This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Her cleavage peeped out over the “v” of her sweater, making his blood boil. With effort, he maintained the posture of the Active Listener: eyes on her face, head tilted to the side, hands on the table. With effort. The magnetism of her form demanded his attention and he hated her for it.

How are women getting away with this? Flaunting their bodies and their “sex positivity” and their new gender roles. Dommes with stilettos pressed against the caged dicks of their sissies. It was never supposed to be like this. Once, Rob would have loved to have his way with this woman - to yank down that little top, exposing her breasts. He would have loved the smell of her shame and fear as he pressed her against a wall, his cock thick and ready. But those days were long gone. This woman wouldn’t be ashamed. She’d probably devoured 50 Shades of Grey in a book club and posted shibari’d pictures of herself on FetLife and wrote disgusting sex stories in her free time. If he pushed her against a wall, she’d say hideous things like “take me, Daddy” and act contrite when punished, but he could tell the difference. She would like it.

They weren’t supposed to like it.

Everything’s been fucked up since that stupid book came out. That’s when the floodgates opened. People suddenly decided their dirty thoughts could be redeemed by writing them down and calling it literature, but it would never be anything more than filth. He squeezed his fountain pen furiously, but his expression remained pleasantly engaged.

The woman looked at him and gave a nod.

“Thank you, Stacy,” he replied.

Rob tapped his pen slowly on the table, relishing the attention of his audience. Eight pairs of eyes on him. Waiting for him. Ready to do his bidding.

“I would now like to draw your attention to our list of prohibited businesses. I worry we are still being too lenient. Tripe Payment Processing has a moral obligation to ensure we are not financing dangerous activities - pyramid schemes, firearms, gambling, prostitution. Pornography.”

He looked around the table, daring someone to defy him.

“And I believe we could be doing more. It has come to my attention that Tripe is still supporting a large segment of pornographic sales: pornographic ‘literature.’ I’ll spare you the details, but I have done some research into the matter and the use of the word ‘literature’ in this case is an insult. It is absolutely pornography, plain and simple, and Tripe has no business supporting such commerce. I propose that we update the language of our Terms of Service to enumerate the types of mature content that will not be supported by Tripe, being sure to include pornographic ‘literature’. In a few months time we can begin off-boarding customers in violation of these policies.”

Nods around the table. No disagreement. And why would there be? What kind of person would think enabling such ill-gotten gains could be acceptable?

With the updated Terms of Service tucked under his arm, Rob walked back to his office feeling much lighter. He shut the door behind him and flicked the lock, then sat at his computer. Without thinking, his fingers tapped on the well-smudged keys and the little orange logo appeared on his screen, followed by tiles of naked men and women. Women with dicks in their throats and pussies. Women with cum splattering their tits. Men filling asses with huge cocks.

Rob unzipped his pants and tugged out his flaccid cock. He popped a Viagra from the bottle in his drawer and began to stroke.

Thanks for reading. I’m eager to know what you think of this one. I fear I’ve been very naughty…

💛 Maia

Today’s episode is brought to you by an offering on Etsy for mushroom-shaped wall hooks1. After a few representatives of the D&D crowd jumped into the conversation2, I knew this was a story that needed to be told…

INT. SMELDORIAN PUB - NIGHT

GOSHREY is seated at a table in the corner of the pub, surrounded by a group of villagers listening with rapt attention.

GOSHREY

I’d heard tell of it. Ain’t a soul in all of Smeldoria who hasn’t.

It’s the whisper in the darkness. The looming shadow on your path. The story told ‘round dying fires.

But nothing could have prepared me for the night I saw it with me own eyes.

Immense. Towering. When I stood before it, I saw nary a cloud in the sky, that’s how tall it was (also, I had a crick in me neck that prevented my lookin’ up too much). Yet, more astonishing than its height was the way it moved. It writhed.

Maybe you’d be expectin’ that. Maybe you think you know. I see you nodding like you could picture it, but lemme tell you somethin’ -

You could not possibly imagine the Wall of Dicks.

