Saturday, May 23, 2015

Back from the dead: Dirty Words (orig. 12/19/06)

Alistair McCartney

Porn Miniature:


Is a teenage suicide bomber, 18, and short, like 5 foot 3, so short the other boys all make fun of him. But he's well built, surprisingly muscular. Extremely fervent and totally passive. He has a black fade and full lips that live for cum and these dark, liquidy eyes, like octopus ink, that open really wide as you fuck him. Long lashes. Totally smooth, his ass is amazing, plump, exuberant, disproportionately large in relation to his slender waist. It's the kind of ass that makes you want to commit suicide.
    Alone in his bedroom, the boy stands in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but his explosive belt and his black dynamite vest. His ass looks great, but he's completely unconscious of this. Totally oblivious, even as he spreads his cheeks, and gazes at his pink hole, which is like one of those nonpareil candies, and, wetting a finger, fingers himself. If he were aware of his power, he'd see there's really no need to go blow himself up. Mesmerized, the West would stare so long into his ass, we would eventually disappear.
    But the boy is going to explode amongst us. In the meantime, for him, getting fucked with luminous spit is better than being a footballer, better than martyrdom, better than anything.


Walter (West Berlin, 1987 ? I think he’s dead)

Walter mastered the gas and the brake with his hand while his mouth never stopped making dirty jokes about ‘you fags.’ Carla laughed passionately as if she was flirting with him. Maybe she was ? her hints on the ‘special friendship’ between her and her ‘favorite cripple’ had sounded all but tame.

Viktor and Bob, on whose lap I tried to steady myself, giggled in growing embarrassment, and Hendrik on the passenger seat, showing no sign of interest whatsoever in any of us, shifted his attention between the street names outside in the dark and the map, mumbling commands for directions every once in a while which caused Walter to wait, wait, and then turn the wheel in the very last second.

‘Gay punks!’ Walter howled. ‘What’s that supposed to be? Pink poodles with riveting collars?’

When Bob asked him, in an attempt to defend themselves, since when he was paraplegic, Carla burst out, ‘Since his last car accident!’

Walter sped up the old limousine approaching a yellow streetlight. ‘A large truck crashed into my left side at full speed. My Ford was as cleanly cut as my spine. The legs had to go later, due to an in-fec-tion (he pronounced it like a Spanish holiday resort), but I was happy to get rid of them as they felt like nothing anyway, and actually hands are much, much better for driving. -- You afraid there, sweethearts?’

The community center was located on the sixth floor of an old factory building. There was no elevator. Viktor and Bob had to carry the chubby Walter who looked quite heavy even without his lower third and who had insulted them all the way to here. Carla sang a Dutch chanson to ‘levitate’ them as she called it. I heaved the wheelchair out of the trunk, locked the car and slowly went after them.

The narrow room that resembled a large corridor was crammed with people ? most of them indeed punks and skinheads, plus a couple of Kreuzberg freaks who combined army coats with glitter skirts and wore plastic crowns in the form of a hammer and sickle or the victory column. Outside it reeked of piss, inside the air was thick with smoke. I found Carla, Walter and the exhausted Russian-American couple surrounded by a bulk of others. Some probably Carla’s acquaintances, whereas the rest seemed interested in our cripple. Walter, leaning back comfortably in his wheelchair, enjoyed the attention. While excited glares ran down his thighs to the point where the jeans had been cut off, its frayed hems exposing some dark crumpled skin, he greeted his new friends in his own fashion,

‘You take it up the ass? Why, doesn’t that hurt? Or do you like it when it hurts? You care to pull out the shit somehow before some manimal shoves his dick into your hole? I mean, maybe it’s better WITH shit, I’m no expert on that, hehe. The social guy who handles me on weekdays has a big bulge in his pants every time he lifts me from the john and sees the steaming heap inside the bowl...’

He ejaculated a bleating giggle and smacked one of the guys, who had dared to rub himself against the edge of his left wheel, on the buttocks with the full force of his well-trained arm. The guy squealed.

‘Well, in case I gotta go take a dump later there won’t be any problem getting some assistance I guess.’

We pushed ourselves in a row where some empty chairs were left, but as soon as the first band started their gig, everybody jumped up anyway and the old furniture was kicked away into the corners. The second band consisted of about a dozen sixteen-year old boys with uniform blond hairdos who wore nothing but Bavarian style leather shorts while they played. Their “folk punk” was terrible, but the audience went wild. Some time later (I had managed to get pretty close to the stage) Carla gripped me by the hips and her lips were suddenly close to my ear,

‘They’re at the toilet. Come on ? you wouldn’t wanna miss that!’

We climbed another flight of stairs to where the toilets were. In front of the entrance a crowed had gathered. The guys we elbowed ourselves through all had their dicks in their hands. They were staring in direction of the only existing cabin, whose door stood wide open.

Walter sat on the front rim of the toilet seat. His short-cuffed jeans had been taken off. The admirer from before pressed it to his face. Next to the toilet another one lay on his back, his head bent far backward, and moved to get his tongue deeper into Walter’s asshole. Walter, babbling on incessantly, grunted and cursed.

‘Hey, the bi-queen gives us the honor to join our little private party,’ he barked as he noticed me. ‘Where’s the Russian fag, and his girl, the American fag? Come closer, take a look, sweetie ? see what the wicked cripple will do...!”

A sincere, concentrated expression entered his face. It looked almost beautiful like that. Walter’s cock (I hadn’t even noticed it before) stood up straight like a pole.

The lad under his ass who realized things were about to happen tried to push himself closer using the heels of his heavy black boots. He slipped on the tiles all wet with piss, and kicked several times into the air. Walter groaned. The other one twisted his foreskin between two fingers and pinched the nails deep into the soft yellow stuff. Maybe to divert himself from the object of his desire.

The circle of observers closed in tight around the cabin door. Someone carefully pulled away the wheelchair, which was in the way. Carla slipped in front of me, scratching her stiff sprayed hair against my cheek, and started to unbutton my fly behind her back.

A suppressed moan filled the room as if the air pressure had suddenly mounted. All of them were ashamed. All could feel quite clearly the humiliation the evil dwarf with no legs meant to their community. All knew that every stroke with their hands bereft them of another piece of dignity, but nonetheless ? or, well, because...

‘Whoah! Man, that’s a relief!’

With the raunchiest sound of the world Walter let escape a gigantic turd from his rectum. The other one was so startled by its length he choked. Coughing and convulsing, he rolled to his side, writhed, hit his head hard against the toilet’s base. For about a second it seemed unclear what anyone in the room was supposed to do. Then things happened quickly.

The guy made an attempt to jerk off, his forehead covered with blood, but a gush of puke forced him to stop. Walter made the tiniest of gestures to make another from the first row of spectators drop onto his knees. He opened his black lips wide, and before Walter had even finished yelling, ‘Don’t touch it, sicko!’ heavy white stuff squirted into the gaping throat of the punk.

I came the very same moment. Carla snuggled against me ? my load went over her pants, right across the lighter bulge in her bottom pocket she then used to rub me until it hurt. The others approached as far as they could and shot fountains over the kneeling one’s pink hair and tattooed shoulders. He didn’t care about them. He fixated with his eyes, with the whole of his face the burning red bulb that kept floating in the air and that he was neither allowed to lick nor to kiss, nor even to touch.

‘If I sense the faintest whiff of your breath, I’ll break your neck,’ said Walter’s voice with great calm.

Down in the other one’s groin something fluid sloshed about in short intervals, like an overflowing bottle a child refills at a tap.


‘A Woman’ an excerpt
From The Consumer
By M. Gira

He’s looking down my dress. He can see my breasts. He wants to hurt me, hang me with the noose that’s in his hand. He’s mocking me with it, swinging it in front of my face, showing me that if I go with him he’ll hang me with it after we fuck. I’m not sure if I want him to hurt me. I know that when he pushes his cock into me it will hurt when it hits my uterus. His cock fills me up and makes me another person, subject to his desire, his violence. He’s going to call his friends over and invite them to gang rape me. Then hang me while they masturbate in harmony with my suffering.


So last summer I wrote a porn story for this anthology that came out on Alyson Books called "Hustlers: Erotic Stories of Sex for Hire". The story is about this guy who is obsessed with a porn model named "Shawn." Anyway He finds out that Shaw also escorts and sets up a date with him. This scene takes place before the narrator's meeting with Shawn. He hooks up with some guy from the gym.

The Shawn in the story is based on this one porno guy I'm into named Shane. The story is dedicated to him. I've included Shane's picture along with the excerpt from the story.

The blond guy from the gym is laying face down, spread eagle on my bed. I’ve been rimming him for what seems like hours now. My cock is so hard it’s aching, pre-come dripping. His hole is as pink as his balls and it’s driving me crazy, I just can’t seem to get deep enough in there. He’s moaning, thrusting his ass in my face, wiggling his hips and then I start fingering him. I slide one finger in effortlessly, work it around inside his slick ass, feel its textures, try to find his prostate. Is that? Wait, no. Maybe. Then I work in another finger and then another. I wonder if he’s into fisting. I’ve never done that, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. I pop a fourth finger in. I’m just about to figure out how to get my thumb in him when he starts whining, “fuck me,” in this breathy way that, I suppose could be sexy, but instead comes across as desperate and a little slutty. My fingers make a slight slurping sound as I pull them out of his ass. I yank his hips close to my crotch and spread his cheeks. His asshole his wet and red now, I rub my cock up and down his crack, he goes wild. I push the head of my dick against his pucker and it slides into the warmth of his ass with no effort. Then he freezes, stops moaning, wiggling etc…
    “Dude, are you wearing a condom?”
    “No, shit, sorry, it’s just the tip. Sorry I got carried away.”
    “Okay, just put one on all right? You’re neg right?”
    “Yeah, totally.” I tell him as I go over to the night stand, grab a condom and unroll it over my fading hard-on. Then I lube up and start fucking him. I watch, almost mesmerized as my dick slips in and out of his ass. After I get bored with that, I flip him onto his back so I can watch him jerk himself off. I love watching guys jack themselves while they get fucked, it makes them look so submissive and sad. It’s great. Anytime a guy looks more pathetic in bed, the better the sex is going to be.
    I fuck him for what seems like an eternity. Maybe I loosened him up too much or maybe he’s just a huge bottom whore who’s had his ass torn up too many times, but no matter what position I stick him in I can’t seem to get enough friction to come. He shoots before me, so I pull my cock out of him, take off the condom and masturbate onto his chest.
    After it’s all over we take a shower together, pretend to be sweet to each other, pretend that it was more than it was and then he tells me to call him, like that’s going to happen. Like either one of us really want that.
    Once the trick’s finally gone, I bust into my emergency stash. I have two grams that I’ve been saving for an occasion like this. Basically I feel like shit and it’s either do coke or spend the afternoon crying. At least if I do enough coke I’ll be motivated to clean my bathroom. I don’t think I’d be motivated to do anything if I gave in to this stupid self pity. I have to choke back the tears as I cut lines. Then I snort one and it’s instantly better. Three more days until I meet Shawn, my heart’s all a flutter and it’s not all on account of the coke.

winter rates

this is really killing me...

my favorite novel is not on my shelf, my copy is a state away.
it contains my favorite porn scene, one that gave me massive wood on a bus-ride
from Harvard's main campus to their medical campus. (coincidently slothrop attended harvard)

i will be gone before i can track down a copy and copy the phrases...
and won't be back before deadline...

from the index: Blicero with Katje and Gottfried, 94-99, 101-04 (these pages apply to most versions)

illustration #1
illustration #2
illustration #3

JW Veldhoen

Barely Legal: An Annotated Lyric Play in One Scene
for DC

Dramatis Personae

Lynx and Lamb, the barely legal Aryan chanteuse duo Prussian Blue
Freestyle boxer and internet gladiator Kimbo Slice
A porn-director named Lorne Green 1

The Setting 2

According to the principles of appropriation and historicization, a Burnaby warehouse, made to appear as a Restoration stage. 3

The scene opens in medias res, with Kimbo bedecked in a banyan, his waistcoat and breeches on the floor, and a cap. Lynx and Lamb each wear a sleeveless bodice 4 and a floss g-string. Lamb bleeds profusely from her nose and mouth, and Lynx has suffered a fierce and savage bout of sodomy, blood and fecal matter smearing her inner thighs. Lorne Green films alone, working cinéma vérité. Both women perform fellatio on Kimbo, who utters the only line of our play 5:

Kimbo: Yeah, suck that dick, bitch.

1. From an abandoned short story by the author entitled "The Mysterious Disappearance of Tracy Trapp, or Death in A Swedish Discotheque".
2. Or scene, since the author has rendered this as a picture, wanting to capture a frozen moment on a stage, not so unlike Jeff Wall's A Ventriloquist at a Birthday party in October. A scene rife with allegorical implications, which, it may be said, are common in image production, especially in the city where the author now lives. See "Mad Tales: Considering Allegorical Tendencies Now" by Jeremy Todd, for a particularly thoughtful examination of this phenomena.
3. Of course, this scene owes too much to too much, and the author must abandon it, having given up on allusion, and since it can only be a pale homage to Robert Coover's Lucky Pierre. Besides, the title "Barely Legal" contrives to point out the difficulties of semblance with regard to living persons (in addition to being a double entendre, a trope with exemplary ties to the Restoration stage) and their representation, which prohibits the staging of this play. An interesting alternative might include a shift to call "Barely Legal" a "lyric essay" (see "Time Must Die: The Lyric Essay and the Fictionalization of Genre by Ben Marcus).
4. Interestingly the sleeveless bodice was never worn, in either France or England in the 18th c. but departures from verisimilitude are oft found in Green's larger oeuvre. The sleeveless bodice was an adaptation of the southern colonies, which might have been more fitting considering the mixed race of the actors, had it occurred to Green, who's productive literary model ought to have been Aphra Behn vs. William Congreve. See The Mythical Bodice, by Ingrid Schaaphok in the Brigade Courier
5. Thus, we know nothing of the characters, or their motivations, or their hearts, as is so common to pornography. A squadron of readers will complain that this is the problem with post-modernism in general, and with footnoted stories in the style of David Foster Wallace. To this criticism the author affords only one response, being that, the only story he can remember is "Funes, the Memorious" by Jorges Luis Borges. The citations, in terms of understanding and recollection, are forgeries, the rest is fiction, with no resemblance to any person living or dead, and merely grotesque.

Hyperlinks on JW Veldhoen's blog to the actors, and italics etc.

math t

When I think of 'porn writing', I don't think of something I've read that got me all hot. I think of something I've done, given up on, and pushed away, nauseated.

If you're pretty cute and comfortable with meaningless sex, you probably do a few porn pics or vids, and/or some whoring/hustling, at some point in your life. Similarly, if you're good with words and comfortable with meaningless sex, you probably write some 'erotic fiction' at some point in your life, for one reason only: It Pays. Since I graduated college, most of my income has come from various ghostwriting and editing projects. Annnnnnnd....

In March 2005, when I was still living in L.A., I was making a last- ditch effort to land a real job and build a real life there. With all the energy I could possibly summon, I was going after a position as an editor at Alyson Books. They're located in a building on Hollywood Bl; I lived just blocks away at the time. After I did three interviews with various people in the parent company [LPI Media, who print The Advocate and Out], I was told they'd narrowed it down to 2 candidates: me and some other girl. The final 'audition' would be that we would each edit an entire book, and write the introduction to said book, under contract. The editing meant about 3 weeks of solid work [true 40+ hour workweeks] and the pay was only $1,000 total [my monthly rent at the time was $860], but I was ok with that because I thought it might land me a Real Job. And really did do the best I could with what I was given.

The book I edited was called Show and Tell: True Tales of Lesbian Lust. Alyson never gave me any copies and I've never even seen the damn thing 'in person'. The editor-pseudonym that Alyson used was Nicole Foster, a personality who 'edits' most of Alyson's lesbian erotica [there is no real Nicole Foster]. All the stories in Show and Tell were written by about 7 or 8 people total. All the stories were absolutely horrible. A disturbingly large number made use of the term 'love button'. My job was [1] to make the stories much, much better and [2] to make them look like they were actually written by like 15-20 people and [3] to write the introduction. PLEASE, if any of you lovely people ever look at this book, keep in mind that I wrote the introduction to ghostwriter- industry- specs. That is NOT my voice. Not even close. Oh yeah and: I don't think any of the stories in the book are 'true tales'. I'm pretty sure that every single story in the anthology was fiction.

The whole experience was frankly terrible and stupid. Literally, it put me off having sex with girls for like 8 months. After reading all that stupid girl-on-girl text and trying to transform it into something actually sexy? I just wanted cock. No love buttons please.

And I didn't get the job. According to the people at Alyson, neither did the other girl. Alyson Books called me one day and said the whole company was being restructured and now there was no job available. That story is plausible enough, but the tone of the phone conversation made me feel like it was all a big, big lie. I have a pretty good bullshit detector. I don't think there was a position available in the first place. So, as Kermit Oswald once said: it is what it is.

__Now. As for writing that makes me really fucking hot? Words that visually conjur a sexual act, wet the insides of my insides, all that amazing shit? The only thing that honestly comes to mind is a one-sentence description of theft, from Genet's The Thief's Journal. Even though Genet is really just talking about stealing a material object in this particular sentence, when I read it, I thought immediately of a hand on a dick, a fist in an ass. I nearly passed out from the sexual energy that overwhelmed me at the time. A few months later, I saw Todd Haynes' film Poison, and I was startled to see that he quoted the same line and also interpreted the line as explicitly sexual. My copy of The Thief's Journal is loaned out, but, doing my best from memory:

'My heart is in my hand, and my hand is in the bag, and the bag is shut, and my heart is caught.'

Now those are words to get off by. Fuck: Yes.

Philippe Mangano

in English translation:

In the toilets
there is The Face
issue number
two hundred and
thirty-six pages

You can see Mac
Caulay Culkin
spiting out swallowing
his white dribble
on the cover
at twenty-two

He has white
milky eyes without
trace of abuse
even though you think
smooth-cheeked chest
page number eighty

White tank top
Gap grey boxer shorts
the hours are
Roman numerals
thick lip

Grey smoke
visible pore
the coton
became black
not like in the
double page

The fag is white
all the seam
you can't even
see its name
mine is not
stomach ache


in the original French:

Dans les toilettes
il y a The Face
le numéro
il fait deux cent
trente-six pages

On y voit Mac
Caulay Culkin
crachant avalant
sa bave blanche
en couverture
à vingt-deux ans

Il a les yeux
d'un blanc laiteux
sans trace d'abus
quoiqu'on en pense
le torse imberbe
page quatre-vingt

Débardeur blanc
caleçon gris Gap
les heures sont des
chiffres romains
la lèvre épaisse
quatre-vingt un

La fumée grise
pore apparent
le coton est
devenu noir
pas comme dans la
page doublée

La clope est blanche
toute la couture
on n'en distingue
même pas le nom
le mien n'est pas
j'ai mal au ventre


I write a lot of porn, so in lieu of posting my own stuff, I thought I'd note porn writing that I especially enjoy.

Lars Eighner has written several books of erotica, but is most known for his nonfiction book "Travels With Lizbeth". Eighner's erotica, in particular the novel "Wank: The Tapes", was the first porn writing to really blow my mind, in that it turned me on both sexually and to the artistic possibilities of porn writing.

"Wank" concerns the sexual goings-on in a college dorm. Eighner takes the tried and true college dorm fantasy and makes it fresh by imagining a world of roles and rules that his straight, gay, and bi characters assume in their encounters. The prose is tight, hard and even poetic. The novel follows the motion of a typical porn scene in that it builds and builds to a penultimate climax; and the way that Eighner manages to sustain this build-up is a thing of wonder. I also recommend his Houston Street stories, which are included in the book "Bayou Boy". In particular, the story "Parks" is as tough, uncompromising, and erotic a coming-of-age narrative as I've ever read.

