The Bone Pleasure Palace

Constructed during the reign of King Zarn, the Bone Pleasure Palace was designed to house his two thousand and two bed slaves. The King decided that he wanted the bones of a Space Leviathan to build his den of decandece. It took seven ships of the Royal Space Navy, three of which were destroyed, to kill a Leviathan and harvest the bones. A small brick with the names of the lost ships was added to the construction as a memorial.

For many decades, King Zarn housed his favorite slaves here. The King was a fickle man and would often replace slaves that displeased him with new slaves. Slaves he no longer fancied were killed and their bones were used to interior decorating. Sometimes out of cruelty, King Zarn would hold contests where he would have his pleasure slaves fight each other and the losers were slain.

Although the bones of the Space Leviathan are responsible for the walls, floors, foundation, ceilings and domes, it is estimated that the bones of slaves make up 40% of the palace.

When King Zarn passed away, his successor, Queen Erishella came to the Bone Palace. She presented the slaves with a choice. They could either be freed, or they could join her service as her personal guard.

All of the two thousand and two pleasure slaves signed on as her personal guard. Forced to endure depraved sexual demands and endless cruelty, they were eager for the chance to inflict some themselves.

Clad in red leather that clung to every sensuous curve, the pleasure slaves were given the name of the Queen’s Whips. Each one wears a black mask that covers their faces except for their blood red lips. Their hair is bound into ponytails as befitting executioners of the Queen’s will.

The Queen’s Whips operate as the Queen’s personal touch. Sometimes the Queen’s Whips will descend on a factory that is lagging behind in production and inspire the workers with ruthless punishment. On rare occasions, the Queen’s Whips will administer mind blowing sexual acts for those special subjects who earn the Queen’s approval. They can be both harsh and sensual as their Queen desires.

The Bone Pleasure Palace still serves as their headquarters. Instead of the bones of failed slaves, they now decorate their home with the bones of the Queen’s enemies. It also serves as their training ground for new members. The Queen’s Whips only accept the most beautiful women into training, but they only keep those who display equal amounts of viciousness and sexual prowess.

Tours are available to the public every six days.

--Euphorian Gazetteer

Fiction: The Island Princess and the Mean Old Crab

One upon a time there was a beautiful island. It was always summer time except for the occasional days where the other seasons would have a turn. The world’s tastiest chocolate came from this island and every grandmother had their own special recipe for chocolate cake. The Island had universal health insurance as well as a comprehensive system of handling garbage to manage pollution. It was the greatest island ever.

This fabulous island was home to the even more fabulous Island Princess. She had a singing voice sweeter than any songbird. She had long thick hair dark that never became tangled no matter how hard the wind blew. Her legs were sleeker than a dolphin’s stomach and her hips were as round as coconuts. Upon her chest sat the two most perfect breasts in the entire world. Large, round and dark from the sun, the Island Princess’s tits made fertility goddesses jealous. She was the most beautiful Island Princess ever.

Now the Island Princess lived a care free life of spending her allowance and frolicking on the beaches of the island. The Island King insisted that she wear a modest swimsuit to cover her beauty but the Island Princess rebelled against that rule. She would often loosely tie her swimsuit around her curvy body and then go dive in the water. Her swimsuit would come loose and the Island Princess wouldn’t care. Besides, she liked how the other islanders would gasp and suffer heart attacks from the sight of her naked wet body.

One day the Island Princess was swimming on the beach. Once again, her swimsuit had come loose and the Island Princess was enjoying the warm water all over her body. She would occasionally spring out of the water and shout as loud as she could. A fisherman would see her and fall into the water from the resulting stroke. The Island Princess would giggle as his fellow fishermen would dive in to rescue him. It was a wonderful day.

The Island Princess swam in the water until she felt something against her foot. It was hard and pointy against her soft skin. She dived under the water to investigate.

It was an old red crab. It was as big as her foot and it was covered with barnacles and dents from many years under the sea. It brushed against the Island princess’s foot and the Island Princess didn’t like that at all.

She picked up a seashell and threw it against the crab.

