Sex is Damn Confusing

Domination has always been a part of my sexual fantasy life. As a young child I often delighted in my Princess Leia action figure getting captured by Vader, Boba Fett, random storm troopers or even jawas. Capturing the princess was my favorite past time although my figures and I were often unsure what to do once we caught her.

On the opposite end, when I discovered masturbation, my most common fantasy was of an older woman dominating me and making me have sex with her. As a serial shoplifter as a kid, it was easy to imagine that if I got caught stealing a book, then I was going to have to fuck a store employee. It just makes sense.

As I got even older, I found myself attracted to really strong minded women. When you are young, it is really hard to tell the difference between a strong willed woman and a bossy pain in the ass. My interest in dominant women completely died out as I struggled to deal with the arrogant and uncompromising women I was dating and eventually married.

My wife wanted a poly marriage which technically means that you develop relationships with other people. I soon realized that I was the charming one in the family when I kept meeting people who wanted to be with me while my wife kept meeting people who wanted little to do with her. Every time I did find something I adored, my wife would do everything to sabotage it to keep me with her. Like an idiot, I deferred to her. I'm not proud of that.

It seems completely logical to me now that being in an unhappy marriage really brought out my desire for submissive women. I liked flirting with them, I liked fucking them and I really loved writing about them. I like arguing with them and winning. I like making unreasonable demands and having them met. I liked having control because I had so little in my marriage.

My fiction didn't see many dominatrixes during this time. My wife fancied herself a dom when most of the time she was really just selfish and sadistic. Heck, that is a good definition of a dominatrix but being married to one who dominates you without your consent is a shitty situation. I wrote porn to get away from the troubles of my wife so the last thing I wanted to do was write something that reminded me of her.

There was also a weird social stigma to writing submissive male fiction when I started writing. Most of my stories were for newsgroups and when I did write the occasional male submissive story, my fan mail from submissive females would evaporate. It wasn't that they didn't like the story as much as they felt that if I was writing something like that, then I wasn't the macho dom writer they fantasized about.

It is sad. I roll my eyes at the idea now but during my bad marriage, that kind of response was important to me. I stopped writing about dominant women and submissive males. It wasn't like I had much interest in them anyway, but I had some and it is a shame that I let something as unimportant as what other people think influence me.

At a happy point in my life, I met my current wife. She helped me understand what a fucked up life I was leading. I left my wife and spent a year or two growing up. The sad fact is that I was a submissive to my ex-wife in that I let her win every argument and she made me feel that every small bit of happiness I had was because she graciously allowed me to be selfish.

There is a thing that my friends in the BDSM community often joke about. We will see friends who are doms or subs and they will end up marrying someone completely vanilla. We laugh and shake our heads because we think it can never work out. We also think it is a lot like regressing. We watch people struggle with their dominant or submissive personalities and then right when they are comfortable, they marry someone who isn't part of that life at all. It just seems like a crying shame.

I bring it up because I have become one of those people. My wife is a strong willed woman because hey, I am attracted to women like that. The difference is that she has no interest in steam rolling me and quite frankly, gets pissed when she does. My natural instinct was to roll over and avoid confrontation but being freed of one bad marriage has unleashed my anger. It might be years of repressed rage but it is something I can use. I fight. I argue. I get damn mad. You know, all the things that happen in an real relationship.

Which translates into a rather vanilla romance with my wife. There is no power inequality, so I don't need to supplement my self esteem with bdsm. She has an ass made for spanking but there is no need for a pretext to spank her. I love that woman and she is my partner and my wingman. Neither of us are in charge. It is pretty nice.

The fantasies don't go away. Heck, as a porn writer, I am not sure I could make them go away. I don't see attractive women on the street, I see potential characters in stories that need to be written. I am pretty sure that I could be fucking a dozen away a day for the rest of my life and I would still want to write a story about a guy and a girl doing something naughty. Being a writer is a not a hobby or a job, it is a classification of a compulsion.

What fascinates me is that now that I am happy, my fantasies don't give a shit what people think. My fantasies about dominant women have returned because I no longer feel dominated. My sillier fantasies about over the top action heroes and heroines in peril have returned because I no longer care about presenting a serious face to my audience. I write about male and female submissives because they interest me and I no longer worry about what that says about my own sexuality. My own sexuality is a tangled mess and if a reader thinks they know me, they are terribly mistaken. More importantly, a reader's assessment of my sexuality is really none of my business any more. That is the most important thing I have learned over the last few years. I used to be told not to care what people think but now I realize that although I sometimes care, it is not any of my concern. I have my own misconceptions about my sexuality, what do I care if other people are just as confused?

Sketch card is by the talented Lohmeier

Fiction: Midnight Rendezvous

“This is not a bookstore,” Claire Currie said.

“You are correct,” her employer, Mr. Dillon said. “Graveyards are not known for selling books. You powers of observation once again amaze and delight me.”

Claire bit back her own sarcastic remark. As a librarian, Claire understood that it was not polite to respond rudely. As Mr. Dillon’s lover and receiver of his sadistic impulses, Claire knew that when her boss was in a biting mood. As an employee for the worlds most unique collection of erotic books, Claire knew that something special was about to happen. Why else would they be at a cemetery at eleven at night?

“You know, I did wonder why we had come to Utah,” Claire said. “I didn’t think there would be many erotic books here.”

Mr. Dillon breathed in the cold air. “Nonsense, there is plenty of porn here. What else are they going to do?”

Mr. Dillon started walking through the graveyard. Claire followed, struggling to stay upright on her four inch heels on the grassy ground. Her uniform was a strict affair and Mr. Dillon felt that just because they would be walking on grass at night was no reason to change her clothes. Black stockings provided her legs protection from the night air which was good because her black skirt barely came down to her knees. When a breeze of wind did travel up her skirt, her flimsy red thong offered not protection to her bushy sex. The white button shirt she wore might have kept her warm if Mr. Dillon hadn’t insisted on her leaving enough buttons open to reveal a generous amount of her dark cleavage.

Claire followed Mr. Dillon through the graveyard. She became aware that they were not the only ones here. There were whispers in the darkness. There was also the occasional giggle and the sound of beer bottles clinking together. A smell of alcohol, cigarettes and hot dogs wafted through the air.

“Sir, what are we doing here?” Claire asked.

Mr. Dillon stopped. He looked down and noticed that he was illuminated by moonlight. He took a step to the side and made sure he was cloaked in darkness. With a wave of his hand, he motioned Claire to join him in secrecy of night.

“About thirty yards from here,” Mr. Dillon said, “is the grave of Phyllis Nubmeg. She wrote about fifty books in the eighties about exhibitionist women who masturbated in public. She was a fantastic cook, knitted together wonderful quilts and was a proud lesbian in small town that didn’t know what to do with her.”

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” Claire said.

“She was,” Mr. Dillon said. “But more importantly, she was a hell of a writer. Two years after she died, a woman was spotted visiting her grave on the day of Phyllis’ birthday. The woman stripped off her pants and sat on Phyllis’s gravestone. The woman masturbated and then left. No one knows who the woman was.”

Claire giggled. “Sounds like a dedicated fan.”

“Every year after that, a woman comes to Phillis’ gravestone to masturbate,” Mr. Dillon said. “It has become a local scandal and tourist attraction. The local authorities turn a blind eye and the night becomes an unofficial holiday. The woman who comes to masturbate changes from year to year and sometimes the same woman appears for several years in a row.”

“How fascinating,” Claire said. “Are we here to witness this mystery woman?”