Geez, I make it sound so fucking academic, but it's really hot stuff, trust me. The only place I've been able to find these books online is Amazon, because they're mostly out of print. I hesitate to post URLs because they're so long, so just go to Amazon and search "lars eighner". If you like a good dirty story, I'm sure you won't regret it.


I'm a big fan of amateur erotica. There's a sincerity and earnestness in the best amateur porn that you just can't get anywhere else - the creator is doing it simply for his own pleasure and the pleasure of his/her readers.

Unforunately, it is often poorly written; but a major exception is the work of NPhillydogg, who regularly posts on His stories of African-American men on the down-low are intensely erotic and offer a glimpse into a fully-realized world. Just to witness the author getting totally carried away with his characters and stories is a blast.

To find his Nifty stories, go to this link, and look for "NPhillydogg"

Or try these stories which I recommend:

"Weed" (p.2)"

"The Kiss"

Another favorite amateur porn writer is Sebastian Wallace, but I won't say anything about him except to direct you to his website, where there's lots to discover and wank over:


Ah, fuck it; I can't resist posting some of my own stuff. This is a link to the latest story posted on my website ( I think it's one of the better stories I've written this year, but I wasn't able to publish it anywhere. It also relates to some of the discussion I've had with Dennis on this blog, regarding those amateur "straight college guy" porn-model sites:

"Bradley Gets Fucked"


He had a skinny little mustache that looked like it belonged on a lonely boy from a bleached and weathered photograph in a seventies porn mag. I couldn't tell if I thought it was cool or ugly. When I opened the door of the bar he was right there, an off-center smile and his head tilted back. He moved in sharp, slanted motions that I thought were cute and child-like. We stood in the corner and talked – chitchat. We discovered we both loved the same brand of underwear. "I'm wearing them right now," I told him, and he was, too. "See?" he said, lifting up his shirt and pulling up the elastic band of his underwear above his jeans so I could look. My eyes flickered to the sinewy pubic hairs that peeked out from behind the top of the underwear.

"Do you wanna take a walk?" he asked me. I said sure. The streets were empty and damp, echo-y. The temperature had dropped suddenly, without warning, and I pulled my cardigan tightly around my chest as we walked and smoked. We headed in the direction of his apartment – he led and I followed. I waited for him to touch me, to brush his hand against mine or tap my foot with his shoe, but he never did. When we finally reached his apartment, he stopped and said "you can crash here, if you want" without looking at me. I said sure.

In the kitchen he made toast and sprinkled some yeast on it before he bit into it, which I thought was weird. "I'm obsessed with toast," he said with a full mouth. "I eat it all the time." He found a half-full bottle of cheap wine and when he finished eating we took it to his room. He lived in a railroad and his roommates were asleep, so we had to tiptoe through their bedrooms to get to his. The door to his room was made mostly of thin glass panes, so we still had to talk in whispers. His walls were painted a comforting baby blue, but the room was stuffy and still, which made it seem like some forgotten nursery for a stillborn boy.

His bed was just a worn mattress supported by some crates that were uneven, making the bed slope down at the head. We sprawled out on it and downed our wine. We laughed at the same things for a while and then he kissed me. It felt sweet and that bothered me – I liked him. I liked him enough to worry that maybe if we fucked I'd never see him again. But he kept kissing me in quick, balmy swipes and I let go. We took our clothes off.

He was unbelievably skinny. He had a wiry torso that seemed longer than me and hips that poked out of his body frame like handle bars. His cock was thicker at the base and thinned out towards the head, which I liked. Pressing my fingertips along his backside, I felt each of his…flaws. But they didn't seem like flaws on him. The spot of acne on his shoulder, the dark moles on his back, the insistent black hairs that swirled above the crack of his ass – they were beautiful and they made him real. I wanted to memorize each of them. With his clothes off his body odor overtook the room – it was pungent and stiff but gorgeous, and I found myself drawn to his armpits.

The sex was warm and fragrant and we fell asleep quickly, his pointy skeleton nestled into my hide. In the morning we gave each other blowjobs before he had to go to work. When I was about to come, he pulled his mouth away and I shot it on his hand. When I was sucking him he never told me he was close, and he ejaculated in my mouth. I almost gagged, but I swallowed it all.

As we ambled to the subway under gaudy daylight he said that we should see each other again. He was leaving for business next week, though, and he'd be gone a while – but perhaps this coming weekend, he suggested. I nodded. He didn't return my first phone call, but he answered the second one and his voice was placid and tender. Maybe we could get together on Halloween, he said. But he didn't call. A few days later when I called he told me "look, I think you're a nice guy..." and the words just kind of dissolved into soft, fuzzy noise after that.

So then I hated him. I would see him in bars every so often and I would hiss at him from afar. Eventually, he'd spot me, come over and say things like "you look really great. I love your beard," and that made me hate him even more, that he was being so sweet. I thought my hatred was a good thing – it kept me from pining after him.

But one night he didn't say anything to me at all. From my perch at the bar I saw him walk in, and I groaned to my friends. I tried to ignore his presence, but a few minutes later I turned around and he was just standing there, next to me. I could only mumble "hi." He stared for a moment and then he leaned into me drunkenly, pushed his mouth against mine. His tongue separated my lips, filled my mouth, seemed to find its way down into my throat. The kiss was endless, overwhelming. It left me disoriented, and hard. We left for his apartment.

Outside he tripped on the sidewalk and pretended it didn't happen. He was glassy-eyed, wasted. We ignored all the other passengers when we got on the subway and I laid my head in his lap while he twisted my hair in his fingers and hummed. On the walk to his apartment his pants kept falling down because he wasn't wearing a belt and he would have to stop and hike them up. We would make out and I'd stick my hands down the back of his pants to feel the heat coming off the skin of his ass. I'd press his crotch into mine to feel his erection and then we'd keep walking. Before we got there we stopped and pissed behind some cars and I watched his stream of urine snake down the pavement.

It smelled like a casino inside his apartment. Everything seemed to be coated in ash and soured cigarette butts. Lumps of clothes and empty ice cream containers dotted the floor. There was an empty condom wrapper right by his bed. It bothered me. He's dirty, I thought, and I'm going to fuck him anyway. I was still drinking whiskey, trying to catch up with him, when he offered me what he said were anti-epilepsy pills that were like percodan or percoset or something. "They just make you feel really good," he explained. I didn't ask how he got them. He stuck his palm out, two little pills in it. I took them and when he turned his head I shoved them in my pocket. He told me he had gone on a bit of a drug binge a few days ago - just random pills - but that he hadn't taken any in a few days. I wasn't sure if I believed him. He seemed more than drunk.

Once we stripped he never took his mouth off me. His kisses were heavy and warm, sloppy. When I realized that I still had my pink bandana around my neck I took it off and blindfolded him. "That's hot," he said, as I pushed his spine against the mattress. There was a shoebox full of off-brand condoms under his bed. I snatched one, tore open the wrapper and slid it on his cock, which was pulsating. Once it was in me, we couldn't stop fucking – we were attached, we were melded, we were meshed in flesh and moisture. His thrusting was aggressive and he panted and squinted his eyes. We fucked so hard we would slide off the bed, over and over. But we didn't stop, we didn't separate – we just kept going on the floor. I would slap his ass, grab huge chunks of skin, and he would pump faster. Then he would make a little fist and press it deep into my chest, right by my nipple. I grunted when he did this, and he began to do it a little harder. Instead of fuck me I found myself whispering hit me. And then I wasn't whispering anymore. He was shushing me and I was saying hit me. I didn't care what he was thinking. I started shouting and he was sneering Shut Up. Shut Up. But he was hitting me.


ST Lil Bro (4) Punishment Party t/t m/b group spanking anal enema toys speedos

(Part 4)

That weekend there was a BBQ at Coach's house outside of town. It was an orientation for rookies since swim team try-outs started in two weeks. Even though Jimmy still had another year at Junior High School, coach wanted him on the High School Team. Jimmy had won the district championships in his age group (10-13) in both the 50 Freestyle and the 100 meter breastroke. He was already showing a natural talent. And not just in swimming.

Coach let Mike know that Lucian and Ian had told him everything. All about busting his little brother's ass cherry, and details about other little swimmers they raped at their clubhouse. He had seen pictures of Jimmy's adorable ass being abused. Mike was ordered to bring him to the BBQ and told specifically not to touch his little fanny. No spankings. No assplay. No fuckings. The only thing he was allowed to do was lotion it.

Of course these were very hot thorough lotionings that started as soon as Mom and Dad left for work in the morning. Mike and Jimmy took full advantage of the last few days of summer, spending long hours in their room having sex. Jimmy would lie there every morning waiting for his brother's hands to slide under his briefs. He loved being stripped, spread and lotioned. Every inch of boy fanny was polished. The soft supple white cheeks and deep smooth crack, endless circling and probing of the pink starfish. It made Mike crazy, exploring his baby brother's tender back door, and not being able to fuck it. But he knew not to disobey coach. Mike had a feeling he was in for a spanking. Didn't seem like the Coach was very pleased about them ass raping his 12 year old brother.

By the time Dad dropped them off at the Coach's house the party was in full swing.
In the backyard upperclassmen and even some older guys were gathered around the smoking BBQ. Clearly they weren't just BBQing ribs either. Someone yelped as a paddle smacked a wet Speedo clad bottom.

In the driveway five 13 and 14 year old boys were polishing the Coach's large black SUV. All of them were in Speedos, and embarrassed since everyone else was dressed in shorts and shirts. Each had been invited to try out for the team not because they had fast times, but because they were the hottest boys, Pony Boys who had just spent the summer splashing around the pool getting golden brown tans. The upperclassmen scouted the Youth Swim Team for the best, roundest asses. Sometimes it wasn't even sexual attraction that made them personally invite these boys to try out for the team. Some of the straight bullies just liked how a bubble butt bounced during a spanking.

These poor little boys actually believed that they would be swimming that day. Instead they were getting their tails roasted. 13 and 14 year old boys in wet speedos were being made to detail the Coach's truck while a bunch of seniors paddled them. Random blasts with a garden hose kept their asses nice and wet, which made the paddle sting even more.

"You missed a spot faggot."


"OWWWW It hurts"

Each year the swim team held a car wash to raise money. People came from miles around to have wet Speedo clad teenagers polish their cars. The freshmen were told they needed to learn how to polish a car properly.

"If you miss another spot on that bumper I'm gonna paddle your ass raw!"

Jimmy was turned on by the sight of the 18 year old swimmers paddling his friend's small behinds. These were all boys Jimmy knew from the pool. All that swimming was good for building tight muscular little bottoms. Nice deep cracks for wet speedos to wedge themselves in. There was a lot of fanny flesh on display. Innocent little boys being circled by paddle weilding predators. Swim team hazing had begun.

One of the Seniors was particularly hot and evil looking. This guy looked right at Mike and Jimmy and headed in their direction, a beer in one hand and a small paddle in the other. Paul came right up to Mike and swatted him on the ass. He then pulled back Mike's shorts and Speedos to have a look at his crack.

"Hey Pussyboy. Guess you didn't see Coach yet. He wants you in the Basement."

The way Paul hissed this into Mike's ear made Jimmy wonder if he punished his older brother. Mike's cock bulged as Paul continued exploring his ass. He was rubbing the very top of the smooth crack, right below the tanline.

"When he gets done with you find me. Understand Hole?"

That little paddle cracked against Mike's tender fanny flesh. Smooth pale unexposed ass that hadn't been punished all summer. It was clear what kind of BBQ this was and Mike's 15 year old's ass was on the menu. Unwittingly, he had brought his little brother to one of the coach's Punishment Parties. And it looked like the party was being held in honor of Mike his buddies. Mike noticed none of them were out in the yard. He had a pretty good idea what was going on inside the Coach's rambling ranch-style house.

The stairs to the basement were right inside the back door of the house. The sound of hard spanking and lots of crying was coming from downstairs. Asses were being loudly punished.

A den area was set up in the main part of the basement. There was TV, PlayStation,
and plenty of room for the swim team to hang out, which they were welcome to do any time they wanted. Everyone was chilling, relaxing with beer, chips and dip. ESPN was playing on the big TV set. It looked completely normal and wholesome, except in the middle of the L shape sectional a strapping Senior named Luke had Lucian bare ass in the wheelbarrow postion. Lucian's blue Arena racing suit was yanked down just below his buttcheeks. No one was paying that much attention to the smooth 15 year old being punished. He was spread on Luke's lap with his strong legs pulled apart, face down, hands laced together and on his head. This was one of the best spanking postions. In this postion a boy always showed hole. Lucian's little winker was pulsing every time Luke's hand landed on one of his meaty cheeks. You could tell that Lucian had been getting his fanny tanned all afternoon by Coach as well as Luke. The glimmer around the teen's hole indicated ass play as well. They were always teasing Lucian because he was pretty. His long eyelashes, pouty lips, and long hair made him look almost like a girl, especially when his ass was in the air. Sometimes they made him wear a pair of pink silk panties, and a little teddy. In spite of his ten inch cock he was a trained pussyboy.

"My hand's gettin tired Lucian. Guess it's hole time."

Luke picked up a long dildo from the coffee table and started to lube it with Vaseline.
There were paddles, straps, handcuffs, buttplugs, empty beer cans, smashed potato chips, and a big jar of Vaseline on the table. The red dildo Luke was going to use on Lucian was about 14 inches long, an inch and a half thick, and it vibrated. The thing buzzed to life and then was slowly pushed against Lucian's pink hole.

"See baby, it's got four different speeds."

Luke put only the tip against the wet hole and showed Lucian how all four settings felt. It buzzed his hairless ass pucker, making it flutter obscenely. After this little warm-up the fat dildo was slowly roatated in. The guy next to Luke got interested and helped pull Lucian's ass farther apart. He had a nice hole. The rim got inspected, looked at, rubbed. The dildo probed in and out. A finger would swirl around the hole every time the toy popped out. Another glob of Vaseline was rubbed in so the dildo could go deeper. Everytime Lucian moaned his ass got slapped which made his anus open further. Soon 7 inches of dildo was in the teen's ass. From his prostrate to the rim of his hole, his butt was being buzzed. No attention was being paid to his throbbing ten inch cock, dangling between Luke's legs. They didn't want him to cum until he was upstairs.

In the bedrooms upstairs three of the teens involved in Jimmy's ass rape were being gang banged. Coach had already finished frying their fannies. After a full punishment session that included some OTK and an enema, the 15 year olds were sent upstairs to spread.

Seniors, and even some older guys were lined up in the hall waiting to get into one of the rape rooms. Mike's teamates were tied up, with plenty of hard cock waiting to plug any available hole. The beds were stripped down for hard play, each boy's ass was in the air, face pussy available. Pulled down Speedos were used as cum rags. Hard muscled swimmers pounded away at the supple asses and hot wet mouths. Free beer and tight pussy, what stud could turn that down? No one cared if it was boy pussy they were pounding. These boys were young, smooth and hella tight. With their speedo fuck panties pulled down you could hardly tell that they weren't girls. Some of them, like Ian had better looking asses than a lot of these guy's girlfriends. There were guys there just to perv, a few real dirty talkers who would whisper the nastiest things in your ear about how pretty your mouth or hole was, then cream all over your face or up your nose. Coach invited the nastiest guys to the Punishment Party to make sure each of the six boys got banged good.

"Hey Fag, want a beer?"

Ian was about to get a beer enema. Someone was twisting an icy cold bottle into his small pink hole. The coolness felt good on his punished flesh, but he knew that once the liquid was inside they would leave him there, with the 40 ounce bottle shoved up his ass. He cried and screamed as the cramps started, writhing helplessly against his binds.

"You leak a drop of that beer and we'll make you drink it."
"Yeah dude! Let's make him drink Ass beer!
"Put a hose in his ass and drain it into his mouth!!"

The guys in Ian's room opened more beers and took a break from pounding his pussy. They talked among themselves about which teen was tightest, who sucked the best cock, which ass took the hardest spanking. Someone decided a beer enema was a good idea for all three bottoms. More than thirty cumloads had already been deposited, and the gang bang had just gotten into full swing. It was time to clean the pussies out, stretch them on the fat bottle necks. Each got a full forty ouncer.

Ian reached agony first, so they untied him and he was alowed take his enema dump.
He would sure to suffer more since everyone was getting into torturing his little ass. They could do anything they wanted to him. He was so drunk from the beer enema that he would probably pass out, then the fisting and double dicking would begin.

Meanwhile, downstairs, Mike and Jimmy were standing in the doorway of the Coach's discipline room. It was about 10x10 and painted black. A door in back led to a small bathroom. Next to it was a custom padded punishment table. It was adustable and had many leather straps to restrain the victim. The thing was designed to perfectly spread and immobilize a teenage boy. There was a metal stand for an enema bag and three drawers underneath for medical and surgical toys.

Spanking implements and toys were kept in a large oak cabinet. Many a boy shivered as the Coach would choose among the many devices he had to torture hole. Also to be found were a myriad of restraints, gags,cameras, ball stretchers, pony tails, the collection of a true sadist.

Center in the room was the Coach himself. Seated in a sturdy wood chair. Seth, the boy who had taken the digital pictures of Jimmy's rape was over the Coach's knee. Nothing was more embarassing to a maturing 15 year old than getting an over the knee spanking. Getting your speedos yanked down, and then being treated like a little baby.

Seth had a baby ass. It was very round and bouncy. Not only hairless, but extremely soft. Everyone loved looking at Seth's deep crack in the showers. He was a shy boy and tended to be the voyuer during their sex parties. Mike wasn't even sure if he had given up his ass cherry yet. He was into group J/O sessions and dirty talk on the phone, but hadn't had that much actual sex. Coach delivered another series of fast swats to Seth's cheeks, he had been riding the man's knee for about thirty minutes. His tail was roasted. Coach wiped his sweaty brow and then motioned Mike and Jimmy into the Punishment Room.

"You must be Mike's little brother. Come over here so you can see better. I'm just taking a little break here. My hand's getting tired."


"You like seeing boys get their fannies tanned?"


Jimmy was transfixed as the Coach's big hand rubbed Seth's spanked fanny. His finger were roaming all over. Lightly stroking the crack, then down between the legs and back over the bright red punished cheeks.

"Mike go fetch me the Fanny Sauce and that black latex Spanking Glove from the cabinet."

Mike knew right away what Seth was in for. Once coach got done spanking with his bare hands he would put on a thick Latex glove designed especially to punish ass. Coach could tan fanny all afternoon and never worry about his hand getting sore. The latex made the spanking that much more painful. Worse were the fingertips of the glove. Each had raised bumps and thorns. Cheeks were pulled apart and the fingertips would dance over the exposed flesh. This is where the "Fanny Sauce" came in.

Every time there was a Punishment Party the Coach would whip up a batch of homemade Fanny Sauce to slather on each punished boy's ass. The sauce had a base of Baby Oil and was seasoned with peppermint oil, ground ginger,ground red pepper,and a special ingredient that made the skin itch. This fanny sauce was in a large bottle custom fitted with a large nozzle. Coach squeezed some of it into his hand and began rubbing it into Seth ass cheeks. At first it felt soothing, but soon the oil would heat up. making his ass feel even more on fire. The poor guy was soon thrashing around trying to put the fire out. Coach kept Seth's arms pinned so he couldn't rub his tortured tail.