“Go away!” she yelled. Because of the power of the Island Princess’s lungs, she was very clearly heard underwater. “This is my beach!”

The seashell bounced off the old crab. Quick as a shark, it spun around and scuttled towards the Island princess. It reached forward with its big sharp claws.

SNAP-SNAP!

The mean crab grabbed each of the Island Princess’s nipples in its pincers! The crab clamped down tightly around her sensitive flesh. It was the bite of a hundred lovers all at once.

“Ow!” the Island Princess yelled. She swam for the surface and broke through the water with a huge splash. A nearby fisherman was struck blind by her divine body.

“Get off me, you mean old crab!” the Island Princess yelled. She grabbed the crab and tried to pull him off her tits. The crab held on tight and the Island princess’s tits were stretched forward as she pulled. The pain became too much and she let go of the crab. The crab dangled from her tits and held onto her nipples.

“Ow, ow, ow!” the Island Princess yelled. She swam back to shore as fast as possible. Each stroke of her body made the crab bounce from her chest. Her pour nipples were stinging from the sore abuse.

The Island Princess climbed onto shore. “Somebody help me, damn it!” she yelled.

Unfortunately for the Island Princess, the other islanders were running away as fast as they could. Seeing the Island Princess naked might be harmful to one’s cardiovascular system, but being seen looking at the naked Island Princess in public was bad for one’s citizenship on the island if the Island King found out. He could be a quite unreasonable father and the ocean was filled with the leaky boats of exiles that saw what they shouldn’t have.

The Island Princess stood on the beach alone. Water dripped from her naked body. The crab dangled from her poor sensitive breasts. Her tender nipples ached with a fierce pain. She just had to get it off of her!

“I am going to dance you off!” the Island Princess told the mean old crab.

The Island Princess shook her hips as fast as she could. The faster that she shook her hips, the faster her breasts swayed. The crab bounced left to right and right to left as it held on. Her long hair flew around her face and never became tangled. The island Princess danced as fast and as hard as she could but she couldn’t shake the crab from her poor sore nipples.

Some if the Islanders came back to watch. They stayed a safe distance away to avoid any bouts of cardiac arrest. The Island Princess impressed them all with her wonderful dancing.

After an hour of dancing, the island Princess collapsed to the sand.

“I hate you, you mean old crab!” The Island Princess yelled.

The crab tightened its hold on her nipples. The pain increased but something else happened too. Strange sensations ran through the Island Princess’s body. Her breasts tingled and her sex clenched with unexpected heat.

“That wasn’t so bad,” the Island Princess said.

The crab said nothing.

The Island Princess reached between her legs. She moaned as soon as she touched her sex. She knew her nipples were sensitive from being clamped, but she had no idea why her sex would be twice as sensitive. The Island Princess didn’t care. She just knew it felt good.

All alone on the beach, the Island Princess laid back in the sand. The crab settled on her smooth stomach. With her nipples still clamped, the Island Princess touched her sex. The wonderful sensations between her legs flowed all through her body. It didn’t make the pain in her nipples go away, but it was a nice distraction.

She stroked and stroked as the waves crashed on the beach. The more the Island Princess enjoyed herself, the more her beautiful body writhed in the sand. The crab tightened his claws to hold on to the Island Princess’s shifting body. The increased pain in her already abused nipples made the Island princess stroke faster. It was a vicious sexy cycle.

Just when the Island princess thought her breasts couldn’t take any more, she stroked herself to a climax. She screamed her pleasure and it echoed all through out the island.

The Island Princess was exhausted. Her fingers were sticky and the crab was still there. The afterglow mellowed the island Princess a bit and she looked at the crab. Too tired to be demanding, she tried a different tactic.

“Oh please, crab,” the Island Princess begged. “If you don’t mind too terribly much, could you please get off me now?”

To the Island Princess’s surprise, the crab released her nipples! The crab scrambled off her body and returned to the ocean.

Now the reason the mean old crab let go of the Island Princess was because she asked it nicely. This was an important lesson for the Island Princess but unfortunately for her, once the pressure on her nipples was released, this allowed the blood to flow back to her nipples. This caused a new wave of tender pain to bloom from her heavy breasts. The Island Princess grabbed her poor nipples and screamed her tantrum on the beach. She forgot all about why the crab let her go.

