounters say that Mr. Fix is a handsome man with a slightly foreign accent. In more sadistic universe, Mr. Fix has a big belly, a receding hairline and hands that are a little touchy feely. In some universes, it is actually Ms. Fix and that woman does not fuck around.
How does one find out about Mr. Fix? Word of mouth is always good, but people probably hold back a little bit on what they paid. I have a fondness for mysterious advertisements in local papers. In this internet age, a character might find out about Mr. Fix from their spam folder. Mr. Fix works in mysterious ways.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Fiction: The Crazy Spouse
Holly Valentine was breaking the first rule of what it meant to be a good reporter; she was becoming part of the story. That was not good for her career or her credibility. She had a hard enough time being taken seriously with her awesome body and kick ass red hair. If her old college professors could see her now, they would tell her to run from this story as fast as she could.
“Fuck them,” Holly said. “I’m hanging out with mother fucking Bobbi from ‘Johnson’s River’.”
“What was that?” Annie said.
“Nothing,” Holly said. Holly corrected herself. Bobbi was the name of the character played by Annie Watson. She had to keep this professional. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to hang out with one of your idols from a 90’s teen melodrama.
Annie Watson smiled. It was the same heartbreaking warm smile that made millions of teenage boys cream their pants in the late 90’s. Jesus Christ, she looked just the same as she did back on the show. Her shoulder length brown hair, those cute dimples and her tomboyish body were far too familiar to Holly. Being in the same room as her was bringing back all those feelings Holly had back in the day when she used to hang out in lesbian bars and bitch about the patriarchy.
“I am so glad you helped me, Holly,” Annie said. “I don’t think I could have ever escaped Ed or his crazy cult without you. I can’t believe I am finally free!”
Holly couldn’t believe it either. Just a week ago, Holly had tried to get a fluff interview with Annie about the incoming Johnson’s River reunion. She got ten minutes with the actress, accompanied by six suspicious looking men who claimed to be “assistants.” When Holly had shaken Annie’s hand at the end of the interview, the actress had slipped her a note. It read simply, “save me”.
Now a week later, Holly had helped Annie escape her controlling husband. The reporter had rented a car under an assumed name, bought disposable cell phones and picked Annie up a mile away from her husband’s reclusive compound. They had driven all night and were now hiding in a seedy motel to plan their next move.
“We have to be careful, Holly,” Annie said. “Ed would not hesitate to have us killed to protect his secrets.”
Holly nodded. Ed Tunt was one of Hollywood’s most lucrative actors. The guy was a one man action movie franchise. He was also a spokesman for the controversial self-help cult, Alchemism. The group claimed they could heal anyone from their problems if they would just give their money, time and their children to the cult’s teaching.
It was hard to worry at the moment though. Annie had stripped off her concealing overcoat as well as her pants and shirt. The television star was sitting in her panties and bra on the motel sofa. She had stripped because the air conditioner wasn’t working but her sweaty body was a hell of a distraction to Holly.
“Is it true that Alchemism believes that aliens are harming us?” Holly said. She thought that maybe engaging her reporter’s mind would distract her from her horny body.
“No,” Annie laughed. “That rumor is completely untrue.”
“Oh,” Holly said.
“Alchemism believes that there is a secret race of men that live underground and that they poison our water to make us more promiscuous,” Annie said. “They call them the Secret Perverts. Alchemism is concerned with coming up with ways to free your mind from the poisons.”
“Oh my,” Holly said. “That is even weirder than what has leaked out.”
“Oh yeah, only the top levels of the church know the truth,” Annie said. “The lower levels are just told that they are being purged of additives that Communists planted in the 50’s. That is easier for them to believe.”
As Holly digested that, Annie laid her back on the sofa and stretched her legs to the ceiling. Holly had a sudden vision of herself kissing down Annie’s legs. She would start at her cute toes and down to her knees and then down to her thighs and then down to her . . .
“What about the rumor that Ed Tunt is gay?” Holly said. “A lot of people think the Church of Alchemism hired you to provide a beard for Ed’s gay rumors.”
Annie spread her legs, stretching them as far as they would go. They could go quite far.
“Oh he is not gay,” Annie said. “He is actually very asexual. He married me because he loved being with me but he hated sex. He said sex was just something the Secret Perverts created. Sex was only for children and fuck that, I didn’t want children.”
Annie ran her hands up and down her thighs. Holly wished to hell that air conditioner would work. To help cool off, Holly opened a few buttons on her blouse. She wished she could strip ass naked but she didn’t trust herself around Annie. That girl was bisexual kryptonite.
“Did you know this before you married him?” Holly asked. There, keep asking questions. Stay a reporter and not a fangirl.
“Well, a little,” Annie said. She looked at Holly with that heartbreaking smile. “But I got him to give in to me a few times while we were dating. I thought after we were married, I could change him, you know? He was Ed Tunt, I had to try. I thought I could get him between my thighs every day if I tried hard enough. You know?”
“Yes,” Holly whispered. She wanted to gay marry Annie right now and fuck her every day.
Stay professional. Holly crossed her legs as tightly as she could. “Is it true that the Church of Alchemism has made people disappear?”
Annie sat up. Her long legs were now touching the floor but they were still decandetly wide. Holly could see the faint bush of hair under Annie’s white panties.
“I know they have,” Annie said. “I can name names and where they are buried.”
“Holy shit,” Holly said. This could be the scoop of the century! She could be the reporter that broke the Church of Alchemism wide open and fuck their tight pussy!
Holly shook her head at that last thought. God, she needed to masturbate if she was going to keep her wits for the next few days.
“Holly?” Annie asked.
“Yes?” Holly answered. She tried to sound as professional as possible.
“Holly it has been over a year since I have gotten laid,” Annie said. “Could we fuck already?”
“Stay professional,” Holly thought as she stood up and crossed the motel room.
“Be a reporter,” she thought as she sat down beside Annie on the couch.
“Be good!” her mind screamed as she took Annie’s face in her hands and leaned in for a kiss.
Holly trembled as she kissed Annie’s lips. She remembered the first time Bobbi, Annie’s character on ‘Johnson’s River’ kissed Johnson. Holly remembered the first time Bobbi kissed Johnson’s best friend, Jason. Holly had wished so many times that it was her kissing Bobbi and here she was.
Annie grabbed Holly by the back of the head and pulled her to her mouth. Holly moaned as the actress opened Holly’s mouth. Annie’s tongue reached into and savaged Holly. The reporter felt herself melt as her mouth was used.
Holly felt her shirt being ripped open. Holly helped while she kept kissing Annie. She felt her bra being torn from her breasts and Holly gasped. Who knew demure Annie could be such a horny girl? It was like all of Holly’s wet dreams had come true.
Annie stopped kissing her and Holly tried to pull her back. Annie was stronger. Her mouth dipped down and sucked on one of Holly’s nipples. Holly groaned as the eager actress suckled. Holly reached under Annie’s mouth to grab a handful of Annie’s breast for herself. The sweaty bra was in the way but Holly still got a shiver when she touched that famous breast.
It was like touching heaven. It was like touching her roommate’s breast one drunken night in college. It was like having your favorite show cancelled and then renewed. Holly couldn’t be happier.
“I want to taste you,” Annie said.
Oh wait, Holly found that she could be happier after all.
Annie pushed Holly back against the couch. The actress got down on the floor on her knees before Holly. She tugged at Holly’s pants and tossed them away. Sharp fingernails tore Holly’s black panties to shreds. As soon as Holly’s red bush was exposed, Annie dived in.
Holly cried out. Annie pushed deep into Holly’s sex and was licking deeply of the juice there. Holly gripped Annie’s head with both hands as the actress licked faster and faster. Holly has had her pussy eaten by professionals but Annie was amazing. She was insatiable.
“This is wrong,” Holly whispered. Annie kept licking. “I shouldn’t be getting eaten out by Annie Watson. I should be eating Annie Watson. Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes!”
Annie kept licking. Holly wasn’t sure how the girl could breathe. She also didn’t care. Annie ate pussy like a woman dying of thirst. Holly guessed that was what the Church of Alchemism did to people; it made them pussy starved sex freaks.
“I guess the church was good for something,” Holly said. Annie kept licking.
Holly couldn’t resist her idol. Her body raced towards one of Holly’s fastest orgasms ever. Annie’s brown hair felt great against Holly’s thighs as Annie sucked, licked and bit Holly’s clitoris. Holly’s hips gyrated with pleasure and Annie’s mouth followed her sex everywhere.
“Fuck!” Holly yelled. She climaxed as Annie lapped up her juices.
“Fucking A!” Holly yelled as she came again. Annie’s tongue discovered new depths inside Holly.
“Fuck me!” Holly screamed as she came a third time.
Annie rose from between Holly’s legs. The former teen idol’s face was smeared with Holly’s juices. The look in her eyes was worlds away from the sweet innocence she once portrayed on television. The smile however was pure Annie
“Fuck me, Holly,” Annie said. She sat beside Holly and draped her legs across Holly. “Feel how warm and ready I am for you.”