The ass went higher as the Coach repostioned him with his legs spread. Seth was showing hole. The hole didn't get touched. Just looked at. After drenching the crack in sauce Coach went to work on it with the bumpy tips of the gloves. He massaged and teased the whole crack while dancing around the hole. Heat seared tender flesh as the wicked latex bumps and cones circled closer to the pink skin around Seth's pucker. Coach used his forefinger and thumb to spread the area around the anus and used his middle finger to lightly tickle it. The smallest bit of Fanny Sauce was now being applied to the most sensitive part of this boy's body. Every nerve felt the sweep of the fingertips molesting the fifteen year old's innocent back door.

"See how that Fanny Sauce is making his hole burn?
You're getting my finger twenty times all the way in and all the way out Seth.
You tell me when your ready."

Seth didn't want the Coach up his ass, basting it with that fucking sauce. But soon the itch at his hole was too much to bear. He was helpless. There was no way he could get at the itch. Coach loved looking at Seth's hole as the sauce did it's trick. The little thing was winking as the tip of his fuck finger grazed it. Then Coach suprised him with a hard slap to the left cheek.

"Tell me when you're ready."

"Alright Alright. Do it."

Coach re-spread Seth's ass. "Do what boy."

"Finger my ass."

The black latex fuckfinger corkscrewed in and Seth felt every inch. The bumps and protrusions were tickling his sore, hot opening. Coach wiggled his finger once it was all the way in, and after a little probing it was slowly corscrewed out.

"That's one boy. I want you to fuck yourself on my finger now. You've got nineteen strokes to go."

What a little slut Coach turned this kid into. Making him screw his own ass onto a middle finger lubed with torture sauce. And he was doing it in front of his best friend and his kid brother. They were watching Coach make a pussy out of his unexplored asshole. The guy really knew how to use his thick long fingers. He played that ass like a piano. By the tenth stroke Seth was really riding it. Coach was making a real nice ass pussy for the team to exploit, and he wasn't nearly done.

The fingerfucking speeded up, Seth was on fire at this point. His hard-on was postioned between the coaches legs and stretched the pouch of his pulled down Speedos. Nothing mattered but the finger tickling the depths of his ass and deliciously tight place he was humping on Coach's legs. As embarassing as it would be, he was about to blow a load into his Speedos and all over the Coach's lap while cornholing himself on that middle finger. Mike and Jimmy couldn't believe it as Seth creamed his pouch. Some of it even landed on the floor.

He got another sound spanking for cumming without permission and staining his Coach's pants. Seth was made to suck his own load out of the pouch of his Speedos before the Coach stuffed them in his mouth. The boy was made to stand in the corner with his hands on his head, showing off his red ass. The fanny sauce would roast his flesh for another twenty minutes, making Seth dance around and moan into his gag.

"This is the same punishment all of your buddies got Mike. When I'm done with Seth you're next. Now go fill up the enema bag for him."

As the red two quart bag was filled with water, Coach explained to Jimmy the punishment each boy was being given before being sent upstairs to get banged. It was called Fire & Ice. First the OTK ass roasting. Then the Fanny Sauce got rubbed into the cheeks and deep inside. This had them singing and dancing as it grew hotter and itchier. A cum soaked Speedo gag made it even more humiliating.

After corner time came the "Ice" part of the punishment. Coach had a small freezer in the corner of the room that contained Klyster enema nozzles for each boy. The nozzles are made of machined satin finished aluminum. This metal is beautiful, durable, light enough for comfortable wear yet heavy enough for a very solid feel. The nozzles were shaped like butt plugs, some tapered, others had bulges, one was rippled. They were all more than six inches long and two or three inches wide.

Once Seth was secured to the punishment table Coach got ready to give him an icy enema. The water in the enema bag was cold, but the nozzle was freezing. Seth was terrified as his Klyster nozzle was removed from the freezer, gleaming in the dim light. He had never seen anything so scary looking. It was coated with mentholated gel and attached to the enema hose. Seth knew it was going to be screwed into his little ass.

Coach had to spank him apart. The kid still had enough of a fight left to squeeze his butt cheeks together, trying to avoid the freezing thing about to invade his ass. Useless. It sank into his fresh hole. All the way in.

Then Coach tenderly rubbed his back and he relaxed enough to breathe and begin to deal with the huge butt plug dialating his asshole. It sent shivers through him, but the freezing cold plug cooled the effects of the Fanny Sauce, which had been roasting his pucker for the last ten minutes.

"Just open up and take it, it's just like stretching before a race Seth."

A little of the lube dribbled down Seth's balls. He was fully exposed on the table. Cock and balls hanging through an opening in the table. It was designed so that the Coach could bring his chair over and comfortably study a boy's ass from between his splayed legs. There was also a convenient goose neck lamp. It provided focused bright light. You could see Seth's pink assring throb around the base of the custom torture nozzle. Plenty of light to look at hole, even take some pictures (gotta pay for those nozzles somehow.) Sometimes the Coach put on his reading glasses to he could really inspect the flesh he was torturing.

This Coach was the kind of guy who made boys quiver just by looking at them with his piercing blue eyes. He was a stocky, dark man. In good shape for his age because of years in the pool, training and tightening boys up til they were ripe for the table. Seth's asshole was beautiful. Perfect age to begin prolonged stretching.
The fat enema nozzle would be in there for a good half hour while the coach slowly filled him up. This fifteen year old boy was an enema virgin.

Cooling water blasted his tortured prostrate. The nozzle had holes up and down it's length to evenly stimulate the insides of Seth's ass. Coach had Mike fetch him a beer. He wanted to relax and enjoy giving Seth his very first enema. Jimmy watched as Coach used the stopper to control how much water flowed into the blond fifteen year old. For and enema virgin two quarts was quite a load. was giving Seth had a wicked boner, the stimulation of the endless frigging and twidling of the enema nozzle was making him get hard again even though he had just creamed his pouch. Coach was a talented enema administrator. By the time Mike came back with the beer, the man was ready to kick back and watch the boy writhe in agony as the enema began cause cramps.

Sometimes he would add some flat coca cola mixed with castille soap into the enema bag at that point to add to the pain, but Seth was already screaming into his gag. Soaking it with spit. Dancing on the punsihment table as the leather straps binding him seared his soft flesh.

At this point boys would start "singing"
Shrieking as the ass punishment climaxed.

What was worse for Mike, worse than seeing his buddy tortured, was knowing he would be splayed across the Coach's knee soon, then after corner time he was headed for the torture table. And would likely get it worse than Seth. This was the punishment for raping a twelve year old boy's ass. A good lesson in enduring pain and dred. Mike's nice plump ass cheeks clenched in his swimsuit. He noticed that the spray bottle Coach used to keep his ass wet during a spanking was sitting on the floor next to where Seth had been punished. That cool water felt good until the spanking started again and your soaked Speedo clad ass simmered under his big hands.

Jimmy got to watch his older brother get a hard over-the-knee spanking. Both on skin tight Speedos, and bare. Their dad never let him watch when he spanked Mike. It was his first chance to see his big brother's ass get roasted. Mike was OTK for a while before his butt got sprayed with water, then wet spanked.

The black latex glove was used to spank and then apply a thick coat of Fanny Sauce to every inch of Mike's juicy ass. A very sexy smell was coming from this sweaty teen as he danced on the bumpy tips of the glove. Mike got cornholed as sweat dripped off his juicy balls. Since there weren't any more boys to punish Coach filled the kid up with the rest of the Sauce. He used the nozzle to squirt it deep inside. Some trickled out of the hole and dripped onto Mike's aching balls. With his free hand Coach reached under and wrapped his hand around the kids hard cock. This made a moist tight tunnel for Mike to fuck. By the time he realised the slick hand was coated in Sauce it was too late. Mike spent corner time with his cheeks,hole,cock,and balls on fire.

Seth was eventually allowed to expell the enema and sent out to be spanked and raped upstairs and in the Rec room. A tight clean hole to exploit. Even the straight guys at the party wanted a piece of that fresh pussy.

Mike was now strapped down to the warm sweaty table, the enema nozzle deep in his ass. The bag would take a few minutes to empty so Coach gave Jimmy a tour of his dungeon. All the different toys and their uses were explained to him. The Coach's dick lump grew as Jimmy examined a collection of anal speculums stored below the enema table. Some of them were child sized.

Coach had of course seen the photos of Jimmy's ass rape posted online. They had clearly photographed, in detail, his ordeal. The long hot fanny tanning. An excruciating plugging with the ginger root, lavish hole spanking, the gang ass rape. Cum dripping off his face and out of his stretched asshole.

Coach was dying to get a look at Jimmy's fanny flesh.

"Maybe when Mike's done on the table we can give you a big boy enema Jimmy."

In his mind Jimmy had already picked out the enema nozzle that he wanted the Coach to use on him. It was unique. About five inches long and beaded. Jimmy instinctively knew how pleasurable it would be to have the Coach frig his ass with that black beaded nozzle.

Once Mike was sent out to get his ass raped his lil bro was placed over the Coach's lap, not for a spanking, but so the Coach could gently pull down his brand new swimsuit and inspect his ass flesh. You see, Jimmy's Arena racing suit had come in time for the party. Mike had done a good job putting his brother's fresh ass pussy on display. This skimpy cut suit sank obscenely into Jimmy's scrumptious butt crack. Only a slit in the back to access his hole would make it sluttier. The suit even put the very top of the kid's ass crack on display.

As the Coach pulled the suit away he was able to see for himself the deep crack that had brought so much pleasure to Mike and his friends. He was gently exploring one of the freshest pieces of ass he had ever put across his knee. It was unbelievably smooth and soft. No sign of the punishments the older boys had administered. Big warm hands rubbed his baby ass all over, made him feel good on the coach's knee.
He could feel the man's big cock lurch as his tiny starfish was exposed.

The coach gave Jimmy his enema so gently that he didn't need to use restraints.
He loved being stretched out on the table, with his Speedos pulled down.
After his hole was good and clean the coach let him pick a toy out for some
detailed pleasuring. His choice was a vibrator, which had a thin anal probe attached to it. This was perfect to tease the kids tiny winking hole. There was nothing but moans of pleasure as the fanny tickler danced around Jimmy's sweet asshole. More warm vaseline was smeared on so the anal tip could probe deeper. There were four speeds and a heating element, so the Coach was able to give Jimmy a long modulated anal massage. He had that twelve year old's hole dancing on the vibrator until they had both worked up a sweat. Then attention was paid to the kid's stiff 6 inch cock.

Coach pulled off and used the brand new Arena swimsuit to jack Jimmy off with.

That's how Jimmy blew his first load in the Coach's basement. Ass in the air, being diddled with a vibrator as he blew a load right into to his brand new fuck panties.

brooklyn serpico

(This excerpt comes from an unfinished work. Please note the picture represents a general idea of one of the characters, not an exact match).

    He straddles his chest and his balls rest on a fiery sun god. On his neck a lightning bolt flashes to and fro in the opposite direction of the cock in his mouth. The clown remains surly and humorless, although one might suspect Snoopy’s rye smirk might belie another not so benign impression of the encounter. He pulls out of tattoo guy’s mouth. Beads of sweat appear more clearly on his body as it is covered by nothing but a pair of white athletic socks. As he slides down they meet face to face. His chest hair sinks into the sun. He raises his head and their eyes meet.
    “Are you having fun yet?”
    ‘No’ is the expected answer, but there is something about the delivery that didn’t quite work. It will have to be addressed by next time.
    “Kiss me like you fucking love me.” The sound of his own voice shocks even the speaker for a second. There are sometimes moments like these where he finds his energy so raw and hateful that he can actually scare himself. The reflection lasts only a second and he is able to let go of the analysis and drift back in.
    Their lips lock. He feels himself sucking the soul out of the tattoo guy. In the years he has known him he hardly ever got the impression that tattoo guy liked him even a little bit. Tattoo guy has never had a boyfriend or girlfriend to his knowledge, but there is such a sense of passion given off by that kiss that it shocks him out of the moment again into yet another meta-moment where he is reflecting on things as they happen. As he holds him down and makes him kiss him a strange emotion bubbles up. It’s tender and all together useless.
    “Now kiss me like you hate me.”
    This allows both of them to return to their comfort zone. The joining of their anger and rage causes the bigger man to rise up. Kneeling on the edge of the bed (actually just a mattress on the floor) he grabs his ankles and twists. Like a chain reaction the tattoo guy rolls over and the other dives back on top. The right arm comes over the right shoulder and around his neck and is guided to his left wrist. The left arm slides under his torso and grabs the right wrist. His knees spread the knees below him.
    In the past this part had gone much slower, but the improvisation of the kissing and the feelings it created makes it seem not so important. With a single thrust his cock enters the sweat drenched ass. The body tightens underneath him. Tattoo guy is clearly stunned.
    “No take it out!”
    “It hurts!”
    “So, don’t you fucking like it?”
    “Don’t worry, this won’t take long.”
    “No, please!”
    “OK, now you can shut the fuck up.”
    There is no objective way of discerning whether or not the fucking takes a long time or a short time. Tattoo guy’s face is crammed against the bare, stained mattress. He listens to a barrage of insults as his ass is violated.
    “You ready?”
    He squeezes the guy under him.
    “Are you ready?”
    “No, pull out don’t cum inside me!”
    “Shut up”
    “Please, please don’t”
    Three climactic thrusts, two grunts and a long groan and then the two turn calm. He lets his head rest for a minute on the side of tattoo guy’s head. Thirty seconds later a twitch and a sigh from underneath indicates that it is time to get up.
    He rolls over and his dick slips out. Tattoo guy puts on boxers and scampers off to the bathroom. He is somehow always surprised when he sees tattoo guy has gotten off. On the uncovered mattress is the pattern of a human being in sweat with a small pool of semen directly in its center. It reminds him of the chalk outlines from detective shows on TV, limbs strewn helter skelter.
    He only ever gets to the bathroom second so he puts all his clothes on right away. He’s filthy but he isn’t about to do anything about it besides give his dick a quick bath in the sink and piss.
    He emerges from the bathroom to find tattoo guy standing in the hall. Tattoo guy has the same smirk as snoopy. Tattoo guy extends his hand.
    “Thanks dude!” he says.
    “Yeah man, that was hot.” Their hands join for a friendly, brief squeeze.
    “I’ll catch you.”
    “I’ll be looking for you.”

lost child

my sex sex erotique fragment......

when he pull my jeans down
he admire mi dick mi balls
he inmerses himself
in them on them
like a prayer
on his knees
lick them soft and hard
sof and hard
more hard more lick like eternal long licking
his mouth is fresh
i feel the wet in my skin
my balls are sliding
my dick is hard hard shaped by
his loopy tongue
his loopy tongue
his hands round my ass
opening it
spliting it
my hole is expanding
dilatating like a mouth
and i want him in there
so so so there
the sound of his lick
is louder and louder
my compulsions are most
dificult to control
i wish it last forever
spasms my liquid
my cum my cum is so ready
in there
his mouth is so ready
my ass is so so ready
i want to shake shake
and i shake and shake
his hair falls on his eyes
his hair falls on my dick
his long hair covers his face
but his mouth his tongue
are shining hot
he suck me real good
he suck me real real good
i can see my cum in his mouth
my cum inside his troath
his teeeh....
on my cum
his hair on my cum
his tongue full of cum
he is so hard he takes me
by my back
now he is going to fuck me
hard hard hard
his dick moves in out in out
his mouth bites my ear
my neck
his tongue inside my sound hole
noising sucking real good
fucking me so good
filling me hard
oh yeah
do it like this
oh yeah
real good
like this
give it now now
give it now
oh yeah
you are so good
this is soo good
his balls against my butt
hitting me hard
come on boy
scream boy
scream yeah
give it
give it now
real good
i want his hole
and i get his hole
and his hole is
glory on my mouth
his taste i wet
oh now
oh now
my tongue licks
him real good
my tongue fucks him real good
and he is hard
againg so hard
againg so so so hard
i know i am staying here
loopying your hole
kissing your ring
losing me in it
and i am hard
againg hard
fucking hard
for you

young and stupid

She lies back and the shock of the slab juts her nipples out and arches her slender back. Her breasts are large and intrusive. At odds with her pubescent framework. She has the hips of a twelve-year-old. I run a hand across the width of her navel which is hard and sticky and gleams in the moonlight.
"Look at your tits," I whipser, "Touch them."
She does so, reluctant at first but wanting to be urged on. I slip an arm around her small back and flick my tongue across her flat young tummy.
"Do you like that?"
Impatient now, I part her legs which are coloured with fresh bruises. I slide a finger inside. She's dry and stiffens at my touch. For an instant, I feel I should stop, I should turn on my heels and run. But as my mouth falls upon her cunt and the smell of rubber smacks me in the face, I resume my role. Guiltlessly. As a punter. With a stiff tongue I press down hard on her clit and with short purposeful strokes, I slowly massage her to life. I feed in another then another finger and her resistance gives way to minimal yet compliant thrusts. My movements become more forceful and her juices gush freely onto my face. The body arcs upwards and outwards and holds up there as she strains against this pleasure.
I slide a hand in my trousers and seek my cunt. I manipulate myself hard an selfishly, the whore becoming nothing but a body. A cunt in a magazine. My climax is powerful but as soon as those crackling shortwaves subside I'm overwhelmed by the impulse to abscond. I feel sober and akward. I remove my hands from her body, which are lathered in our sweat and wipe them on my hips.

-- "Brass" Helen Walsh (2004)

On the floor of her mother's walk-in closet, she gagged his mouth with a suede Dior belt; behind the cinder-block retaining wall, she employed a railroad tie to hold his legs spread. Deep in the furnace room, hidden among the spare tires and Flexible Flyers, she repetitiously wrapped him with kite string and extra electrical cords,
tying him to the hot-water heater, his puny ass burning a bright and cheery pink as heat seeped through the thin insulation. She pushed him past his limit, drove his sweet Schwanstück backward and forward, slamming him from drive to reverse. Stripped, she slid her naked body over his, sweeping the rubbery tips of her tits across his fine and sensitive skin from neck to nuts, making him twist and turn, trying to pull away from the heater, the heater itself making a groaning sound and him begging, "Put it in, put it in."

-- "The End of Alice" A. M. Homes (1996)

"Put it in my ass, Sir Edmond." Simone shouted.

-- "Story of the Eye" Georges Bataille (1928)

joe mills


(This story takes place in a future where virtual reality allows , well virtual reality. You come up with a fantasy, The Machine lets you indulge it as though it were real. John has just had a bad interview and an argument with his boyfriend Scott and he’s mad as hell…)

‘Scenario: The Interviewer from the clinic today. We’re both American pilots, World War Two. Get the uniforms right. He’s decided to go straight and get married but I won’t take no for an answer.’
’Not that one again,’ The Machine said wearily.
’Just do it!’ He slammed a window shut.
Then shouted ‘Machine Response off!’
He’d programmed ‘Cheeky’ into Response, but was thinking of changing it to ‘Supportive’ any day now.

The rape went well. Twice. Very satisfying. At first the big leather bomber jacket with the furry collar was too romantic and cuddly to be sexy, so he changed it to Mafia boy in black shirt and white tie. Ripped the shirt open across the chest.
’Think you’re Superman pal eh? Think you know it all?’
He squeezed both nipples until they were purple.
‘ More dick!’
The Interviewer’s trousers swelled up until it looked like he’d got a rugby ball behind his zip. John pulled the trousers down, grabbed the snake-size dick .
’Pliable Gravity’ had already been programmed into Rape He lifted the weightless legs up over his shoulders and pummelled in. So much easier than all that awkwardness with Scott.
The second time he got carried away.
‘A dick coming out of his mouth. And Giovanni from sixth year, up my arse at the same time He’s secretly wanted me for years. Verbals. Biting my neck. Hands all over. The usual’.
John had V-raped and been V-raped by every guy at school he’d ever been frustrated by before his parents gave him the key to the machine scrambler.
And V-loved by Giovanni. And Scott (exactly the way he wanted it - he and Scott in the Manhattan film poster world: on the bench beneath the bridge, forever.)