She did learn a lot about proper circulation in nipple play.

As for the people of the Island, the lesson they learned was that if you really want to be a good dancer, you need the right motivation. Island dancers now carry a crab and at every competition, dancers go topless with crabs hanging from their tits. Everyone agrees that this is awesome.

That is why the Island has the best dancers in the world. They also have the best crab cakes in the world, but you can only get them after the dancing season.

Pirate Porn

This weekend I started a new project. I want to make a book of short stories in which each story deals with a different crew member on board a co-ed pirate ship from the mid 1600's. The stories will be stand alone but they will involve characters from other stories. I am not sure if there will be a single story arc that all the stories will touch upon.

I have been writing about pirates for years. I am also a pretty big pirate buff when it comes to reading about the historical facts that we know about pirates. The two do not always compliment each other. Although there were female pirates in history, the idea of an entire crew of female pirates is far fetched. The idea of a co-ed crew is down right mythical. There is no basis in reality for what I am planning.

Which is okay. Pirate fiction has been giving a big middle finger to pirate history for ages starting with 'Treasure Island'. There has never been real buried pirate treasure but do you want to live in a world where it didn't exist as a tantalizing possibility? No pirate was as interesting as Jack Sparrow but shit, don't you wish all pirates were?

Really, where would porn be without busty sexy pirate chicks?

Erotica is about the imagination. It is about what our libidos wish could happen. I plan to have a crew that fucks each other when they are not fucking over a Spanish Galleon. Their Captain will be called Cannonball Karen because her tits are as big as cannonballs. There will be bdsm sex, rough sex, maybe a romance or two and at least one captured damsel. There will be good oral sex despite the hygiene issues of the day.

Porn gets a bad reputation for being unbelievable. I think this is because we lump all sex stories in the same category. I think we need a name for erotica that could possibly happen to you, and another name for porn that is too awesome to happen in real life but it still doesn't prevent us from longing for it.

We could call it pirate porn.

*Picture by the awesome Joe Pekar*

Fiction: Ice Cream Truck

I couldn't remember the last time I saw an ice cream truck. Was I seven? I thought they had gone out of style but yet here one is. It pulled into my apartment complex with that incredibly annoying calliope music. It slowly prowled through the parking lot looking for customers.

No kids went out. It was too fucking hot. I work from home and even then I don't check the mail till the sun sets. I felt a twinge of pity for the ice cream truck. The economy was rough and today's lazy ass videogame playing kids weren't going to go outside for a snow cone. I figured I would buy an ice cream sandwich out of pity.

I went down to the parking lot and the ice cream truck stopped for me. I was surprised to see a woman driving. I guess in today’s Law and Order :Underage Rape Squad world, parents feel that safer sending their kids to a woman rather than a man.

I know I did. She was a cute young woman with skin the color of caramel. She had her black hair pulled under some sort of cap. The blue uniform she wore was pretty bad but even its bad design couldn’t hide the curves of her body.

“Hey there,” she said. She leaned out the driver’s side window. Her name tag said ‘Elsa’.

“What do you have?” I asked.

“We have cones, push-ups, milkshakes, ice cream sandwiches and blowjobs.” Elsa smiled when she said it.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “What was that last one? I think I misheard you.”

“I said blowjobs.” Elsa pointed at her mouth for emphasis. “Forty dollars and I suck your cock. You have to wear a condom.”

This was sounding more unreal by the minute. “Is this some sort of sting operation? Are you a cop?”

“No, but I am a C-cup,” Elsa said.

It took a moment for me to process all of this. “Is the ice cream truck just some sort of cover?”

Elsa shook her head. “Economy is shit, you know?”

I did know. So was having to work from your home because your company had cut backs. Know what else is shit? Not having any real medical benefits. The economy was in the toilet and the summer was so fucking hot that my electric bill was almost criminal. I was tired of my miniature financial crisis.

“I deserve a blowjob!” I said.

