A Few Words about my Stories

With my twentieth story out on WordPress, I reckon it to be time for a little self-advertisement commented list to help navigating through my humble body of work. I found it reasonable to start each entry with a passage from the respective story, followed by some deep thoughts of mine. I also added a small guide, characterising the story in question with up to five points in the categories fetish, violence and humour:

○    none
●    a wee bit
●●    some
●●●    moderate
●●●●    plenty
●●●●●    pervasive

Of course these are my personal ratings, and they are based more on quantity than on quality. Therefore the rating is sometimes accompanied by a trigger warning in the genre description (“caution!”), if the story contains problematic topics such as portrayal of racism, sexual violence or controversial use of religious images.

The sorting is alphabetical and recognises articles, which leads us straight to…



A Dance in the Cage

Fay was desperately clutching at Tiny as she balanced on her new ballet heels. Like the hood had added a sense of claustrophobia, the boots were adding vertigo. A robust flap covered the top of each lacing, secured by a padlock – a small assistance for the girl to accept her cramp-inducing foot posture. A locked leather collar had found its place around her neck for a similar end, preventing both the hood and the suit from being removed without Bianka’s permission. She had a few minutes left to learn how to stand on her toes as Zonda used silicone oil to polish every square centimetre of exposed latex to obsidian smoothness.

Fay, a barmaid at a select fetish and BDSM night club, falls from her employer’s grace and receives a kinky punishment.

This is a very straight-forward story: girl gets tied up, has her bum striped, and is then stuffed into skin-tight latex. Nothing not to like about it.

Genre/Settings: BDSM, kidnapping, punishment

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●●●

Violence:         ●●

Humour:         ●



A Tough One

Whilst she was putting into question my general sexual orientation (again) and the size of my genitals (that was a new one), I produced the harness and showed it to her. Rho stopped her tirades long enough to give me a look filled rather with incomprehension than with fury. She did not know what to think of the contraption in my hand, but was in doubt about my good intentions.

With my free hand I sized her head unceremoniously from beneath, using a special grip that put unbearable pressure on the jaw joint within reach. Rho opened her mouth automatically, both to lessen the pain and to reward me with a distinctive scream.

A strong-willed woman is subjected to the first day of being broken in the hand of her lover turned kidnapper.

Actually quite a nasty story, it coats its harshness with its witty and nonchalant tone. The un-damsel-in-distress-like heroine is also the first representation of an archetype I have used in two other narrations so far (you are invited to find out which ones).

Genre/Settings: kidnapping, rape – caution!

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●●

Violence:         ●●●●

Humour:         ●



Æquinoctium

“I think it’s kind of adorable. Disturbing, but adorable. Mostly disturbing. There’s a guy who believes every word a pretty girl tells him, as long as it sounds cool and confidential and shaken, not stirred.”

Right now Denise was finding herself more in the neighbourhood of being baffled than of adoring. It told her a lot about the male mind if it was so eager to believe a story made up from pieces of bad spy flicks she had been forced to watch with back-then boyfriends. Gina provided an explanation of her own:

“You know what they say about you gingers…”

“That we love anal?”

“That you are enshrouded in an air of Celtic mystery.”

Denise had been born and raised in Chicago. The greatest extent of Celtic mystery she’d encountered so far had been a shitfaced leprechaun barfing into her handbag at St. Patrick’s Day.

After Denise has made up a wild spy story to impress her annoying blind date, our adorkable heroine finds herself in all kinds of espionage-related trouble.

Ah, yes, Æquinoctium – in parts a bit too raunchy to pass as mainstream, but then again too goofy and verbose to be proper smut. It was originally planned as a quick mix of tropes and clichés, but now it is 12,000 words later and with me working on chapter three.

Genre/settings: espionage, adventure, comedy, spoof, kidnapping, interrogation

Status: work in progress

Fetish:             ●

Violence:         ●●

Humour:         ●●●●



Dorei

I released the pulley again, this times completely, and let Illaun slump to the ground. It was easier for me to fit her with the devilish boots that way, trapping her legs against my chest in turn while lacing her up. Each boot sported a wide leather flap at the top which covered the knot when buckled. Compact padlocks, two per flap, made sure that only authorised personnel could release the trainee from her demanding footwear.

She was not even standing, but already Illaun felt how these beautiful knee-high torture implements challenged her strength and flexibility.