Mr. Dillon snorted. “Ms. Currie, we are the cause of the mystery woman. When Phyllis passed away, she left the Colette-Ashbee collection the entirety of her books, her works in progress and writing notes. She also left a recipe for broccoli and bacon casserole that is divine. The condition of the will states that she wanted this tradition to take place on her birthday. Even in death she wanted to see a pretty woman masturbate.”

“Wait, you want me to go do it?” Claire said. “You brought me here to masturbate in front of strangers?”

“No, Ms Currie,” Mr. Dillon said with steel in his voice. “I want you to fulfill the obligations of the Colette-Ashbee collection to a great writer. I would gladly do it myself but Phyllis was not a fan of the cock. In the past, we have hired prostitutes and paced ads in lesbian journals. Now that you are under our employment, we can bring the tribute in house.”

Claire took a deep breath. “Was that broccoli and bacon casserole as delicious as you say it was?”

“I planned to make some tonight,” Mr. Dillon said. “It was why I insisted we have a motel room with a kitchen.”

“Any special instructions I should be aware of?” Claire said.

Mr. Dillon placed a scarf in her hand. “Phyllis was always a fan of mystery. Conceal your identity just a little.”

Claire wrapped the scarf around her head so that it covered her mouth.

“Oh, and masturbate to a climax,” Mr. Dillon said. “Don’t cheat a great writer.”

Claire nodded. “I will be right back.”

“I’ll be watching,” Mr. Dillon said.

A delicious shiver went down her spine. At least she won’t be performing solely for strangers. Claire walked through the graveyard and looked for Phyllis’ grave. As she walked, she heard the whispers around her suddenly grow quiet. Her unknown audience was realizing that their mystery woman had arrived.

Claire found the grave easily. Phyllis’ name was in large letters but what gave it away was the top of the gravestone. It was shaped with a slight depression like a seat. It was made to be sat on.

Thinking of her audience, and thinking of Mr. Dillon, Claire stripped slowly. She lifted one stocking clad leg and took off her shoe before repeating the process with her second foot. Her skirt went off next so people could see the stockings and bright red thong on her dark body. Claire wanted to keep the stockings on for warmth but this wasn’t about her. This was for Phyllis so Claire bent over and slowly unrolled one stocking and then the other from her legs. Last to go was her thong. Claire put the thong on the ground before the gravestone like an offering.

She sat in the seat of marble gravestone and quickly discovered just how cold it really was tonight. She suppressed her scream of discomfort and tried to appear as casual as possible. The librarian parted her legs and ra her fingernails up and down her thighs. The moonlight shone down on her like a sensual spotlight.

Claire reached between her legs. She felt the thick hair of her bush part for her fingers as she sought her sex. A tremble went through her as she touched her sex. She was already wet.

She thought of what life must have been like for Phyllis. Claire came from London and all she knew was of large cities and dense populations. Utah with it’s wide open spaces and small towns that look like outposts of humanity were alien to her. Phyllis was a strange woman in a town where she could not hide it. She dreamed and wrote of naked woman touching themselves. She wrote of women exposing who they were. Claire could understand that.

Claire stroked. At first she tried to block out the people who might be watching but her opinion changed. Phyllis didn’t want to block them out. The proud woman wanted them to see. Claire spread her legs a little wider. Claire plunged her fingers a little deeper. Claire moaned and arched her back. The librarian wasn’t going to hide what she was doing; she was going to put it in their faces.

Claire stroked faster. She thought of the people in the graveyard watching. Were they just here to catch a sexy thrill? Were they fellow sufferers of perverse thoughts that would never be accepted by their friends and family? Were they secret writers in a small town? Claire dedicated her stroking to them as well.

She used both hands to masturbate. Her moans drifted through the silent graveyard. She squirmed on the gravestone, clenching her legs and arching her back. Sometimes she pulled a hand out of her sex and grabbed her breast through her shirt. Her sticky fingers left wet handprints on her shirt.

Claire felt her climax coming. To her surprise, she actually delayed for a few minutes. She was enjoying this. She enjoyed performing a service for a writer she had never met or even read. Mr. Dillon was a fan and that was good enough for Claire. Perhaps Claire enjoyed the chance to do something on Mr. Dillon’s behalf.

She stroked faster. Her hand became a blur as she gave in to her desires. She wanted to climax but she wanted to please as well. Claire wanted to please Phyllis, the crowd and her boss. Her body was her instrument of their pleasure.

Finally she climaxed. The scarf around her mouth couldn’t block her cry of joy. She kept stroking as she rode her climax out. Distantly she thought she heard applause but it was quickly silenced.

Claire stopped. She cleaned her fingers with her mouth. Taking her time, she cleaned each finger individually.

She stepped off the gravestone and picked up her skirt. Claire wrapped it around her body and slipped her shoes back on. She picked up her stockings and her thong. A wet spot was visible on the seat of the gravestone and Claire wondered how many other women had left their contributions. Claire felt a strange kinship to those women.

Claire placed her red thong on the gravestone and walked away.

Mr. Dillon was waiting for her in the darkness.

“Leaving the thong was a nice touch,” he said.

“It felt right,” she said.

“I think we shall add that to the tradition,” he said.

“I will remember it when we come back next year.”

Pirates and Spanking

This lovely sketch card by Joe Gravel is 100% accurate. As soon as you institute sexy spanking as a punishment, ship discipline goes out the window.

When I started writing my pirate anthology set in the 1500's, I went looking to find other erotica books written in the same time period. I turned up jack shit. I found plenty of romance novels set in that time period but they were about all male crews with one woman. It was hardly the co-ed orgy setting I had in mind. I was amazed that I couldn't find anything.

After writing a dozen stories, I am no longer so amazed. Writing in that time period is hard. Even applying porn logic and allowing for a ship of fucking men and women, you still need a pirate ship that functions. Discipline was a big deal on ships back then and the motivation for turning pirate was to avoid getting whipped to an inch of your life for forgetting to salute. Some pirate ships were famous for their tight discipline but again, crew full of sex maniacs doesn't exactly lend itself to a orderly ship.

This creates some interesting problems for my writer's toolbox. Spanking is a lovely subject to devote a story to and one of its most popular settings is to use it for discipline. This actually works in a setting where you can humiliate a person, like say an office workspace, but it is less effective in a setting where everyone is walking around half naked.

In fact, this pirate ship is looking more and more like a sex club with every story. Real discipline is maintained with rather uncomfortable scary threats. Death, marooning and musket ball to the head keep the discipline on this ship. As any good spanker knows, a bad spanking can be very uncomfortable and bad, but it is also hardly sexy. Writing a sex novel, I am required to lean towards the sexy. Therefore, bad painful unsexy spanking is out.

Well shit.

I have avoided this problem by writing mostly pirate stories about lust. I decided early on not to do stories about non consensual sex so the spanking of prisoners and captives is out. I danced and avoided the subject forever before the solution finally dawned on me. Like most problems, when the solution is apparent, the problem looks stupidly easy.

My solution was to make spanking consensual, recreational and part of someone's sex. Not a discipline thing. Not a pirate specific rule or punishment. Taking my inspiration from the sex club atmosphere, I just made spanking a part of sex. Easy. Stupidly easy.

This is what I enjoy about writing odd books like this one. It is part world building as you try to create a logical setting, and part discovery as you puzzle out to make something happen and make it appear natural. I think the reason there is so few pirate sex novels is because the setting is fucking hard. It also means that anything I successfully come up with will be all the more rare. That is worth any headache.