Holly was too exhausted to move but this was Annie Watson. She reached between Annie’s thighs and her fingers went where so many boys had wished they could. Her fingers entered Annie and the actress shuddered.
“Deeper, deeper, deeper,” Annie said.
Holly was glad to accommodate. Her fingers probed deeper into the actress. The heat and wetness that greeted Holly was astonishing. This poor woman must have to wait forever for sex. Holly’s objectivity as a reporter slipped away. She had to help Annie. She had to get her off.
“Fuck me, Holly,” Annie said. “Fuck me like that asshole, Ed, can’t.”
Holly finger fucked Annie. Holly found new reserves of energy as she plunged her fingers in and out of Annie. The actress closed her eyes and moaned. Holly pulled Annie’s breast out of her bra cup and then leaned over to bite it. She sank her teeth into Annie’s breasts while her fingers fucked.
“Faster,” Annie moaned. Holly fucked faster.
“Harder,” Annie begged. Holly rammed her fingers in and out.
“Make me come,” Annie whispered. Holly released Annie’s breast and moved her entire body so she could get between Annie’s thighs. While her fingers kept fucking, Holly licked the actress’s clitoris.
“Fuck Alchemism!” Annie screamed. She grabbed Holly’s head and kept her pinned to her pussy. The actress fucked Holly’s fingers and face for a solid two minutes until her orgasm was finished.
Holly was exhausted. She was appreciative for Annie helping her to the bed. A night of driving and great sex had worn her out. Annie tucked her in and Holly drifted gratefully off to sleep.
The sound of chanting woke Holly up. She tried to sit up but her wrists and ankles were restrained. She snapped to full alertness. Had the Church of Alchemism found them?
Annie was standing above her on the bed. The actress was naked except for the butcher knife she held in her hands. It was Annie that was doing the chanting.
“Annie?” Holly asked. “What’s going on?”
“Shh, Holly,” Annie said. “I am trying to summon the Secret Perverts. I want them to take me away to their secret lair under the earth. I want to be fucked by their hellish decadence for ever and ever. Only be sacrificing the ones I care for will they listen to me. I am sorry but it will be worth it. Your death will grant me a lifetime of fucking. I am sure you are the last sacrifice needed. Isn’t that worth it?”
“Uh,” Holly said. She was still too tired to process all of this. “I thought the Secret Perverts were just something the Church of Alchemism made up.”
“Oh no,” Annie said. “The Church is trying to stop the Secret Perverts. Once Ed explained it all to me, I realized how wrong the church was. We should be serving the Secret Perverts, not fighting them. It is all so clear to me. The Secret Perverts have been sending me voices to help guide me.”
“Well, shit,” Holly said. This was unexpected.
The motel doors burst open. Three masked men with guns rushed in. Annie screamed and all three men fired. Darts appeared on Annie’s body and she dropped in a drugged stupor. One of the men rushed forward to catch her before she fell. Once he had her, he took his mask off. It was Ed Tunt!
“My poor baby,” Ed said. “I am so glad we got here before you killed another one.”
“Another one?” Holly asked. One of the other masked men cut her free. She stood up and rubbed her sore wrists. “Has Annie killed before?”
Ed looked at Holly. “She’s a really sweet girl. She just needs the right treatment of mental preperation.”
“To protect her from being a schizophrenic or from the Secret Perverts?” Holly asked.
The two masked men raised their rifles. Ed shook his head.
“The Church of Alchemism can not discuss internal religious matters with outsiders,” he said.
Holly sighed. “You know what? I don’t give a shit. Thank for saving me. I won’t write about any of this. No one would believe that sweet Annie Watson is a serial killer. Just keep that bitch locked up.”
Ed smiled and left with his unconscious wife. The masked men followed. They were nice enough to close the door behind them.
“This is why you don’t become a part of the story,” Holly said. She picked up the butcher knife. Where did Annie even get this thing?
“Also, don’t fuck with celebrities,” Holly said. “They’re crazy.”
“Fuck them,” Holly said. “I’m hanging out with mother fucking Bobbi from ‘Johnson’s River’.”
“What was that?” Annie said.
“Nothing,” Holly said. Holly corrected herself. Bobbi was the name of the character played by Annie Watson. She had to keep this professional. After all, it wasn’t every day you got to hang out with one of your idols from a 90’s teen melodrama.
Annie Watson smiled. It was the same heartbreaking warm smile that made millions of teenage boys cream their pants in the late 90’s. Jesus Christ, she looked just the same as she did back on the show. Her shoulder length brown hair, those cute dimples and her tomboyish body were far too familiar to Holly. Being in the same room as her was bringing back all those feelings Holly had back in the day when she used to hang out in lesbian bars and bitch about the patriarchy.
“I am so glad you helped me, Holly,” Annie said. “I don’t think I could have ever escaped Ed or his crazy cult without you. I can’t believe I am finally free!”
Holly couldn’t believe it either. Just a week ago, Holly had tried to get a fluff interview with Annie about the incoming Johnson’s River reunion. She got ten minutes with the actress, accompanied by six suspicious looking men who claimed to be “assistants.” When Holly had shaken Annie’s hand at the end of the interview, the actress had slipped her a note. It read simply, “save me”.
Now a week later, Holly had helped Annie escape her controlling husband. The reporter had rented a car under an assumed name, bought disposable cell phones and picked Annie up a mile away from her husband’s reclusive compound. They had driven all night and were now hiding in a seedy motel to plan their next move.
“We have to be careful, Holly,” Annie said. “Ed would not hesitate to have us killed to protect his secrets.”
Holly nodded. Ed Tunt was one of Hollywood’s most lucrative actors. The guy was a one man action movie franchise. He was also a spokesman for the controversial self-help cult, Alchemism. The group claimed they could heal anyone from their problems if they would just give their money, time and their children to the cult’s teaching.
It was hard to worry at the moment though. Annie had stripped off her concealing overcoat as well as her pants and shirt. The television star was sitting in her panties and bra on the motel sofa. She had stripped because the air conditioner wasn’t working but her sweaty body was a hell of a distraction to Holly.
“Is it true that Alchemism believes that aliens are harming us?” Holly said. She thought that maybe engaging her reporter’s mind would distract her from her horny body.
“No,” Annie laughed. “That rumor is completely untrue.”
“Oh,” Holly said.
“Alchemism believes that there is a secret race of men that live underground and that they poison our water to make us more promiscuous,” Annie said. “They call them the Secret Perverts. Alchemism is concerned with coming up with ways to free your mind from the poisons.”
“Oh my,” Holly said. “That is even weirder than what has leaked out.”
“Oh yeah, only the top levels of the church know the truth,” Annie said. “The lower levels are just told that they are being purged of additives that Communists planted in the 50’s. That is easier for them to believe.”
As Holly digested that, Annie laid her back on the sofa and stretched her legs to the ceiling. Holly had a sudden vision of herself kissing down Annie’s legs. She would start at her cute toes and down to her knees and then down to her thighs and then down to her . . .
“What about the rumor that Ed Tunt is gay?” Holly said. “A lot of people think the Church of Alchemism hired you to provide a beard for Ed’s gay rumors.”
Annie spread her legs, stretching them as far as they would go. They could go quite far.
“Oh he is not gay,” Annie said. “He is actually very asexual. He married me because he loved being with me but he hated sex. He said sex was just something the Secret Perverts created. Sex was only for children and fuck that, I didn’t want children.”
Annie ran her hands up and down her thighs. Holly wished to hell that air conditioner would work. To help cool off, Holly opened a few buttons on her blouse. She wished she could strip ass naked but she didn’t trust herself around Annie. That girl was bisexual kryptonite.
“Did you know this before you married him?” Holly asked. There, keep asking questions. Stay a reporter and not a fangirl.
“Well, a little,” Annie said. She looked at Holly with that heartbreaking smile. “But I got him to give in to me a few times while we were dating. I thought after we were married, I could change him, you know? He was Ed Tunt, I had to try. I thought I could get him between my thighs every day if I tried hard enough. You know?”
“Yes,” Holly whispered. She wanted to gay marry Annie right now and fuck her every day.
Stay professional. Holly crossed her legs as tightly as she could. “Is it true that the Church of Alchemism has made people disappear?”
Annie sat up. Her long legs were now touching the floor but they were still decandetly wide. Holly could see the faint bush of hair under Annie’s white panties.
“I know they have,” Annie said. “I can name names and where they are buried.”
“Holy shit,” Holly said. This could be the scoop of the century! She could be the reporter that broke the Church of Alchemism wide open and fuck their tight pussy!
Holly shook her head at that last thought. God, she needed to masturbate if she was going to keep her wits for the next few days.
“Holly?” Annie asked.
“Yes?” Holly answered. She tried to sound as professional as possible.
“Holly it has been over a year since I have gotten laid,” Annie said. “Could we fuck already?”