Read the rest here.



(Aristotle McNab is a serial killer with a penchant for Mormons. He has drugged his latest two victims, Ruben and Gabriel, the latter of whom he’s working on…)

‘You telling me, Gabriel, in six or seven years you never whacked off ?’
‘I’ve sure tried not to. Once in a while.’
‘That’s a lot of little swimmers to keep inside you. Do they die off in there? I mean you might as well let them out then. Or are there little five year old sperms in there quietly going nuts?‘ I’m thinking, shit, that’s why these religious types are all freaks - their father’s swimmers are all stir crazy.

Gabriel started unbuttoning his shirt then abandoned that and started on his trouser buttons then unbuckled his belt and pulled his trousers and pants down in one. Wham! - his dick sprung up and battered his belly. I pulled his trousers and pants and shoes clean off in one.
He stared at his hard dick like he’d never seen it before.

I said, ‘You know if whacking off once in a while with your own hand ain’t so bad, what’s the difference if it’s someone else’s hand?’
‘Beats the shit out of me.’ He shut his eyes.
‘Just what I intend to do.’

I sucked it first. God it was hot. And greasy. I noticed before how those Mormon boys weren’t so clean and fresh inside as out. Then I moved over his balls and up, licking every one of his shirt buttons then those big brown nipples then the neck and jaw. I ran my hands all over his beautiful gold crew-cut and licked his jaw. Finally I licked his mouth, kissed it. He opened his eyes. Stared for a minute. Or a million years. Then kissed me back, at first slowly, uncertainly then deeply and hard when I began to pump him. Then he was virtually biting my mouth off. I got mine’s out and his eyes widened, less than an inch from mine, as he felt it’s length and thickness. He pumped furiously, trying to find new grips as even his long fingers found it hard to get around it.

We both volcanoed. And here’s what it’s all about for me. As we lay on each other, shirts covered in sweat and spunk, he leaned over and kissed me gently, eye to eye. And it was Gabriel, not the drug, that was loving. For whatever reason.

Then I strangled him with his tie. It was quick and clean. I really just broke his neck. He would never have had any thought of murder or death. His last act and thought on Earth was loving me.

So here’s what I can’t understand: why can’t you understand that? He would have woken up, maybe remembered maybe not. Said a few meaningless words as he dressed himself. Then gone. He would have gone. Forever.

I fucked Ruben while he was still out cold, with Gabriel there slumped against the wall watching, his head quizzically turned to one side. I pulled Ruben’s trousers off and put him on top of Gabriel, rubbing his mouth against Gabriel’s dick, then mouth. Then I gave him the injection to wake him. His eyes opened quickly. The last thing he was aware of was Mormon shirt and tie on Mormon shirt and tie, Mormon dick on Mormon dick, Mormon mouth on Mormon mouth. Then I twisted his head and laid it on Gabriel’s.

Read the rest here.


He grabbed both of my ankles with one giant hand and pushed my feet toward my head. As he let go, I grabbed my legs by the backs of my knees and pulled hard, my hamstrings taut, my pucker of an asshole gasping for cock. He spit into his hand, lubed his dick with three long, slow, powerful strokes, then put the head of his massive member to my hole, teasing me with light, meaty brush strokes up and down my raw crack. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I yelled, "Please!" and he plowed all 10 inches straight into me, taking away my breath. He pumped me for a good half-hour, first slow, then with quick little pumps that damaged my prostate beyond belief and left my belly button full of my own pre-cum. Just before I began to beg him to stop through erratic gulps of the hot sex air filling the room, he pulled out of me, the sound of a vacuum throttling out of my ass, and busted his dank, creamy load all over my sack.
    "Vincent," said Dennis.
    I looked up at him through my sweat-soaked eyes, trying to breathe. "Yeah?"
    "Get the fuck out of here, you skinny little fucking pig, before Yury gets home."


Tongue moving in slow circles, widening my incision – teeth biting softly, pulling my skin – two fingers pulling down my asshole – touch of dead insects – tickle, revulsion pushing me to disengage; fist entering between my legs, please – she says suck the blood from my knuckles. Punches fist into my mouth. I suck hard because I might cry. Limbs moving away from torso, legs walking away, hands floating away and disappearing – nails stripped from fingertips - teeth falling out of mouth – face stripped, cock stabbing mouth – lips breaking - teeth and hair knotted - knots sinking - organs and stomach erupting through incision - seething out in globs and black foam - mouth open, cockroaches and millipedes - exoskeletons exploding lubricate – swallow, choke – seething out antennae and thorax – no stomach – lungs bursting – heart, tight and hard, like a grenade – bursting – cloud of dead organic matter – white skull emerging – floating – jaw touching surface.

scalpel please

suck the cuts between my knuckles – suck – have they noticed this cut? The one I spit on – mom and dad never notice – two fingers in my asshole – pull it toward my mouth - have they noticed these cuts? – pink life forms thrashing in the water - genitals locked, spinning and glowing like halogen lights – noxious fumes of cooked frogs rising from the lake – waves lapping dead eels and tadpoles over our knotted limbs – dead mosquitoes and larvae between our toes - under out toe nails. Blinding light of the sexual binaries - wild contortions - splash lubricate over our bodies. That one sucks its own asshole! Did they notice these cuts at school? The ones on your dick and wrists – the ones I made by accident when the scissors slipped and I made this hole in my hand – between my thumb and index finger – you can look inside – stab it with your tongue.


It's like the opposite of sex, Paul thinks, instead of warmth and pleasure and pain and nothing more there are a thousand details to be noticed, registered and remembered. The hand on his thigh traces a curve up to the side of his torso and his skin is prickling, almost stinging. It's like he has never had hands there before, but he has. "Like a virgin" his mind says, "touched for the very first time." But it's not true. This is not that feeling at all. This feeling is memory.

When Neil's hand slips over his hip bone, fingers tracing his navel, arm around his waist, it's Sasha creeping close, tracing his navel, grabbing his hipbone, keeping him where he is. The burning traces of Neil's hands aren't good things. They are memories awakened by a touch that is much too soft for Paul's tastes.

Pain doesn't hurt. Pain is pain and can't be dealt with on it's own terms. Pain is pain and pain is useful. Pain is cleansing. Pain isn't that bad. Sasha never used pain, and there is nothing that hurt as much as Sasha. Neil loves him, and it makes Paul feel absolutely helpless. Neil loves him, and it makes Paul feel as if he is back in a place where sex is something that can actually hurt him, and not just something that leaves bruises.


It's an erotic three-act play culled from the script for the pilot episode for the TV show "The Golden Girls", written by Susan Harris. I took a lot of stuff away from the original text, removing words and scenes, but made no other changes whatsoever. The character of Coco -- a flamboyant gay housekeeper played by Charles Levin -- was in the pilot but never made it to the actual series because the producers felt he took away from the bond between the women.

"The Golden Girl"
An erotic play in three acts
Originally written by Susan Harris

(Played by Bea Arthur)

(Played by Betty White)

(Played by Rue McClanahan)

(Should be played by Charles Levin)



Two girls had shaved heads and three boys had green hair. Why don't you just shoot me.

Enchiladas Rancheros.

Hello, Rose.


I need some cucumbers

Does it work on thighs?

I need it on my thighs. (SHE EXITS)

He still has teeth.

All the single men are cocaine smugglers.

I'd kill again.

I'd kill again. I got the shock of my life today. I was talking to some girls. They were so pretty. At that age you don't even have to be pretty and you're pretty. I just came. And I had such a good time, too. Then I got into my car and caught a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and almost had a heart attack.

Every time I look down, I see my mother's legs.

When my parents found out I was gay, my mother had a heart attack and died.



Come in.


I guess I'll know when I come.

You'll know when you come. This isn't a belch, My God, more colors than Benjamin Moore paints.


Ohl God. I haven't finished.


Blanche needs a man. She made a date at the funeral. Oysters move. Very slowly. You have to watch very closely.


Stephen Davis' Hammer of the Gods: The Led Zeppelin Saga

Chapter 3 - The Year of the Shark

"What happened next isn't really clear. One girl, a pretty young groupie with red hair, was disrobed and tied to the bed. According to the the legend of the Shark Episode, Led Zeppelin then proceeded to stuff pieces of a shark into her vagina and rectum."
"It wasn't shark parts anyway: It was the nose that got put in. Yeah, the shark was alive! It wasn't dead!"
"But the true shark story wasn't that it was even as shark. It was a red snapper and the chick happened to be a fucking redheaded broad with a ginger pussy. "You'd like a bit of fucking eh? Let's see how your red snapper likes this red snapper? That was it."
"It was the nose of the fish, and that girl must have cum 20 times."
"No one was ever hurt. She might have been hit by a shark a few times for disobeying orders, but she didn't get hurt."


William Burroughs' The Wild Boys


Naked boys standing by a water hole savanna backdrop a head of giraffe in the distance. The boys talk in growls and snarls, purrs and yipes and show their teeth at each other like wild dogs. Two boys fuck standing up squeezing back teeth bare, hair stand up on the ankles, ripples up the legs in goose pimples they whine and whimper off.


Jean came back from Rome

Jean came back from Rome after four days and she had an uncommon shy air about her.
During those days I had fucked her girlfriend Emma, whose husband was away too. It was news because we usually had to hide in the back of her gallery where I was employed.
The first night Emma told me immediately that Jean was not in Rome for the exam she said she had to prepare, but because she had a date with someone she had hooked on the Internet.
I knew Jean frequented a fetish chat because I had showed it to her the first time, and I knew her nickname was "Justine". The guy was certainly a master or a wannabe master with whom she referred to me as "the other master I have". We still lived together back then.
"They all want girls with big tits", I bitterly said to Emma "He will be disappointed". Then I giggled stupidly. We walked around for a little while.
Emma had started sucking my dick already at the osteria, bending under the large wooden table in the shaded corner in the back room while I sipped her wine. All she ever wanted was sucking dick. It gave me pleasure having to pull her away by yanking her hair gauging her resistance.
"I should be on my knees" she said.
"Let's go home".
Emma's lips where like small red rubber dinghies and she could blowjob you for hours on end. The first time it had started between us we were at the gallery, near closing time. She just asked me if she could suck my dick because it was a long time she hadn't had one, which wasn't even true.
So when Jean came back-- I pretty much knew what was what, because Emma had told me, and a glimpse at Jean's face at the station showed me that the thing had gone wrong and she was feeling guilty.
I had trained Jean to lick my ass during blowjobs, and she used to do it greedily, moaning passionately, and the moment I saw the uncommon shy air she had about her climbing down the train, I immediately pictured her licking that Rome guy's ass. Licking the hairy guy's ass she had never before saw in her life, for the sole sake of having given orders to obey.
Was it even clean? I thought.
We walked home, bridge after bridge. Her wheeled luggage made a hammer sound against the trachyte slabs and her round ass swayed few inches in front.
All I could think of was she, forced on her knees to lick this guy's ass, her curly reddish venetian hair gathered together by her left hand against her shoulder.
I thought about it so much that I finally had an hard-on and a little problem to walk normally. For the time we were home I just had to do something about it, so I started to stroke her innocently and she backed away.
Wait a minute, I thought. She is feeling guilty, and I could ask her whatever I want, or force her to do whatever I want and she just has to comply, if only to avert the chance of me asking questions.
In a moment she was undressed, trying to hide with her hands the fact that her cunt was completely shaved.
"What is that for?" I asked, pushing away her arms. The typical master pre-date instruction is what it is, I thought.
"I did it for you", she said-- looking down.
I slapped her on her face. "On your knees!" I said, or something equally typical. She started sobbing. My excitement was so strong I was worried about it. I was shaking. I opened the door to our room and and she walked in on all fours. Against the wall was a bamboo stick I always wanted to use.
I used it. Jean sobbed harder and finally calmed down. I took the phone wondering how to convince Emma to come over.


note: this is part of JANET BOUND by SooprBRane, which is available all over the web for free and seems to be the only thing this author has done. This is one link to the 10 parts I know.

Janet Bound Part 2
by SooprBRANE

Part 2

“Look I promise I won't make any noise if you don't hurt me" Janet pleaded. Hillary did not seem to hear the helpless girl underneath her. She reached into the chest again and removed a red rubber ball, at least as big as a tennis ball, from the chest. It had several straps and buckles attached to it.
"This is called a head harness ball gag sweetie." Hilary explained. "It is designed to keep the ball tightly wedged into your mouth. Once something like this goes on, the only sounds you will be able to make are little mews and grunts. It is much more effective then a normal one strap ball gag, because there is no chance of you being able to slip it off without unlocking it. The straps will cover your face holding the ball in and your jaw locked around it. It is very uncomfortable and very effective."
"Please Hillary. I swear not to make a sound unless you say so. I cannot handle that in my mouth. Please I'll choke."
Hillary put her knee into Janet's back, and grabbed her red hair, pulling Janet's head straight back.
Janet's mouth opened involuntarily as her neck was jerked roughly back. Once her mouth opened. Hillary expertly began to shove the ball in Janet's unwilling mouth. After a few seconds of struggling the ball forced Janet's jaw to extend wide enough to accept its form. Janet groaned and tried to pull her head away, but Hillary had a nice wad of Janet's lustrous mane wrapped in her hand. Rapidly Hillary pulled the main strap of the gag around Janet's head, under her hair and buckled and locked it as tightly as possible at the base of her skull. More straps ran from the ball, over Janet's' head and bucked at the top of her skull. Another strap ran under her chin and attached to the main strap around her mouth. When all these straps were tightened and locked, Janet could not move her jaw at all. Her mouth distended horribly by the ball wedged in her mouth. Janet tried to scream around the gag. Of course nothing came out but a pathetic mew.
"Isn't that better Janet, now I can talk without any interruptions from you."

Drool was already forming at the corners of Janet's mouth were the gag let a tiny bit out. Hillary got off Janet and let her struggle a bit with her already strict bondage. Janet got up to her knees, her bound hands flailing helplessly at the elbows, unable to reach up to the oppressive gag.
"Just so you know Janet, if you try to get to your feet I'm just going to shock you until you drop back down. So don't even try" Hillary said mockingly.
Janet sat on her knees and struggled helpless with the strap holding her elbows. Hillary got back to the chest and pulled out a long tapered, black piece of fitted leather. Janet immediately did not like the looks of it. There were straps and buckles up and down the device.
"Janet, this is my favorite method of binding a person. It is called a 'single sleeved armbinder'. You can see it is pretty simple. It is a shaped piece of leather that fits over you arms." Hillary held the armbinder up with one hand while she used her other to point out the various details of the bondage device to the wide eyes of a terrified Janet.
Here at the bottom is where your hands will go. With those hand mittens already on you it won't make much difference having another layer of leather wrapping them up. The width of the sheath makes it so your arms from fingertip to elbow are going to be tightly together, so enjoy flapping those arms around while you can. There are straps that wrap around your arms about every six inches. Again they are not necessary, but they just serve to make sure you are more helpless. The binder goes all the way up to your shoulders. I have been in one and they are completely impossible to escape from even if loosely applied. Of course I am going to strap you into this one as tightly as I physically can."
Janet moaned and tried to get up to run, but Hillary was on her and forced her to her stomach again. Janet felt as the leather sheath was easily slid up her still bound arms. She fought as best as she could but once it was pulled up to her shoulders, Janet knew that Hillary was correct. There was no way she could escape this thing. Then it started to get really bad for Janet. There were laces that ran the entire length of the armbinder. Slowly and deliberately Hilary began to tighten them. It took at least fifteen minutes for Hillary from the tips of the fingers to the top of the shoulders. By the time she was finished, the leather stretched around Janet's arms like a thin leather skin. There was absolutely no slack anywhere along the entire length of the binder.
Janet groaned and cried on the floor underneath Hillary as the binder fused her arms tighter and tighter. Her massive tits were pressed into the ground underneath both her weight but Hillary on her back.
Hillary was finally satisfied that there was no more slack left in the laces and knotted the top off at the space between her arms at the shoulders. She even added a few drops of super glue to the knot to prevent any chance of it coming loose. A flap with a zipper covered up the lacing all the way down her arms. Once this zipped up their was a lock at the top to keep it from going back down. Hillary then wrapped all the straps around the outside of the binder. One at the wrists, one 6 inches higher at the mid forearm, one at the elbows, and one at the biceps. Each of these straps were pulled brutally tight and had a small stainless steel lock on them. . Finally two thicker strap ran from the top of the binder, over each of Janet's shoulders, crossed between Janet's massive, firm tits and then buckled and locked to the other side of the binder right beneath Janet's armpits. Hillary then grabbed Janet's hair and forced her onto her knees. Janet tried to look over her shoulder to see if there was any way to loosen this impossibly tight device. Her shoulder muscles screamed in agony over being placed in this stringent position. Janet could only grunt a drool in protest to her captor.
"Well lets get started on those great legs of yours, shall we." Hillary continued her mocking of Janet.

She once again grabbed Janet's hair and pulled her face straight down to the ground. She dragged her forward until her body laid flat with her legs out behind her. She sat on Janet's ass and reached into the cedar chest. She pilled out what appeared to be a shaped leather stocking. It was obviously designed to fit over a woman's leg.
"Look here Janet, this device is of my own creation. I love the look of a woman in leather stockings, but I also love to see a woman's foot forced to a point. These leather socks do both. They lace on to you all the way to the top of your thigh. They look incredible too. The best part is the foot. On the sole of your feet is the softest thinnest leather. But over the top is a perfectly shaped inflexible piece of metal. It forced your foot to a overextended point. Once I lace your feet into these it is going to be very uncomfortable for you. Now if you look along where your calf and back of your thigh is going to be." Janet strained her aching head around to see the device Hillary was showing off. "You can see all these leather laces. I am going to sew your calf to your thigh, your ankle to your butt. Then thick leather straps will be tightened around your thighs and ankles for a final binding." Hillary reached down and grabbed Janet's shapely left ankle. Janet knew that if she was ever going to fight she would have to do it now. If her legs were going to be treated anything like her arms had been, then she would soon not be moving at all. She tried to pull her leg away, keeping it out of Hillary's expert hands. Hillary, however, did not feel like playing this game. She simple reached up to her control disk around her neck and very lightly touched the choking control on Janet's' collar. Janet felt the device very slightly tighten, but that was enough. Already a bit oxygen deprived by having to get all her air through her nose, Janet was being choked to death very quickly.
Spots started to form in front of her eyes. Even then she could hear Hillary's stern voice.
"Now lift your left leg straight up you back please, or you will soon black out. It is not a pleasant experience."
Janet's' oxygen starved brain complied immediately, and she felt the choker let back up. She coughed and sputtered around the gag, unable to restore her air supply as rapidly as her body demanded, because of the huge gag corking her stretched mouth. Hillary was completely unmindful of Janet's sufferings as she began to pull the legging over her shapely left foot. The bottom of the stocking was just like a boot, and Hillary had to pull and push to get her Janet's foot to push into the unnatural shape the leather and steel demanded. Janet's complete surrender at this point did make it easier however, and within a few seconds her toes were pointed straight out, inside the clever device. With a little effort, Hillary was then able to pull the rest of the stocking up and over Janet's long leg. From about the mid calf on up to the very tops of her thigh, there was lacing to tighten the leather to perfectly fit any woman. Of course Hillary had chosen a size already very snug for Janet's leg, so tightening the leather was a slightly difficult task. It was a task that Hillary relished though. Just like her arms, Hillary took her sweet time pulling each lace as tight as it could physically go, before moving to the next one up. Also like the armbinder, there was a final flap that zipped over these laces to prevent any hands being able to loosen them. When Hillary was done, Janet's leg was covered with a super tight leather skin from the very top of her thigh to the tip of her perfectly pointed toe. Hillary let go of the left leg and very patiently extended her hand for the right. Janet immediately complied wit this unspoken request. Within a few minutes her right leg was encased precisely the same way her left one had been.