Fiction: Love and Airlocks

The airlock closed behind Baroness Joslyn. The noble woman maintained her dignity despite the threat of the cold vacuum of space outside these walls. She was nude and her long red hair was a tangled mess from the lovemaking she had engaged in just a short hour ago. The Baroness did not panic when the guards pulled her from her bed and marched her to the airlock, she would not give them the pleasure now of panicking at the simple threat of death.

A window slid open. On the other side of the vacuum proof blast glass, stood Queen Erishella. The lovely queen was dressed in a black mesh gown that covered her from neck to toe, yet the openings of the mesh were large enough to reveal every inch of her lovely body. A mesh veil covered her face except for her twinkling eyes.

Baroness Josyln pressed the button for communicator. “My Queen,” Baroness Josyln said. “Why am I here, instead of delighting your body with my mouth like I did earlier?”

“Did you know that a standard Euphorian Warship airlock has seven safety locks that must be triggered before a person is shot into space?” the Queen said.

Baroness Josyln shook her head. “I am but a lowly Baroness of the Gem Moons,” she said. “I know nothing of war and their instruments.”

“You love me,” Queen Erisella said. You love me, not.”

CLANG! Powerful locks disengaged and brought Baroness Josyln one step closer to the oblivion of space.

“My Queen!” Baroness Joslyn said. “Please tell me how I have offended you!”

“Masturbate,” Queen Erishella said. The veil prevented the Baroness from seeing if the Queen was smiling.

Baroness Joslyn did as the Queen commanded. She reached down with her hand and stroked her sex. There was no time to be coy or demure. The Baroness slipped three fingers into her sex and fucked herself as passionately as she could. She winced from the sudden intrusion but she knew the Queen would accept no less.

She also knew that the Queen would relish her pain.

After a few discomforting minutes of masturbating, Queen Erishella spoke again.

“You love me,” Queen Erisella said. You love me, not.”

CLANG! More locks moved behind the cold metal of the airlock.

“My Queen!” Baroness Joslyn said. “I can no longer pretend to be innocent! It is true that I was sent to your Warship in order to seduce you! I was sent to procure mercy for my people!”

“You love me,” Queen Erisella said. You love me, not.”

CLANG! Baroness Joslyn knew it was impossible, but she swore that she could feel the cold bite of space.

“I confess!” Baroness Josylin said. She also kept masturbating. “I was sent also to try to kill you! My comb contains a deadly poison and my dildo is packed with explosives!

One of Queen Erishella's eyebrows arched.

“You love me,” Queen Erisella said. You love me, not.”

CLANG! Baroness Josylin had lost count. Was that four locks or three? How many more before her body was given to the great beyond of space?

“But I could not go through with it!” Baroness Joslyin said. “Once I met you, I saw the inherent superiority in your presence! You were meant to rule! You were meant to rule us! You were meant to rule me!”

“You love me,” Queen Erisella said. You love me, not.”

CLANG!

Baroness Josylin masturbated faster. “Please, my Queen! I give myself completely to your service! Use me as you wish! Chain me to your bed! Abuse me, use me and make me pleasure you as you desire!”

Queen Erishella said nothing.

“Or have me serve whomever you wish,” Baroness Joslyin said. “Give me to your soldiers! Give me to your secretaries! Give me to your lowliest servants! I will take any humiliation at your command!”

“Interesting,” Queen Erishella said. “I believe that you do love me.”

Baroness Josylin sighed with relief. “I renounce all my former allegiances and titles to serve you, my Queen.”

“But I do not love you,” Queen Erishella said.

CLANG!

CLANG!

WOOSH!

Farmer's Daughter's Almanac: Handjobs for January 17-23

From the Farmer's Daughter's Almanac

The thrill of Christmas is gone and the alcohol of New Year's Eve has been sweated out. Now is a prime time to energize a loved one or a perfect stranger with a properly timed handjob. The ideal times are listed below.

Jan 17 - Before they get out of bed.

Jan 18 - Shortly before lunch.

Jan 19 - 4:45 pm.

Jan 20 - After they watch you take a long and gratitous shower.

Jan 21 - Halfway through dinner.

Jan 22 - Once they are soundly asleep.

Jan 23 - During the preacher's sermon about sin.

Farmer's Daughter's Tip- A handjob doesn't need to be dry! Throw some spit on that hand to keep it slick!

Boom Pepper

The planet of Euphoria has many unique animals and vegetation but by far the most profitable export is a tiny pink pepper the size of a man’s little finger. Called the Boom Pepper, it has a salty taste that connoisseurs say is reminiscent of sweaty cock.

It also has the ability to induce an orgasm in a humanoid species within fifty seconds of being consumed.

Many foods in the galaxy claim to be an aphrodisiac but only the Boom Pepper has been proven to create a climax. It is enjoyed by the elderly as a way of reliving former sexual glories while the young have been known to eat the pepper has a way of experiencing the glow of sex without the messy consequences of sexual experimentation. It is a traditional ingredient added to meals at wedding parties, graduation ceremonies and the funerals of unpopular relatives.

During the reign of King Fong, the Boom Pepper was declared a controlled substance that could only be sold to members of nobility. The peasantry created an underground market of inferior Boom Peppers such as the dangerous subtype known as the Bang Popper. The Bang Popper induced four to six orgasms in those who ate it, but also carried to risk of inducing a stroke. A weaker pepper known as the Blast Chili would induce in an orgasm but only after a teasing five minutes of sensation. It also induced uncontrolled bowel movements.

When Queen Erishella came into power, she declared the Boom Pepper available to everyone. The inferior kinds of Boom Peppers became less popular and are now only used by chefs who specialize in creating poverty cuisine for the rich and famous.

A popular pastime in Euphoria society is to slip a Boom Pepper into the meal of guests, family or unrequited sexual crushes. The sight of people suddenly orgasming at the dinner table has been credited with the creation of a new generation of foodysexuals.

If visiting Euphoria during the harvesting season, be sure to visit the Grand Boom Pepper Cooking Festival held in the royal courtyards. Chefs from around the planet bring their latest recipes to show off their climaxing dishes. Boom Pepper King and Queen titles are rewarded to the man and woman that can eat the most Boom Peppers without stopping. It is a sensual delight for the entire family.

--Euphorian Gazetteer

Fiction: Muddy Sinful Doom

Cardinal Moleste threw a purse into the mudpit. The mud quickly sucked the red purse into oblivion. A few seconds later, there was no sign of the leather item.

“That cost me a lot of money,” Holly Valentine said. The redhead reporter had an uncanny ability to sound threatening even with her hands tied behind her back.

“Ms. Valentine,” Cardinal Moleste said. “You have one last chance to tell us where your copies of the files are. Hand them over and you can live. Keep their location a secret and you can chase your purse.”

“Never!” Holly said. She struggled but the Catholic thugs holding her didn’t let her escape. “The world needs to know about your plan to turn convents into BDSM brothels!”

Cardinal Moleste sighed. “Why should the Mormons be the only ones to institutionalize sexual slavery? Profits for the Church have been down and our current Pope has the charisma of a concentration camp guard. Besides, no one would ever know. We would only cater to the rich and decadent in Europe, South America and southern states in America. Your nasty expose of Church business would just complicate things. Surely, your life isn’t worth some nun whore?”

Holly growled. “My first lesbian lover was a nun. So go fuck yourself. You’re never getting those files!”

“Shall we throw her in now?” one of the guards said.

“Not yet,” Cardinal Moleste said. “Take her pants down first.”