“That was fun! Let’s try another one, shall we?”

I showed her a contraption made of black leather straps and even more shiny latex.

“What could it be?”

That she knew not.

An Irish tourist in Japan is mercilessly broken in by a slave trader by means of all things leather, latex and steel.

Yep, same formula: girl gets kidnapped and put through all kinds of fetish stuff. It’s older than A Tough One, though. In my “defence”, this story was written on commission – an indication that I might not be the only one with a weakness for girls being put through all kinds of fetish stuff.

Genre/settings: kidnapping, slavery

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●●●

Violence:         ●●●

Humour:         ○



Endurance

Now, seeing our plaything in the intimate glow radiating from the fireside, the thought gained a titillating dimension. Her runner’s body could take a lot of abuse, of that I was convinced. From the bureau behind me took the clamps and showed them discreetly to Gwendolen. She gave a silent nod, her eyes closed for a moment as a further sign of approval. If I were to find one single term to describe their unique style, it would be heavy-duty. Solid, all-steel and oversized, they incorporated the very definition of heavy-duty nipple clamps, designed and built with the sole intent to push the surely reluctant wearer to her limits.

“Hands behind your head, Triz.”

She followed, and I let her see the items soon to be adorning her breasts. Triz’s eyes widened. Unlike most other types, the heavy-duty clamps consisted of three parts each: two sturdy jaws and a massive corpus holding the mechanical parts. I took the liberty of teasing her nipples into hardness, causing Triz to groan. They were tender as they had already fallen prey to Gwendolen’s talons. Weighting the clamps in my palms, I knew Patrizia would wear them a lot in the future.

During a very private gathering a slavegirl is bidden to proof how much concentrated pain she can endure.

The first story of the “Circle” series – “Circle”, because the protagonists are always the (more or less) same bunch of wealthy sadists, bored and depraved in equal parts. The second story is Spoiled Rotten, a third one is pending. When it comes to tags for the level of consent displayed in this series, many story sites offer “reluctant” or “semi-consensual”. Whereas the latter is total bullshit, the former sounds rather technical to me. Instead, I prefer the term “wait, what…?!!!”.

Genre/settings: BDSM, slavery

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●

Violence:         ●●

Humour:         ○



Fashion Faux Pas

Lorena felt a bit uneasy, as this turned out to be a fetish-themed party. If this was still about that elusive designer, his work was far more outlandish than she had expected. But she’d been here only five minutes, the crowd seemed broad-minded – and she had just discovered the open bar! It was built up in front of a wall of copper pipes and brass gauges which gave the place a certain steampunk ambiance.

It was there were she saw the girl. Precisely spoken, it was a young woman in her early twenties with long dark hair. An orange-rimmed version of the latex shirt served as clothes, and little more. She was leaning nonchalantly against the bar whilst her companion ordered some drinks. Lorena could tell the two belonged together because the man talking to the barkeeper was holding a leash connected to the girl’s dog collar.

Okaaay, this was one of those parties…

After finding a risqué piece of clothing at a designer boutique, fashionista Lorena finds herself in a risky piece of situation.

Basically a classic capture story, I pride myself on the fact that this narration has got a rather clever premise plus a matching twist. Of course you have to take my word for it or read the story.

Genre/settings: BDSM, slavery

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●●●

Violence:         ○

Humour:         ●●



HardSkill

The scientist, lying in front of her with his nasal bone rammed up his brain, had a Level Four access. Lilith liked successful men.

After making sure that no one else was in the laboratory, she had hidden the body inside and was now walking towards the computer rooms as Dr August Temford. She had followed some corpulent guys in bermuda shorts and T-shirts reading obscure statements like i>u or Will Work For Bandwidth; it had been obvious that they had been geeks.

That she had seen them had been pure chance. It seemed to her that these floors were completely deserted; in principle an advantage for her, so no one asked her questions like the good, recently deceased Doctor Temford had done.

Lilith, a “cleaner” (= assassin) working for a Japanese giga-incorporation in Europe, is assigned to recover an elusive data storage device – and she isn’t squeamish about the methods to be employed.

HardSkill is by far the oldest story on this site, hailing from a time when I didn’t give a fuck about the finer points of writing such as character development, decent narration, style or basic logic. And it still shows, despite multiple acts of rework. It is raw both in language and storyline, heavily influenced by Japanese guro and late-pubertal hormone high water.