“Good for you,” Elsa said. “Climb in the back door.”

I walked around the back of the ice cream truck. Elsa opened the door for me and I stepped in. The nice cool air inside the truck was a welcome relief from the humid baking heat outside.

Elsa got down on her knees. She unbuttoned her shirt. Lovely brown breasts made their appearance. I reached down and cupped one. It was wonderfully soft.

“Cash first,” Elsa said.

“Of course,” I said. I took out my wallet and took out the forty dollars. Shit, I didn’t need to order out for lunch this week after all.

My money in her hand, Elsa took out a condom and unwrapped it. “Blowjobs are easier if your cock is out.”

“Oh, right,” I said. I shook my head. I was acting like a virgin. To be fair, I have never been blown in the back of an ice cream truck before.

My cock came out and Elsa sheathed it in latex. She did it so fast that I realized that she must have had a lot of practice. It made me wonder how many other guys were at home during the day. Hell, it made me wonder if she even sold ice cream at this point.

“Nice and hard,” she said. She stroked my cock as she licked her lips. “I love it when a customer knows what he wants.”

I was going to respond but she took me into her mouth. Whatever clever comeback I had dissolved when I felt her mouth. The inside of the truck was chilly but inside her mouth was like the sun.

She took the head of my cock and kept going. I watched in wonder as she slid further down my cock. Elsa took all of me, swallowing my cock until her chin was resting on my balls. My cock throbbed like crazy down her throat.

I leaned back against a freezer. The cold plastic chilled my ass but her hot breathe kept me warm. I gripped her shoulders for support as my knees buckled.

Elsa moved her head. Slowly and carefully, she pulled back and forth while her lips sucked me like, well like a fucking popsicle. Look, what do you want from me? I was in an ice cream truck and this sexy woman was sucking me just like I was a delicious treat. That was fucking hot.

Which explains why I came so fast. I mean, I don’t normally pop in two minutes, you know? I tried to hold back, I really did but I had no self control. She looked up at me and I saw my cock in between this dark lips and down below the mountains of her breasts were swaying back and forth. Shit, I’m lucky I lasted that long.

I climaxed and Elsa kept sucking. Yeah I know I had a condom on but it was the thought that counted. She kept sucking until my cock went soft and then she opened her lips.

When she buttoned her shirt back up, it was like watching a sunset. You just want it to last forever but eventually it goes away.

“Thank you very much for your business,” Elsa said.

I zipped up my pants. “Thanks for um, your excellent selection.”

“I’ll be back next week,” Elsa said.

“I’ll see you,” I said. What do you say to the woman who has just blown you?

“Hey wait,” she said.

I stopped by the van door. Was I supposed to tip her?

“You forgot your ice cream sandwich.”

A Small Respite

This weekend I finished the first draft of Pusse' and Cox. I still have some rewriting to do as well as seriously make one of the characters more interesting, but all of the chapters are there. It is an incredible feeling. I feel like the first day of summer vacation. I am a free man.

Which means I am free to go right into another novel. I can finally start my Violatrix book. The high concept is BDSM Star Trek. I had already worked out the crew but since I lost the notebook with all of my notes, I will need to start all over. Oh well. Time to get cracking.

When I write a novel I try to to surround myself with things that keep me inspired in the genre in which I am working. For Pusse' and Cox, I had wallpaper from Actiongirls.com so I would always have a fresh blonde with a gun on my desktop. My writing music was the House of the Dead: Overkill soundtrack, the Planet Terror Soundtrack and everything by Electric Six. I watched any halfway interesting action movie on Netflix and Demand. I have been soaking in high octane action and a change will be nice.

For the Violatrix, I will most likely be loading up on science fiction and bondage. If I can get both then that would be a double win. I find the immersion important for when work stress, sick pets and bad moods threaten to choke out my creativity, sometimes seeing a naked breast in the right context can keep the writing flowing.

Today though, I am going to sit on my ass and enjoy my novel free day.

What I Learned From the Movie, Predators.