“Stay professional,” Holly thought as she stood up and crossed the motel room.
“Be a reporter,” she thought as she sat down beside Annie on the couch.
“Be good!” her mind screamed as she took Annie’s face in her hands and leaned in for a kiss.
Holly trembled as she kissed Annie’s lips. She remembered the first time Bobbi, Annie’s character on ‘Johnson’s River’ kissed Johnson. Holly remembered the first time Bobbi kissed Johnson’s best friend, Jason. Holly had wished so many times that it was her kissing Bobbi and here she was.
Annie grabbed Holly by the back of the head and pulled her to her mouth. Holly moaned as the actress opened Holly’s mouth. Annie’s tongue reached into and savaged Holly. The reporter felt herself melt as her mouth was used.
Holly felt her shirt being ripped open. Holly helped while she kept kissing Annie. She felt her bra being torn from her breasts and Holly gasped. Who knew demure Annie could be such a horny girl? It was like all of Holly’s wet dreams had come true.
Annie stopped kissing her and Holly tried to pull her back. Annie was stronger. Her mouth dipped down and sucked on one of Holly’s nipples. Holly groaned as the eager actress suckled. Holly reached under Annie’s mouth to grab a handful of Annie’s breast for herself. The sweaty bra was in the way but Holly still got a shiver when she touched that famous breast.
It was like touching heaven. It was like touching her roommate’s breast one drunken night in college. It was like having your favorite show cancelled and then renewed. Holly couldn’t be happier.
“I want to taste you,” Annie said.
Oh wait, Holly found that she could be happier after all.
Annie pushed Holly back against the couch. The actress got down on the floor on her knees before Holly. She tugged at Holly’s pants and tossed them away. Sharp fingernails tore Holly’s black panties to shreds. As soon as Holly’s red bush was exposed, Annie dived in.
Holly cried out. Annie pushed deep into Holly’s sex and was licking deeply of the juice there. Holly gripped Annie’s head with both hands as the actress licked faster and faster. Holly has had her pussy eaten by professionals but Annie was amazing. She was insatiable.
“This is wrong,” Holly whispered. Annie kept licking. “I shouldn’t be getting eaten out by Annie Watson. I should be eating Annie Watson. Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes!”
Annie kept licking. Holly wasn’t sure how the girl could breathe. She also didn’t care. Annie ate pussy like a woman dying of thirst. Holly guessed that was what the Church of Alchemism did to people; it made them pussy starved sex freaks.
“I guess the church was good for something,” Holly said. Annie kept licking.
Holly couldn’t resist her idol. Her body raced towards one of Holly’s fastest orgasms ever. Annie’s brown hair felt great against Holly’s thighs as Annie sucked, licked and bit Holly’s clitoris. Holly’s hips gyrated with pleasure and Annie’s mouth followed her sex everywhere.
“Fuck!” Holly yelled. She climaxed as Annie lapped up her juices.
“Fucking A!” Holly yelled as she came again. Annie’s tongue discovered new depths inside Holly.
“Fuck me!” Holly screamed as she came a third time.
Annie rose from between Holly’s legs. The former teen idol’s face was smeared with Holly’s juices. The look in her eyes was worlds away from the sweet innocence she once portrayed on television. The smile however was pure Annie
“Fuck me, Holly,” Annie said. She sat beside Holly and draped her legs across Holly. “Feel how warm and ready I am for you.”
Holly was too exhausted to move but this was Annie Watson. She reached between Annie’s thighs and her fingers went where so many boys had wished they could. Her fingers entered Annie and the actress shuddered.
“Deeper, deeper, deeper,” Annie said.
Holly was glad to accommodate. Her fingers probed deeper into the actress. The heat and wetness that greeted Holly was astonishing. This poor woman must have to wait forever for sex. Holly’s objectivity as a reporter slipped away. She had to help Annie. She had to get her off.
“Fuck me, Holly,” Annie said. “Fuck me like that asshole, Ed, can’t.”
Holly finger fucked Annie. Holly found new reserves of energy as she plunged her fingers in and out of Annie. The actress closed her eyes and moaned. Holly pulled Annie’s breast out of her bra cup and then leaned over to bite it. She sank her teeth into Annie’s breasts while her fingers fucked.
“Faster,” Annie moaned. Holly fucked faster.
“Harder,” Annie begged. Holly rammed her fingers in and out.
“Make me come,” Annie whispered. Holly released Annie’s breast and moved her entire body so she could get between Annie’s thighs. While her fingers kept fucking, Holly licked the actress’s clitoris.
“Fuck Alchemism!” Annie screamed. She grabbed Holly’s head and kept her pinned to her pussy. The actress fucked Holly’s fingers and face for a solid two minutes until her orgasm was finished.
Holly was exhausted. She was appreciative for Annie helping her to the bed. A night of driving and great sex had worn her out. Annie tucked her in and Holly drifted gratefully off to sleep.
The sound of chanting woke Holly up. She tried to sit up but her wrists and ankles were restrained. She snapped to full alertness. Had the Church of Alchemism found them?
Annie was standing above her on the bed. The actress was naked except for the butcher knife she held in her hands. It was Annie that was doing the chanting.
“Annie?” Holly asked. “What’s going on?”
“Shh, Holly,” Annie said. “I am trying to summon the Secret Perverts. I want them to take me away to their secret lair under the earth. I want to be fucked by their hellish decadence for ever and ever. Only be sacrificing the ones I care for will they listen to me. I am sorry but it will be worth it. Your death will grant me a lifetime of fucking. I am sure you are the last sacrifice needed. Isn’t that worth it?”
“Uh,” Holly said. She was still too tired to process all of this. “I thought the Secret Perverts were just something the Church of Alchemism made up.”
“Oh no,” Annie said. “The Church is trying to stop the Secret Perverts. Once Ed explained it all to me, I realized how wrong the church was. We should be serving the Secret Perverts, not fighting them. It is all so clear to me. The Secret Perverts have been sending me voices to help guide me.”
“Well, shit,” Holly said. This was unexpected.
The motel doors burst open. Three masked men with guns rushed in. Annie screamed and all three men fired. Darts appeared on Annie’s body and she dropped in a drugged stupor. One of the men rushed forward to catch her before she fell. Once he had her, he took his mask off. It was Ed Tunt!
“My poor baby,” Ed said. “I am so glad we got here before you killed another one.”
“Another one?” Holly asked. One of the other masked men cut her free. She stood up and rubbed her sore wrists. “Has Annie killed before?”
Ed looked at Holly. “She’s a really sweet girl. She just needs the right treatment of mental preperation.”
“To protect her from being a schizophrenic or from the Secret Perverts?” Holly asked.
The two masked men raised their rifles. Ed shook his head.
“The Church of Alchemism can not discuss internal religious matters with outsiders,” he said.
Holly sighed. “You know what? I don’t give a shit. Thank for saving me. I won’t write about any of this. No one would believe that sweet Annie Watson is a serial killer. Just keep that bitch locked up.”
Ed smiled and left with his unconscious wife. The masked men followed. They were nice enough to close the door behind them.
“This is why you don’t become a part of the story,” Holly said. She picked up the butcher knife. Where did Annie even get this thing?
“Also, don’t fuck with celebrities,” Holly said. “They’re crazy.”
Monday, July 16, 2012
Riddle Me This: Where Do You Buy Your Ebook Porn?
When you buy your erotica on the internet, where do you buy it?
(Sketch Card by Rhaydar and I am always looking for a chance to show off things I own)
Friday, July 13, 2012
Play With This: Trailer Park of Bondage
Across the world in millions of fetish stories, sexually submissive men and women are being shipped to mansions for erotic delight. These mansions are owned by controlling dominants that have can buy and sell entire cities. They offer an escape from the normal world into a world of decadent delight.
The rich and powerful are such strong elements in erotica because by their very nature, they have the power to create an erotic world. It makes sense and it is very easy for a writer to explain things away but just saying, “Look, they’re rich and they can afford a swimming pool of lube if they want.” Writers love easy.
The problem is that we live in a world right now with Wall Street bailouts, near world wide economic depression and the One Percent. There is a good argument that we are living in a Second Gilded Age and the glimpses we get of the real life rich and famous are quite disturbing. Instead of cool masters of the universe, the rich often comes across as psychotic old men terrified of being taxed. It is not what I would consider erotic.
(Side note- I would however love to see a kinky mansion story with asshole characters straight out of the financial news. You want to talk ruthless? A stockbroker will sell his mother to turn a profit; you think an investor dom is going to have any emotional attachment to some pretty mouth?
But that’s another article…)
Still, erotica is fantasy and sometimes you want to read a story about sex and not worry about the real world. I get that. I just think that the real world is hard to ignore sometimes, and when I read about a rich dominant these days, I find myself wondering if his hard limits includes estate taxes and SEC regulations. Maybe we should retire the rich dominant and his mansion of bondage delights for a little while. Not forever, just for a little bit.
What can we replace the mansion with? What does a mansion have going for it anyway?