Furthermore – and that’s the worrying thing – it’s quite the bestseller. For each day WordPress provides statistics about the numbers of visitors to one’s blog, whence they are redirected etc. Apart from days when a new story or chapter is submitted, it’s almost always HardSkill which gets the most clicks of all my posts.

Genre/settings: sci-fi, cyberpunk, interrogation, action – caution!

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●

Violence:         ●●●●●

Humour:         ●●●



HardSkill – Gore Days

“Five seconds,” Lilith declared towards the gang leader.

“What five seconds, bitch?”

“You tell me where she is and who hired you homos, or in five seconds I will turn this shithole into a fucking haunted house.”

The leader chuckled malevolently, bathing in the prospect of imminent violence and easily earned money.

“Guys, bash that stupid slag’s head in. Hope nobody mind a bit of necroph―”

He was cut short by Lilith, in a sense. With lightning speed she had drawn her katana from its sheath on her back and cleft his head horizontally in half at eye level. For some awkward moments the leader’s body remained standing up, blood and intraocular fluid running down the rest of his face like ill-coloured mascara.

“Time’s up.”

After a hit gone well Lilith is faced with the disappearance of someone close to her heart.

Since I have failed so far to provide a real sequel to HardSkill (despite parts of a first draft already existing), I decided to launch a little spin-off. Gore Days still offers the gratuitous violence from the main story, but lacks some of its over-the-top approach. It underwent major rework in early 2016.

Genre/settings: sci-fi, cyberpunk, interrogation, action – caution!

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●

Violence:         ●●●●●

Humour:         ●●



House of Cthulhu

“Oh, shit! Oh, shit!” – “What is that thing?!” – “Run! Oh, fuck! Keep running!”

Sibyl had trouble assigning the hysterical voices. The three teenagers kept yelling as they took flight through between the gravestones, tripping over tomb slabs and tree roots. Not that the ghoul was chasing them. It let go of its loot, probably more scared than the lads and lass (ghouls were cowards by nature). When the coffin bumped to the ground, the creature had already disappeared in the nearest grove. Nonetheless it could be heard clamouring being mulcted of its midnight snack. It wouldn’t be a threat for any of the cemetery’s nocturnal visitors. No, the threat came from someone else.

Whilst his good-for-nothing friends were running south, back the way they had come, the booze-boy headed northwards, straight towards the parlour. Well, right now he was lying on the ground, knocked down by a low-hanging branch, but as soon as he was on his feet again, he would be bound to this direction once more.

A young woman born into an obscure cult finds herself in ever greater troubles as she struggles with the way of her people.

This older story is another of my oddities. Never fan fiction as such, it does use elements of a popular vampire franchise (and no, it’s not Twilight – we all saw how that worked out…). Combined with Lovecraftian horror, the setting and narrative style are quite interesting. Sadly I have halted work on chapter seven, and not because I’ve run out of ideas. Just like with the HardSkill series I keep telling myself that someday I resume working on it.

Genre/settings: fantasy, horror, gothic, steampunk, action, adventure

Status: work in progress

Fetish:             ●●

Violence:         ●●●

Humour:         ●



Khisara’s Last Walk

Ere Khisara could form a gasp at this sudden action, her chest cramped up in terror as she saw the Slavemaster himself kneel next to her, hammer and nail in hands. Showing the calmness of decade-long practice, he placed the nail’s point on the top of her wrist and raised the mallet. Khisara tried to pull her arm free in blind panic, yet remained helpless against the apprentice. The hammer thundered down, sending the spike with might into the fine array of bones and nerves. Under ear-shattering shrieks Khisara writhed on the ground, tried to roll to the right, to the left then, but was soon pinned down by one of the guards. The second blow drove the nail’s tip almost completely trough, the iron shaft now separating the delicate anatomy of her wrist for good.

A slavegirl meets a gruesome and undeserved fate at the court of an ancient kingdom.

Snooping about in the darker corners of the BDSM realm I realised crucifixion to be an official fetish, with its own websites and all. So, when in Rome…

Khisara’s Last Walk should be seen as an experimental work content-wise. The topic is so far out that it is difficult to see its erotic appeal.

Genre/settings: historical, horror, torture – caution!