Hillary finally got off Janet's ass at this point to enjoy a look at the almost completely helpless girl.
"Tell you what Janet, I'm going to go to the bathroom, and change. If you can get loose, I'll let you go. Have fun."
Janet laid there for a few seconds, unable to believe what was happening to her. She struggled for a few seconds, testing the armbinder to see if there was a miraculous rip in the seams or she suddenly developed the strength of a hundred women like her. After several seconds of straining and pulling, all's she had managed to do was cover her naked body with a sheen of sweat from the exertion. She rolled onto her back at this point and stopped struggling for a moment, exhausted from this simple act. She began to cry in frustration, fear and embarrassment at this point. Screaming as loud as she could into the hateful gag, head arching back and lifting her back off the floor. All the while her shoulders strained with every bit of might she had, panic lending more strength then she thought possible to her trapped limbs. This had no effect on the leather enveloping her so successfully.
Her mind raced frantically for a solution to this impossible situation. Maybe she could find a kitchen in this place, with a knife or sharp edge she could use to cut this crap off her. How could she even hold a knife to cut toughened leather? She screamed and cried into her gag, but knew that it was so effective that no one could hear her more then 10 or 15 feet away. She was in a penthouse suite in a high-class hotel. There was no way her pitiful mews could be heard by anyone.
Then it hit her…a Phone!! If she could get to a phone she could knock it off and get the "O" pushed. Even if she could not talk she could make enough noise to alert the operator that there was something not right in Suite 2213.
She rolled back onto her stomach, (not easy with her arms useless to her) and brought her leather-clad legs underneath her. The super tight leather made bending her legs almost impossible, but her fear-induced panic gave her strength. It was at this point that the invidiousness of Hillary's bindings became clear. Her feet were useless to her in their present position. She could not stand up at all! There was no way to walk with her feet stretched and pointed in the painful position they were in. She tried a half dozen times to get her legs underneath her, but it was simple impossible. If she was going to get to the phone she was going to have to inch along with her half useless legs. The phone was at least 40 feet away on a coffee table. Inch by painful inch, Janet worked her way across the room, knowing that Hillary could return at any moment to continue her sick binding of her form. Amazingly she made it to the phone table with no sign of her attacker returning. Another seemingly impossible problem asserted itself here. The phone was in the center of the table, unreachable by her reduced height. She actually tried to lift herself up enough to knock the phone off a couple of times, before deciding that she could knock over the whole table with a lot less effort. She knew she would have to work fast once the phone hit the ground, because that large a crash would surely bring Hillary back to stop her. She got her shoulder under the table, and flipped it over with a large crash. The phone flew off and thankfully landed only a couple of feet away from her. Janet quickly jabbed her nose a couple of times at the "O" symbol, until she was sure she had hit it enough to make the call. She moved her head over to the receiver laying on the ground and began to make as much grunting and moaning noises as the gag would allow. As she feared she could hear Hillary coming up behind her, but she continued to make as much noise as she could into the receiver. Hillary finally reached her and very casually picked up the receiver.
"Hello," she said with a lot of mocking in her voice. "Is anyone there?"
She put the receiver next to Janet's ear, there was no noise coming from it at all.
"There must be something wrong with the phone, honey, because I don't hear anything" she said condescendingly.
Hillary looked around for a moment, and found the phone's unattached cord laying on the floor.
"Janet, let this be a lesson to you. I do not make mistakes, I am keeping you forever and to do that I have to think of everything. Of course the simplest way of making sure you are helpless is to add a LOT more bondage to your body. I know how much you enjoy the thought of that that.
Janet's only response was a muffled mew of pleading and surrender.


    A Symphonette Sketch.

    "Why are you crying?"
    "I just realized something."
    "I'm fucked. I respect the dead more than the living, just 'cause they're like....static...? No, it's because...they...being dead,,,cannot confound your mythologising of them by arguing, contradicting your idealised, false concept of them"
    "Wha-so you don't respect me, just because I'm alive?"
    "I didn't say I disrespect the living, it's just quantitatively...put it this see a hearse going by, you pause, you observe a brief, silent reverie to death, to the gravity of its passage...the hearse try and cross the road, there's some hellraising cowboy fuckhead racing you to the pelican crossing, you fucking know you can get to the other side way before his bumper catapults your skinny- ass hipbones into the nearest shopfront. You dash, he gestures wildly atcha, mouths 'asshole', screeches off, smoketrails, distance. People only stop hating other people when they're dead."

    Rufus Wainwright is gagged, shaved and half-buried in a sack, propped against the wall, mewling, in an over-reharsed excessively resonant tenor. George, Carusso-locked cherub, wrestles his way out of a generic Che Guevara T-shirt, idly printed en masse, as an attempt by (insecure and mighty they well be) Western capitalists to commodify and trivialise revolution into a safe, meaningless cypher. He's trim, tanned, firm stomach, warm, inviting mouth, sixteen years old and undernourished. Nick, eighteen, world-weary, soul bandaged by bleak wit, dreary smile, beckons George over to the bed; George scrambles on top of Nick, their mouths dissolve into each other, despite the leaner frame, George's mouth envelopes Nick's, between rich, yoghurt muscles, tongues making out, swapping secrets and secretions, Nick kneading George's tight, Mediterranean buttocks through his jeans, with one hand, the other deftly loosening his fly, freeing up George's thick engorged cock. George wriggles out of his jeans, pants, drags the same off of Nick, who lightly grazing his teeth across George's slim shoulders, murmurs animal incantations, charming the flesh, enchanting the blood, stirring all a repertoire of essences.

    Richard drags her to the wardrobe by her hair, stamps on her breasts and kicks her in the neck, head, a few times, just to ensure she's docile enough to love him.

    Nick fellates George, first drawing his tongue from the base, to the diminutive purple tip, George, whimpering, hands behind his head, buried amongst bronze curls, as the entire length of his cock is swallowed, tip marrying tonsils, sending lightning tarantellas through his marrow, tickling the walls of his every blood vessel with delicate trauma. Nick, lapping away at the tender flesh of his Anne Rice-endorsed Symbolist saint, delighting at George's instinctive squeaks of satisfaction, persists, rigorously dancing his tongue-tip across the smooth tight ball-sac, tracing maps of pleasure, continents of bliss over nubile, fevered flesh. Again, they kiss, the celloist keens in deliberate, sweeping arcs, a funereal legato, calibrated to the mosaic fury of these glistening, entwined lovers, la folie underpinning this carnal solipsism, visible beneath the tropical canvasses of their skin. Nick, having redirected his attention to George's soft, wet balls and cock, reaches up a hand to palpate and caress George's chest with nails, knuckles, pinching, teasing, concisely, stimulating potter's wheel nipples into an erect state.
George shimmers, saliva webs his torso, glazed lips trembling.

    James, at his desk, writes a succinct treatise on how to fuck up the world: employ all the personnel at the disposal of the anarchist hub, to change as many clocks as practically feasible, to any number of different times, and to commission the acquisition of a magnetic device via which all digital timepieces can be altered remotely, if not utterly shut down. His predisposition for abyssmal wordplay is grimly sated by the fourth sentence which reads "Atomic Clock = Timebomb". He shuts down the word processing program, the Windows wallpaper is a shot of his ex-boyfriend, sleeping, curled up, half under a red duvet. He jerks off; semen barely bypassing the keyboard as he climaxes, instead coating his dead lover's face in a lactic, aqueaous drizzle, obscuring his eyes, compounding James' weepy awareness of time diminishing the memory of dead faces.

    George's slowly fucks Nick, every stroke considered, precise, laboured, but impassioned, Nick's knees rocking by his ears as he's nailed, with increasing vigour by his youthful lover. This is the first time George has entered him, and it excites him, to a tremulous, febrile vibration, his skin as though the subject of five million tiny, amorous drills, every pore shedding sweat; the liquid noise of sated desire. George, gripping Nick's slender calves hammers his shaft into Nick's ass with exponential fervour, thunderous lashes, he's wanted to penetrate Nick since they both got hard-ons during the 'He's a Rebel' segment of 'Scorpio Rising' early this month. Nick told him he'd only agree to being fucked if George would wear his grandfather's leather jacket for the two weeks preceding the sex, every time they went out. He agreed. It drove Nick totally fucking wild with desire, apexed today in this culmination of concrete promises, George explodes in a series of semtex shudders, blasting rivulets of angry boy milk into Nick's ready asshole, an action reciprocated by Nick, who jets an arc of cum across George's hairless stomach.

    Rufus Wainwright combusts in a petrol-drenched sack of envy, his whiny vibrato lingering in the smoke as his corpus, consumed by ravenous licks of flame, expires in the dark.

    She dies midway through being fucked, the various head contusions sustained from the love administered by his jackboots proving too severe for the brain to process oxygen.

    James, after wiping the screen clear of cum with his sleeve, has just concluded his suicide note. He clicks 'Save', closes down 'Word', plants a valedictory kiss on the screen, pixels ghosting with the lightest brush of steam, opens his window, and jumps.

michael karo

"yahoo chat roleplay w/ a 19 yr. old boy."

me: hey
blane: whats up?
me: just lookin for fun cams before bed
blane: u like submissive boys?
me: mmm yes
me: you like older?
blane: sure
blane: i can be ur lil boy and u tell me exactely what u want ok daddy?
me: i can dig it
blane: u gotta be mean with me though, dont be afraid to call me names, i like to be talked down to, it turns me on sooooo much
me: ok
blane: am i cute?
me: first we need to talk about that hair
me: you like looking like a little sissy boy?
blane: whats wrong with my hair daddy?
blane: but i like my hair daddy, its fun when the boys at school pull on it
me: im sure u deserve it too
blane: o i do daddy
me: ill give you something to put in your mouth!
blane: o daddy
me: wish i could slap that pouty look off your face
blane: o wow daddy, u sure are being mean i being punished?
me: maybe
me: have u been bad today?
blane: ......yes
me: i knew it
me: what did u do?
blane: i looked at the other boys penises today in gym class, some of them made me touch them in the showers
me: you're such a little slut
blane: im sorry daddy
me: you should be
me: did u like seeing those penises?
blane: ....yes
me: oh boy
me: what am i gonna do with u?
blane: i think ur gonna have to punish me daddy
me: if youre not careful...
me: one of those boys is gonna try to stick it up your ass
blane: one of the boys already did daddy, he said he would beat me up if i didnt let him
blane: he stuck it in and out until he squirted boy juice on me
me: oh im really disappointed now
blane: sorry daddy
me: cuz you know daddy wanted to be the first
blane: im sorry daddy...
me: do you want to see a pic of what daddy would stick in you?
blane: yes daddy
blane: i wanna see if ur as big as the boy at school
blane: ooo daddy
me: you came out of that fat cock dont u forget it
blane: it looks real nice daddy
me: did u fuck a boy too?
blane: no..i only got the penis stuck in me
me: you like that dont u?
blane it does feel real good daddy
me: now your ass is used, i wanted it fresh
blane: im so sorry daddy....are u gonna punish me?
me: i think i have to
blane: oh no
blane: what are u gonna make me do daddy?
me: let me think for a minute
blane: daddy are u there?
me: yes
me: im just very angry
blane: im sorry daddy, what can i do to make u not angry
me i think you need to show me your little ass, i need to see if its ok
blane: yes sir
me: spread em
me: now turn around
me: oh you're hard you little whore
blane: yes i am daddy
me: your dick has grown nicely
blane: thank you daddy
me: i made u hard didnt i?
blane .....yes daddy
me: lift your shirt i want to see it all
me: very nice
me: but youre still a bad boy
blane: im sorry daddy...
me: wish i was there to spank you
blane: mmmm daddy
me: you boy cock is very hard
blane: yes it is daddy...ur cock made me this way
blane: what do i do with it since its hard?
me: i think you know very well you little slut
me: what i know you do in your room all the time
blane: is that my punishment daddy?
me: yes i think you need to cum so you wont have so many dirty thoughts
blane: will u help me cum daddy?
me: yes
me: i hate to punish you cuz you turned out so beautiful
blane: hang on sec daddy, im gonna move the cam so i can sit down ok?
me: ok
blane: what do you want me to do daddy? ill do anything u want
me show me you cam cum like a man
me: how big is that boy cock now?
blane: 7 inches
me: very good
blane: will u talk dirty to me, tell me what u would do to me if u were here with me?
me: you want another pic of daddy's cock?
blane: yes
me: my big head might hurt you going in
blane: mmmmm daddy
me: and ill show you what it looks like when dad cums
blane: mmmm daddy
me: thats it
me: have u had it sucked?
blane: no daddy
me: i would love to be first
blane: mmmm daddy, help me cum please, talk dirty and mean to me please daddy
me: jack that boy cock
me: i want to see cum all over that little tummy
me: you'll make daddy happy
me): think of daddy in your little ass
blane: mmmm daddy
me: you would love it
me: such a sexy boy
me: cum for me baby
blane: tell me what u would do if u were here daddy
me: i would help u
me: jack you
me: suck it all the way down
me: lick that hole
blane: mmmm more daddy
me: suck you and stick a finger in your ass
me: then 2
me: maybe 3
me: you could take it you little whore
blane: mmm daddy
blane: thats what i like...more more
me: i'd lick that head
me: lick up your precum
me: and then kiss u and make u taste it
me: show me that cock head up close
me: my tongue in that pisshole
me: you holding my head as i suck
me: drain those big balls for dad
me: you're doing good i'm happy with you
me: squirt for dad
blane: cummin
me mmmm
me: will u taste it for me?
me: ok boy get to bed
me: you did good
me: (hug)

Callum James

Scab and The Virgin (Part 1)

The rain was solid for three days until the streets were rainforest-thick with it. The water filled gutters and washed over roads. It fell in thick dribbles from every high corner and ledge; it beat mad drums on bins and bus shelters. Breathing was like drinking and it was so hot!

I say it was three days but only because it’s more impressive to use a significant number. I don’t really remember but I know it wasn’t seven or forty.

On the Third Day (maybe), it stopped raining and the sky was all white glare. The roof of the multi-storey was a shallow, painfully bright mirror of water. Steam rose across the concrete pan, unearthly. Everything was light and rising.

Scab – who is almost my half-brother – and I’ll tell you later why I call him Scab because it’s disgusting but not very interesting – he was struggling to get a heavy bag off his back. When it came free of bony shoulders, he unzipped it and tipped it. The heads of twelve beautiful women fell out and made cracking noises as they hit the ground.

“Shit,” I said, “what’ve we done?”

Scab grinned…

Three days before, just as the rain started, dark at 2p.m., Scab skipped out. He’s got blond hair that looks bottled but isn’t and there’s a bald patch just off centre on his crown – worms I guess – scabby too, hence the name. He’s got this shiny face which most often is cracked up with a mad smile like he’s high all the time (he’s not). Sometimes, instead, when he’s upset his face crinkles up like foil off a chocolate bar – still shiny. He said he’d met a guy down the docks the night before, got fifty quid for a blow job. That’s more than we normally get; I thought it was some business-type passing through the ferry-port. Scab said not, but didn’t tell me more right then because I was watching The Simpsons and he could tell I wasn’t that interested. Just as the rain started, Scab was going out for more.

“If he wants to fuck you: get more,” I yelled after him.

Scab grinned…

Later – the rain’s been falling twelve hours now – Scab introduced me: all three of us huddled on a metre of pavement outside the QuikStop, the hoarding keeps the rain off. The guy’s called Dominic, ‘Dom’ for short, which he tells you with a kind of half-wink which I thought was pretty gross. Still, Dom seems to get Scab, so I was polite.

In the yellow of the streetlights, Dom looked ill, I guess we all did. He was in his forties maybe, thick black eyebrows dripping rain over a wet and pock-marked face. Not unhandsome, not good looking but attractive in a dangerous kind of way. Scab’s type definitely! There were several awkward, silent seconds when Scab introduced me: scuffing feet.

Sometimes when we meet up with new guys, we tell them we’re brothers, which we almost are. You have to judge it right though. Some guys get off on that, others are turned off.

“Oh come on.” Said Scab eventually, “it’s too fucking wet to be shy, let’s get it on yeah?”

“Where d’you wanna go?” I asked, looking into the bright, blank interior of the shop then across the road spitting like cooking fat under fast tyres. Dom shrugged but Scab took off round the corner. Dom and I looked at each other.

“Fifty each?” I said. He snorted, wiped rain off his face.

“Seventy-five between you.”

“Fuck, whatever,” I said. Water was draining down the ridge of my spine. I just wanted to get home.

There was an alley. It wasn’t covered, but being narrow it made the rain seem lighter. Along one wall was a strip of dry ground. Scab backed Dom to the wall. Dom’s long coat pressed the brick, misshaping him. Grit and rubbish scratched as Dom’s feet and Scab’s knees found a position.

The cock, flopping out, was thick and knarled like dockside rope and uncut, a dark circle of head already squeezing out from the hood. In Scab’s thin fingers it pumped up, got thick. Skin slipped back and Scab took it between wet lips. Dom’s head sunk forward so he could see Scab’s pink mouth stretch. I stood a way back. I watched the rain pour off plastered strands of Scab’s hair, roll his nose and run down Dom’s cock.

Big hands with thick knuckles crunched up some wet blond and pulled Scab’s head deeper onto Dom’s cock. Twice it slipped out, sprang up and Dom smacked Scab’s face with its full weight. Scab had that look in his eyes, he gets it sometimes, like praying. The boy scares me but he was grinning…

Scab had one hand in Dom’s fly, mauling the sack. With his free hand he beckoned. I shrugged and went over, knelt down. Something sharp bit my knee. Scab’s eyes met mine as his cheeks bulged and rain and spittle mixed on his lips: bright, pale eyes like a saint in an old picture.

A heavy hand came to rest on my head too but didn’t try to grab hair. Scab let the slick, dark knob-end escape and it bounced between us. We spent a while on either side mashing lips and tongues up and down the length. It was like playing the mouth organ Mary (that’s mum) bought us once. The only sound was grunting and the hiss of rain. Every now and again Scab’s lips touched mine around the springy meat; that was a freaky feeling, weird.

I had to close my eyes after a while because Scab was freaking me out with that mad smile, even round a mouthful of penis. He was staring right at me.

The grunting stopped and some of the tension in Dom’s cock sagged away.

“I want to fuck you both,” he said. We stopped and stared up. Scab looking madly happy, me I guess thinking the world was going mad.

“Not here” I said, perhaps a bit too strongly, “and it’ll cost you more.”

Part 2

Part 3


"Love Fantasy Bonus Explosion" (2007)

1. Reon / Human Cat Encounter

She squats in the late afternoon sunlight, just in front of the window. Her deep black eyes call me to her. Her lips so big and open, I want to go inside her mouth and I want to be on top of her. Her breasts bursting like the white glorious bosoms they are, held back and displayed by a shiny black bikini top. Her legs are folded in, her beaming knees of hotness out. Her gorgeous feet stand proudly in high heels that she uses to flaunt herself at this precise angle. Running my eyes up her ankles and legs, her golden white thighs that I have to grab, up to her crotch where she's total toe in little black underwear that probably cost a fortune. Her whole poise says, I want to take you and fuck.