#1 You really can't beat a beginning that starts in the middle of action. The movie opens with Adrian Brody falling from the sky and waking up. He activates the weird parachute device just in time to hit the ground at a hard thud. He groans, and then we cut to the movie title. Bam, things are already happening.

#2 Alien hunters from another universe not only know human nature well enough to kidnap soldiers, but also killers on waiting execution on Death Row. Makes me wonder if there is a subclass of aliens who does surveillance and bureaucracy. There should be a spin off movie called "Accountants" and they are aliens who invade earth just to find how who the good kills are for the Predators.

#3 Danny Trejo makes any movie better.

#4 Even bloodthirsty aliens from another world are racists.

#5 Even godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere has it's own castaway survivor and his pet volleyball.

#6 Robert Rodriguez once again proves that you can make any movie better if you treat every character, no matter how minor, as if they were super important characters in their own personal stories that just happening to be crossing over with this movie.

It is the one rule that I can not stress enough. If you are writing porn, if you are writing horror and even if you are writing a romance novel, you can make every character interesting and if you do, the quality of your story escalates. It takes work but it makes your fictional world come to life.

As for the movie itself, I liked it. Every time I thought I had things figured out, they would change things up and I appreciate that. Easily the best movie in the franchise since Predators 2.

Mystery of Nancy Drew

Girl Sleuth: Nancy Drew and the Women Who Created Her by Melanie Rehak is that rare lovely book about writers that just inspire you to write. I was in a Seattle bookstore with several hours to kill and I picked this book up and came close to reading it in one setting. It was just that compelling.

This book chronicles the histories of the women who had the most to do with the writing of the Nancy Drew novels as best as we can determine it. The identity of the writers was a trade secret by the well meaning though sometimes naive owners of the character. It is a fascinating story about the woman who was almost the real life Nancy Drew, Mildred A. Wirt, and the woman who wanted Nancy Drew to be the perfect girl no one could possibly be, Harriet Stratemeyer. Although the two did not always get along, they both contributed a huge amount to such a beloved character.

The book is about Nancy Drew but really it is the story of two women around the turn of the century. One woman was a tomboy who became a swimmer, a writer, a reporter and finally a pilot who produced a ton of work. The other woman inherited her father's pulp empire and managed to keep it running in a time when kids were not reading. I am stunned this has not been made in a winter chick movie already.

I was most touched by stories of Mildred A. Wirt's work habits. She would often send in manuscripts and mention in passing that she wrote the entire novel while going through some terrible tragedy. The owners of Nancy had no idea what Mildred was going through till after the fact, but the lady was always on time. The next time I don't feel like posting a one page blog post, I remember Mildred typing at her husband's death bed so Nancy can figure out the mystery of the mysterious Mcguffin.

What did amuse me endlessly is that Edward Stratemeyer, the creator of the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, created a subcontracting system. He wrote outlines and sent them to writers to make the novels. Then Edward would give feedback and notes so that the writers wrote more to his style. He was teaching people how to write like him, and considering how successful he was, it wasn't a bad thing. It does make me a little jealous though. I wish I could hire someone to write more Librarian stories. I'd love to read more instead of waiting on my slow ass.

If you are a fan of Nancy Drew, you'll love it. If you are a fan of writing, you'll love it. If you are a fan of incredible women doing the impossible, you'll love it. It is just a great book.

Fiction: Summer Song

I brought my guitar to work. Mom knew what it was for but she didn’t say anything. She just looked out the window and watched the waves crash. I am sure she thought of the men she knew before she met my father.

The lunch shift had to be taken care of first. My parents own the restaurant but where I love to work is the kitchen. Surrounded by frying grease and flour I can focus on my work. If I saw the customers, with their swimsuits and sun bleached hair, I would get nothing done.

After the lunch rush, my mom lets me go. Smelling of hush puppies and fried flounder, I head to the beach. The wind is loud but the waves are louder. It is almost impossible to be heard here. That’s okay. The Summer Song is felt, not heard.

I sit on the beach and take out my guitar. My toes dig into the hot sand. Men and women walk by, their eyes hidden by their sunglasses.

