Showing posts with label breasts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breasts. Show all posts

Friday, May 15, 2015

Galactic Butt Plug 1

The Galactic Butt Plug, Part 1

This is a glimpse of the first installment of The Galactic Butt Plug story, part of the Erotic Sci-Fi Tales of Yore series.




Fèn was an incorrigible fucktard of the first galactic degree. When Musi died soon after Fèn’s fifteenth birthday, the man-child Fèn hardly noticed. He did notice, however, that during his mother’s period of mourning, she tended to shower less.
Fèn confronted his mother one afternoon, “Do you never bathe now, mother? Should you rather stink like a space weasel of Himfeltalt than perchance occasionally flower my nostrils with some pleasant scent of star-kissed soap?”
Fèn’s mother admitted that she was a wreck these days and did not have the energy to do things like keep up her physical appearance.
“Then let thy son led thee a soapy hand,” said Fèn, pushing his mother toward the washroom.
Fèn’s mother resisted at first. But Fèn convinced her that now that father was as dead as a space worm, Fèn was the male humanoid of the house. By all rights that are accorded to the eldest male of any household in this quadrant of the Xizân Empire and by their faith in Lord Rahh and His Excellent and Infinite Black Hole at the center of their universe, Fèn’s word was law.
The widow of Musi allowed her son to peel back her space robes. Being a poor family, she only worn rags; these were tossed into a corner meanly.
Fèn’s eyes rested on his mother’s unctuous breasts. He made a silent prayer to Lord Rahh and then turned his mother around to gaze on her backside. Her figure was slender for the most part, with only hints of having once given humanoid childbirth. Fèn wished to fondle her ass cheeks but held himself back. He of course knew every curve of his mother’s figure well, having spied on her innumerable times. But with her completely nude in front of him now and within fondling distance was a completely new experience for the virgin Fèn. How he had dreamt of caressing her every fold of skin in days past.
Fèn could feel a small erection rising under his space robes. He nudged closer to his mother and placed his tenting, turgid, though still covered, cock on her back. Did she know that this was her only son’s penis now digging into her backside? The thought made Fèn wild with excitement.
Fèn pushed his mother into the shower capsule and turned on the water jets.
The teenage humanoid boy wondered to himself if he should disrobe and join her. He looked down at his hard-on. Fèn felt like he would explode. He had to do something to release the building sensation. Fèn wanted to attack his bathing mother, now soapy and slippery and wet and ever-so inviting, standing there in the shower capsule, hair full of shampoo, eyes closed to her son’s perversion, hands kneading a month’s worth of dirt out of her lovely body!
Fèn could contain himself no further. Right as he opened the... [...continue here...]











May our slits drip, our cocks swell, and our anuses billow!

Love from afar, 
-V de S




Wednesday, April 15, 2015

Review of Satanskin by Havoc

Review of Satanskin by Havoc




We’ve all heard of some authors being described as “a writer’s writer.” James Havoc, a pen name, deserves some type of title like “an erotic’s erotic” or “a sadist’s sadist” or, perhaps less eloquently, an “erotic writer’s erotic writer.” The twenty-one short stories found within Satanskin are brimming with vampiric, cum-filled, literary, child-brain-rape insanity. Don’t feel perturbed if you have to grab your OED more than once.
I would like to party with Mr. Havoc. Though, like me, he’s probably pretty boring in real life. I heard through the grapevine that he moved to Bangkok, Thailand. There is a BDSM scene there. 
What wonderfully colorful prose this stud writer can compose though! I’ve never read anything that is so sexually vivid. Let me quote some of this tasty smut. From my favorite chapter/story on Devil’s Gold:
“In dreams, Gillespie wanders sodden, hermaphrodite corridors, halls that resonate with the melancholy of outcast animal kings. He conjures forth and preens an eight mouthed ululating penis, unleashes tulpas from the folds of his scrotum, drag cold reluctant somatic formations from occult slits. Cephalopods. He caresses his breasts on a throne of bones, while eunuchs swing in the void.”
Do you enjoy whisky?
This is how best to consume Havoc’s prose. Allow yourself only to open this terrible terrible book later in the evening, not after midnight, but sometime before. Turn off all the lights except one, something shaded and halogen; avoid the candles cuz those are kitsch as hell. Have a bottle of single-malt Scotch whisky (should be $100 over or not worth it) on the table next to you. Savor your first drink for some minutes and then pour a second. Open Havoc’s bestial monograph to a start of a new chapter. Now enjoy. If you need music salting the air sweetly behind you, consider something on vinyl and of the chamber, the more piano the better. Your hand will soon be reaching toward your flowery vagina: Drip, drip, drip, after awkwardly yummy drip. Restrain yourself to only one chapter an evening.
And, indeed, this is the point—the orgasmic tip of it all. I do classify this as a piece of erotica. Why? Because anything that makes me wish to rub my clit is erotic, if not erotica, for me. Not unlike the great de Sade, Havoc will having you thinking and rethinking the ethics of your enjoyment of such tales. But of course this is what makes it all so riveting. The cerebral must be violated in the same way as all the usual orifices for a true libertine aficionado. 
Yes, read Havoc's SatanskinCome home to me Mr. Havoc. I have a bed waiting for you in Kansas!