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:
● a wee bit
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… Continue reading
Darkness and disorientation awaited her as Denise woke up. Only slowly, in the rate her dizziness faded away, she was able to make sense of her surrounding and situation. Her body felt weak and chilly, and her back throbbed from lying on some hard surface. Her loss of consciousness hadn’t been caused by the stun gun. That deceiving bastard must have drugged her up once she had been incapacitated!
Denise tried to rise from her recumbent position, only to find her arms and legs trapped. At wrists and ankles as well as above elbows and knees she was bound with broad leather belts. Oh, and she was down to her slip and bra.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…!” Continue reading
it is with a heavy heart that I announce yesterday’s Part Thirty-Six to be the last chapter of Pony Boot Camp. This wasn’t an easy decision to make, but I came to understand that it was the right one. For some time now those in the know have been aware that ponygirls are an endangered species, and lately several large Internet platforms – including WordPress – have drawn the consequences from this sad fact. In accordance with a code of ethics enunciated by the animal rights organisation PETA (http://www.peta.org/coe/savethepony) all portrayals of abuse and mistreatment of ponygirls are to be removed from the participating sites. Of course I will follow this appeal, and furthermore will refrain from creating and providing any controversial material. I am sure you, the readers, will support this important mission.
Take care, and Power to the Ponies!
The name of Denise’s double-date share was Thom, and for the better part of two hours Thom was dwelling on his favourite topic: Thom.
Denise was running out of ways to fake interest, and help was nowhere to be seen. By now Gina was solely concentrating on her own entertainment for the night. Thank goodness the four of them were sitting in a booth, or the display of pre-carnal tongue tussle would have them thrown out of the restaurant. Most likely it had been part of the deal for What’s-his-name to bring someone for Denise in return to get cosy with Gina. Well meant, Ginny, but badly executed… Continue reading
From the author of HardSkill, Pony Boot Camp and many other online stories your NSFW filter blocks away, comes a tour de force deep into the world of cloak-and-dagger clichés.
“And what exactly is your mission?” he asked, his eyes suddenly agleam with morbid fascination.
Denise lowered her voice even more to squeeze every last drop of attention out of him.
“Normally I am not supposed to tell you without killing you afterwards…” Continue reading
“I’ve got special plans for this weekend,” Biri purred.
It didn’t take too much imagination for Leif to determine what those plans would be. His girlfriend’s outfit made some very clear statements in that regard.
“Can you even breathe in this, sweetie?”
“As long as I don’t laugh,” she chuckled and let her latex-gloved hands slide along the skimpy rubber dress and tightly-laced corset. Kneeling in front of him in their living room, Bérénice was a picture of enthusiastic submission, ready to have her photo printed in a BDSM textbook. Continue reading
Visiting the McIntoshs
He was with her. She knew it. Riona knew the cheating bastard was doing that blonde slut this very second. Like he did for the last couple of weeks.
Working late. That Glasgow project again, you know. Don’t stay up for me.
Standing at the kitchen island, one hand clenched around the stem of her wine glass, she stared into empty space, her jaw set, muscles working. Tightening. Straining. The clock at the far wall of the vast room headed for midnight, finding itself in agreement with the display of the double wall oven. Continue reading