A) Seclusion. You can run around naked and not worry about the mailman seeing you.
B) Time. Rich people don’t have day jobs. They can afford to spend the hours and hours tormenting submissives that you need in a book.
C) Illusion of Superiority. This one is more subtle. See, we as a people tend to associate money with success. Our natural tendency when we met a wealthy person is to assume they did something right. Therefore, when the rich dominant is making the submissive do something outrageous, the mansion adds an air of authority to the dom. The mansion of wealth is an endorsement of the dominant that maybe he knows better than the poor lowly sub. After all, who has the mansion here?
Well my friends, what could we possibly write about that satisfies these three criteria? What is our substitute for the Mansion of Bondage?
I suggest, the Trailer Park of Bondage.
I will give you a moment to quit snickering.
Now imagine the Trailer Park of Bondage. Where is it located? Well most trailer parks are in very wide open, cheap property. Our trailer park is located off a dirt road out of town. It is surrounded by trees. You can’t see this park from any paved road.
You might think a trailer park is still too wide open but you don’t have my white trash background. You haven’t seen the tyrannical landlords that run these places. These landlords pick who live here. They discriminate on color, sexual orientation and whether or not they like the look of you. In other words, they can be assholes.
This kind of behavior is shameful in the real world but for any regular sex club, it’s down right commendable. It is perfect for our trailer park of bondage. This landlord only allows people he knows are 24/7 in the lifestyle. Every trailer is a mansion of sin.
Which brings us to time. Have you seen the economy lately? Unemployment is near ten percent. A lot of people have nothing but time. The rent of a trailer can be pretty low and sustainable on unemployment or a single breadwinner. I’m not saying that every trailer park is full of the unemployed; I am just saying that for the purpose of erotica, we have a very plausible reason for a home where kinky people have all day to play with their toys. The husband can work a blue collar job while his wife stays home and dominates the cute college girl they are dominating for the summer.
The Illusion of Superiority is the more interesting thing. It is almost never mentioned in mansion erotica stories. If it is, it is just the submissive gasping in wonder at delicious food and pretty art. It is below the surface of the story.
Take a moment to think about the snickering you did when you realized this was an article about trailer parks of bondage. Think of how dismissive you were. Think of the most cartoonish redneck po’ folks image you had. Now think of your submissive having that same response. Think of how snobbish they will act. Think of how these submissives will think they are better than being in some trailer park of bondage. Hold that in your head.
Now picture the very competent, very smart, very proud dominant that lives in this trailer. Picture his/her reaction to this fucking snob who looks down on their way of life. Imagine how eager they are to wipe that smug smile off that submissive’s face.
We call that tension. We call that a conflict waiting to happen. That’s erotica.
Let’s look at the average trailer. Modern trailers are huge. I’ve seen some with a kitchen, living room, 2 bathrooms and 3 bedrooms. That’s nicer than my apartment.
Less modern trailers still have two bedrooms, one master and one bedroom with is so Spartan that it looks like it was specially designed for submissives. The walls are so thin that there is no privacy. Someone being fucked in the master bedroom will be pretty audible to anyone else in the trailer. Every day is a trail of exhibitionism.
A trailer also has a yard and let me tell you, the pride some people put in their yards would put homeowners to shame. There is grass to be mowed. There are flowers to be tended to. If you like your kinky erotica with housework, there is a shit load of yard work inherent in a trailer to make you happy. Sure, a submissive can prove their obedience by washing a floor, but real obedience is mowing a lawn in the heat wearing nothing but a collar and a butt-plug.
I submit for your imagination, the following examples of Kinky Trailer Parks.
Thistle Acres – This trailer park caters to creative types. The landlord has to be convinced of you artistic talent before he will let you rent here. The residents include woodcarvers, painters, some suffering writers and one phone sex operator. No one is rich here but they all get by. They make their money and they keep their sanity by spanking the Hell out of submissives.
The land lord goes to a bondage club in town where he recruits those who are looking to get away from it all for a week or so. He considers himself a patron of the arts and know that artists always need new pussy and ass. As creative types they tend to bore easily so they have taken to trading submissives every few days. The submissives enjoy a little crazy fun and the artists get somebody to do their yardwork and make meals. Every one wins.
Last Hope Road – Where do bad submissives go when they flunk out of their fancy kinky mansions? A better questions is where do the really mean dominants go that are too mean for uppity kink mansions? They both go to the same place, Last Hope Road.
It is a secluded trailer park with shitty trailers and rather bitter dominants. The submissives are sent here to learn humility, obedience and an appreciation for the fine things at the mansion. The dominants are sent here to get their shit together and become better dominants but most of them just use the place as a way to transfer their frustrations to pretty faces. The dominants doubt they will ever get to go back to the mansion but at least they still got some ass to slap.
Last Hope road is a good setting for your spoiled princess submissive, or the dominant on some sort of redemption arc.
Golden Estates – The nice thing about getting older is that you figure out what you really want. The residents of Golden Estates have decided to spend their retirement with pretty young things across their knees. All the residents are of retirement age and all of them were awesome dominants in their youth. They don’t have the energy to flirt and seduce shy submissives anymore, but they do love to spank, fondle and fuck the college kids who spend their summers here. They are eager to teach their skills to the next generation.
Imagine a character who was a young twenty-something thing and he goes to visit his Uncle that the family has shunned. His uncle lives at Golden Estates and has a lovely young woman that he keeps as a toy. The character could learn at his Uncle’s side and enjoy that kind of feel good “I learned something this summer” story that everyone likes.
I hope this article and these examples have opened your mind to the possibilities of kinky trailer parks. I hope the next time you start to write your kinky fantasy story; you hesitate before creating yet another expensive mansion. I am not saying that trailer parks are better, but I feel they would be different. We could use more different porn.
Lastly, remember that the Trailer Park of Bondage can be a touching story about the culture shock of a city submissive finding everything they ever wanted in a trailer park. Or the Trailer Park of Bondage can be the story of ruthless hillbillies inflicting some country punishment on spoiled submissives. It can be a heart warming tale of down home perversion like a very special episode of the Andy Griffith Show or it can be as harsh as an extra kinky version of Deliverance. You’re the writer, it is up to you.
Go play with it.
The rich and powerful are such strong elements in erotica because by their very nature, they have the power to create an erotic world. It makes sense and it is very easy for a writer to explain things away but just saying, “Look, they’re rich and they can afford a swimming pool of lube if they want.” Writers love easy.
The problem is that we live in a world right now with Wall Street bailouts, near world wide economic depression and the One Percent. There is a good argument that we are living in a Second Gilded Age and the glimpses we get of the real life rich and famous are quite disturbing. Instead of cool masters of the universe, the rich often comes across as psychotic old men terrified of being taxed. It is not what I would consider erotic.
(Side note- I would however love to see a kinky mansion story with asshole characters straight out of the financial news. You want to talk ruthless? A stockbroker will sell his mother to turn a profit; you think an investor dom is going to have any emotional attachment to some pretty mouth?
But that’s another article…)
Still, erotica is fantasy and sometimes you want to read a story about sex and not worry about the real world. I get that. I just think that the real world is hard to ignore sometimes, and when I read about a rich dominant these days, I find myself wondering if his hard limits includes estate taxes and SEC regulations. Maybe we should retire the rich dominant and his mansion of bondage delights for a little while. Not forever, just for a little bit.
What can we replace the mansion with? What does a mansion have going for it anyway?
A) Seclusion. You can run around naked and not worry about the mailman seeing you.
B) Time. Rich people don’t have day jobs. They can afford to spend the hours and hours tormenting submissives that you need in a book.
C) Illusion of Superiority. This one is more subtle. See, we as a people tend to associate money with success. Our natural tendency when we met a wealthy person is to assume they did something right. Therefore, when the rich dominant is making the submissive do something outrageous, the mansion adds an air of authority to the dom. The mansion of wealth is an endorsement of the dominant that maybe he knows better than the poor lowly sub. After all, who has the mansion here?
Well my friends, what could we possibly write about that satisfies these three criteria? What is our substitute for the Mansion of Bondage?
I suggest, the Trailer Park of Bondage.
I will give you a moment to quit snickering.
Now imagine the Trailer Park of Bondage. Where is it located? Well most trailer parks are in very wide open, cheap property. Our trailer park is located off a dirt road out of town. It is surrounded by trees. You can’t see this park from any paved road.
You might think a trailer park is still too wide open but you don’t have my white trash background. You haven’t seen the tyrannical landlords that run these places. These landlords pick who live here. They discriminate on color, sexual orientation and whether or not they like the look of you. In other words, they can be assholes.
This kind of behavior is shameful in the real world but for any regular sex club, it’s down right commendable. It is perfect for our trailer park of bondage. This landlord only allows people he knows are 24/7 in the lifestyle. Every trailer is a mansion of sin.