Status: completed

Fetish:             (●●●●●)

Violence:         ●●●●●

Humour:         ○



Play Time

He circled her kneeling form. Looking straight from the front, her arms had become invisible. Her shoulder joints existed only as slight curves between her collarbones and her torso. Due to her arched back the girl presented her ample boobs very nicely, all displayed in the shiny latex. He couldn’t help but cup them. Leif adored Biri’s breasts. They were as soft as one would expect, yet at the same time excitingly firm. Like tautly stuffed pillows.

“Everything still there where you last saw it? You’ve got that ‘pillow’ look again.”

Busted. He shouldn’t have told her about that metaphor. Now she was teasing him with it on every occasion. To get even, he felt her up a bit more, enjoying the latex that was holding her breasts. It provided a weird sensation. The material itself appeared to be cool, yet he could feel Biri’s body heat through it. There was really nothing like thin-spread rubber when it came to trapping a slave girl’s tits.

Girlfriend wants to play bondage games, boyfriend is happy to oblige.

Funny, violence-free and naughty, this is definitely a feel-good BDSM story. A detail that came out very nicely is Biri’s being “actively submissive”, expressing a clear opinion about what unspeakable things her boyfriend should do to her.

Genre/settings: BDSM, fetish

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●●●

Violence:         ○

Humour:         ●●●



Pony Boot Camp

The freshly tailed ponygirl tried to baulk and made some un-ponylike noises (for which she would surely be disciplined later). The handlers let her stand up, and one of them marched her away. She avoided eye contact, her face flushed and wetted by tears of shame. I could not take my gaze away, though. The surreal impression hit me again. Zero-Eight was now sporting a swishy tail, lodged in her rectum. Instead of just hanging straight down, its strands described an elegant arch. They swung smoothly back and forth as she walked past me with a gait even stiffer and more awkward than it had been rendered by the hoof boots.

Miss Cuntling’s crop made me snap out of it.

“Eyes forward! Focus, Seventeen!”

She gave my reins a tongue-mashing tug that caused my eyes to tear up as well.

“Now walk!”

I high-stepped behind her, towards my ultimate humiliation. Too painful were the ramifications of resisting my curb bit.

A young troublemaker is sent to a special boot camp where she undergoes harrowing ponygirl training, and then some. And then some on top of that, just for good measures.

I believe that most visitors to this site either stumbled upon this little fetish juggernaut or came for it in the first place.

With currently a bit over 105,000 words Pony Boot Camp is by far my longest narration. I still remember that in its early days I calculated a total length of thirty-six pages (about 20,000 words in my formatting) – mind you, not thirty or thirty-five or forty, but thirty-six. How I came by that crisp estimation I do not recall, though.

The story breaks into three alternating fractions: the actual fetish sessions, the description of everyday-life and group dynamics, and last but not least the rants. Examples are the above quoted Part XII (“Tailed”), Part XXXII (“Playing with the Cool Kids”) and Part XXXI (“Better Feared than Loved”), respectively.

The short story Pony Boot Camp – Stand-Alone Stable is a variation of the main work, written for the story section of the back-then new forum of cpony.com (but of course posted on WordPress, too). It is not entirely in sync with the main narration chronologically and canon-wise, but would have its place roughly around Part XXX.

Genre/settings: BDSM, fetish, slavery, adventure

Status: work in progress (main story)/completed (Stand-Alone Stable)

Fetish:             ●●●●●

Violence:         ●●●

Humour:         ●●



Ponygirl Rescue Centre

As it became late and Mirage was surely tired out, I fitted her with a night bridle. It hold a cloth were the bit would be if night bridles had bits. The cloth was drenched in a mild solution for the wounds in her mouth and was fixed to the cheek rings lest it be accidently swallowed. I locked the bridle’s buckles so Mirage’s hands could remain free without the risk of her getting herself in trouble. A sound flogging was mandatory for any pony manipulating her tack. Her only binding was a set of padded leather cuffs hobbling her ankles. They quickly turned out to be needless as Mirage fell asleep the second she hit the hay. I left the hobbles on only because I didn’t want to wake her up.

An abused ponygirl is rescued and nursed back to health at a specialised shelter.

My so far latest story, this is an alternative take on the ponygirl motif. Unlike Pony Boot Camp it is set in a society where keeping ponygirls is generally accepted. Their status is that of pets at best and property at worst, so “rescue” has a slightly different meaning.

Genre/settings: BDSM, fetish

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●●

Violence:         ●

Humour:         ○



Return to Skyrim

He jumped up, the furcate vein on his forehead visible. Behind him his chair tilted over and thumped onto the stone tiles.