The thugs didn’t question his orders. One of them held Holly cruelly by her hair while the other undid her pants. He ripped her pants down and for good measure, her purple thong as well.

Cardinal Moleste walked around to Holly’s rear. “Sainted Mother of God,” he whispered. That truly was a magnificent ass. It was a shame that it was on a woman.

“The Pope wanted me to send his regards,” he said.

Holly felt something pressed against her ass. She gasped as something thick and hard pushed into her anus. Inch after inch slid in until Holly thought she was about to burst.

“Mother fuck!” she yelled.

“Yes,” Cardinal Moleste said. “Now that you have the Phallus of Excommunication in you, you are ready to die and have your soul condemned to Hell. Toss her.”

Each thug took hold of an elbow and an ankle and lifted Holly off the ground.

“The truth will be known!” Holly yelled.

Cardinal Moleste shrugged. “We’ve been pretty good at hiding it for two thousand years. Goodbye Ms. Valentine.”

The thugs threw her high into the air. Her bare legs kicked as she flew towards the mud pit. The Cardinal smiled as Holly’s body sunk into the mud. Once the last of her pretty red hair was under the surface, he knew it was over. Another dirty Church secret was lost in the mud.

“I don’t know about you boys, but I am in the mood for an altar boy,” Cardinal Moleste said. “Let’s head back to the church.”

Meanwhile, Holly was holding her breath under the mud. Her parents had owned a Jacuzzi and Holly had spent many a summer impressing boys with how long she could keep her head under water with only a penis to snorkel with. She counted slowly in her head till she hit sixty. Once she reached her target amount of time, she began the hard work of returning to the surface.

Holly had once interviewed a busty archeologist who explained how to escape mud. The thing about mud is that it is quite easy to escape as long as you stay calm. Holly’s hands were tied but the bastards had left her legs free. She slowly moved her legs in slow swimming kicks. Back and forth she swung her legs, trying to gently propel herself upwards to the surface.

That was the theory at least. The reality was that swimming was much harder with a god damn dildo in your ass. It was also something Holly had heard how to do but never had a chance to try herself. If that tomb raiding bitch who gave her the tips was wrong, Holly was making it her afterlife’s goal to haunt the lying British woman.

Holly swam against the mud. Her lungs burned as she reached the limits of even her breath holding skills. Her ass ached with the violation pressed inside her with every kick of her legs.

She broke the surface. Holly took in a long gasping breathing of air. On her second breath, she scanned the area for any signs of Moleste and his bastards. Luckily they were gone.

She let out a sigh of relief. The dildo reminded her of its presence with each twist of her head. Damn, that was a large toy. Holly tried to remember the last time she had something that big in her ass. She sadly realized that it had been way too long.

It was time to get out of here. She wanted to get her hands free of the rope holding them but that kind of struggling might make her sink again. Holly tried to relax and shift her weight to her back. She did her best to float near the surface of the mud while her legs propelled her backward. Again, that was the theory but the anal intrusion was complicating matters. Each slow kick of her legs just seemed to squeeze the dildo tighter in her ass.

It didn’t help that Holly was getting really turned on. The mud was warm and sticking to every part of her body. When she moved her thighs, the texture of the mud was doing funny things to her sex. Her shirt was plastered to her breasts and the grains of mud were rubbing wonderfully against her nipples. It was like being touched all other by really filthy hands.

“I really need to date more,” Holly said to herself. This attempt on her life was turning out to be really sexy.

The reporter kicked with her legs. The dildo strained against her tight ass. The mud clung to her sensitive skin. Her bound hands hung uselessly as she moved. The mud slowly parted for her dirty body.

She reached the shore and had to contain her excitement. With infinite care, Holly rolled her muddy body onto solid ground. The dildo ached inside her ass as she rolled onto her butt and then when she rolled onto her stomach.

“As soon as I file this story, I am going to find a lucky editor to fuck my ass,” Holly swore.

Safely on the surface, Holly worked her way out of the rope holding her hands. She had been tied up so many times that escaping was becoming second nature. The mud helped by giving her just enough lubrication to twist her ankles free.

As soon as her hands were free, she reached for her pussy. Still on her stomach and her dildo-penetrated-ass in the air, Holly stroked herself. Some might say that she was reaffirming her sexuality after surviving a life threatening situation but Holly knew the truth. The woman was fucking horny.

She climaxed quietly and happily. Her cheek pressed against the dirt, she sighed blissfully with the relief of climax. Holly enjoyed her afterglow as much as she could.

When the glow had faded, Holly reached for the dildo. Pulling it out was easy as it had some sort of tab for her to pull on. When it finally left her ass, Holly shuddered with relief at its absence.

She took a look at the dildo. It was molded in the shape of a Christ. The tab Holly had pulled was the Savior’s feet.

“Jesus Christ,” Holly muttered.

She tossed the dildo away. Still on her stomach, Holly reached back into her ass. Lucky for her, her anus was still trying to recover its normal shape. She found what she needed and pulled it out.

“Thanks, Cardinal,” Holly said. The flash drive was intact and free of any mud. The Cardinal’s phallus had sealed her ass and inadvertently prevented the flash drive from getting lost.

“God works in mysterious ways,” Holly said.

Daisy Danger

Daisy Danger has an ebook out where the collects the stories in her blog and presents them to you. The reason you should care is that Daisy is one of the best writers sex blogging today and $5.99 is a criminally low price for her craftmanship. Sure, you could get the stories for free off her blog but for the book, Daisy puts her stories in chronological order. It turns the book into a fascinating archeology dig of sexual history.

There are dozens of blogs out there just like hers but there is one super important aspect of Daisy's work that makes them worth your notice. The woman can write. Oh my Buddha, can she write. She doesn't fall into the traps of new writers where she over explains every detail. At the same time she doesn't write about mysterious pseudonyms that become faceless forgettable characters. It is such a tricky thing to do but she does it so well. You know the essentials. She tells you just enough to feel the pain or the elation.

I primarily write fiction because I feel my own sex life is at times too sad or too sappy to relate. Daisy has no such inhibitions. Her stories are grim, funny, sad, cute and always fascinating. They are like life, encompassing the awful and the awesome.

Buy her book if you adore wonderful writing about sex.

Fiction: Tittyleaks

“Thank you General for inviting me to your office here at the Pentagon,” Holly Valentine said. “INX thanks you for your time as so do I.”

“We are always happy to help the press,” General Hyde said. He was staring directly at Holly’s freckle decorated cleavage. “When the public found out that we made a program to monitor every e-mail, it was the press that helped us lie about only reading the emails of foreigners.”

“Well, the press is always happy to help make shit up for those in power,” Holly said. She took out a small notebook and made herself comfortable in her chair. The tops of her breasts looked like they were ready to make a daring escape from her tightly buttoned vest.

“The reason I am here General,” Holly began, “is that there is an unconfirmed rumor that the military discovered that the last president was sending filthy emails to Saddam Hussein in which he graphically described how much he wanted to fuck his hairy ass. Can you confirm or deny these rumors?”

The General stopped looking at her chest long enough to look her in the face. “How did the fuck did you find out about that? I mean, no comment.”

“Okay, no comment,” Holly said. “Now where did I put my pen?”

The redhead checked her purse and then snapped her fingers. “That’s right, I put it here for safe keeping.”

The General watched as Holly reached deep into her cleavage. The pale freckled breasts absorbed her questing fingers until she pulled out a long slender black pen. The General wanted to be a pen so damn badly.

“No comment,” Holly said as she wrote. “What about the rumors that the last President used to send pictures of his cock to the Russian Prime Minister?”