Which brings us to time. Have you seen the economy lately? Unemployment is near ten percent. A lot of people have nothing but time. The rent of a trailer can be pretty low and sustainable on unemployment or a single breadwinner. I’m not saying that every trailer park is full of the unemployed; I am just saying that for the purpose of erotica, we have a very plausible reason for a home where kinky people have all day to play with their toys. The husband can work a blue collar job while his wife stays home and dominates the cute college girl they are dominating for the summer.
The Illusion of Superiority is the more interesting thing. It is almost never mentioned in mansion erotica stories. If it is, it is just the submissive gasping in wonder at delicious food and pretty art. It is below the surface of the story.
Take a moment to think about the snickering you did when you realized this was an article about trailer parks of bondage. Think of how dismissive you were. Think of the most cartoonish redneck po’ folks image you had. Now think of your submissive having that same response. Think of how snobbish they will act. Think of how these submissives will think they are better than being in some trailer park of bondage. Hold that in your head.
Now picture the very competent, very smart, very proud dominant that lives in this trailer. Picture his/her reaction to this fucking snob who looks down on their way of life. Imagine how eager they are to wipe that smug smile off that submissive’s face.
We call that tension. We call that a conflict waiting to happen. That’s erotica.
Let’s look at the average trailer. Modern trailers are huge. I’ve seen some with a kitchen, living room, 2 bathrooms and 3 bedrooms. That’s nicer than my apartment.
Less modern trailers still have two bedrooms, one master and one bedroom with is so Spartan that it looks like it was specially designed for submissives. The walls are so thin that there is no privacy. Someone being fucked in the master bedroom will be pretty audible to anyone else in the trailer. Every day is a trail of exhibitionism.
A trailer also has a yard and let me tell you, the pride some people put in their yards would put homeowners to shame. There is grass to be mowed. There are flowers to be tended to. If you like your kinky erotica with housework, there is a shit load of yard work inherent in a trailer to make you happy. Sure, a submissive can prove their obedience by washing a floor, but real obedience is mowing a lawn in the heat wearing nothing but a collar and a butt-plug.
I submit for your imagination, the following examples of Kinky Trailer Parks.
Thistle Acres – This trailer park caters to creative types. The landlord has to be convinced of you artistic talent before he will let you rent here. The residents include woodcarvers, painters, some suffering writers and one phone sex operator. No one is rich here but they all get by. They make their money and they keep their sanity by spanking the Hell out of submissives.
The land lord goes to a bondage club in town where he recruits those who are looking to get away from it all for a week or so. He considers himself a patron of the arts and know that artists always need new pussy and ass. As creative types they tend to bore easily so they have taken to trading submissives every few days. The submissives enjoy a little crazy fun and the artists get somebody to do their yardwork and make meals. Every one wins.
Last Hope Road – Where do bad submissives go when they flunk out of their fancy kinky mansions? A better questions is where do the really mean dominants go that are too mean for uppity kink mansions? They both go to the same place, Last Hope Road.
It is a secluded trailer park with shitty trailers and rather bitter dominants. The submissives are sent here to learn humility, obedience and an appreciation for the fine things at the mansion. The dominants are sent here to get their shit together and become better dominants but most of them just use the place as a way to transfer their frustrations to pretty faces. The dominants doubt they will ever get to go back to the mansion but at least they still got some ass to slap.
Last Hope road is a good setting for your spoiled princess submissive, or the dominant on some sort of redemption arc.
Golden Estates – The nice thing about getting older is that you figure out what you really want. The residents of Golden Estates have decided to spend their retirement with pretty young things across their knees. All the residents are of retirement age and all of them were awesome dominants in their youth. They don’t have the energy to flirt and seduce shy submissives anymore, but they do love to spank, fondle and fuck the college kids who spend their summers here. They are eager to teach their skills to the next generation.
Imagine a character who was a young twenty-something thing and he goes to visit his Uncle that the family has shunned. His uncle lives at Golden Estates and has a lovely young woman that he keeps as a toy. The character could learn at his Uncle’s side and enjoy that kind of feel good “I learned something this summer” story that everyone likes.
I hope this article and these examples have opened your mind to the possibilities of kinky trailer parks. I hope the next time you start to write your kinky fantasy story; you hesitate before creating yet another expensive mansion. I am not saying that trailer parks are better, but I feel they would be different. We could use more different porn.
Lastly, remember that the Trailer Park of Bondage can be a touching story about the culture shock of a city submissive finding everything they ever wanted in a trailer park. Or the Trailer Park of Bondage can be the story of ruthless hillbillies inflicting some country punishment on spoiled submissives. It can be a heart warming tale of down home perversion like a very special episode of the Andy Griffith Show or it can be as harsh as an extra kinky version of Deliverance. You’re the writer, it is up to you.
Go play with it.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Fiction: Mistaken Anatomy
Explorer’s Log: It has been four weeks since I have left the Murs. I am currently headed for the star system designated Queen’s Astonishing Cruelty by Royal Astronomers. The Mur told me that another intelligent race resides there and I am checking them out for potential conquest. I should reach my destination in two more weeks. End Explorer’s Log.
Explorer’s Personal Log: It has been two weeks since the sex toy the Mur gave me has broken down and I am pissed. For a science oriented society, they can’t make a vibrating machine that lasts longer than fifty orgasms? I am so annoyed that I recommended a Peaceful Assimilation rather than the Humiliation Conquest they deserve.
Vaquel Di sat naked on the floor of the Deep Space Probe. The Mur vibrator was in pieces on the floor with her. Sweat glistened on her dark skin as she tried to reassemble the antigravity engine. Her pink hair was plastered to her scalp with sweat. She could turn down the heat in the probe but she was too intent on making this damn alien vibrator work again.
“WARNING! PROXIMITY ALERT!”
Before Vaquel could react, the ship shook violently underneath her. She pitched forward and her heavy breasts landed painfully on some rather pointy machine parts.
“What the fucking shit hell?” she swore. “Ship, report!”
“We have collided with an unknown entity and are experiencing zero forward propulsion. Unknown entity is four times the size of this vessel.”
“So we’re stuck,” Vaquel said. She ran to the navigation bay and looked out the view screens. All she saw was green gas.
“What is the composition of the substance outside?” Vaquel asked.
The monitor came to life with a long scroll of chemical analysis. Vaquel didn’t recognize half of what she read.
A terrible grinding noise echoed through the ship.
“WARNING! EXTRNAL PRESSURE IS RISING TO TWO HUNDRED MEGA-TOTHS!”
“We’re being squeezed?” Vaquel asked. She sat down in the cockpit seat. “Activate ship’s laser!”
“Cannot comply,” the computer responded. “Laser has been damaged by external squeezing.”
“Queen’s tits!” Vaquel swore. What the hell was going on? Vaquel had to think so she did what she usually did when confronted with a mystery; she proped her feet up on the navigation console and began to play with herself.
Vaquel stroked the outside of her sex. Her fingernails brushed gently against the hairs of her pink pubic bush.
“Computer, how many of the substances we scanned are considered organic materials?”
“Forty-two percent,” the computer responded.
Vaquel thought about that. She also rubbed two fingers alongside the lips of her sex. Her greedy cunt wanted to be penetrated but Vaquel was teasing herself. She pinched her sex lips together and flinched at the pain.
The ship shook again. External pressure alarms flared and then stopped as the pressure resided.
“Computer, what is the ship hull status? Any acids detected?”
“Negative,” the computer responded.
“Well, we’re not being digested,” Vaquel said. She stopped pinching her sex and slipped the tip of her finger inside. Her sex clenched in frustration at the lack of penetration.
The ship shuddered as it was squeezed and released. Vaquel paused in mid clench.
“Fuck me with a comet,” Vaquel said. “I think some poor space creature is trying to fuck my ship!”
It would explain a few things. It would explain why the creature had an urge to suddenly stop Vaquel’s ship. It would also explain the lack of aggressive action except for the occasional clenching squeeze. As theories went, it wasn’t exactly good science but it did fit with Vaquel’s personal experiences. When Vaquel was horny, she tended to mount anything penis shaped too.
“Computer, transfer manual controls to me,” Vaquel ordered.
She put her right hand on the control stick. Her left hand she left on her cunt. Vaquel could easily multitask.
She tried putting the ship in reverse. The space organism squeezed tighter.
Vaquel changed from reverse to forward thrust and the squeezing stopped. She was able to move the ship a few meters before all forward motion stopped. Vaquel assumed she was hitting bottom.
She went back into reverse for a second followed by three seconds of thrust. The organism squeezed tighter this time but Vaquel was able to double the amount of space she could travel. This was progress.
It was also fucking sexy. Vaquel slipped two fingers deeper into her cunt. The damn space thing was getting more action than Vaquel was.
Vaquel drove the ship back and forth. The space organism squeezed and relaxed. The green outside turned to multiple explosions of blue and yellow.
Vaquel thrust her fingers back and forth inside her. Her cunt clenched tightly around her wet fingers. The walls of her sex were slippery and sensitive.