“Say that again, I dare you! Your kin is not welcome here, Dark Elf scum! Fine men have died for our cause, and their sacrifices are not to be soiled by the likes of you!”

“I would have expected such language in the gutters of Windhelm. Kynesgrove always stroke me as a hospitable hamlet. Of course, with all the fine men dead, hospitality now lies in the hands of the sorry rest.”

With a bellow of rage the blond fellow drew a crude Orcish dagger from his belt. A thundering sound erupted from the counter, followed by the clattering and shattering of crockery. The innkeeper had brought down a small yet sturdy mace on the oaken structure before her.

A Dark Elf walks into a tavern…

In case anybody is wondering: Yes, that’s fan fiction. Based on The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, the story contains a single scene and heavily references the source material (*cough* nerd! *cough*). Due to its nature my little rating system does not apply properly.

Genre/settings: fantasy, adventure

Status: completed

Fetish:             ○

Violence:         ○

Humour:         ○



Screams of my Mistress

Nina had not wised up yet:

“You better piss off! The entire police from the next town will be arriving any moment!”

Mr Tick backhanded her into silence. Number Three – Mr Track – paused the key examination he had been engaged in and slapped the palm against his covered forehead.

“Fuck, we forgot about the security system! Shit, man, and I even made me a list: buy milk, take garbage out, crack security system!”

“Yeah, dude. Shit happens,” Stocky grunted from beneath his hood.

Nina spit out blood from her split lip. On the moonlit hardwood it appeared almost black.

No alarm. No police.

A dominant woman and her live-in slavegirl fall victim to a home invasion.

This is another older story, and it, too, shows its age. I’m still amazed how I managed to shoehorn car stuff into almost every work of mine. The three home invaders – or rather their spoof versions – were later reactivated for Visiting the McIntoshs.

Genre/settings: BDSM, home invasion, crime

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●●

Violence:         ●●●●

Humour:         ●



Selfie (a.k.a. Rogue Tie)

The next pieces in line weren’t exactly helpful in that matter, either. High heels as sexual signals are commonly believed to aim at men first and foremost. But when the heels in question are twenty centimetres high and force the wearer’s helpless feet into a severe en pointe position, a girl can get weak knees, too. The ballet boots were evil; knee-high, demanding and unforgiving, they had me landed on my bum or nose more than once. Over the last few months I had taught myself to manage them, and I could walk quite steadily in them by now. Not as good as the fetish models on the interweb, but I didn’t need a wall within reach anymore. The limiting factor was my calves and insteps. Despite my training they would eventually cramp up, and severely so. Twenty minutes tops.

A self-bondage aficionada places herself into an elaborated tunnel game in an nocturnal office building.

Hands-down one of my personal favourites. Funny, witty, kinky, similar in tone to the later written Æquinoctium and still not too far-fetched. And to support my healthy self-content it was overall well-received across the story sites I’d posted it on.

Genre/settings: BDSM, self-bondage, comedy, adventure

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●●●

Violence:         ○

Humour:         ●●●●



Spoiled Rotten

Very tenderly Portia turned towards me, but I took the note away. She would know her fate soon enough.

“We should employ some weights to make it more challenging,” Felix suggested innocently. I reckoned he was antagonised by never been given a chance to hurt Portia’s nipples.

“How many weights?” asked Dobs, partly shocked, partly intrigued.

Otto got up, grabbed Portia around the waist from behind and lifted her clear off the floor as though she weighed nothing. A yelp of surprise was quickly followed by shrieks as the clamps swung wildly about.

“Many!”

Painslut, meet Spanisch donkey; Spanisch donkey, meet painslut.

As mentioned in the comment to Endurance, Spoiled Rotten is the second part of the “Circle” series. Again we follow a group of full-time sadists, and this time a slender slavegirl named Portia should have been careful what she’d wished for. Spoiler alert: There will be a happy if excruciating ending for her, though.