“No comment,” the General said. “What news service did you say you were with? Diana Finn would never ask these kinds of questions.”

“INX, Independent News Network,” Holly said. “The X is just to make it sound cool. Do you mind if I open up a button? My poor breasts are being crushed by this outfit. I swear they haven’t been squeezed this hard since I dated teenage boys.”

“Uh, sure,” General Hyde said.

Holly reached up to undo the top button. As soon as her fingers touched the button, it popped off like a bullet and hit the General in the face.

“Sorry, I forget how busty I am,” Holly said.

The General hadn’t even blinked. If he did, he might have missed the sight of Holly’s breasts expanding to fill the small void created by the missing button. He could also see a hint of the red lace bra that was holding her tits like a cupcake pan holding blooming muffins.

“Now, what about the unconfirmed rumor that the military intercepted emails from the last vice-president sharing his homoerotic Dirty Dozen fan fiction with the dictator of Korea?”

“Ms Valentine, you must know that I can not under any circumstances confirm this kind of information,” General Hyde said. He licked his lips as he imagined smothering himself in her pale bosom.

Holly frowned. She tapped her fingers against her breasts as she appeared to be thinking. “Are you sure?” she said.

“Yes?” General Hyde said, a little unsure himself.

“”Well shit,” Holly said. She let out a big sigh.

Another button popped off her vest. This time the vest opened enough to see more of the red lace bra that was doing such an inadequate job of holding in her breasts. The general could also see the outline of her nipples poking through her bra. They silently begged him to reach out bite them.

“Ms. Valentine!” General Hyde said. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

“Is this your wife?” Holly said. She picked up the picture of Mrs. Hyde and placed it against her cleavage. The sight of Mrs. Hyde’s flat chest and stern face covered all of the wonderful breasts that Holly had been showing.

“Yes, she is,” General Hyde said miserably.

“Look, General, I’ll be straight with you,” Holly said. “As straight as your cock slipping between my tits if this goes right. I want those emails. I want copies of them and no one ever needs to know that you were the leak. The public has a right to know what filthy things their leaders do and quite frankly, I am curious to see this Dirty Dozen fan fiction because Lee Marvin is a hottie. You can provide them to me and I can do a little something for you.”

“You are asking me to betray my country,” General Hyde said. He did a poor job of sounding outraged.

“I am asking you help the public,” Holly said. “I am also asking you to shoot your come down my breasts and I will walk out of the pentagon with your sticky seed dripping between my tits. Are you ready to answer the call of duty?”

“Hurrah!” General Hyde said. He jumped up and ripped open his pants. His cock, which he had begun to fear was ready for decommissioning was standing tall and proud like Lee Marvin himself.

Holly Valentine was already on the floor before him. She held up open her vest and revealed her lace covered beauties. Her tits were ready for inspection and by God, he was ready to fire.

General Hyde stroked his cock. The redhead reporter was breathing hard, transforming her breasts into a rising and falling target. Oh, he would win a marksmanship award for this one, he knew it.

He started to groan as his climax approached. This was going to be epic. He was horrified when Holly quickly closed her vest.

“Oops, don’t forget to give me those emails,” Holly said. She pulled out a flash drive out of her seemingly endless cleavage.

General Hyde snarled. He yanked the drive out of her hands and snapped it into his computer. A minute later, all of the executive offices dirty emails were uploading into her drive.

“Oh God, I want your patriotic come,” Holly said. She grabbed hold of the General’s cock and squeezed him like a senate subcommittee investigation.

One stroke, two strokes and then on the third, he came. Holly’s aim was perfect as he fired a nice heavy load between her tits. The General almost saluted he was so proud of himself. He watched as his white seed splattered against freckles and lace.

“Excellent work, General,” Holly said. “A free press is essential to a free nation.” She stood up and buttoned her vest. He groaned as he imagined her tits pressing tighter against his come.

General Hyde smiled as he handed the flash drive over to her. “I am always happy to help a member of the breast, I mean press.”

New Year's Corrections

I am not a fan of New Year's Resolutions. They always seemed to be set ups for failure and always a perverse tradition of adding stress and deadlines after what is supposed to be a relaxing period. I am certainly reconsidering that attitude.

I have a different attitude now due to some recent medical scares. My yearly physical revealed an irregularity with my heartbeat and I was sent to take a stress echo test of my heart. I was also diagnosed with my pituitary gland not producing the hormone to tell my testicles to create testosterone. I was scheduled to have an MRI of my head to see if there are any tumors. Medical science being what it is, I had to make appointments, wait, fill out forms, wait, have the tests done and then wait for the results to be analyzed. As a writer, waiting is pretty much asking my brain to conjure up all sorts of negative scenarios. I've been a little stressed.

This stress has made me reconsider the way I do things. I tend to create pressure for myself without the help of others. I religiously come up with a new story to post every week because I feel that if I didn't post a story, there would be next to no reason to visit my blog every week. I also want to make more books and long stories but that 52 stories a year deadline is a killer. I put out four books last year, 52 stories and wrote the majority of a 5th book. That is pretty nice and I am proud of it but it is also exhausting. I know I should slow down but it is very hard to do so without feeling like I am lazy.

My heart echo came back and my heart is great. Today I find out about the MRI and whether I will need surgery. Even if I do, there is not much risk to my overall health. All in all I am in good hands but man, weeks of waiting for tests and results have worn me down. It killed my writing and not writing stressed me out more. I felt like I was a failure at my own hobby.

With that in mind, I am going to aim for a bit more relaxation. I can't do much to reduce my work stress except perhaps give less of a fuck, but I am going to work really hard on not being my own worse enemy. I may recycle more pre-blog stories into the blog on Wednesdays to give myself more weeks off. I may give up posting weekly altogether if I find myself on a good streak of writing chapters for one of my books.

I am still debating what to do but my overall goal is to fucking relax. I love writing and I will never stop but sometimes I just don't have anything written for you right now. Does that make sense?

Picture is of London Andrews because holy shit, every year needs something beautiful to start with.

Invisible Light

No story this week. I toyed with doing a fan fiction piece but saner heads prevailed.

Instead I would like to present 'Invisible Light' by the Scissor Sisters since I wish I had created it. Watch it pretend that it was taken directly from my brain.

My Top 5 Games of the Year

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Fiction: Midterms

My midterms had been going great. My Erotic Writing 101 test was a breeze as well as my Nude Photography 201 class. My jaw was a little sore from my Oral Pleasure class but the redhead I had to eat was a delight. I know I aced my Vibrator Repair test as well as my Critical 70’s Porn Movie Studies test.

The only test I was worried about was my Basic Spanking Class. Christ, I enjoyed spanking the lovely asses of the women that were supplied by the class, but the teacher was another matter. Mrs. Marshall was a real ball buster. At first I was excited to have her as a teacher because she is pretty hot for an older woman. She has this curly brown hair that she wears down to her shoulders and every day she wore a new blouse that revealed even more cleavage than the day before. She was great to look at but as soon as she opened her mouth, she would cut you down and make you feel like the world’s biggest idiot with a paddle.

One time I was spanking my model and Mrs. Marshall came up behind me. She sighed with genuine sadness.

“Peter, I know you never masturbate because that is the weakest swing I have ever seen,” she said. “You have the grip of an eight year old girl.”

What the fuck does that even mean? It didn’t stop the rest of the class from laughing. Hell, even my model was giggling. It does nothing for your confidence when the person you are spanking is laughing at you.