“WARNING! EXTERNAL PRESSURE HAS INCREASED TO FIVE HUNDRED MEGA-TOTHS!”
“That means it is working,” Vaquel said. Of course, it was working if Vaquel’s theory about a horny space traveling organism was correct. She just had to rely on her experience of being horny herself that she could recognize it in an unknown species.
“Let’s add a little kick,” Vaquel said. “Computer, turn off stabilizers. Let’s get a little bumpy, for her pleasure.”
The loss of stabilizers was felt immediately. The ship shook violently. Vaquel strapped a belt across her chest to keep her in her seat. The control stick was vibrating so hard that her hand was getting numb. The seat shook so much that her tits bounced back and forth across the strap.
It made masturbating a hell of a lot harder but she didn’t stop. Vaquel jammed her fingers into her wet cunt and kept them there.
She didn’t have to stoke because the shaking was more than enough stimulation.
“Climax, damn it,” Vaquel swore.
The area outside the navigation pod changed colors. The explosions of blue and yellow light turned to swirls of red and purple. Streaks of violet raced across the space organism.
“Glory to the Queen!” Vaquel climaxed. Her cunt clenched deathly tight around her fingers.
“WARNING! HULL INTEGRITY IS DOWN TO EIGHTY PERCENT!”
“Just a little more,” Vaquel said. The red swirls morphed into white light. Maybe she should stop what she was doing but Vaquel didn’t think so. Her hunch was that if she stopped now, the space organism might get even more frustrated and then become really dangerous. Vaquel knew that she would.
“SQUEEEEEEE!” All the speakers on the ship blasted an incomprehensible wail. Vaquel winced under the sonic assault.
Suddenly there was the sight of stars and space once more. Something green and glowing drifted away from Vaquel’s ship. They were free!
“Activate stabilizers and enforce hull force fields!” Vaquel commanded.
The shaking stopped. The warning lights on the console faded away. The hull was being held together by force fields and a little luck, but it was holding.
Vaquel took a better look at the space creature. It was immense with an open orifice that looked like it was designed to accept Vaquel’s ship. Tremors of color raced across the skin of the creature.
“Great, I met a new race and it is a Space Cunt,” Vaquel said.
The Space Cunt floated lazily in post orgasmic bliss.
Explorer’s Personal Log: It has been two weeks since the sex toy the Mur gave me has broken down and I am pissed. For a science oriented society, they can’t make a vibrating machine that lasts longer than fifty orgasms? I am so annoyed that I recommended a Peaceful Assimilation rather than the Humiliation Conquest they deserve.
Vaquel Di sat naked on the floor of the Deep Space Probe. The Mur vibrator was in pieces on the floor with her. Sweat glistened on her dark skin as she tried to reassemble the antigravity engine. Her pink hair was plastered to her scalp with sweat. She could turn down the heat in the probe but she was too intent on making this damn alien vibrator work again.
“WARNING! PROXIMITY ALERT!”
Before Vaquel could react, the ship shook violently underneath her. She pitched forward and her heavy breasts landed painfully on some rather pointy machine parts.
“What the fucking shit hell?” she swore. “Ship, report!”
“We have collided with an unknown entity and are experiencing zero forward propulsion. Unknown entity is four times the size of this vessel.”
“So we’re stuck,” Vaquel said. She ran to the navigation bay and looked out the view screens. All she saw was green gas.
“What is the composition of the substance outside?” Vaquel asked.
The monitor came to life with a long scroll of chemical analysis. Vaquel didn’t recognize half of what she read.
A terrible grinding noise echoed through the ship.
“WARNING! EXTRNAL PRESSURE IS RISING TO TWO HUNDRED MEGA-TOTHS!”
“We’re being squeezed?” Vaquel asked. She sat down in the cockpit seat. “Activate ship’s laser!”
“Cannot comply,” the computer responded. “Laser has been damaged by external squeezing.”
“Queen’s tits!” Vaquel swore. What the hell was going on? Vaquel had to think so she did what she usually did when confronted with a mystery; she proped her feet up on the navigation console and began to play with herself.
Vaquel stroked the outside of her sex. Her fingernails brushed gently against the hairs of her pink pubic bush.
“Computer, how many of the substances we scanned are considered organic materials?”
“Forty-two percent,” the computer responded.
Vaquel thought about that. She also rubbed two fingers alongside the lips of her sex. Her greedy cunt wanted to be penetrated but Vaquel was teasing herself. She pinched her sex lips together and flinched at the pain.
The ship shook again. External pressure alarms flared and then stopped as the pressure resided.
“Computer, what is the ship hull status? Any acids detected?”
“Negative,” the computer responded.
“Well, we’re not being digested,” Vaquel said. She stopped pinching her sex and slipped the tip of her finger inside. Her sex clenched in frustration at the lack of penetration.
The ship shuddered as it was squeezed and released. Vaquel paused in mid clench.
“Fuck me with a comet,” Vaquel said. “I think some poor space creature is trying to fuck my ship!”
It would explain a few things. It would explain why the creature had an urge to suddenly stop Vaquel’s ship. It would also explain the lack of aggressive action except for the occasional clenching squeeze. As theories went, it wasn’t exactly good science but it did fit with Vaquel’s personal experiences. When Vaquel was horny, she tended to mount anything penis shaped too.
“Computer, transfer manual controls to me,” Vaquel ordered.
She put her right hand on the control stick. Her left hand she left on her cunt. Vaquel could easily multitask.
She tried putting the ship in reverse. The space organism squeezed tighter.
Vaquel changed from reverse to forward thrust and the squeezing stopped. She was able to move the ship a few meters before all forward motion stopped. Vaquel assumed she was hitting bottom.
She went back into reverse for a second followed by three seconds of thrust. The organism squeezed tighter this time but Vaquel was able to double the amount of space she could travel. This was progress.
It was also fucking sexy. Vaquel slipped two fingers deeper into her cunt. The damn space thing was getting more action than Vaquel was.
Vaquel drove the ship back and forth. The space organism squeezed and relaxed. The green outside turned to multiple explosions of blue and yellow.
Vaquel thrust her fingers back and forth inside her. Her cunt clenched tightly around her wet fingers. The walls of her sex were slippery and sensitive.
“WARNING! EXTERNAL PRESSURE HAS INCREASED TO FIVE HUNDRED MEGA-TOTHS!”
“That means it is working,” Vaquel said. Of course, it was working if Vaquel’s theory about a horny space traveling organism was correct. She just had to rely on her experience of being horny herself that she could recognize it in an unknown species.
“Let’s add a little kick,” Vaquel said. “Computer, turn off stabilizers. Let’s get a little bumpy, for her pleasure.”
The loss of stabilizers was felt immediately. The ship shook violently. Vaquel strapped a belt across her chest to keep her in her seat. The control stick was vibrating so hard that her hand was getting numb. The seat shook so much that her tits bounced back and forth across the strap.
It made masturbating a hell of a lot harder but she didn’t stop. Vaquel jammed her fingers into her wet cunt and kept them there.
She didn’t have to stoke because the shaking was more than enough stimulation.
“Climax, damn it,” Vaquel swore.
The area outside the navigation pod changed colors. The explosions of blue and yellow light turned to swirls of red and purple. Streaks of violet raced across the space organism.
“Glory to the Queen!” Vaquel climaxed. Her cunt clenched deathly tight around her fingers.
“WARNING! HULL INTEGRITY IS DOWN TO EIGHTY PERCENT!”
“Just a little more,” Vaquel said. The red swirls morphed into white light. Maybe she should stop what she was doing but Vaquel didn’t think so. Her hunch was that if she stopped now, the space organism might get even more frustrated and then become really dangerous. Vaquel knew that she would.
“SQUEEEEEEE!” All the speakers on the ship blasted an incomprehensible wail. Vaquel winced under the sonic assault.
Suddenly there was the sight of stars and space once more. Something green and glowing drifted away from Vaquel’s ship. They were free!
“Activate stabilizers and enforce hull force fields!” Vaquel commanded.
The shaking stopped. The warning lights on the console faded away. The hull was being held together by force fields and a little luck, but it was holding.
Vaquel took a better look at the space creature. It was immense with an open orifice that looked like it was designed to accept Vaquel’s ship. Tremors of color raced across the skin of the creature.
“Great, I met a new race and it is a Space Cunt,” Vaquel said.
The Space Cunt floated lazily in post orgasmic bliss.
Monday, July 09, 2012
Let's Do Sex Blogging Differently
Lately I have been reading a lot of role-playing blogs. For the past two months I usually spend about an hour an night reading blogs about old school dungeons and dragons. Now D&D is like 5th on my list of preferred role-playing games but I am devouring these blogs like an addict. I think I have read more gaming blogs than books on my Kindle.
Why do I do it? Because the blogs I read are in a constant state of creativity. They are constantly discussing influences, applications of those influences and making shit up. A lot of the blogs will just drop a one page idea and walk away. Readers can take those ideas and plug them into their own games. Imagine that for a moment. A guy can write some notes about a book that eats fingers and give some ideas of where it came from, and then a hundred other people can put that idea in their game with the inevitable modifications, adjustments and personal touches.