Thousands of appendages, of all shapes and sizes, wriggling and flapping and waving. Saluting and staring you down. The way it all moves together, it’s like the whole bloody thing is creeping toward you. And maybe it is. I don’t remember walkin’ toward it, but somehow it went from a shadow rising over yonder to the great behemoth I saw right in front of me. Close enough to reach out a hand and touch! And you wanna know something else?

It can hypnotize you.

That’s right! You ain’t heard about that in any of the old stories. Now, you know me. You know I’d sooner kick a dick than look at one but before I knew what I was doin’ I was reachin’ for the nearest one, a tentacle-y-lookin’ bugger. And it was reachin’ for me. It was like I was possessed.

No, see, don’t look at me like that. If you were there you’da done the same bloody thing. And you’da liked it.

That’s right. Fellas…I can’t believe it myself but this is the god’s honest truth - that fuckin’ wall makes you like it.

Like I said, I’d sooner kick a dick than lick one, but there I was, begging for that tentacle dick in my mouth, in my arse, wherever it would go.

Next thing I knew, I was lyin’ in the dirt and the Wall of Dicks was gone. And I had a strange kind of melancholy feeling - like I was missing it.

Now, you know I ain’t no queer. Like I said, I’d sooner kick a dick than fuck one. That’s how powerful the Wall is.

…

Where? About a thirty minute walk down past the boulder that looks like Reggie.

It does, Reggie, everyone knows that.

Well, your wife’s lyin’ to you then, I’m sorry.

Wait, where are yous goin? All of you? You ain’t afraid?

Thank you for tolerating my Sunday Sillies. If you liked this, let me know by dropping a comment! If you didn’t like it, let me know that too by sending a carrier pigeon. 😉

Love ya.

💛 Maia

Subscribe now

Hey! I’m traveling today. Just checked into my hotel in Manhattan. Which means today’s post will be a bit more off-the-cuff than usual. I hope that’s okay, seeing as we’re all friends here.

With my remote gig, I don’t much go out in the world. Besides the gym and the grocery (and Home Depot, we can’t forget about Home Depot), I don’t really go out at all. Now, here I am in Manhattan.

People everywhere.

I don’t exactly feel like the stereotype of the wide-eyed Country Girl in the Big Cityᵀᴹ. I’ve been here before. But I do find myself jumping at car horns and smiling at passersby before remembering that is not how things are done here. With such a staggering number of people in one area the chances of a Weirdo Encounterᵀᴹ are high, so New Yorkers simply can’t risk smiling and saying “hello” to everyone they pass. And, let’s be honest, you and I both know I am one of the weirdos.

One of my favorite games is imagining under what circumstances two strangers would be willing to…get freaky. This was the inspiration for my series The Bathhouse. I think about it a lot. If she weren’t wearing earpods, would he not have stopped at shy glances and gone ahead and complimented her Chewbacca socks? There is a subtle line between two people ignoring each other on the street and two people who lock eyes and flush. What then of the line between the flushing couple and one of them daring to grab the other’s hand and pull him into a kiss?

I don’t think I’m the only one fascinated by these shades of amour. Why else is “meet cute” such a consistently popular trope? Maybe I’m reaching, but I hazard you’ve thought about it too. Is the next random conversation going to be with my future wife? Why don’t more of us grab their hand and pull them into a kiss? Well, it would be jarring I suppose. And you might be wrong, which would be embarrassing and possibly more than embarrassing. So, we flirt. We test the waters.

I get it.

But that line will always fascinate me. And as I sit on my hotel bed, sucking sticky cinnamon bun1 syrup off my fingers, I watch the slices of life in the building opposite me, and I think about that line. If I held up a sign, “You Belong With Me”-style, that read “horny and alone, wanna bone?” would the guy eating dinner by himself in his apartment be tempted to come over and see how weird it might get?

Anyway. Hope you are having a blessed Sunday.

Lova ya.

💛 Maia

PS Due to work travels, there may be a delay in this Wednesday’s audio episode (or it may not happen at all, depending how demanding my colleagues are). Thank you for understanding.

1. Slip it in the back, Jack.

   Don’t make me explain this, you know what I mean.