I start to play. I sing but I never remember the words. The song is handed down from generation to generation in my family but there are no lyrics to memorize. The tune changes as well. What is handed down is the longing.

I sing about lack of responsibilities. I sing about the ocean that can go anywhere from the beach we are on. I sing about pretty bikinis and the prettier girls who wear them. I sing about the wind that turns every careful hair style into a wild mess. I sing about the endless possibilities of Summer.

One woman heard me. Black and white stripes barely covered her tanned breasts and the cove between her legs. She stops to listen while her red blonde hair whips around her. My singing touched her and now she is a part of me.

Her name is Julie. We talk. We walk along the beach. An hour after I sang my song, we are fucking in a beach house that she rented with her friends.

I taste the ocean salt on her lips. I fondle lovely breasts decorated with her lingerie of tan lines. I grip her fit ass tightened by long walks on sand. I peel off her sweat soaked bikini to lap at her hidden inlet.

“I don’t normally do this,” she whispers. Julie takes my cock into her mouth. She chokes me down with the enthusiasm of a summer escape. Away from home, away from the city and away from her friends, Julie will do things she only imagined that other people did. This summer, Julie is those other people.

“My friends are not going to approve,” she laughs. I laugh with her as I finger her sex. Of course they won’t approve. A city girl in college to get a career doesn’t fuck a beach guy with no future like me. She should be dating men with careers and letters after their name. She shouldn’t be fucking a guy who works for his mom and barely made it through high school. Her friends wouldn’t approve and sure as hell her parents won’t approve.

Shit, I am not sure if Julie approves of this herself.

I slip inside her and I don’t care anymore. My hips roll in time with the waves crashing outside. Her breasts quiver with each thrust while a lazy smile spreads across her face. We fuck on her rented bed and keep an ear out for her friends coming back. If they do, we’ll have to stop. I doubt we would.

Her summer tanned thighs bring me to life.

They are only renting the place for the week. When their time is up, Julie will make an excuse and stay with me for the weekend. She’ll spend her time on the beach while I work and then she will spend her time under me when I get home. A weekend will stretch into weeks. Weeks will stretch into a few months. She will get concerned calls. She will laugh about it as I eat her.

But summer will eventually end. The days will turn cold and the summer people will stop coming. Julie will remember her dreams of a good job and a responsible husband. She’ll want to go back to the city. She’ll ask if I want to move. She won’t argue when I say no.

But that is at the end of Summer. Today I am fucking her in a house I could never afford. Today Julie will scream my name and not care if her friends hear. Tonight we will have sex under the moon on the beach and the next day we will do a filthy act of fucking that she will never repeat but will always treasure.

Julie is my song this summer and I plan to sing her every day.

Glitter of Summer

Funny how it takes till July for me to notice Summer is here. I always seem to tune into seasons a little late. I always get in the mood for Halloween around November and I guess I get in the mood for sun drenched beauty around July. Better late than never.

Bloggers tend to slow down during the summer days and who the fuck can blame them? There comes a time when every writer realizes that they need to live life more than they need to write about it. You have to have adventures. You have to have your breathe taken away by a beautiful person that you only see for less than a minute. You have to remember what it was like to be a child looking out at the beach and thinking that on the other side of the horizon was anything you can imagine. Summer is a time when anything can happen even if it rarely does.

Not that I am one of those people who thinks that only those with experiences can write. I think nothing is more inspiring than deprivation. That yearning to have a summer romance, that ache to fuck a beauty in a bikini and that carnal need to go somewhere strange and fuck someone stranger are great reasons to write. Whether you have an adventure in real life or not is immaterial. It is that desire to have an adventure that can fuel your writing.

Go have fun.

My Kingdom For a Finished Story

I have two projects vexing me at the moment. I love both of them but damnn if i can make them work at the moment. Well, they work but they just don't work the way I want them to.

The first one is Pusse' and Cox. It is about a male stripper turned bounty hunter teaming up with a college cheerleader turned detective. Together they are chasing down a mad scientist who is turning people into sex crazed zombies. It is a combination of an action novel with a sex novel. Quite a few chapters are crammed with gunplay and dead people while other chapters are pure porn. I am pretty fond of it in theory.