As you can imagine, I wasn’t looking forward to my test. Mrs. Marshall insisted on testing each student individually so I didn’t even have the rest of my class to hide in. I arrived at Mrs. Marshall’s office with my paddle and a shit load of nerves.

Mrs. Marshall was sitting at her desk and today she hadn’t even bothered to put on a blouse. She was wearing a black lace bra that held in those lovely breasts that I had been peeking at all semester. She had her hair down and framing her cruel face. She looked up at me and frowned. My very presence appeared to disappoint her.

“Peter, I will be with you in a moment,” she said. She returned to her paperwork.

I glanced around. We were alone in the office. “Uh, where’s my spanking model?”

Mrs. Marshall ignored me. I wasn’t terribly surprised. I did worry that maybe I was suppose to supply my own model for the test. Mrs. Marshall would spend a good ten minutes pointing out my mental deficiencies if I forgot to bring something. I waited nervously until she was done with her papers.

“All right, Peter, let’s get this over with,” she said.

Mrs. Marshall stood up and I realized she wasn’t wearing any pants. Shit, she wasn’t wearing panties either. I had a good look at the hairy bush of pubic hair between her thighs. She bent over her desk and supported herself on her elbows in a classic #2 Spanking Position.

Holy shit.

“Well, what are you for?” Mrs. Marshall said. “Show me what tiny bit of knowledge managed to sink into your skull this semester.”

I gripped my paddle and walked around to her side of the desk. Her ass was just as round and full as her tits. I had to pause to subtly rearrange my erection under my pants. She was wearing black lace stockings that matched her bra. She also had on high heels that really lifted her ass. It was a stunning sight to behold.

“Any time now, Peter,” Mrs. Marshall said. “I am sure you remember something of your lessons.”

I was paralyzed with terror. I remembered plenty. I recalled every insult she made about my form. Seared into my memory was every snide comment about how I treated my spanking models. I have dreams where Mrs. Marshall is critiquing every single thing I did. Remembering was not the problem; the problem was I might never forget this bitch and her class.

Then I realized that I had nothing left to lose. What else was she going to do to me? Fail me and criticize me some more?

I placed the paddle against her ass. Slowly I ran the paddle over the curves of her bottom. This was supposed to sensitize the ass for the spanking about to come but it served a different purpose for me. I was building up courage and ramping up my anger.

I grabbed her bra strap as a handle and swung my paddle back. Her back dipped as she prepared for the blow. I deliberately waited a few seconds more than necessary. Let her sweat for once.

The paddle swung through the air and connected with Mrs. Marshall’s ass. It was a good solid hit. Technically I think it was too hard for an opening spank and I am sure Mrs. Marshall was going to count it against me but I didn’t care. The gasp she made when the paddle hit her was worth it.

After the first hit, my body went into automatic. I swung the paddle again and this time hit her right buttock. A second hit landed on her left buttock. I alternated back and forth until at a random moment I struck her square in the center of her ass. All of those classes and instructions were actually paying off.

I pulled tighter on her bra as I picked up the pace. I peppered her ass with spanks in a clockwise manner. Her round bottom turned a lovely shade of pink. After applying the clockwise technique, I switched back to a left-right pattern that traveled her ass from top to bottom. From there I tried a more advanced two hit followed by the three hit rhythm. My fear had melted away as I put every lesson to work.

Spanking Mrs. Marshall’s lovely bare ass was nice, but the real treat was the lack of criticisms. That didn’t mean she was silent. She groaned when I struck her hard and she moaned when my paddle hit her in one certain sweet spot. For all I knew she could be mentally failing me but at least she wasn’t saying it out loud. When she whimpered from a fast barrage of spanks, I could almost believe she just a woman and not the bane of my semester.

It was also turning me the fuck on. I released her bra strap and it snapped painfully down on her back. She spun her head around and glared at me but fuck, I was too horny to care. I kept spanking her except now I reached underneath her and grabbed a handful of her bra covered tit.

I expected her to cuss me out. Mrs. Marshall moaned instead. I moaned too. Sinking my fingers into those tits that have teased me all semester was awesome. My erection throbbed and I spanked harder as a poor sex substitute.

My paddle tore into Mrs. Marshall’s ass. Despite my arousal, I was still spanking her according to the techniques. I had a death grip on her tit but my paddling arm was tapping out different rhythms on her now red ass. My anger had faded and now I was spanking with pure libido.

“Fuck!” Mrs. Marshall said. “Stop, stop stop!”

I stopped in mid swing. Oh shit, I was worried. I figured I had flunked for sure. I still had her tit in my hand though.

“Fuck me,” Mrs. Marshall said.

I stood there dumbly.

“Fuck me Peter!” Mrs. Marshall said. “Fuck me now while my ass is still hot. Do it!”

There was no arguing. I let go of her tit and ripped my pants open. I yanked my boxers down and took my cock in hand. Mrs. Marshall spread her legs and reached for me. She took a firm hold of my cock and guided me in.

Wet warm delicious liquid forbidden perfect heaven engulfed my cock. I sank into her pussy till her burning hot ass pressed against me. The heat radiating from her spanked ass was incredible. Pride surged through me. That ass is burning because of me.

We fucked. My cock rammed into her with the same fury that I had spanked her ass. Mrs. Marshall growled as we fucked, urging me to go faster and faster. I kept spanking her ass with my hand. After giving one of the best spankings of my life, I wasn’t willing to stop.

We came pretty fast. It is debatable who climaxed first. It was like we had been fucking for a good long time before my cock was in her. We were both ready to burst and it didn’t take long at all.

After we finished, I reluctantly pulled out and pulled my pants back on. Mrs. Marshall simply sat back down on her chair. I smirked when she winced at her bottom touching the seat.

“Not bad, Peter,” Mrs. Marshall said.

I didn’t say anything. It wasn’t much of a compliment but at least it wasn’t an insult. That’s progress, right?

“I’m going to give you an ‘A’,” Mrs. Marshall said. “And I want you to seriously consider taking my advanced spanking class next semester.”

“Uhh, I’ll consider that,” I said.

“See that you do,” Mrs. Marshall said.

Five Stars of Awesome

Have a minute? I need to ask a favor of anyone who has purchased one of my books. It doesn't matter if you bought a PDF or a physical book. I need to ask your indulgence in some sort of arcane science called 'marketing.'

Specifically, I would like you to go to Lulu and either rate a book or write a review. There is a lot of erotica for sale on Lulu but 99% of it doesn't have ratings or reviews. Quite frankly, it looks like a bunch of vanity projects for sale and without any sort of customer rating, you never know if you are purchasing someone's dirty IM chats that they made into a book.

Right now only the Island Princess book has a rating. Whomever did that gets a cookie. When you write your review or give your rating, feel free to be as honest as you like. Mostly I want to let new consumers know that these books are actually read and enjoyed by people other than my wife.

I have no idea if this kind of customer participation will result in even a single new purchase but hey, it's not about the money. It's about my vanity. Please help me feel like a real grown up author.

Click on the links below to go the main page of each book.

Thanks.

Prisoner of the Wizard's Harem

Cell Phone Slave

The Colette-Ashbee Collection

Island Princess Bedtime Stories and Activity Book

Fiction: Those About to Fall

Defina stepped onto the platform. The wind whipped through her long red hair. The wind also bit into her nude flesh and sent chills down her spine. The hoverwing straps provided no protection from the cold as the only purpose of the straps were to separate and accent her breasts. She slid down her goggles over her eyes so that she could see. It was a glorious day.