   No? Okay, look up “anal sex” on your work computer.

2. Don’t need to be coy, Roy.
   If it feels good, say so.

3. DO discuss much

   (see #2)

4. Hop on their face, Grace.
   You think they wouldn’t like it but they really do.

5. Get out that can, Stan…
   …and cover her with whipped cream. Not so much the vagina, though, because healthy vaginas are in a delicate balance1 and sugar can throw off the whole shebang. Stick to all the other erogenous zones that don’t mind so much if they’re coated in sugar. Places like -

   • nips

   • butt

   • butthole (clean it first, just sayin’)

   • ears

   • lips

   • neck

   • undersides of the jaw (you know, right there where it’s all ticklish and sensitive)

   • inner thighs

   • obliques (this spot gives me the shivers, I can’t be the only one)
     

6. Don’t swallow the key, Lee…

7. …because he might not want to stay tied up for the next 2 to 5 days.2 But, hey, you do you. Maybe that’s the perfect long weekend for the two of you: him, helpless, shackled to the bed frame; you, crouched over a litter box, waiting.

   
   If that doesn’t sound ideal, I recommend, instead, placing the key somewhere far from your mouth, where any accidental swallowing is unlikely. Better yet, use a combination lock and don’t take any drugs that might compromise your ability to recall the sequence.

8. Don’t step on her crack, Jack.
   But do spit on it. Or use coconut oil. One of the worst rookie mistakes you can make with butt stuff is improper lubrication. Not many of us are blessed with naturally well-greased buttholes.

9. Actually, maybe do step on her crack, Jack
   Ashiatsu massages can be very erotic. Just make sure you aren’t crushing your partner’s innards in the process.

10. (but don’t do crack)
    Avoiding crack will please not only your lover, but everyone else around you. You just can’t trust a crackhead, and you can’t have a relationship without trust.
    

11. Play with a toy, boy
    There are SO MANY you could try. Vibes, butt plugs, electro-stim, rope, dildos, nipple clamps, cock rings…I mean, the list really does go on and on.

12. Find a new man, fam.
    JK, don’t do that. Unless you talk with your current man about it and he wants to incorporate a new man, too. That’s cool. What I mean is, ABC: Always Be Communicating.

13. Don’t incorporate bees, Steve
    The buzzing seems like a good idea, but there are a few other factors to consider. Like the stinging.

14. Try it in a tree, Lee
    The bark can be a bit scratchy, so we recommend full-coverage clothing with easy access ports, like assless chaps.

15. Get yourself free.
    Seriously, let go! Laugh. Cry, if that feels right. Sex should be fun and dirty and revelrous and sweet and delightful and joyous. Maybe not all of those things all at once, but you get the idea. The only way to experience any of them is to let the experience happen.

    
    

Thanks for reading this silly little ditty. If you like humor, adventure, sex, dark fantasy, BDSM, and true spicy tales WHOA BOY, are you in the right place.

💛 Maia

The epidemic of porn addiction currently sweeping every cobwebbed corner of the internet is foulest among the logophilic. Sure, sometimes these little romps are dressed up as “erotica”, but this is merely a ploy to seduce (pun not intended, don’t be crude) people into believing this area of inquiry could in any way be a tasteful pursuit.⁰ In truth, sex is sex. It doesn’t matter how much exposition, climaxing, and denouement you throw in there.¹

So, let’s call it what it is.

Porn.

And no person is more depraved than those who read and write it. They are a special sort of debauched - people who say things like "Moist is fucking happening” (Agent Ranch Hand), “If you’re not rolling around in a wet spot, you’re doing it wrong” (Wulfruna | Erotica), “peas can be yummy” (F. Leonora Solomon), and who introduce themselves by declaring "That was SO HOT" (literally every one of them. Every friendship among these degenerates began with those words).

Below I have outlined a few reasons not to read (or listen to someone read) porn, but this is not an exhaustive list. If you would like more examples, please let me know - I might add a Part Two to this post.

Thoughts are exhausting

The act of creating a world in your imagination by reading a novel (or, in this case, slow-burn smut) increases neural connections that persist even after you put the book down² and reading is correlated with a delayed onset of dementia in Alzheimer Disease³. In other words, ain’t nobody got time for that.