It's a light but shady afternoon back here in the garden. Little purple cat ears peek out from behind a dark leafy hedge. She peeks out, I can see her big sexy eyes beneath her smooth black hair that curves across her forehead, her eyes like a deer's in headlights. It's cute as all fuck. She crawls out, like a cat. She's wearing a light purple cat ear headband with furry white seams, the right ear has a magenta bow on it, a tiny cream broach in the center. The only other thing she's wearing is matching bra and underwear, both with furry seams too. And, a tail curving out over her nice round ass. Her bare body, with its curves and white creamy skin fills up my senses like inhaling some magic drug from a flower. And, I'm already getting intoxicated.

She crawls forward a little, pawing forward and pushing her chest towards the ground to stretch like a cat, which makes this hot curve of her back with her ass on top. She peers out from behind a tree. She pretends to sleep, curling her legs into this awesome pile of her that makes her ass even more perfect. I want to kiss her lips, I want to kiss her neck. I place my hand on her ass, for starters. It feels absolutely like I hoped it would. I pet her hair, it's soft and makes me swoon. She licks her arms and breasts. Her face would be unbelievable gorgeous if I wasn't here with her now. I set out a dish of water that she laps at, she looks up at me with cautiously curious eyes. She crunches up like a spring, bares her teeth in an expression that is both happy and aggressively sexy. She jumps up into the air and pounces on me, knocking me over flat. Now on top of me, and holding me down, she laughs. She rubs my chest and straddles me, licks my face with her soft warm tongue that makes me tremble. I'm already warm marble, surely a little autolubed too. She tears my shirt off, literally, and scratches my chest. It burns and feels awesome. She undoes my pants and bites my cock. I'm starting to get a little scared but hotter at the same time. She kneels over my face, grasping the soft furry seams I slide her underwear down to her thighs, she scrunches her legs tight around the sides of my chest so I can fit them down over her knees and off to just hanging on her left ankle. Pushing her hips down, she rubs her cunt over my face, her luscious lips taking me exactly where I want to be. Her little black pubes are gifts from heaven. She fucks my face, my tongue cravingly licking her labia. She bends in closer and rubs her clitoris over my big fat tongue over and over, faster and faster. She pumps my mouth, my head increasingly existing between her legs. I feel like I could come at any second. Using only the muscles in my own crotch, I pump my dick over and over in rhythm with her. She coos these strange sounds, high pitched and sharp. They're but music to my ears. She comes.

a) Across a room hidden away in the back of our apartment she's standing naked. I throw little darts with pastel plastic grips into her breasts. Their little needle-like metal tips fly right into her skin. I throw them into the soft cheeks of her ass.

2. Shin / Voyeur Observation Experiment

In an outdoor high school parking lot packed with empty stationary cars you can see her, towards the back, close to the school. The chain link fence in front of you doesn't get in the way at all, you just lean in. She's a year older then you, and it's really her, the one you've been obsessing about. She's wearing a thin red dress with some sort of fancy print, it really captures her foxy form. She's in black nylons, her legs blow your mind and make you hurt for some reason. She gets to her car, it's an old beige Volvo stationwagon. She opens the rear hatch and leans in. The curve of her back to her ass has you nearly lycanthropic. She begins to undress. Pulling out your binoculars you focus in on her arms as she pulls her dress over her head, her shiny white bra over her small breasts a striking contrast to her black pantyhose engulfed legs. You imagine you're there with her, behind her. Putting your arms around her you peck at her neck. She turns to look at you and you freeze. Her little face in the binoculars looks expressionless as she rubs lipstick off onto a little paper towel. She pulls on a t-shirt, and pulls down her nylons, takes off her shoes and her feet in the stockings are the best thing you've seen all year. She pulls the nylons off, and puts on a pair of jeans. A car pulls up and a guy gets out, she leans up against the passenger side of the idling car and the guy takes her hips, undoes her zipper, and jams his hand in her panties. She arches back a little. She unzips him and take his cock out, he's already hard and he goes right ahead and penetrates her little pussy. The have slow sex on the side of that idling car, you come in your pants.

b) It's the middle of the night, I find her hanging out at a closed cafe. A man comes over and they start to make out.

3. Annie / Pizza Girl

She stands behind the counter in a dark pizza parlor. In the overly large deep blue polo shirt her breasts look formless. It's part of her uniform. Her hips fade into the matching black pants. Her face peers out from behind a black cap, blonde hair flowing out at the sides. Her bright blue eyes twinkling. There are a number of cooks at work behind her. One of them feel her up from behind. She smiles. She goes to the bathroom, it's a squalid one. A single toilet with a sink to the side. She pees. As she's at the mirror a guy comes in and kisses her. He turns her around and licks her eyes. He unzips his pants and takes out his penis, she kneels down and takes it into her mouth. Another guy comes in with a box of pizza. He takes the topping and covers her face with it. The guy getting a blowjob holds her head and pumps her mouth hard. She makes all these great sucking sounds. The guy comes and the girl lays on her back. Another guy comes in, sets down a few boxes of pizza and fucks the girl's mouth flat on the bathroom floor. The other two guys take her clothes off and cover her body in the hot toppings from the pizza. They rub the saucy pizza bread over her body, covering her in the red tomato sauce. The guys lick it off her, and spread more on at the same time. They push cheesy pizza topping up her vagina and then wiggle it back out. Then one of them fucks her. He comes, and the other two come on her tits and her face, she leans up and puts all the pizza toppings and pizzas back into the boxes, rubbing the sauce back in too. She washes her self off with the tap at the sink and gets dressed. The guys leave. She takes the pizza boxes out to the counter and calls the order.

c) Annie's out delivering a pizza to a sexually starved young man.

4. Akane / Romantic Butt Lover

Her butt. Young guy comes over kneels behind her, spreads the girl's cheeks wide and rims her. Pressing his tongue onto the warm, wonderful, almost tasteless soft skin, and down into the magical black hole. Squeezing her butt while with his hips he fucks the air between her legs. The girl makes sounds that are so fantastic he can't explain them, they seem like shapes. His erection gets harder and harder, lust overwhelming his senses in a beautifully maddening way. He also feels this deep release just by rimming her. There is no right or wrong at this moment, just translucent crashes of sex.

d) Akane is trying on swimsuits, she gets totally naked and tries a dozen different ones on.

5. Risa / Cartoon Enema Bonanza

We're outside and the world keeps changing colors. Red, blue, yellow. Her name's Risa, she's this tall lascivious bunny woman. It's just me and her, standing at the edge of this canyon. And, she's got my prick so big the veins look like they're each suffering a major case of thrombosis. I bury my face in her hot smelly pussy and that's my form of prayer. We take giant needles and shoot huge doses of liquid fuck into each other's butts, eyeballs, tongues. I take a long tube and stick it up her ass. Ooh, she calls out. I jack my cock off into this plastic bag, shooting a gallon load. Ooh, I groan. I flip the drooping bag onto the tip of the tube and squeeze it up into her butt. Then I swing her around and cram my still hard and monstrous dick up her so far into her it comes out her mouth and she throws up on me. I take the bag and tube from her ass and she starts to boil like a kettle. She moans louder and louder until she erupts into an ear shattering scream and out from her ass explodes a stream of white poopie come and fluids (with poop) that just shoots out and out and out. She fills up the whole canyon, and we go for a swim.

e) Ghost of young woman floats in a subway car at night, she sits in a seat alone.

6. Maki / Killer Subway Sex

I met her on a subway car. Her skin was so white that her lush black hair made me go all mush. She was in a red and white polka dot summer dress, with a colorful bra poking out at top. She stood at the hand rail and I just couldn't imagine living another second without touching her ass. I slowly got up and walked over to her, but the train shook and I feel over. I landed beneath her, between her feet. Looking up her dress was fantastic, her legs made my day and her little magenta and deep red underwear blew my mind. I scrunched out and stood. She laughed a little and I said I was sorry. I put my palm to her ass. She straddled the pole, slowly fucking it. I couldn't believe it, was this really happening? The train stops and we both get out. I push her into the train's crevice and she just lays there. I masturbate to her down there. The subway train approaches her and she can't seem to get back up.

The train stops just in front of her, the rush of air and noise has her all washed out, like a ghost. Crowds of people pour out from the subway cars. They gather around the ledge above Maki. She looks up at them, dazed, sad, lost. She leans back into the train and pulls up her dress. She pushes her hand into her underwear and begins to rub herself. Closing her eyes she inhales deeply and bares her teeth as she masturbates to an absolute release.

f) In heaven all of the girls are in colorful bathing suits going into exhibitionary positions that I love, and I can't help but teleport there. As they encircle me we all smile with pure joy.

Shane Allison

Panty Boy

From the arcade of a super center sex store, from the secluded trails of Lost Lake where I watched you behind pine trees getting your dick sucked while dressed to the nine in garter belts and panties, is where I know you from. You dressed in all those girlish things. Your dick was bigger than I remember when you showed it to me in a booth that was no bigger than a porta-potty crapper defaced with sexual favors and cell numbers attached. I can’t do shit with a little dick, but I wasn’t always a size queen not until I met Chris. But don’t concern yourself with him; he has nothing to do with you. He’s mine and if I catch you with him, I’ll kick your ass; I’ll cut off a limb. But I ain’t worried. He would never give someone like you the time of day: boys that prance around in panties, pulling stockings over hairy legs, low hanging balls tight under all that nylon. I’m so horny, but that doesn’t make it different from any other day. It’s no secret that I don’t get enough ass, enough steady dick in my life. Jack off so much these days, my dick has started to chafe. Chris doesn’t want me as much as he used to. He says I give good head, but says there’s nothing sweeter than pussy. Funny because when I think of pussy, sweet doesn’t come to mind. He promised his girl he wouldn’t cheat. He doesn’t give a shit about me, but I love him anyway.
    There’s no one in the bathroom. The stalls are cold and silent. Messages left in search of blow jobs are old and fading. I cannot tell you how many men have worshipped at my altar of dick. If the walls could talk they would testify.
    Check my e-mail and it’s filled with horny housewives and how I can lower my mortgage rate on a home I don’t own. I send them all to the trashcan. I type into the search engine. Photos of naked men appear. Geezers from Key West to Kansas in their birthday suits with blushing stiff dicks held firmly in steel and leather. A crop of chest hair, all that furrowed skin. I got a thing for older men. They don’t play games like the twinks I have grown so sick of. I click onto the hottest pic of the day: Luc of Paris dressed in black hose and stilettos. Says he and his partner like threesomes, but I’m a spoiled brat who doesn’t like to share his goodies with anyone. His dick he says is 9.5 inches and is looking to bottom for a dominant top. That is what you all want isn’t it, to be dominated, to be told what to do like naughty little school boys? You’re no different. I’ve seen what you can do. I know what you’re into. Normally I wouldn’t give you the time of day, but it’s summer and all the college age trade are on vacation. Eating collegiate ass is usually where you’ll find me. I click on that hot daddy pic, the Parisian with approximately 9.5 inches of dick. I turn to you and smile. I got your attention. You’re so easy. Other than the two of us, there’s a cute Asian dude sitting at the table behind you, but I ain’t worried about him. He hasn’t taken his nose out of his that chemistry book since I’ve been here. I roll out of the way to give you a better view. You see that? Do you like it? Jesus, in a college library of all places. We are shameless sluts, you and I. I see that you approve as I watch you fondle your dick under the table of flat- screen computers. I click on other pics of silver daddy dick, and it’s enough to make us both randy. I click out of the website, grab my bag and saunter over next to you to a vacant computer. I revisit those dirty studs to show you more. I watch as you caress your tint, groping it under a tunnel of white ceiling lights.
    “Follow me,” I whisper.
    There’s a bathroom around the corner, down from a room of Xerox machines. This floor can’t get any quieter. My thoughts might be too hot for this tea room. We take the biggest stall, the one with the rose-colored walls. I leave the door slightly ajar for you. This toilet is cleaner than those Bellamy Building shitters. I’ve been in this one before. The stall with the sink and mirror whose reflection I have come in more times than I can remember. Sit upon the toilet to let you know that I want to blow you. Got a feeling you wouldn’t have it any other way. You pull down your jeans exposing the same panties you wore the night I ravished you in an arcade booth. Dick had been twitching in my jeans all day. Couldn’t wait to get to where the boys were. There weren’t too many cars in the lot: A Cadillac, a beat up old mini van, a vintage Mercedes. Trolls and du rag wearing b-boys lined the walls with their razor sharp attitudes, thinking they were God’s gift to gay boys. The arcade reeked of poppers and ass, tufts of paper towels littered the floor of the booths. Silver porno glow seeped from beneath doors that held in men beating off to fake screams and unreal orgasms. You had been after me all night, grabbing my dick in the dark, eying me in the corridor’s light as you caressed the tint of your dick. After hours of cat and mouse, after men left to rush home to their clueless wives, there was only you and I. We ducked into a booth with bite sized glory holes. You wasted no time shoving your bucks in the mouth of the machine, undoing jeans, exposing hose with runs, skin tight panties under 501’s, but I didn’t give a damn, ‘cause all I cared about was what swung between your legs. The way it hung over your unmentionables. Your skin was so smooth and taut for a man’s.

    “Closing for cleaning in fifteen minutes,” Kim yelled. She’s the only one in the store that’s cool with what we do, who turns the lights down just so.
We were well into it: dicks being sucked, your ass getting fucked. When all the dirty words were said, you came on my jeans.
    “Sorry,” you said, all embarrassed, but you were not the first or the last dude to come on my clothes.
    Now here we are again with your dick erect and just as ready. I hook my fingers in elastic and free it from a cocoon of femininity. It’s thick and pink, God-like even. I fondle it. I grab your ass and press. My glasses graze and smudge against your stomach. I take them off, laying them on top of the tissue dispenser. I suck you like I haven’t had a dick in decades. My mouth collapses onto your love, pallet tightens wet under your shaft as my lips sink into you.
    “You want me to come in your mouth,” you ask.
    I only do that with Chris. You don’t know me like that to earn that privilege, bitch. I tare away at the stockings, force the girlish garments down around you. The flesh of your butt fills the grooves between my fingers. I watch our actions from the mirror behind us, my lips around your hard on, my fingers traipsing along the ditch of your ass. I move in slow. Like to take my time and you don’t seem to mind. You whisper under your breath of onions ‘bout how you want me to be your boy that you’re looking for a steady fuck buddy. You squirm a bit when I shove a finger up your pansy ass. Your muscles tense to my touch as I explore you like a cave. Your dick strains in my mouth. I don’t want you to come yet, whore.
    “Do you suck?” I ask.
    You tell me no but I’ve seen you through the cracks of doors, in the darkest corners giving head to mysterious men. All punks suck dick, even my Chris. So what if he’s not that good at it? You tell me you want to get fucked. Figure as much. I can look at you and tell. You’re a bottomless pit who can take an L.A. gang of dicks. I’ll be lucky to get my cock back fucking with you. We switch hits. You bend and grip the pipes of the toilet. We keep quiet when the occasional breeder enters. You ask me if I have a rubber as if you’re worthy enough to be fucked without one, slut. I fork a French Tickler out of the pocket of my shirt and tear it from cellophane. I roll the latex on my dick. It’s a little cold going on over the head, over veins. I pull your hips forcefully instead of tenderly like Chris’s. You are good and loose due to my fingers. My dick’s the perfect fit. I hold onto your shoulders like reigns. You grab on tight to the pipes. You feel warm on me. I stand on the tips of my Saucony’s ‘cause I want to get in you completely. There’s nothing like a seasoned piece of ass to devour. The buckle of my belt clanks against the floor as I fuck. I tug and jerk at your hips, slapping your ass.
    “Fuck me this and fuck me that!” you shout. What would your mother say if she heard you talking this way? I warn you to keep it down. Tell you that I almost got busted last week for this same shit. My gluteus muscles are on fire, but there’s no better work out than a good fuck. I reach up to tweak your nipples. You tell me that I’m too rough, but rough is the way two men oughta fuck with sweat trickling down our backs into the cracks of our asses. If only you could witness the sheer beauty of my dick going in and out of you. You’re a nice piece of ass, but you don’t hold a candle to Chris. His dick is a monkey wrench he throws into my butt twice a week when his girl ain’t around. I can feel myself flowing up into the gas mart rubber. I hook my arm under your waist and take you further into me. Your insides couldn’t get any hotter on my cock. I imagine that your ass is Chris’s as I come inside you. I pull out slow, careful not to hurt or bruise. I unfurl some tissue and use it to take off the latex. I normally zip up and take off, leaving horn dogs like you to your own devices, but I ‘m not the one to leave ends loose. I take you back into my mouth.
    “Suck my balls.”
    I pull your panties further below and bring your perfumed balls to my mouth. My tongue slides along your cock, along the slit of the head. A few hard sucks is all it takes for you to bust a nut, soiling my shirt with your juices. We tuck in our dicks and exit the toilet quick, walking back to our tables with spent dicks.
    “Not bad for a white guy, huh?” you tell me. You scribble your number on a piece of paper. I promise to drop you a line, but I’m lying, and toss it into the trash much like the last time you slipped it to me. I know I will see you again, panties down around your ass in a nasty little booth of a super center sex store where cell numbers are sprawled on glory hole walls by those seeking a good time.



for five years i wrote porn on a pay-per-word basis until my stuff got too non consensual for the company. this one was for a digest called Urge. i think it was a reject.

Endless Gang Bang Fantasy

I don't know if you want to call me crazy or odd. I guess I'm looking to live out in my fantasies what I'm too scared to get in my reality. My name is Deb and I'm five foot seven, smallish breasted, with brown curly hair and hazel eyes. People think I'm attractive but I feel kind of insecure about my looks. I wish I had bigger breasts, I guess, and I wish that my ass was curvier. I guess some girls have all the luck in the body department.

I don't know why but I've never really enjoyed being fucked, except for one time, and that was by what I can only call a "friendly rape". This guy wasn't out to hurt me, I think he was just really horny and I happened to be in my nightie and sleeping in a bed. He felt like it was his right to take my pussy.

What happened that one time was that my roomates and I threw a really wild party and by about three in the morning everyone was just crashed out in different places. I guess that this guy stumbled into my room and eased himself in beside me. When I woke up, I found that he was on top of me and that he was breathing heavy. I didn't know if it was a dream or what, but my nightie was lifted and the guy was gripping at my panties trying to pull them down.

I lay there like a baby, kind of scared to move, or even to let him know that I was truly awake. Besides, I felt a hot steam start up between my legs, something I'd never really got with such intensity before. Then he pressed on my thigh as he eased my panties off without me moving. Like I said, I kind of was playing dead. But I still thought that it was his arm on my thigh until I realized that I could still feel it and the guy was massaging both my titties with his palms.

I was trying not to breathe too hard as the guy pinched my nipples over and over. I realized his dick was really hot and pretty big. Then, 'cause he felt some of my cunt juice leak out onto the head of his pecker, he just eased the head of it right into my lips and slid it straight up my cunt. He thrust so hard and so fast right away that I thought his cock was going to come out the top of my head. He wasn't gentle and he kept fucking and fucking my limp body, but somehow I felt it was right.

I felt a jolt and the guy pulled out of my orgasm and ejaculated all over my titties and tummy. I could feel the head of his massive cock on my nipples as he sprayed his sperm all over me. Some got on my chin but I still didn't move. I hadn't opened my eyes once the whole time. To tell you the truth, I never even knew who this guy was and if I'd met him at the party or if he was a friend or what.

I found myself masturbating at least two times a day after my mock rape pleasure, thinking about being forcibly fucked like that. So this is my gang-banging fantasy and I hope it comes true one day. I think its the only way I'm gonna ever enjoy sex again.