"But Shon, sex blogs do the same thing with writing prompts. That's when a sex blog tells people to write a story about threesomes and then everyone shares the stories they wrote about threesomes. Same thing!"
Well no, it is not, imaginary voice. Writing prompts give a bare tangent of an idea and send writers out into the creative wilds alone. Role-playing blogs would give people three characters, their personal dynamics and their quirks and then encourage writers to plug those people into their stories. That is pretty insane by most sex writing blog standards.
I think the insanity comes from the fact that role-playing games are social. You can't play unless you have friends to interact with. Writing is more of a one way process. I write my story and then everyone reads it. If I am lucky, I will get feedback. That is a big if by the way. Most of the time I write something and then have to wonder if people even liked it. It can be lonely but thankfully I am a narcissist. Role-playing on the other hand is constant interaction. One guy is playing his thinly veiled knock off of Conan and he is interacting with the player who has created his imaginary perfect character complete with twenty pages of back story. These two mingle their process and grow and edit their characters based on these interactions. Eventually the knock of Conan will have an appreciation for dogs because of his role-playing with the other player who's character trains dogs. It is a lot of give and take. Ultimately role-playing is an exercise in entertainment and wish fulfillment. Which makes it a lot like porn.
This makes me wonder why I find dungeons and dragons discussion blogs more inspiring than many sex blogs, including my own. I think I have an answer. I read a sex blog and I read fiction, true life accounts and discussions about sexual politics. I read a D&D blog and I read random rules for how to have a drunken party with bar wenches, discussions of fantasy books that inspired dungeon masters in the 70's and theoretical questions about what a society that worships sentient plants would look like. What is the difference between the two? One concerns itself with presenting a product, whether that be stories, true life accounts or serious opinions about serious things, and the other concerns itself with making shit up and sharing the creative process behind making shit up. One is more about presenting the end result and the other is about the actual making.
I wonder if we can change that.
Part of the problem is that writing is a fucking lonely process. You got to crawl inside your own head and make your own things when it comes to stories. I find that once I turn to people for their opinions on something that I am in the process of writing, it becomes crippled with doubt. Writing by committee only works to create the blandest shit possible.
Sex writers are also often trying to get paid and no one wants to come up with the idea for the next best selling porn book and SHARE that idea before we get our own story out. I understand that and am guilty of it myself. As writers we tend to think our original ideas are all we have and we hoard them like, well like dragons and their treasure.
I think that is a fallacy. Ideas are not as precious as we think they are. An idea is important but more important is execution. The writers of Twilight and 50 Shades have the exact same idea; dominant all wise male and fainting wimp female. One went vampire with her idea and the other went BDSM. Same idea, different execution.
This example might not be the best because one is a fanfic of the other, but the principle stands. Even if you want to argue that making a vampire a bdsm dom is an entirely new idea, then try this experiment. Imagine your favorite tattooed, cynical BDSM writer who attends all the right workshops writing 50 Shades their way. It would be worlds different from Meyer's 50 Shades but it is still the same idea. One would just be better written.
Now that I got the prerequisite 50 Shades bashing that all erotica writers are required by law to do out of the way, let's extrapolate on the idea that ideas are not precious gems to be hidden away. What if sex blogs discussed ideas not in the interest of self promoting their own use of the idea, but just to toss that idea out there? What would that look like? Would you like to read that?
I am going to be giving it a try.
Why do I do it? Because the blogs I read are in a constant state of creativity. They are constantly discussing influences, applications of those influences and making shit up. A lot of the blogs will just drop a one page idea and walk away. Readers can take those ideas and plug them into their own games. Imagine that for a moment. A guy can write some notes about a book that eats fingers and give some ideas of where it came from, and then a hundred other people can put that idea in their game with the inevitable modifications, adjustments and personal touches.
"But Shon, sex blogs do the same thing with writing prompts. That's when a sex blog tells people to write a story about threesomes and then everyone shares the stories they wrote about threesomes. Same thing!"
Well no, it is not, imaginary voice. Writing prompts give a bare tangent of an idea and send writers out into the creative wilds alone. Role-playing blogs would give people three characters, their personal dynamics and their quirks and then encourage writers to plug those people into their stories. That is pretty insane by most sex writing blog standards.
I think the insanity comes from the fact that role-playing games are social. You can't play unless you have friends to interact with. Writing is more of a one way process. I write my story and then everyone reads it. If I am lucky, I will get feedback. That is a big if by the way. Most of the time I write something and then have to wonder if people even liked it. It can be lonely but thankfully I am a narcissist. Role-playing on the other hand is constant interaction. One guy is playing his thinly veiled knock off of Conan and he is interacting with the player who has created his imaginary perfect character complete with twenty pages of back story. These two mingle their process and grow and edit their characters based on these interactions. Eventually the knock of Conan will have an appreciation for dogs because of his role-playing with the other player who's character trains dogs. It is a lot of give and take. Ultimately role-playing is an exercise in entertainment and wish fulfillment. Which makes it a lot like porn.
This makes me wonder why I find dungeons and dragons discussion blogs more inspiring than many sex blogs, including my own. I think I have an answer. I read a sex blog and I read fiction, true life accounts and discussions about sexual politics. I read a D&D blog and I read random rules for how to have a drunken party with bar wenches, discussions of fantasy books that inspired dungeon masters in the 70's and theoretical questions about what a society that worships sentient plants would look like. What is the difference between the two? One concerns itself with presenting a product, whether that be stories, true life accounts or serious opinions about serious things, and the other concerns itself with making shit up and sharing the creative process behind making shit up. One is more about presenting the end result and the other is about the actual making.
I wonder if we can change that.
Part of the problem is that writing is a fucking lonely process. You got to crawl inside your own head and make your own things when it comes to stories. I find that once I turn to people for their opinions on something that I am in the process of writing, it becomes crippled with doubt. Writing by committee only works to create the blandest shit possible.
Sex writers are also often trying to get paid and no one wants to come up with the idea for the next best selling porn book and SHARE that idea before we get our own story out. I understand that and am guilty of it myself. As writers we tend to think our original ideas are all we have and we hoard them like, well like dragons and their treasure.
I think that is a fallacy. Ideas are not as precious as we think they are. An idea is important but more important is execution. The writers of Twilight and 50 Shades have the exact same idea; dominant all wise male and fainting wimp female. One went vampire with her idea and the other went BDSM. Same idea, different execution.
This example might not be the best because one is a fanfic of the other, but the principle stands. Even if you want to argue that making a vampire a bdsm dom is an entirely new idea, then try this experiment. Imagine your favorite tattooed, cynical BDSM writer who attends all the right workshops writing 50 Shades their way. It would be worlds different from Meyer's 50 Shades but it is still the same idea. One would just be better written.
Now that I got the prerequisite 50 Shades bashing that all erotica writers are required by law to do out of the way, let's extrapolate on the idea that ideas are not precious gems to be hidden away. What if sex blogs discussed ideas not in the interest of self promoting their own use of the idea, but just to toss that idea out there? What would that look like? Would you like to read that?
I am going to be giving it a try.
Friday, July 06, 2012
Dirty Books: Sluts in Space
Sluts in Space was written by Katie Cramer and it tells the adventure of two women with high sex drives who crash land on the wrong planet. They encounter an evil warlord, a captured prince, a devious sexual interrogation device and just enough techno babble to satisfy the space nerd in all of us. It is hard for me to be unbiased in reviewing this story because this is exactly the kind of story I love to read. The two main characters are the classic duo of a smart sexy girl and the less smart sexy girl. They are brave, mostly competent and more amused by sexual threats than upset. They kick ass and come close to taking it up the ass. It is women in peril where the women rescue themselves.
If I have any complaints, it is that more of it could be science fiction. The names of Stacy and Abigail don't exactly invoke a brave new world. I was also a bit dissappointed when someone used a Taser when it could have been a stun beam, a gas gun or other high tech babble thingy that stuns. Having said that, the Octogasm was awesome and worth the price of the book.
It is the first book in a series but it nicely episodic so it wraps itself up quite nicely with no cliffhanger. It is short at around 19 pages but it was still fun and sexy. I am looking forward to other installments.
I give it Four out of Five Pam Griers.
Wednesday, July 04, 2012
Fiction: The Purple Emporium
The Purple Emporium opened in 1996. I am sure about that because I had just graduated from college with a business degree which meant I was highly qualified to be an assistant manager at the fried chicken restaurant in my home town. I was pretty depressed by how I was 23, single and smelled like fried chicken and biscuits. I was the ideal customer for a new brothel.
Since this was North Carolina and not Nevada, they didn’t actually call it a brothel. The official description was Lingerie Modeling and the unofficial description was Jack Shack. It was located a foot outside the town limits and the lobby had a jar where customers could contribute to the sheriff’s department monthly bribe. It was a quasi legal place with a one hundred percent real place to get your rocks off.