Save your strength.

Don't read porn.

It's risky

Reading expands your mind.

But reading porn expands your butthole.

Spontaneous Butthole Expansion (SBE) is one of the many risks of reading porn. In addition to SBE, you may begin experiencing more irrepressible sexual thoughts throughout the day. You may develop an increased appetite for sexual release with your partner (more on that later). And you may begin to believe that the sexual desires you had previously repressed are nothing to be ashamed of.

That is all very naughty.

Don't read porn.

Less "me" time

There are several ways couples share written porn with each other:

• Reading aloud to each other

• Listening together to voiceovers

• Reading separately and then recreating the sex acts with each other

Couples who watch porn may find that they have become more sexually intimate⁴, which means less time for you to work on your own hobbies, like finding Argonian Ale in Skyrim. We can only assume the outcomes are even worse for couples who read porn together.

Don't read porn. Alone or otherwise.

Repression works

As generations of Irish Catholics⁵ will tell you, the best way to deal with your problems is to bottle them deep inside. And, believe me, kinks are problems.

Among those who enjoy written porn, “kink” has taken on a whole new meaning. In a shocking and abhorrent degradation of the English language, these people will even proudly declare kinks like “praise”, “femdom”, and “spanking”. They go out of their way to mention them, as though Kinks is their new Golden Retriever puppy and not the lascivious secret written with a whiteout pen on the toilet stall.⁶

Merriam-Webster defines "kink" as "unconventional sexual taste or behavior." Unconventional. The more people you encounter who have the same "kink" as you, the more you may believe that your interests are not actually kinks, but perfectly normal desires. "Kinks" (or, more appropriately, "no-nos") should remain kinks.

Most importantly, research shows that repressing our feelings, especially sexual feelings, leads to greater comfort, happiness, and inner peace.⁷ Why jeopardize that by ridding yourself of the existential angst of sexual repression?

Don't read porn.

If you are unconvinced by the arguments made in this post, check out some written porn and ruin your life.

Some written porn you definitely should not read:

Agent Ranch Hand isn’t even trying to pretend this publication is wholesome:

• RanchHandAgency
  X-Periment, X-Pression, X-Perience Curated by Agent Ranch Handmedium.com

They call themselves sweet, but let’s be serious, Sunny A Morgan and Skylar Quinn are running a seriously debauched operation:

• Crush Publications
  Crush Publications is open to all types of erotica. We love crush themes but we want all your stories.medium.com

Footnotes

⁰ Issues with writing erotica 2 — isn’t this just pornography?. Dianne Herbert (2022).

² Short- and Long-Term Effects of a Novel on Connectivity in the Brain. Gregory S. Berns, Kristina Blaine, Michael J. Prietula, and Brandon E. Pye. Brain Connectivity 2013 3:6, 590-600

² Cognitive Activity and Onset Age of Incident Alzheimer Disease Dementia. Robert S. Wilson, Tianhao Wang, Lei Yu, Francine Grodstein, David A. Bennett, Patricia A. Boyle. Neurology Aug 2021, 97 (9) e922-e929; DOI:10.1212/WNL.0000000000012388

³ Watching Pornography Alone or Together: Longitudinal Associations With Romantic Relationship Quality. Charlie Huntington, Howard Markman & Galena Rhoades (2021) , Journal of Sex & Marital Therapy, 47:2, 130-146; DOI: 10.1080/0092623X.2020.1835760

⁴ Many of the author's ancestors are Irish and Catholic, and she can personally vouch for the positive influence of repression and guilt on their behavior, like alcoholism and remaining in abusive relationships.

⁵ On a completely unrelated note, definitely don't look for any such writing in the third stall of the women's restroom in Penn Station.

⁶ Source not found.

Thanks for reading. If you liked this, consider subscribing, or becoming a paid subscriber so maybe one day I can do this full-time!