Genre/settings: BDSM, slavery

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●●

Violence:         ●●●

Humour:         ●



Stand-Alone Complex

Carefully Muriel lifted her head against collar and gravity to see what that creepy slag was up to. A moment later her head was physically thrown back again as the first gush of saline solution flooded her sinuses. The surge was relentless, breaking its way through the passageway at the back of the mouth to hit her pharynx. Panic exploded in her. An automatic response to the overwhelming sensation of drowning. A reflex deeply anchored in her evolutionary set-up. Muriel bucked wildly, not even feeling the wire sawing into her neck. Liquid burst out of her mouth, only to be partly sucked in again as she half swallowed, half inhaled it. The watery solution burnt her trachea, made them spasm, whilst adrenalin boiled her system from the inside. Muriel sputtered franticly to get her airways free, then fell into an unbridled gagging. The weight of the water in her nasal cavities felt enormous, the sole presence of it was sickening her to the core.

A professional thief trying to steal from a high-tech incorporation learns the hard way that industrial espionage is all fun and games only until one gets caught.

This heart-warming scene, too, originates from the HardSkill universe. A reader had asked for an interrogation story focussing strongly on medical procedures, and it didn’t took much to persuade me. Since I am droning on about HardSkill for quite some time, it should be clear that this piece, too, is not for the faint of heart.

Genre/settings: sci-fi, cyberpunk, interrogation – caution!

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●

Violence:         ●●●●●

Humour:         ○



Trophy Wife

Mercédès nudged him again, with more force and this time with taking aim. The tip of her white court shoe met his solar plexus, causing him to tilt on his back.

“Stop it!” he whined.

“You are the Bonnay’s kid, aren’t you? Rémy?”

He nodded in fresh pain, now clenching his chest. So she had been right. Her intruder was that good-for-nothing brat from further up the road – his rich parents’ son by trade and an obnoxious little punk by choice, he had yet to work his way up to a university dropout.

“So what are you doing in my house?”

“I though nobody was home,” Rémy coughed, signalling no doubts about the mitigating potential of his answer.

“And that gives you the bloody right to sniff through a lady’s boudoir?!”

“A what? Please, I―”

He tried to sit up, but Mercédès pressed her right foot against his torso.

“You stay down.”

Mercédès, the eponymous trophy wife of a rich and negligent business man, has her empty life jump-started when she hits the right tone with an adolescent trespasser.

Apart from some paragraphs in – you guessed it – HardSkill, this story marks the first time I wrote about female domination over males. Trophy Wife is a bit “style over substance”. Not much happens actually, but Mercédès’ character development comes out nicely. Plus, she has a cool name.

Genre/settings: DS, femdom

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●●●

Violence:         ●●

Humour:         ●



Visiting the McIntoshs

Riona wiggled her head left and right, her dark mane flying about. She twisted and jerked on her chair, not caring about the zip ties cutting and chaffing. She pressed with her tongue, fought the gag with all her strength, and under efforts she finally forced the red intruder past her teeth, past her lips. It bounced back onto her chin, but another round of head-shaking sent it down her neck, where it dangled like a pervy necklace.

Alistair, at first amused by the show she was putting on, wasn’t pleased at all now. He seized the gag again and brought it back up.

“Spit that thing out one more time, and I will—“

“What will you, limp-dick, eh?! What will you do to mmghhh—“

Alistair wedged the ball back into her mouth and, stepping behind her once more, buckled the strap in its last hole, not caring at all about how deeply the leather cut into the corners of Riona’s lips. He stood before her again.

“You were saying, dear?”

“Mmph.”

Meet Alistair and Riona McIntosh, who have nasty plans for each other. And three burglars, who have no plan at all…

Visiting the McIntoshs is another of my all-time favourites. It is heavily character-driven, touches a couple of darker topics, but stays smart and classy to the end. I should mention that it took me quite some time to make this story work, though. If you are looking for smut stuff, you won’t find much – a couple of tie-up scenes, a ball gag as a central element and some spicy innuendos. For trivia fans: So far, this is the only story of mine I have translated into German (Zu Besuch bei den McIntoshs).

Genre/settings: crime, comedy, spoof, home invasion

Status: completed

Fetish:             ●

Violence:         ●

Humour:         ●●●

 

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About Venom

Bloke from Central Europe; Petrol Head; Observer of Human Depravity View all posts by Venom

2 responses to “A Few Words about my Stories

  • Vandalay

    I like the ratings, and agree with your grading of the stories, most of which I’ve read. Definitely 3 humour bullets for the McIntosh’s.

    • Venom

      I actually thought to have more troubles with those ratings, especially when putting them into relation to each other. Your example is quite fitting: the story is inherently spoofy, but without many in-your-face jokes.

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