They had the best shit there. Other places would charge you 40 dollars for a back rub and a handjob but the Purple Emporium was the only place where you get could a double blowjob from a pair of Siamese twins for just twenty-six dollars. Their names were Clea and Cleo and Clea preferred to take the facial. Thirty-six dollars would get you a handjob from a horny virgin and forty-six dollars would get you a titjob from a woman with tits bigger than your head.
That wasn’t even the specialty shit. Eighty-six bucks got you a blowjob from your best friend’s hot mom. Ninety-six dollars got you half an hour of spanking the celebrity of your choice but you got to call an hour in advance. You could pay a hundred and six dollars and get an hour with your High School crush. It was worth every penny to finally see Theresa Thompson’s tits, but I got to tell you, she didn’t fuck half as well as I imagined.
Six dollars could get you the best sex of your life but not many guys were willing to try it. I knew one guy who did, Denny, and afterwards he was as depressed as a kid who slept through Christmas. He said that once you’ve had the best, you realize that all the sex you will ever have will never be as good as that one time. That is some deep shit there.
The lady who ran the place was real nice. She told people that her name was Sephorella Bliss but the girls just called her Mama Bliss. One night she was drunk and confided in me that her real name was just Jean so I can see why she went with Sephorella. Anyway, Mama Bliss was a big woman with big tits and the best damn black hair you ever saw. She ran the cash register and she never fucked the customers.
At least, that was the official story. See, I was a frequent customer there. I was making good money and I didn’t really have anything to spend it on. I couldn’t date because I was working the night shift and I never liked fancy cars so I had plenty of money for the Purple Emporium. I went there so often that if you blindfolded me, I could recognize them just by touching their tits; which is something I did one Christmas when business was slow.
Anyway, one day I go there and Mama Bliss asks me what I am in the mood for that night. I looked at their list and I was staring and debating what I wanted.
“How about I let you pop your load in my hair for sixty-six dollars,” she said.
“Sure,” I said. I wasn’t big into hair but Mama Bliss had the best damn black hair you ever saw. I paid her the money and she took me by the hand and we went to her office.
I never saw the office before. The rest of the Purple Emporium was all fancy. They had the Graveyard Room with actual graves, they had the Steam Room with all the marble tiles and they had the Cheese Room which I am not sure is all that hygienic but the office was pretty plain. It just had a desk, a couple of chairs and a couch. I mean, there wasn’t even a tastefully nude painting anywhere. It was really normal.
Mama Bliss Sat on the coach and told me to stand by her. She unzipped my pants but I had to get my own cock out. She let me wrap her long black hair around my cock and I jacked myself. Mama Bliss looked up at me and smiled.
Her hair was nice and soft but you know, it’s just hair. It took me a little while to come. Mama Bliss said lots of nice things about how nice my cock looked, and how all the girls there loved my cock and that she was getting wet just looking at my cock, so that helped.
I finally shot my load in her hair. Mama Bliss turned her head and made sure I got all into her hair. It was like she was showering and my sperm was the water.
Then shit got really odd. Her hair soaked up my sperm like a sponge. Now she always had the best damn black hair you ever saw; all glossy and thick, but now her hair became something else. It looked like outer space. My sperm turned into stars that settled into strange orbits and little planets appeared and some of my sperm flew around like comets trapped in a celestial journey that would last ages.
At first I thought maybe I was going through some sort of afterglow delusion but no, I saw stars in her hair. I saw my sperm turn into a galaxy in the empty space of the best damn black hair I ever did saw.
Mama Bliss gave me a washcloth and I cleaned myself up before zipping up. She gave me a nice kiss on the cheek while the stars turned in her hair. I don’t remember leaving but since I woke up in my bed the next day I guess I got home.
I kept going to the Purple Emporium until they closed about two years later. Just because you see the universe in a woman’s hair is no reason not to keep getting laid. I never brought it up with Mama Bliss and Mama Bliss never offered to let me come in her hair again. That was okay. Once was enough.
Eventually we got a new sheriff and he was a Born Again Dick so the Purple Emporium had to close. It was a real sad time but in their final week, everything was sixty-six percent off so I got some sweet deals those final days. They closed up and most of the girls filtered into the community. They took jobs as school teachers, nurses and one really hot librarian.
I heard Mama Bliss went to Florida and opened another place down there. I am not sure about that but it might be worth checking out.
Since this was North Carolina and not Nevada, they didn’t actually call it a brothel. The official description was Lingerie Modeling and the unofficial description was Jack Shack. It was located a foot outside the town limits and the lobby had a jar where customers could contribute to the sheriff’s department monthly bribe. It was a quasi legal place with a one hundred percent real place to get your rocks off.
They had the best shit there. Other places would charge you 40 dollars for a back rub and a handjob but the Purple Emporium was the only place where you get could a double blowjob from a pair of Siamese twins for just twenty-six dollars. Their names were Clea and Cleo and Clea preferred to take the facial. Thirty-six dollars would get you a handjob from a horny virgin and forty-six dollars would get you a titjob from a woman with tits bigger than your head.
That wasn’t even the specialty shit. Eighty-six bucks got you a blowjob from your best friend’s hot mom. Ninety-six dollars got you half an hour of spanking the celebrity of your choice but you got to call an hour in advance. You could pay a hundred and six dollars and get an hour with your High School crush. It was worth every penny to finally see Theresa Thompson’s tits, but I got to tell you, she didn’t fuck half as well as I imagined.
Six dollars could get you the best sex of your life but not many guys were willing to try it. I knew one guy who did, Denny, and afterwards he was as depressed as a kid who slept through Christmas. He said that once you’ve had the best, you realize that all the sex you will ever have will never be as good as that one time. That is some deep shit there.
The lady who ran the place was real nice. She told people that her name was Sephorella Bliss but the girls just called her Mama Bliss. One night she was drunk and confided in me that her real name was just Jean so I can see why she went with Sephorella. Anyway, Mama Bliss was a big woman with big tits and the best damn black hair you ever saw. She ran the cash register and she never fucked the customers.
At least, that was the official story. See, I was a frequent customer there. I was making good money and I didn’t really have anything to spend it on. I couldn’t date because I was working the night shift and I never liked fancy cars so I had plenty of money for the Purple Emporium. I went there so often that if you blindfolded me, I could recognize them just by touching their tits; which is something I did one Christmas when business was slow.
Anyway, one day I go there and Mama Bliss asks me what I am in the mood for that night. I looked at their list and I was staring and debating what I wanted.
“How about I let you pop your load in my hair for sixty-six dollars,” she said.
“Sure,” I said. I wasn’t big into hair but Mama Bliss had the best damn black hair you ever saw. I paid her the money and she took me by the hand and we went to her office.
I never saw the office before. The rest of the Purple Emporium was all fancy. They had the Graveyard Room with actual graves, they had the Steam Room with all the marble tiles and they had the Cheese Room which I am not sure is all that hygienic but the office was pretty plain. It just had a desk, a couple of chairs and a couch. I mean, there wasn’t even a tastefully nude painting anywhere. It was really normal.
Mama Bliss Sat on the coach and told me to stand by her. She unzipped my pants but I had to get my own cock out. She let me wrap her long black hair around my cock and I jacked myself. Mama Bliss looked up at me and smiled.
Her hair was nice and soft but you know, it’s just hair. It took me a little while to come. Mama Bliss said lots of nice things about how nice my cock looked, and how all the girls there loved my cock and that she was getting wet just looking at my cock, so that helped.
I finally shot my load in her hair. Mama Bliss turned her head and made sure I got all into her hair. It was like she was showering and my sperm was the water.
Then shit got really odd. Her hair soaked up my sperm like a sponge. Now she always had the best damn black hair you ever saw; all glossy and thick, but now her hair became something else. It looked like outer space. My sperm turned into stars that settled into strange orbits and little planets appeared and some of my sperm flew around like comets trapped in a celestial journey that would last ages.
At first I thought maybe I was going through some sort of afterglow delusion but no, I saw stars in her hair. I saw my sperm turn into a galaxy in the empty space of the best damn black hair I ever did saw.
Mama Bliss gave me a washcloth and I cleaned myself up before zipping up. She gave me a nice kiss on the cheek while the stars turned in her hair. I don’t remember leaving but since I woke up in my bed the next day I guess I got home.
I kept going to the Purple Emporium until they closed about two years later. Just because you see the universe in a woman’s hair is no reason not to keep getting laid. I never brought it up with Mama Bliss and Mama Bliss never offered to let me come in her hair again. That was okay. Once was enough.
Eventually we got a new sheriff and he was a Born Again Dick so the Purple Emporium had to close. It was a real sad time but in their final week, everything was sixty-six percent off so I got some sweet deals those final days. They closed up and most of the girls filtered into the community. They took jobs as school teachers, nurses and one really hot librarian.
I heard Mama Bliss went to Florida and opened another place down there. I am not sure about that but it might be worth checking out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)