💛 Maia

Subscribe now

Another margarita. Christ. Katherine kept her widest, most Margot Robbie smile (Barbie smile, not Suicide Squad smile. Hopefully not Suicide Squad) plastered to her face, making sure her disdain didn’t reach her eyes.

“Of course, sir,” she purred, and strode to the back of the plane. Mr. Margarita let out a low whistle as she walked away.

“What an ass,” he said to the man seated in the white leather recliner opposite him. His buddy must have made some tawdry response because a moment later Mr. Margarita was guffawing and then hiccuping. She forced her distaste for him back down her throat. She should be pleased he found her attractive. That was part of the job. And, what with him getting drunker by the minute all on his own, this could have been her easiest job yet, but for the complication currently staring moodily out the window from his plush leather seat. There wasn’t supposed to be a second man.

Kat fished around for more limes. On a swanky private jet like this, for a man such as Mr. Margarita (true name Emile Freeman), Jose Cuervo and his margarita mixes were most unwelcome. Mr. Margarita demanded fresh lime juice and actual agave nectar. Kat dropped the latest batch of freshly desiccated lime husks, to join their fallen brethren in the trash. No compost either, of course. These fucking people. She ground the tumbler’s wet rim into the Celtic sea salt a little harder than necessary. Celtic sea salt. For his perfectly “authentic” margarita. What a guy. It was probably delicious though, dammit. She couldn’t resist. Before transferring the cocktail from the shaker she took a sip. Yup. Fuck. Delicious. Thanks for the recipe, yummly-dot-com. She finished the pour and turned to find Mr. Complication watching her, the ghost of a smile hovering at the corners of his lips. He’d probably seen her sampling the drink, but so what? They were already airborne. Good luck reporting her to…whatever agency she was supposedly contracted through. She should know that. She reprimanded herself mentally for that lapse. Hopefully it wouldn’t come up. She beamed back at him, Margot Robbie on full-blast, and winked, which seemed to startle him.

She waltzed back to Mr. Margarita, tumbler balanced delicately on her palm. She rolled her hips as she walked, knowing the way the smallness of her waist accentuated the movement. If Mr. Complication were to be a wrench in her plans, at least she could take the opportunity to terrorize him a bit.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something?” she asked in her most dulcet tones, after handing the margarita over to its fate. Mr. Complication gazed at her flatly and pursed his lips.

“I’m sure.”

Kat inclined her head and smiled softly. Dickhead, she thought. She turned to resume her post when a hand caught hers. Mr. Margarita had already drained his new drink (What the fuck, dude, savor it) and was dragging his tongue along the rim, collecting flakes of Celtic sea salt on that wet muscle. He dropped her hand in order to pat his thigh.

“Why don’t you take a seat?” he asked her breasts.

Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kat thought, but said instead -

“I thought you’d never ask.”

- and perched on his leg.

“That’s a girl!” Mr. Margarita exclaimed, bouncing his leg so that she jiggled unceremoniously on his lap. She laughed and tossed her hair, grimacing internally at the way her tight stewardess’ uniform squeezed her bouncing tits.

“Oh, Mr. Freeman, you are too much,” she laughed, swatting his chest playfully.

Mr. Complication watched the proceedings with the same dead expression in his eyes, but his lip curled slightly in what could only be disgust. You and me both, brother, Kat thought. Her gaze slid to the silver briefcase, wondering if she could snatch it, roundhouse kick them both, tie them up, and finish the remainder of the flight in peace. Maybe make one of those deliciously multicultural margaritas for herself. That wouldn’t do, though. Freeman mustn’t suspect anything until he had left the plane, hopefully well on his way to the Hongkonese businessman’s manor, decoy case in hand. Kat’s mind flashed to the decoy stowed in the trashcan beneath a mound of lime rinds. This would all be going swimmingly if the asshole across the aisle hadn’t decided to show up.

Mr. Margarita snaked an arm around her waist and squeezed her against his chest. She could feel his hot breath on her neck. His other hand reached up and held her throat, fingers still cool from the margarita glass. She would rather not perform sex acts on this fool, especially not in front of an audience, but if it meant the success of the mission, she didn’t have a choice. And it’s not like it would be a first. She’d trained for this.

Read more