I am at a bar, drinking like I have no end. There's about two dozen men there. I'm wearing a slutty little number and totally made-up. My nipples are erect and my hips are swaying. I'm dancing, moving around so fast and I'm so fucking drunk that eventually I fall over exhausted, from the alcohol and the spinning.

At that point, a large guy who's a lot older than me comes over and picks mem up in his arms, taking me over to his friend's table as they all laugh and point at my undies that are showing in between my spreading thighs. I'm coming to and the first thing I feel is hot beats in my pussy. The guy who's carrying me is fondling my breasts and pinching my bum. "I hope you're up for a bit of fun tonight, girl," he whispers, "you sure are drunk enough..."

The next thing I know, the lights go down in the bar and I'm in a booth surrounded by about six or seven men who are inspecting me like I'm their property. "Now there's two ways we can go about this," the guy who brought me over said, "either you can be an obedient little girl and do as you are told and the worst you'll get out of this will be a very sore pussy or you can run on home to Daddy and wake up with a great big fat hangover... Now what do you say dollface, you up for the fun?"

The guys all started to laugh at me. I don't think they knew that I was totally wet in my cunt. I swear it felt like my vagina was going to explode. All they needed to do was test the waters and in a way, I'd be figured out. The idea of getting pummeled by a group of horny strangers was turning me on beyond belief. I felt so ashamed of myself in a way. But I was waiting to get fucked and I couldn't get rid of my fear.

"I'll be a good girl," I said as I turned my head to the side so that the men couldn't see my face.

The next thing I knew I was getting pawed at from all angles. I was put on the table, stripped, and my legs were spread open in a wide-angled 'V'. I had guys blocking my view and all I could see as I looked up towards the ceiling of the dark bar was a row of hot rigid dicks encircling me.

I was trembling as the first prick rammed up my pussy. There were men all around me and I knew that they were gonna fuck my pussy in a train. It was a weird kind of state I got in as cock after cock stormed my sperm-drenched cunt. I screamed but the men laughed and stuffed their fingers in my mouth. They pinched my titties and doubled their speed all over my used up body.

Then, after I don't know how many cocks entered my system while I lay there like a little rag doll, the guy who had picked me up came to take his turn. "You slut," he hissed in my ear before raging up my broken-in cunt, "you love the feeling of so many of my friends' cocks up your pussy don't you? Answer me, slut."

I closed my eyes and a smile sat on my lips. This guy gave me the best fuck treatment and I let my hips rock in time with his thrusts. It felt so fucking good. His pelvic bone was rubbing against my clit and the top of his cock was really ramming up my raw insides. I was in heaven. I orgasmed over and over as the guy let out his hot white load at the top of my cervix. He kept calling me a horny slut and it was making me cum even harder. My cunt was clutching around his bone, I never wanted to let him go.

"You liked that, didn't you?" the guy laughed as he skewered his satiated cock out of my pussy and took a deep swig of beer.

In my fantasy, I lie there on the table exhausted and naked and leaking while the guys drink and smoke and laugh at me. The bar closes down and I get gang-banged again and again and again.

paul curran

Gordon climbed on a ledge and pissed on Eric's shoulders. Cassie said she liked the way Gordon handled his cock. Eric said Cassie had to show them her cunt now. Cassie said she would if they sucked each other off. Gordon leaned against some driftwood and kicked away his shorts.

a) Feel the sun on your ears as the clouds vanish.
b) Look at her left hand move beneath her blue skirt.
c) Hear her say she's saving her virginity for Mister Bird.
d) Nod along with the suggestion to purchase that digital camera.
e) Stop sucking on him when he stops sucking on you.

I asked Cassie if I could fuck her precious ass. She said I could if I fucked the red ground. She had a burnt stick that looked like a dildo. She called the stick prehistoric, rubbing it between her legs. I told her the red ground felt like Miss Coil.

a) Fuck her in the ass while she sucks his cock.
b) Smell that breeze of salt and minerals and dead machinery.
c) Hear him say he photographed Mister Bird fucking Miss Coil.
d) Watch her dance around with the stick between her legs.
e) Look at her poke the stick into Miss Coil's dirt.

Gordon clenched his teeth when he came on Eric's face. Cassie said she liked the way Gordon handled his cock. Eric said Cassie had to let them fuck her now. Cassie said she would need to check her countdown notebook. Gordon stooped through the barbwire fence and ripped his t-shirt.

killer luka

#1 ---

#2 ---

Bernard Welt

The most arousing literature I know of is the stuff at Straight to Hell: The Manhattan Review of Unnatural Acts, the legendary and much-imitated compendium of men’s true tales of sex with other men, started by Boyd McDonald in the 1980s, and anthologized in titles such as MEAT, SEX, FLESH, FILTH, WADS, and CUM. Jacking off over S.T.H. got me and thousands of others over the worst of the age of AIDS. I know this isn’t porn writing and S. T. H. isn’t an author, but it bears the same relationship to gay men’s porn that Dennis’ blog to his various subjects and everyone should know about it. On the off chance that you don’t know it already, you should find everything they’ve ever published immediately and read it today. There’s a website at

Straight to Hell and Billy Miller, the adorable current editor, says they will soon put up content, including tributes by Dennis, Gore Vidal, and little me--but we’ll see. One of my fantasy projects is a collection of considerations of S.T.H. by smart writers and critics.
I guess I have two favorite writers of gay male porn:

Lars Eighner

wrote a memoir of homelessness called Travels with Lizbeth (his beloved dog), published in 1994, which introduced the term "dumpster diving" into mainstream vocabulary and became a surprise success, appearing on reading lists of many college courses. But he’s also the author of several collections of porn whose theme is usually (as in S.T.H.) hot gay sex among men who don’t identify as gay. Stories often take place in Austin among college students and hippie types. B.M.O.C. takes place in dorms and frat houses, where horny guys listen to their roommates jack off in the dark, or trick members of rival frats into sucking their dicks. Wank: The Tapes has a great premise: several years after graduation, a sort-of straight guy sets out to interview men of varying sexual orientations who used to participate in "shower parties," circle-jerk beer-blasts that took place in an abandoned wing of a dorm, and he finds out what else was going on back in their rooms and lounges. This is from one of the interviews:

CARL: Jerry is the only man I ever fucked. I never sucked a guy, never came close to being fucked. I have an in-law . . . well, maybe once a year there is a guy I let blow me—I really don’t want to go into that—but it means more to him than it does to me. Phil and I never touched each other and Jerry did not want me to touch his dick, so the only time I ever jacked off another guy . . .


CARL: At the last shower party I went to, instead of sticking with the guys in the circle, I let a guy talk me into trading hand jobs. He convinced me that I had come there for a reason, and I might as well have the whole experience.

STONE: So did you have the whole experience?

CARL: He worked so hard on getting me off, I couldn’t refuse to do it back. So I did it back, but it must have been the worst hand job in the world.

STONE: Why do you say that?

CARL: Because you obviously don’t remember it.

Eighner also wrote an unusually readable and entertaining style guide, Elements of Arousal: How To Write and Sell Gay Men’s Erotica. His blog is at He’s been writing a lot about truth and lies in memoirs lately, though there hasn’t been a post since October.

R. J. March

is an interesting writer whose observations of disaffected young men—getting their idioms and moods and cultural allegiances down—remind me a lot of Dennis, although his emphases are very different. His stories are collected in Hard and Looking for Trouble and some of them are really knock-out depictions of boys who are lusting after each other and not quite sure what’ll happen if they actually make a move. His blog at says he "used to" write "erotica," but I hope he keeps it up (ignore obvious opportunity for dumb joke here). This comes from a story that isn’t his best but it was online and easy to paste, and it shows what his territory is:

Beginning of story:

Cary says the lacrosse player left him, although they weren't ever really together, not that way, anyway. They shared a room, a dorm room in Blake Hall, and not even for very long, but that was it. Granted, the lacrosse player had asked Cary to be his roommate when they met at orientation weekend. That was because they'd shared a room then, too, and Cary hadn't snored, and the lacrosse player hadn't known anyone else— all the other lacrosse players had gone to the first orientation in July. What was he doing in July? Working at Ace Hardware, racking hammers and sorting boxes of screws, almost wishing he was going back to high school in the fall. They'd liked the same kinds of music, though, he and Cary—Dave Matthews, the Chemical Brothers, Stone Temple Pilots, and neither one of them smoked. It hadn't seemed like a bad idea back then, in the middle of August. He could have left it up to the lottery that paired up everyone else, but why tempt fate? He could have gotten that guy in the wheel chair or the fag with the eyeliner and the black and red hair.

"The name alone should have done it for you, man," his lacrosse buddies say. "Like that fucking chick with the pig blood and John Travolta."

"Was I even born when that movie came out—what the fuck do I know? Besides, he spells it different. C-a-r-y."

"Add an s, dude, and you've got scary." . . .

And from near the end:

He unlocked the door of his room. It wasn't yet midnight, and he was expecting to find Cary home with the television on, not unlike his mother really, he realized just then, opening the door, the light behind him sweeping into the room. Cary's bed was empty. He was sleeping in the lacrosse player's bed.

"What are you doing?" the lacrosse player asked, turning on the light. Cary bolted upright, his face wrinkled from the press of the pillow. He didn't say anything, though, offered no explanation. He put his feet on the floor and uncovered himself—he was naked and hard—and walked across the room to his own bed. So big, the lacrosse player thought, seeing the stiff bob of Cary's cock—huge, he was thinking, his hand on the door knob, cold, hearing the radiator knock, Cary settling into his sheets, drifting back into sleep, his cock, the lacrosse player thought, his cock.

It's ruined, the lacrosse player realized. Everything was ruined. Something bad had happened, although he could not say what that badness was, not just then, but it had something to do with Cary's old movies and his mother trading her queen-sized bed for his old twin; it had something to do with the man in the shower, and the wrinkled skin of his own fingertips that day, unable to leave once he was finished, once he was clean. He put down his bag and turned around. He left the room, closing the door, aware that he was leaving home the second time that day. He'd go back later, the next day, when Cary was at the student union where he worked at the information desk, and clear out his things. He'd move in with the other lacrosse players and steer clear of all fine lines. He would become unambiguous, get good grades, prepare for the future. And he would never touch a man with an open hand without thinking of Cary and his long toes, which—if only Cary could have known—would have made Cary the happiest boy in Blake Hall.


Preface 1:
“The mystics and epic poets idealize illicit love as the only true one.”
-Alain Danielou, The Four Aims of Life in the Tradition of Ancient India: Virtue, Success, Pleasure, & Liberation, p.120, 1993

Preface 2:
“According to Shaivite prophecy, humanity’s sole hope of survival resides in the current revolutionary struggle for sexual liberation. Only the worship of the principle of life and its symbol the phallus can draw down heaven’s blessing on humankind, which is threatened by divine wrath at a civilization whose ethic, instead of happiness, joy, and pleasure, pursues war, sexual repression, hypocrisy, and the persecution of love. The Shaivite Puranas tell us that in the Kali Yuga (the era of conflicts in which we are now living), only the “fervent in love”–the adepts of the cult of Shiva-Dionysus who practice the bacchanalia—can save the world from destruction.”
-Alain Danielou, The Hindu Temple, Deification of Eroticism, p. 2

Preface 3:
“We should not wonder at the fact that representations of human love—the search for voluptuous pleasure—recognize none of the limits that social ethics wish to impose. The most different postures of the erotic act are studied in works that form an essential part of sacred literature. The Kama Shastra constitutes a fundamental science connected to the literature of the Rig Veda. The sculptures decorating the temples consequently represent the most complex erotic acts, which are not limited to what we might term, more or less arbitrarily, ‘natural acts.’ All parts of the body seek to be imbued with pleasure. They comprise every possible relation between men and women, as well as various relations between persons of the same sex and between human beings and animals. Indeed, since it is through voluptuousness that we can realize divine nature most directly, such an experience should have no limits.”
-Alain Daniélou, The Hindu Temple, p.108

My favorite sacred Dionysian (or sexual, or pornographic if you like) text:

This story is mostly Hogg's.

But first I have to tell you some about me.

Behind the landing of the stairs that went to the basement, by the blistered radiator, I used to suck off a kid named Pedro. He was a sad-looking thirteen-year-old spic, who wore baggy gray pants with a three-inch rip in the side seam-I don't think he *ever* changed them-and a white short-sleeve shirt he put on Sunday mornings; Saturday nights it was gray. With his shiny hair bumping against the underside of the steps and their hanging drips of dirt, he would grind his sneakers on the gritty boards and rub the heel of his hand on the hard place above his groin where his dad's belt was tied. (The buckle had come off.) His knuckles were red from chewing. "You want it?" He'd dart around scared glances. "Come on, take it now. Go on, take it." His zipper was always half open.

Squatting, I'd nose between the brass teeth to smell his sweat. He would push penis, both testicles, and the two little fingers of his left hand into my mouth. Holding his thin hips, I toweled my tongue inside his foreskin till, leaning and grunting, he would spurt his greasy juice and, quickly limp, a tablespoon of urine.

Once he told me, when I stood up, "You look funny down there. You really look funny."

I was eleven.
-Samuel R. Delany, Hogg, 1969

"I think I ain't never met a normal, I mean normal, man who wasn't crazy! Loon crazy, take 'em off and put 'em away crazy, which is what they would do if there wasn't so many of them. Every normal man -- I mean sexually normal, now -- man I ever met figures the whole thing runs between two points: What he wants, and what he thinks should be. Every thought in his head is directed to fixing a rule-straight line between them, and he calls that line: What Is. [...] On the other hand, every faggot or panty-sucker, or whip jockey, or SM freak, or baby-fucker, or even a motherfucker like me, we know --" and his hands came down like he was pushing something away: "We know, man, that there is what we want, there is what should be, and there is what is: and don't none of them got anything to do with each other unless --" The bartender was shaking his head."-- unless we make it," Hogg went on anyway.

-Samuel R. Delany, Hogg, 1969, p. 121


Delta of Venus: Excerpt from The Basque and Bijou

As a fiction writer, Anais Nin is certainly not a favorite of mine,, but her pornography, written for a wealthy American businessman when she was strapped for cash, is really something unique. There’s a kind of quaint antiquity to the language that she somehow manages to direct into erotic little explosions, making her readers quietly wet between the legs.. The words are never vulgar; their effect is always sensual and dreamy, whether she’s writing about threesomes, masturbation, couples, or gay sex. This is thoroughly a lady pornographer at work, all the way.

...Behind the curtain, the Basque was smiling at Viviane's excellent performance. The man and woman were fascinated. They stood right next to the bed, with dilated eyes. Bijou said to them: "Do you want to see how we make love when we feel lazy?"

"Turn over," she commanded Viviane. Viviane turned on her right side. Bijou laid herself against her, entangling their feet. Viviane closed her eyes. Then, with her two hands Bijou made room for her entrance, spreading the dark-brown flesh of Viviane's buttocks so she could slip the penis in, and she began to push. Viviane did not move. She let her push, thump. Then unexpectedly she gave a jerk like that of a horse kicking. Bijou, as if to punish her, withdrew. But the Basque saw the rubber penis glistening now, almost like a real one, still triumphantly erect.

Bijou began teasing again. She touched Viviane's mouth with the tip of the penis, her ears, her neck, she rested it between her breasts. Viviane pressed her breasts together to hold it. She moved to join Bijou's body, to rub herself against her, but Bijou was evasive now that Viviane was becoming a little wild. The man, bending over them, began to grow restless. He wanted to fall on the women. His companion would not let him, though her face was flushed.

The Basque suddenly opened the door. He bowed and said, "You wanted a man and here I am." He threw off his clothes. Viviane looked at him gratefully. The Basque realized she was in heat. Two virilities would satisfy her more than that teasing, elusive one. He threw himself between the women. Everywhere the foreign man and woman looked something was happening that enthralled them. A hand was opening someone's buttocks and slipping in an inquisitive finger. A mouth was closing upon a leaping, charging penis. Another mouth was enclosing a nipple. Faces were covered by breasts or buried in pubic hair. Legs were closing over a burrowing hand. A glistening wet penis would appear and plunge again into flesh. The ivory skin and the gypsy skin were tangled with the man's muscular body.

Then a strange thing happened. Bijou lay full length under the Basque. Viviane was abandoned for a moment. The Basque was crouching over this woman who bloomed under him like some hothouse flower, odorous, moist, with erotic eyes and wet lips, a full-blown woman, ripe and voluptuous; yet her rubber penis stood erect between them, and the Basque was overtaken with an odd feeling. The penis touched his own and defended the opening of the woman like a lance. He commanded almost angrily: "Take it off." She slid her hands under her back, unfastened the belt and pulled the rubber penis off. Then he threw himself on her, and she, still holding the penis, held it over the buttocks of the man who was now buried inside of her. When he raised himself to thump into her again, she pushed the rubber penis inside of his buttocks. He leaped like a wild animal and attacked her only more furiously. Each time he raised himself, he found himself attacked from behind. He felt the breasts of the woman crushed beneath him, rolling under his chest, her ivory-skinned belly heaving under his, her hips against his, her moist vagina engulfing him; and each time she plunged the penis into him, he felt not only his turmoil but hers as well. He thought the doubled sensation would drive him mad. Viviane lay there watching them, panting. The foreign man and woman, still clothed, had fallen over her and were rubbing against her frantically, too confused in wild sensations to seek an opening.

The Basque was sliding back and forth. The bed rocked as they rolled, clutching and folding, all curves filled, the machine of Bijou's voluptuous body yielding honey. Ripples extended from the roots of their hair to the tips of their toes. Their toes sought each other and intertwined. Their tongues projected like pistils. Bijou's cries now mounted in endless spirals, ah, ah, ah, ah, widening, expanding, becoming more savage. The Basque answered every cry with only a deeper plunge. They were oblivious to the twisted bodies near them; he must now possess her to annihilation—Bijou, this whore, with a thousand tentacles on his body, lying first under him and then over him, and seeming to be everywhere inside of him, her fingers everywhere, her breasts in his mouth.

She cried as if he had murdered her.

Read the entirety here


here are 2 short found-footage texts for porn writing day.

the friar

Sono un orso e mi piace vestirmi da frate, indossare una cintura di castità e farmi leccare sandali e piedi da uno schiavo per mooolto tempo; poi il gioco continua. . .

Non essendo molto esperto mi piacerebbe avere un "maestro" (padre superiore?) da cui apprendere nuove tecniche.

Top Bear who love to dress up like a Friar, to wear a chastity belt and to have someone who licks His sandals while locked in a chastity belt. Then the chastity belt is off and the game goes on...

the davinci code

we were having a lot of fun in bed as i admired your handsome looks and beautifl physique....i sucked your cock too and your dick was so excited and you came first....all over me....the we ended up having some really red hot steamy wanted to suck my dick and drink my cum...but you could see i still had much more to you raised your legs and i entered was hard at first....but soon i was inside....and in ym dream i remember you felt so nice and tight...i started gently and was soon deep inside felt like i was in heaven...and i could see your eyes sparkle and you urged me to go deeper and faster....i fucked you as hard as i could...and i was going really fast and it was so exciting as i exploded inside you and i filled you with my hot was a beautiful dream....and we were both very very happy....i would love you to come into my dreams any time...and i hope my dick and i appear in your dreams too....if you are happy....then i am happy!!