I am not so fond of it in execution. This might be the pulpiest thing I have ever written which is good, but it is so far outside my usual comfort zone that I find myself second guessing myself. My inspirations have been mostly movies like Planet Terror, Bitch Slap and the cartoon series, Aeon Flux. The problem with using movies as inspiration is that they are visual things. Books are more cerebral and sometimes I just can't write "And then a ten minute slaughter-fest happens." I have to write the damn thing.

I am close to finishing it by about three chapters. It reminds me of the old saying "If it is not finished, then you have created nothing." I feel that is so true. This story is longer than my usual works but man, I feel both exhausted and lazy. It is not done so I feel I really have nothing to show for the work. I should just finish it but deep down I worry that the whole thing is shit.

I see now why some writers always write about the same topic over and over again. They know that topic. They don't spend their time wondering if they got it right.

My second big project is a follow up to my fictional zombie blog I did a while back. The premise is that the blogger is investigating mysterious paranormal events in Atlanta. To start with, he checks out a haunted house. He investigates the house for a month with a daily posting schedule until he satisfies his curiosity. Then he blogs once a week checking other small events until he comes across another big mystery in which it goes back to a daily schedule. I alternate back and forth to give myself space to write the next big mystery.

I like the idea because it lets me write horror on a regular basis but at the moment, the first haunted house is kicking my ass. I have one really unique idea annnnnnnd that's it. One idea does not make a story. Even the zombie blog had three or four mysteries in it. I wrote about three weeks of entries before I realized I was padding a little. I put the blog away for a little bit and decided to take a few months off. Well a few months passed and I am still stumped.

I planned to start it in October of this year so I still have time to fix it. Which incidentally is why I write these things ahead of time. If I started posting them as soon as I was writing, I would be crushed by the terrible deadline and failure.

Remember this kids, write ahead. It saves you from having to write posts explaining why the conclusion of the story is delayed.

Fiction: Last Will of Hector Harkman

I, Hector Harkman, being of bitter mind and hopelessly frustrated body, do hereby swear to bring down a curse upon my family and closest retainers with the last dying power of my soul. Since I am also the current holder of the Harkman fortune that was made from selling rubber prostitute dolls to miners in the 1860’s, I also have to divide up the tremendous wealth.

To my lovely wife, Evelyn, possessor of the fullest lips and the most agile tongue in the Northern Hemisphere, I leave the mighty sum of three dollars. Evelyn, you only gave three blowjobs in your entire life and unfortunately it was to our butler, my brother and to our gardener. I shall give you one dollar for each time you swallowed seed. Imagine how much I would have given you if you ever had swallowed mine.

To my younger brother and bane of my childhood, Stephen, I leave the château in France so you can start that bondage and sadism retreat you are always talking about. Though you slept with my wife more times than I have, I appreciate your fine taste in hiring nymphomaniac maids for the manor all these years. Where you find these crazed sluts I will never know but you have my gratitude. It almost makes up for being a useless leech in my household all these years. Note however that I leave you no money to actually run your château of decadence.

To my handsome son, Percy, I leave you the promise of a violent death at the hands of a beautiful assassin. Oh yes! I have set up a trust fund with the sole purpose of hiring beautiful women to track you down and kill you in the act of sex. Keep that in mind the next time you are fucking some gorgeous slut. The next tit you kiss might be poisoned! As you can tell, I have not forgiven you for fucking my mistress when I was in Paris. God damn boy, couldn’t you wait till I was dead before you started fucking my things?

To my untrustworthy butler, Vincent, I leave the curse of having to take care of my wife. Marry her with my blessing you poor bastard. If you do, I will give you ten million dollars. You enjoy fucking her so much, see what it is like to have to actually live with the bitch.

To my precious secretary, Heather, who stood by me all these years and often let me fondle any bit of her that I please, I leave my seven mansions and the entirety of my money. I know you were working for my wife to spy on me but I appreciate how far you went in your duty to seduce me. You let an old man fuck your tight ass and you just don’t see that kind of hard working dedication any more.