The dozen other jumpers stood beside Defina. They were a fine gathering of Euphorian flesh. Each one of them was a champion of Fuck-Falling as well as a celebrity among the planet bound masses. Defina was honored to stand among them this year.

A hologram of Queen Erishella appeared. The regal Queen appeared as a giant before them. She was dressed in white furs that blended in with the clouds. Her lips were painted the color of blood, a color some of the Fuck-Fallers would see today.

“Those about to fall, I salute you!” Queen Erishella said.

That was the signal. Defina stepped off the platform.. Some of the fallers jumped. Two of them turned around and fell backwards. No matter their style of entry, they all began their plummet to the planet below.

Defina kept her arms together and pointed her body. Her lithe body cut through the air like a dart. She knew from experience that a little distance between you and the others were advisable. Interfering with other Fuck-Fallers was forbidden, but when a person is splattered across several fields, there isn’t exactly a way to compensate a fouled player.

She also knew that separating yourself from the crowd was a good way to get the vidcameras focused on you. It was one thing to win; it was another to win with style.

The beauty of the planet of Euphoria stretched out before her. Falling like this, you really appreciate what a wonderful planet this was. Vast cities, giant mountains and lush oceans made up this world. It would almost be an honor to crash against it.

A twisting body caught her eye. It was hard to tell from here, but judging from the platinum hair, Defina guessed that it was Levase. The woman was a rookie and a rising star to have made it to today’s match. It would explain why she was obviously panicking. Her spinning body was out of control and Defina seriously doubted anyone could masturbate at that speed of rotation.

Well, they could masturbate, but they certainly wouldn’t climax. If they didn’t climax, then the hoverwings wouldn’t activate. If the hoverwings didn’t stop you from smashing into the ground, then how could you be alive to score points depending on your performance?

Speaking of which, Defina decided that it was time. She spread her legs as wide as she could, knowing that somewhere a flying vidcamera was zooming in. Her right hand went to her cunt and began stroking. Her left hand went to her chest and began mauling her wind pressed breasts.

Defina knew what the crowds below wanted. They wanted to see her stick four fingers inside her. They wanted her back to arch in the throes of sensual spasms. They wanted her red hair trailing behind her body like a flaming comet’s tail. They wanted to see her play with massive tits they would never get to touch.

The curve of the planet was flattening out at a disturbing pace. She could pick out details on the ground below. She was entering the danger zone, that sweet spot of fatality where if a fuck-Faller didn’t orgasm soon, then there was going to be pulverized souvenirs for the fans on the ground. It was also the area where you can get the most points.

Defina let go of her breast and grabbed her ass instead. Under the watchful eye of the vidcameras, Defina violated her ass with a desperate urgency. She began to spin, head over heels as she finger fucked her cunt and her ass.

The viewers at home would be breathless. They would wonder if she had lost control. They would wonder if she was about to die. Those who were masturbating would quicken their pace to climax before she died before them. Of course, some of them would hold off their orgasm, hoping to come when they saw her graphic death happen.

The thought of denying those fans their orgasm aided in bringing about Defina’s. She smiled at the thought of those bloodthirsty bastards, their cocks in their hands, waiting for her gruesome death and needing her blood to come. The thought of a million assholes groaning in disappointment sent a surge of delight through her cunt.

Defina came. She moaned in pleasure as the vidcameras recorded her facial expressions. The hoverwings activated. Defina spun once and then assumed a landing position with her legs. She pulled out the finger in her ass but she kept the one in her cunt stroking. The crowd loves an insatiable star.

She landed safely. The absence of falling felt strange. The afterglow was overtaken by the roar of the crowd. The judges were announcing the points she had earned. Her knees were still shaking from her orgasm. It felt good.

She stood up and ignored the points. Defina waved to the crowd with her pussy soaked fingers. In a minute, she would see how she scored but for now, Defina wanted to bask in the love of a million screaming fans. Right now, she was a winner.

Island Princess for Sale

The Island Princess Bedtime Stories and Activity Book is available for sale from Lulu. It is available for purchase at the startlingly low price of $9.99. Other erotica books with stories and activities can cost you as much as a thousand dollars I would imagine.

Just between you and me, this book is the shit. I am terribly proud of it. From start to finish, it is a weird erotic book that has my sense of whimsy and humor on every page. If you don't like me, you will hate this book. If you think I am mildly amusing, this book WILL BLOW YOUR MIND.

It includes every Island Princess story published on this blog plus, three BRAND NEW STORIES you have never seen. George Sportelli did the cover as well as three black and white pictures that you can color. The book includes word games, word searches, matching games, a few sexual activities and absolutely no crossword puzzles because they suck. It is a thin book perfect for sliding under your mattress. The preview copy already got me some from my wife, imagine what it can do for you!

Press the button below to be transported to Lulu's eager merchants.

Fiction: Treasure Box

“Nash Nighthammer, I have a quest for you!”

Nash looked up from his mug of ale. It was Turnik Nightslice, the accomplished thief and more accomplished rascal. He was carrying a large sack like he had just robbed a merchant’s guild. It was said that he once robbed a judge of his beard while he held court. It was also said that Turnik could steal a lump of shit from a constipated man. Nash knew that all of this was true, but most importantly; he knew Turnik was a friend.

“Don’t tease me, Turnik,” the mighty warrior said. “I have not had a decent quest in three weeks. The last quest that was offered to me was to kill some of the local wolves.”

Turnik snorted. “Tough times my friend.” The thief sat down at the table. He sat opposite Nash because when a thief is your friend, it is a courtesy to stay where you can see them.

“What do you need me to do?” Nash said. “Help knock out some guards while you steal some large gem?”

Turnik shook his head. “I have a box I can’t open. I stole it from the Mad Preist of the Unseeable but damn if I can open it.”

Nash frowned. “You can pick any lock and open any chest. If you can’t open it, what chance do I have? Do you want me to break it open?”

“Nah, my friend,” Turnik said. “I just knew this would be in your expertise.”

The thief pulled something out of the sack. It was a large box, but nothing like Nash had ever seen before. It was shaped like a woman on all fours. She was a solid piece of wood but every curve, every dimple and every inch of her wonderful body was carved with affectionate detail.

“I figured if anyone could get a box shaped like a woman to give up its secrets, it would be Nash Nighthammer.”

Later, alone in his room at the inn, Nash studied the box. He wasn’t about to try to open it with an audience. For one thing, he didn’t need Turnik’s good natured mocking as Nash tried and failed. More importantly, he didn’t want Turnik’s mocking if he opened it in a few seconds.

The strong warrior finished the last of his ale. He did have a knack with women. His broad shoulders and powerful muscles drew women to him easily. What people like Turnik never understood was that getting women as easy, knowing what to do once you have one is another adventure altogether. Nash was a warrior, but he was also a fast learner.

Nash examined the box. The wooden woman was on her hands and knees. Her heavy breasts hung down but with a Goddess’s firmness. The carved hair framed a face that looked stern. The legs appeared to be on hinges and Nash saw the scrapings of a hundred lockpicks trying to pry those legs apart.

The warrior sighed. Only a brute goes straight for the legs. He placed his hand on the back of the wooden women. He let his rough fingers lightly glide along the curve of her spine. Hands that could crush a skull between his palms were as delicate as feathers on the back of the carved woman.

The wood groaned as the back dipped.

Nash reached under the box and reached for her breasts. Instead of crushing the round wood, he gently stroked the breasts. The wood heaved in his hand but he kept stroking. With each stroke, the carved breasts seemed to get softer but the nipples became harder.