Jason Lingard


It was raining again, it seemed like it would rain forever. Most of the time it was fun living on a farm, there was so much to do– help with the farmwork, play with the animals, ride bikes, play soccer in the paddocks, build huts… but rainy days like that day were no fun.
    “Mum, I’m bored…”
    “Simon, I’m just gonna get you some lunch and you’ll have someone to play with soon when the babysitter gets here.”
    “Who?” I asked nervously “I don’t wanna new babysitter, I don’t even need one.” I was always wary of new people, nothing made me more nervous than meeting strangers for the first time. Mum always described me to her friends as ‘deathly shy’, I always found that phrase kind of strange, just so dramatic.
    “Oh yes you do! I’m not leaving a 12 year old at home alone.”
    “Whatever.” I replied flatly.
    “His name is Mark Williamson and his family have just moved onto the farm down the road. I met his Mum the other day and she mentioned he was looking for work… I offered that he could look after you sometimes for extra money. ”
    “Oh” I replied flatly.
    “Look I’m sure he’s a nice boy, not too much older than you, he’s 16. I’m sure you’ll have fun playing Masters of the Universe or Lego or something.”
    “Will he even like Masters of the Universe?”
    “Sure he will! Every boy loves Masters of the Universe.” She smiled. A blue car raced down the gravel driveway. I ran to the window in my room and peered carefully through the net curtains as to not make it obvious I was looking. A woman got out of the car, she was younger than my Mum, not prettier but probably the same– just younger. Next a boy, who I guessed was Mark , hopped out of the passenger seat. Oh boy, he seemed so sure of himself the way he bounded down our path looking around, no matter that it was raining, he didn’t care. Not only was he older, but he was taller and far more athletic and tan than me. I didn’t spend nearly as much time outdoors as other boys my age did, and I was fair and skinny to prove that. I crept up behind my Mother as she beckoned for them to come in. Seeing Mark up-close he was really handsome, tall like I had noticed before with dark brown hair and matching dark brown eyes. He wore pale blue jeans and a thin white Reebok t-shirt, which was patchy with rain and sticking to his chest and stomach.
    “Lorraine I can’t stay I’m running late already for my appointment…”
    “That’s fine, you just get going” Mum smiled, “actually I’ll come with you I have to go out on the farm now anyway. I’ve got some lunch ready for the boys, and afterwards Simon and Mark can play until I get back.”
    “Nice to meet you Simon, don’t let Mark boss you around too much.”
    I didn’t answer.
    “Hey little Simon, you ready to have some fun?” Mark smiled at me.
    “Ahh, yup I guess so.” I said quietly.
    “OK then” Mark’s Mum interrupted, “us girls will get out of here and leave you to it.”
    “You be good Simon, do what you’re told.” The same thing she always says, even though Mum knows that I’m always well-behaved.
    “Bye” Me and Mark said in unison as they went out the door. After getting wet in the rain Mark was drying off in the bathroom. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, for some reason I found him completely fascinating. I went down the hall to the bathroom where the door was slightly ajar. I tip-toed closer so I could see in, and there
he was drying his hair with a towel. He finished and then let the towel drop to the floor.
    “You can borrow a tshirt if you need one.” I stood in the doorway.
    “Oh hey buddy…” Mark looked at my reflection in the mirror, a bit surprised.
    “Umm, I mean if yours is too wet.” I suddenly felt embarrassed for intruding.
    “Yeah that’d be great.”
    “OK, cool I hope I have something that’s good enough for you. I’ve got a new Billabong one that’s really cool. I got it for Christmas from my Nana. It’s green…” I trailed off realising I was babbling. Mark suddenly peeled off his shirt. I looked down in embarrassment. God what was wrong with me? I was so nervous and felt so funny. The blood drained from my face as I realised that I had an erection. I just stood there my penis obviously hard under my flimsy basketball shorts. He took a step toward me, I thought maybe he was going to leave the room or at least ask me to leave. But instead he started rubbing my cock through my basketball shorts. I had never felt a guys hand on my groin, it had me harder than I could have imagined.
    “Is this what you want?” he asked.I opened my mouth to answer, but all I could do was shake my head yes in response. Still grinning from ear to ear he peeled off my tshirt. He was so close to me, I could feel his body heat and I could smell his slight underarm scent.
    “God you’re beautiful.” He whispered.
    I couldn’t believe what was happening, I was totally helpless as I stood there not moving.
    I was still in a bit of a shock. With a smile he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down his boxers. His cock was out and cupped in his hands. It was tan and smooth like the rest of him and he had very little pubic hair. He had such a nice penis, he had no foreskin and the head was dark too, not purple like mine. It was also a lot thicker and bigger. He took my hand in his and placed it on his dick. It was the most amazing feeling having another man’s dick in my hand. As I stroked it, a little bit of liquid oozed from the tip. I could smell it, I knew it was like when I masturbated, but I had never fully came like boys at school talked about. I boldly took some of his pre-cum on my finger and put it to my lips. It was salty. Stroking his dick felt so good and he was getting so much pleasure from it, but I wanted to know more. I wanted to taste it, and he was definitely leading me to do that. Before I could back out he forced me onto my knees, I closed my eyes and opened my mouth. He guided his cock between my lips. I could feel every inch of it sliding into my throat. It was quite big, and I had to struggle a bit to contain it all, I could feel the mushroom shaped head hit the back of my throat causing me to gag and choke a little. It took me a second to get adjusted, but once I did I closed my mouth on it, wrapping my lips tightly around the base of his cock. With my tongue I felt up and down his shaft. I started sucking on him, and licking it from root to tip, it was just automatic like I was possessed. His moans grew louder in approval, so I kept sucking. He ran his fingers through my hair and grabbed my hair roughly and forced my head down harder onto his cock. His thrusts came at me faster, I gagged a couple of times, he didn’t care, he just kept pounding into my mouth. Before I realised what was happening, he let out a loud moan.
    “Fuck, fuck, fuck…yeah” and his thrusts nearly stopped, then I felt this rush of hot liquid flood my mouth. Every time he thrust into me he unloaded another mouthful of cum. I had no idea what to do so I just swallowed, every last drop of it. I didn’t even notice the taste I was so turned on. When he had finished exploding in my mouth he pulled out, his dick still very hard. He pulled me up and kissed me really hard, his tongue exploring my mouth. I always wondered what it would be like to kiss another boy, I never imagined it would be like this. As we kissed his hands explored my body, stripping me of what clothes I had on. It wasn’t much longer before I was completely naked, my dick was hard and rubbed against his still erect cock.
    “God you are so sexy, so innocent.” He muttered. “I can totally keep going.”
    I pressed my body to his, wrapping my arms around him as we kissed. Pulling away he roughly directed me to the shower and pushed me inside. The cool water felt so good against my burning skin. He soaped our hands and we explored each other’s bodies. His nipples were quite dark, his chest was really toned and stomach flat and hard. I worked my way down his stomach, to the base of his cock, which was still very hard. He suddenly whipped my hands away. He flipped me around and pushed my face against the glass. He reached around and started stroking my cock, with his other hand he lathered up my balls and massaged and squeezed them. He started quickly rubbing his soapy fingers against my asshole while he kept wanking my cock. Oh man his fingers felt so good against my hole, just teasing slightly, his fingertips going into the entrance quickly and then pulling out. It sent electric shocks through my body. Mark got down on his knees. I kept my face and hands against the glass, my ass sticking out, water rushing down my back. I was convinced I was paralysed. He spread my ass cheeks apart and started poking his index finger in and out of my hole quickly. He slowly forced it in deep, then another one until two fingers were inside me. I could feel my ass was very tight around his fingers, the stretching hurt but that was overcome by the immense pleasure. He fingered me hard and deep with two fingers as I cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain. He curled and flexed his fingers upwards to feeling around the inside of my ass. He put his hands around my waist, now I could feel his cock against my asshole. He kissed my neck as his hands travelled up and down the side of my body then stopped on my hips. I could feel the head of his cock pressing hard against my hole, seeking a way in, I knew I was very tight. He pulled my hips backwards and guided my ass down onto him. His cock slipped in. He pulled my hips back harder until his big cock was all the way in. I also pushed back into him, opening myself up to him. It was almost unbearable as he forced his thick cock in and out of me. I turned my face sideways towards his, and his tongue licked frantically at mine. Loosening up for him, I allowed him to enter more of me.
    When he was totally inside it took me a minute to get adjusted, I had another man’s cock inside of me, it was something I couldn’t get a hold of in my mind. He had total control over me. I had a firm grasp on him with my ass and there was no feeling like him sliding in and out of me. Suddenly he pulled out. He reached out of the shower as I watched paralysed and confused. He grabbed a plastic mop and violently snapped off the mop end so he was left with a long pole. He turned off the shower and pulled me out, pushing me down on to all fours. I had no idea what was happening, but was still turned on. Suddenly he forced the rounded end of the handle into my ass. It was colder and harder than his cock, and pushed a lot deeper. It hurt at first, but he moved it around and around like he was churning the inside of my ass. I could feel my ass ring stretching and giving into his forcing. After about five minutes of fucking me with the pole he discarded it and then pushed me down, pinning me to the ground. My face was squashed against the cold, wet tiles as he pushed has hands on my back. He slipped his cock back into my gaping hole, not being gentle at all. He rammed it in and out quickly, his body slapping against my ass cheeks. It wasn’t long before I was begging him to go harder and faster. He pounded into me, jack-hammering that big cock of his into my tight ass with uncontrollable force. It was an indescribable feeling that overtook my whole body. Before I knew it, my body was shaking and I was whimpering as wave after wave of sticky cum shot out of me onto the tiles.
    As I shot my last drop of cum, his fingernails clawed into my ass cheeks and I could feel his cock throbbing as he shot his load. My insides were flooded with his warm liquid. While cumming he slipped his cock out, wanking it in one hand and fingering my wet, sticky asshole with the other. Cum was dripping out of my ass running down my legs, as he shot more of his load over my cheeks. We collapsed together on the floor. He held me tightly from behind. Neither of us cared that the floor was hard and cold.
    “Have I been good?” I whispered after a long silence.
    “So good.” He whispered back in my ear. “You’re been a very good boy.”


This is from a story called ‘Tripping’, published in ‘Eros Ex Machina’, edited by M. Christian (the anthology also includes a very cool story by Kevin Killian). I was daft for JG Ballard’s ‘Crash’. at the time and fascinated by America’s love-affair with the automobile, so ‘Tripping’ is a sort of porn-y take on the idea of being turned on by things car-ish.

In the security lights' blind-spot, Mac stood up and scanned the recent-arrivals' area, searching for the caved-in roof of a Peugot 260.
    And found it. The metal skeleton had been crumpled further by the wreckers' claws. Mac hoped the inside would be intact.
    He laughed aloud.
    The dogs barked once, then fell silent.
    His own detachment surprised him. Two years ago he'd been unable to pass a parking-lot without getting hard. These days, he was driving one of the things, ten times a week, no sweat...
    ...once a tripper, always a tripper?
    Oily mud squelched under his feet. He walked over to the vehicle. The engine had been removed - Mac knew that. But if his instinct was right, there was life inside. He stuck his head though a jagged space, groping in the darkness. Fingers contacted with metal.
    Cold metal.
    Cold, hard metal.
    The denuded hand-brake was at an almost ninety-degree angle. Mac's balls tightened as he fumbled towards the shattered dashboard.
    Dry. Crystaline. He raised shaking fingers to his lips and tasted...
    ...saltiness. Not blood-saltiness, though he could smell there was plenty of that around. Another more intimate, equally vital body-fluid.
    Mac's guts turned over. Licking dried spunk from his fingers, he closed his eyes.
    Skinned metal rubbed his thigh.
    His cock started to stretch inside his pants. Mac groaned, leaning back further. He inhaled the smell of two spent life-forces.
    One drilled from deep in the ground.
    The other fucked from deep in a man's balls.
    Before he knew what he was doing, his pants were down and cold metal was pressing against his hole. Mac gripped the edge of the roof-frame and began to gyrate. His fingers slipped a couple of times as he circled the hand-brake, teasing himself. Re-adjusting his hold, he swung back, raising his legs and planting his feet on the dashboard. Crushed safety-glass crunched under his boots. He hung there, suspended, then began to bear down.
    His thighs spasmed uncontrollably. Mac stared through the shattered windscreen into darkness as the hand-brake pushed past his sphincter.
    He hovered there, the first inch of hard, solid steel inside his ass. Mac savoured the invasion, the way the muscle clenched around the cold shaft. He could feel the bevelled finger-indentations, feel his sphincter tighten around the first...
    ...then second..third... the fourth finger-grip, Mac's right hand released the roof-frame and grabbed his cock.
    He was out of condition. The muscles in his left arm screamed as he used his feet to lever himself back up the hand-brake...
    ...then down again. He closed his eyes, inhaling the freeway smell of blood and gas and sweat and spunk. Mac fucked himself harder and faster, jacking his cock as the steel shaft buried and reburied itself in his ass.
    The car moved beneath him, grating and grinding. Mac blinked back another saltiness as the pain in his left arm became almost unbearable. His cock was agony, his balls knitting together...
    ...he howled when he came, splattering the dashboard with another layer of milky liquid. And the wreckers' dogs howled with him.

land of the bat

    An old dude--he was maybe 65--once asked me if I’d like to have lunch with him. It was a sunny day and I was too hot from walking. I took his offer because he was paying attention to me, telling me I was special. We ate at a café up the coast. He watched me as I ate a salmon sandwich. I loved him watching me. He snuck me two glasses of wine and I let him watch me drink those, too. After lunch, we walked out to his car. It started raining. He asked me to jerk off for him so I did. He just sat there, the windshield wipers squeaking across the windshield, as I unzipped my pants and got hard.

    When I came, he looked happy, like my coming was a miracle, like it was special. I remember I could smell my balls, that I needed a shower bad. I got out of his car after that and walked on the beach in the rain. I felt so good about myself for the first time in forever.

(This is a very short excerpt from an unpublished novel I'm writing called Scrappy Soldier.)


I have always loved porn, but it never seems to fit in my writing, as much as I'd like it to do some tricks for me.

Porn, for me, is image-bound. Meaning, I don't want to read something that conjures an image that then might excite me. I've written about sex, but with a degree of separation that prevents it from being what it should. I guess I'm blaming that on my father's Penthouse Forums and the faggot equivalents I managed to buy. I always liked the pix better. I'd rather see Danny Sommers bend and "grit" than I would read about it.

Therefore, this is Cooper's most challenging day for me.

I was feeding on my boyfriend's stupidly hung wang, and then letting him pretty much chew my asshole off, then fuck me, when I was thinking "so how do I represent this?" It was great. It was a sperm throwing contest. I think I came three times before he even started to plow.

I took to the challenge Weavie gave me: get on that thing now or just take a fucking bus home.

That was pleasant, but my head went compute-compute-compute. I managed to come in his nostrils (still sneezing three days later), but I wasn't getting words from it.

Words: grab me under my balls and give yourself a little whap with my cock; whap me more with yours, it has the smell of the only sort of syrup I'd eat, so at least try; everything inside of my ass has been conspicuously removed by me, so at least try to suffocate for effect's sake; when you fit that in and ignore me enough to ram a little, think I'm whoever you need to. Right now, I'm thinking you're Hot Older Man Big Dick I've Known For Two Decades. Right now, you're thinking, shut the fuck up, you whiny bottom, and let my I- know- it's- bigger- than- your- grimace do you properly in. All they think is "in." Ok, go in.



p.s. Hey. So, I was looking through the blog's past the other day for whatever reason, and I found this post, and I realized that it hasn't been findable or viewable for years due to technical reasons, and so I decided to restate it and give it a weekend because it's giant. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben. Yeah, I was trying to find the Kafka in that fountain too. Maybe the revolving penises? I don't know why that seems Kafka-esque to me. Oh, good, I'll snuggle up with some Cheetos or something and watch the sugar-coated shitstorm tonight. Yay! New Art101 news would be awesome, obviously. And thanks much for the Prurient/Bennett link. Very interesting combo. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. Yeah, that fountain is so fabulous that I decided that if I included it, the others would be dwarfed. ** Sypha, Hi, James. Oh, good one: Anger = fountain. ** Tosh Berman, Hi, Tosh. Yeah, I love that Los Feliz fountain and park too. When I was in LA briefly a bit back, I got to see the upgrade. It was really nice. Agreed about the St. Michel fountain. A big fave. Oh, btw, your wonderful 'report' on the Stones show at the Fonda had me going and my jaw on my upper chest for quite a few paragraphs. When you said they did 'We Love You', my favorite Stones song, I did a seat hop. But right about then is also when I went, 'Wait a minute'. Anyway, that was a brilliant and very seductive thing you did right there. ** Steevee, Hi. Ugh, that is a pile up of ugh. I'm glad you had a little breakthrough before the day was over. Brooding, yeah, horrible. I have a tendency to do that too. My stress gets manifested that way if I don't catch and try to curtail it. Brooding is badly addictive. Anyway, here's to sudden and rapidly increasing appreciation of you by the editorial powers that be. ** Kier, Hi, Kinkier. Wow, that one's strange. Thanks. They'e small and nasty: finger cramps. I guess they must be pretty rare, thankfully. Waiting sucks, it's not just you. I'll take bug hugs as long as they're not from mosquitoes. I'm so in the mood for pancakes that even a tasteless one made me go 'yum'. That's sad. 'Food-wreck': that's really nice. I don't even completely understand what it means, which makes it even more exciting, of course. There aren't horse toys? Weird. We should invent one. My day: First the funeral. It was, you know, disorienting and sad. There were a ton of people there, including a lot of French literati, and that was good, I guess, even if, you know, he'll never know. Anyway, that happened. Then I worked. Then I met up with Zac and went over the current draft of our next film script with him. He made a bunch of extremely great suggestions and stuff, so now I'm doing a revision. Guys had been here very noisily redoing the space in the building below my apartment ever since I moved in, and they finally finished yesterday. I peeked in. I don't know what it is. Not an apartment, for sure. It faces onto the courtyard where you enter the building, and I think it might be a fashion showroom. It's very swank. And I also think that because there was a celebration party for the finishing in the courtyard last night, it was just nothing but beautiful, incredibly long-legged model-looking boys and girls. So I watched that and worked a little and slept. How did your weekend pan out, my dear pal? ** Rewritedept, Whoa, hi there, man! I haven't seen you in ages. Ah, still with spotty computer access, gotcha. Thanks for sending me an email. I'll find it. As you undoubtedly know, I am complete shit at email correspondence, so I'll try to catch up that way, but don't expect anything. Lots of home changes. That sounds okay. A blog day? Wait, a two-parter? Cool, thank you so much! I'm in sore need of guest-posts, and I'm sure it/they are great. Penciled in, okay, sure. Love and hugs right back. ** Thomas Moronic, Thanks, T! Shit, no, I spaced and didn't get the O'Rourke as planned. Hold on. I just reminded myself to do that today the old fashioned way with pen and paper. ** Cal Graves, Hey, Cal. Being unable to keep a tight schedule can be one of the signs of a superb mind. Yeah, now that I'm over here in the right time zone, it's easier to watch Eurovision since it's basically live minus an hour or something. I started your thing, but I'm not finished yet because I had that funeral and internal weirdness due to it and some film stuff that came up. But I will finish over the weekend. I love it so far! Snakes, interesting. Yeah, they're cool, for sure. I don't like zoos either, but I'm like you. There's this famous zoo here in Paris that just got restored and updated after being closed for 20 years or something, and you reminded me that I want to go check it out. No, I wouldn't be in an alien's zoo unless I had no choice, and, I suppose, aliens being aliens, I wouldn't. I'd probably go look at it, though. Maybe even frequently. Oh, guest-post, thank you! Vape-ly, Dennis. (I"m not into vaping, by the way. I do like the word, though. Or I used to. That 'vape-ly' is retroactive). ** Right. I intro'd the post up above. See what you think about all the dirty words provided to the blog years ago by frequenters of the blog both long since departed and still here. See you on Monday.