Finally, to anyone that I may have missed who feels that they have impacted my life in a positive manner, I leave you jack shit. If you thought you were good for me, you were fucking wrong! I’ll be waiting for you in Hell with a monstrous erection and no lube.

Mother fuckers.

Lost Tome of Me

I appear to have lost my writing notebook that I have used for the last 3 or 4 years. I say 'appear' because I am mostly in denial. I've had that notebook for ages and I am holding out hope that it was not left in a hotel room in Seattle like I suspect it was.

That book was crammed with notes. The covers were old fashioned pinup pictures so the naked breasts should let anyone know what depravity is inside. Granted, the sexual perversity is written in my crappy handwriting and almost tangential shorthand. I am curious if anyone can make heads or tails of it.

For example, I had the outlines for Volleyball Madd-Ness, Who Ate Claire Currie, both Wolf Inside series as anything else of length I wrote. I had pages of Prisoner of the Wizard's Harem where I graphed the decision trees. Now when I say outline what I really mean is things like this-

2- Meet dominatrix
3- Oral with cheerleader
4- girlfriend drama

Now imagine cheerleader crossed out and a cryptic 'cashier' written beside it. Not the most descriptive notes ever but certainly dirty.

The only notes in the book that I hadn't turned into a story yet was the crew of the Violatrix. That was going to be my science fiction novel set in Erishella's universe. Essentially it was going to be the Enterprise if the crew was heavy into bdsm and murder. I had some names and character dynamics that I don't recall with one hundred percent accuracy. Oh well, back to the spanking bench on that one.

I also wrote down the succession of Librarians for the Ashbee-Collette collection for the past two hundred years. I wrote that down in a frenzy of creative scholarship and I really wish I had made it a word document instead.

Oddly enough, I also kept my notes about what I needed to do to finalize my divorce. There was nothing identity theft important in those notes, but it was a weird souvenir of my gaining my independence. I am going to miss those notes.

So here's to the lost notebook of Shon Richards. If you find it, I hope you fill the remaining pages with smut and lust.

Royal Credit

On the planet of Euphoria, the standard of currency is called the Credit. According to ancient lore, the credit was the amount of precious metals required to make use of a young woman’s mouth. The first traders created coins molded to resemble the lips of the concubines in their service.

Thousands of years later, Euphoria has evolved to a paper currency but the Mouth Standard is still the same. Technically any person possessing an Euphorian Credit can go to any treasury on the planet and exchange their credits for oral services. Due to the remarkable open minded evolution of Euphorian society, you can have your oral pleasure from a man or woman, young or old and in some remote parts of the planet, from a human or a Suckfish.

Over the ages, various kings and queens of the Skull Throne have used the paper currency as a means of promoting their own glory. Queen Jahoris dressed in her skintight battle armor for the one thousand credit bill. King Zarn liked to have the innards of his enemies vividly detailed on the one hundred credit bill, circulating a new enemies’ insides every three weeks. Collectors seek out these bills and have been known to murder each other to complete a collection. Euphorians love their art and money.

Recently, the new Queen of Euphoria, Erishella, has ordered the treasury to create a new one credit coin. The Chief Treasurer advised that her that coins were an outdated form of currency and recommended she have a new paper bill created if she was feeling artistic. His skull was crushed and bone fragments were added to the first hundred coins, which incidentally made them collector’s items.

The one credit coin is the same diameter as Queen Erishella’s right aureole. The coin is made from a pink metal with flecks of crystal. On one side of the coin is the Skull Throne, on the other side is a perfect inscription of the Queen’s nipple.

Many Euphorians carry the coin for luck. Soldiers often kiss it before battle while civilians believe that touching the coin to their sexual organs will bring them luck. Women believe that two coins left on their chest will make their breasts grow while young men who have never touched a breast think the coin tastes like a real nipple.

Doctors perhaps hold the strangest belief. They think the size of the coin was designed to fit perfectly down a person’s throat and become stuck. A rash of choked dissidents turning up in planet morgues adds grim support to that theory.

--Euphorian Gazetteer