Turnik had offered him a share of whatever was in the box. He was a friend but he didn’t know Nash that well. Nash would have done this for free. Not even a magical wooden woman should go without.

He caressed the box but still it would not open. Nash wasn’t surprised.

“You are a pretty box,” he whispered. “The prettiest treasure chest I have ever seen. Won’t you please open for me, pretty box?”

The sound of cracking wood filled the small room. Nash looked to the legs but they were not moving. On a hunch, he checked the face. The stoic face was now smiling like a young woman.

“I don’t know who owned you before, but tonight I am glad you are mine,” Nash said.

A groan came from the box. The legs parted a mere inch.

“A box like you is a once in a lifetime adventure,” Nash said.

The box pressed back against his hands as the legs parted another inch.

“Damn, you are one sexy box,” Nash said.

The legs popped apart. Nash looked to see if there was an opening. There was, but it was not for a potion or a gem. This opening had hair, drops of moisture and a smell that was unmistakable.

Stopping now was unthinkable. He didn’t know if magic wooden chests had feelings, but he knew nothing should know rejection. He stood up and pulled his cock out of his loincloth.

It was a perfect fit. Nash wasn’t surprised. He was a little surprised how warm it was. He was very surprised with how wet it was. It was amazing what you could do with magic in this age.

Nash fucked the wooden box. The oddity of the situation did not occur to him. She may have been made of wood and strange mystical powers but she had needs. Nash was a warrior but at his heart he loved to aid those in need.

It also was a really hot box.

Nash climaxed. He didn’t know if the box climaxed. As soon as his seed left him, the back of the box opened. Inside was a scroll.

Nash kept fucking. The box groaned its pleasure. Only when the box became cold to his touch did he pull out.

He picked up the scroll. It was a map. More than likely it led to some secret treasure guarded by devious traps. Turnik would ask him to come along and help carry the loot. There might even be an epic battle or two waiting for them.

Nash looked down at the box. The legs were closed again. The face was smiling and the eyes were closed. He may have retrieved the map, but Nash was prouder that the box was happy.

Nash himself didn’t know where his talent with women came from. It never occurred to him that he was good with women because he treated each one of them like they were a rare treasure.

Island Princess Progress and Other Books

I spent the weekend working on the Island Princess Bedtime Stories and Activity Book. A proof copy is headed towards me and George Sportelli and when we are happy with it, you can buy it as well. Pictured here is one of the coloring pages.

By the way, George Sportelli is an artist god and I highly recommend him for anyone wanting a commission for their books, websites or personal guilty pleasures.

At barely a hundred pages I was able to drop the price significantly. It will cost around 10$ for the paperback version. Consider that my Christmas gift to you this year. I also reduced the price on some of my other books if you have been holding out. I left the price of 'Prisoner of the Wizard's Harem' alone because damn it, that thing took a lot of work.

This will also be the last book for awhile that is non-traditional. Erishella's tit, it can be a pain in the ass to plan puzzles that go past a page. It is also no fun to realize that all of your coloring pages are on the left side of the book when they need to be on the right side. In the final formatting of the book, I had to create three new activities to fill in gaps. It is so much easier to chain together a bunch of short stories than it is to chain together stories, art, a maze and puzzles.

I am also considering only doing three published books next year. 'Pusse and Cox' is written and almost ready for publishing. My untitled pirate anthology is coming along at a good pace and will hopefully be ready for summer. My Violatrix book is coming along much slower and might be ready for Christmas if I don't do a 4th book.

On the other hand, my 30/30 Porn Project is coming along in fits and starts but I have two good ideas for audiobooks. I picture these at thirty minutes or an hour long each for female submissives to listen to. Technically that would bring up my total expected books for 2011 to be five but hey, don't hold me to it.

Fiction: Lapdance and a Taco

There is a taco place where the best thing to eat is not on the menu. Called simply ‘Maria’s’ it is only open for lunch from 11 to 2. It is one of those trendy places in downtown Atlanta where bankers and executives sit around and brag about how down to earth they are as they chow down on a 5 dollar taco and drink bottled water. Maria is a stunning Mexican woman in her fifties. She has the biggest tits ever to be held in by a straining blouse.

She’ll happily sit you with you in the dining area unless you ask upfront for a number 38. That’s when things get interesting. First of all, Maria will give you a big wink and a salacious grin like she is going to jump your bones right there. She leads to the back and through a dark hallway. There is a row of doors and she opens one of them to reveal a small area barely five feet square. Inside is a chair, a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling and a small table. Maria will sometimes pinch your butt before closing the door behind you.

You wait a few minutes and then the music starts. It’s always guitars. I think it’s that mariachi music but there is no singing. You just hear the plucking of multiple guitars as they build up to an exotic beat that could only come from the south.

Right when the music is in full swing, your order comes in. A busty Hispanic woman in tight jeans and a tighter shirt comes in with a plate. On the plate is the world’s greatest taco but carrying the plate is the hottest tits and ass you’ll see that week.

Oh my God, the girls are always different but they are always beautiful. There are no skinny stick women here. The women are always curvy with an ass that can barely fit in the small space you are in. The women also have amazing breasts that are on the verge of spilling out of the low cut white cotton blouses they wear. The tits are pushing so hard against the cotton fabric that you can always make out the dark spots of their nipples on their chestnut brown skin.

Now you have a choice at this point. You can either eat the taco first, or you can have the lap dance. That to me is always the toughest choice.

That might sound crazy to you but let me tell you about the taco. First of all it is a soft taco shell that was just fried two minutes ago. The meat is a combination of chicken, pork and beef that has marinated over night in a special citrus sauce. It’s garnished with lettuce so fresh that the lettuce was still on the ground this morning. The taco is awesome just as is but they give you a little cup of salsa that was mixed by the owner and her tremendous jugs fresh that day. When you want a taco made from heaven to be a little more divine, add the salsa.

But then, you haven’t had a lap dance till you’ve had one here. The girls are clothed but that’s okay. Sexy dancing doesn’t need skin. These women dance to the strings of mariachi guitars like they have been saving their virginities just for you. She sit on your lap, they squirm, they dance and they take very deep breathes in their tight shirts. They play with their hair, they play with your hair and their whisper sweet dirty things in Spanish that I am sure are illegal.

Sometimes I eat the taco first so I can taste the exotic flavors on my lips as the beautiful woman teases me with cleavage that I want to dive in.

Sometimes I have the lap dance first so that my cock will be throbbing hard in my pants as I take my first bite of the superb taco.

The lap dancer leaves with your money and brings back the change. The music never stops which makes it nice to eat to. There no refills so you are alone on that. For 30$, it’s a steal. I mean, the taco alone should be worth 15$.

I give it four stars.

Professor Elemental

Professor Elemental is a rapper who raps about normal every day life. You know, things like giant airships, combining animals and humans, exploring distant lands and his orangutan servant. He is what you can call a steampunk rapper except unlike 90% of most indie rappers, he actually has wonderful production values and great music.

Warren Ellis posted this video a few weeks ago and I loved it. I bought the album and it has been playing in my car ever since. My wife loves it as well and we have a pretty good duet going when it comes to 'Fighting Trousers'. You owe it to yourself to buy his album, 'Indifference Engine' at Professor Elemental.com

There is a lot to praise about Professor Elemental but I think the highest praise I can give him is that he made me jealous. Even though I write about sex, mad scientists and pirates, he seemed to be having a little bit more fun. I took that lesson to heart and renewed my dedication to writing about any crazy shit I want to make myself happy.