New Story - "Trent the Traitor"

One of the canards of horror is nothing is scarier than things left to the imagination.  There’s a germ of truth there, but too often writers use it as a convenient excuse to bugger off home early.  Look, here’s my spooky house—Woooh.  Here’s my scary atmosphere—Waaah.  Here’s my terrifying monster—Actually, you can create that yourself, because . . . Nothing is Scarier than the Imagination.

Um, yeah, right.  I didn’t realise I picked this horror story up from IKEA, or that I’d have to head out into the forest and chop the wood myself.

Sometimes it’s right for the story and other times the Fade to Black to preserve a reader’s delicate sensibilities can feel like a cop out.  Lovecraft famously left the finer details of his eldritch abominations to be filled in by the reader, usually because his protagonist’s mind had already disintegrated by that point, but there was at least enough for Chaosium to fill Call of Cthulhu bestiaries with some weird and wonderful critters.

If you’ve got an imagination you might as well use it.  Sometimes that’s what the reader is expecting and wants.  Especially in erotica, where drawing the curtain across before getting to the juicy squelchy parts is firmly disapproved of.

Hence this outpouring from the noxious regions of my mind:

“And not only with each other: Trent saw humans caught up in the bacchanalian frenzy.  The demons used them like toys made of flesh.  He watched as a plump demon with the glistening black skin of a leech embrace a muscular man.  The over-cushioned lips of her vagina sucked in the man’s penis, sucked, and the man’s skin was torn away like pink tissue sliding over a raw hunk of meat.  A fiend with the head of a fish rammed a cock the length and girth of a moray eel into the vagina of a petite little blonde girl doubled over in front of it.  It pushed hips forward and the belly, then whole body of the girl swelled up like a water-filled balloon, swelled up until her eyes bulged, swelled up until something ruptured and white froth tinged with pink poured from her mouth and she deflated like a punctured blow-up doll.  A skinny man struggled in the midst of a group of twisted little goblins.  They drove penises hard like pointed horns into his anus, his mouth, his ears, even his eye sockets.  They tore flesh from the man in ragged strips and wrapped the glistening red bundles of muscle around their cocks and masturbated with them.  A slack-faced woman lay wrapped in the tentacles of some kind of abomination with the upper body of a woman and lower body of a deep-sea nightmare aberration.  The demon’s sinuous arms terminated not in hands but in obscene appendages that resembled the mouths of lampreys.  She fastened them to the woman’s tits and mewled in delight as more of her tentacles slithered up between her captive’s bleeding labia.”

It was originally a two sentence description.  Then I thought, no, that’s not good enough.  They’ll want examples.

(Don’t ask where the examples came from.  I try not to think about it.)

The full story can be found here on Eka’s Portal.

Eka’s Portal is an online Vore community.  Most aspects of Vore don’t appeal to me as a fetish, but there is some crossover with some of the succubus/monster girl stories I write.  It also hits that Erotic Horror sweet spot where arousal, disgust and fear smoosh together in a big gooey ball.

It’s been a while since I posted anything there, so I thought a little hell-space story might make up for it and show I’m still writing and alive.  Enjoy!

As always, if you like the story and haven’t already picked them up, please consider giving some of my books a look.  You’ll like them.

Book Reviews: Carlton Mellick III - Warrior Wolf Women of the Wastelands & The Menstruating Mall

My rant about the relevance of horror fiction nowadays is a perfect excuse to kick off some book reviews I’ve been meaning to post for a while without finding the time.  Yes, I’m another (sort of) horror writer writing about other horror books, but I’m also regarded as the great unwashed self-published slime by anyone who’s anyone. 

Ooh, someone’s chip on their shoulder is showing.

No community connections here.  Unless it’s one of my eXcessica/Literotica stable-mates, in which case I’ll put a ruddy big disclaimer at the top of the post.

First up some Bizarro from the mutton-chopped master of madness, Carlton Mellick III

Warrior Wolf Women of the Wasteland.

Okay, so this is where the hype comes from.  And it’s deserved.  An awesome ride that’s hugely entertaining as well as making mincemeat out of more serious books tackling similar themes.  I love the verve and confidence.  It’s like Mellick is saying, ‘Look, I can create a future world based off of McDonald’s Happy Meals, fill it with furry chicks, giant wolves and multi-armed mutants, and it will still have more to say than any number of serious, dull and downright miserable SF dystopias.’

In a post-apocalyptic future, survivors are living in a walled city surrounded by wasteland.  Authority is what you’d expect if a multinational fast food conglomerate bought the government, judiciary and police force.  There are troubles in happy-happy-we-will-fuck-you-up-if-you’re-not-smiling utopia.  Men are growing extra limbs and the women turn into wolves if they get too sexually aroused.  Just as with everything else defective in modern consumerism, when this happens the unfortunates are thrown out to fend for themselves in a wasteland where female werewolf biker gangs battle mutant armies led by a man with a giant hamburger for a head.

There’s gratuitous weird sex, furry apocalyptic bikers and all kinds of imaginative craziness, but throughout it all Mellick keeps a solid grasp on the fundamentals of plot and character.  Despite the odd building blocks, the story holds the reader’s attention without floating off in a cloud of nonsensical froth.  The only criticism I have is how eager the survivors were willing to throw in the furry bikers.  Mellick does give reasons for the survivor’s actions, but they didn’t seem that strong given how eager the wolf women were to kill them or worse.  It’s a minor blemish in an otherwise thoroughly entertaining read.

I’d love to see this made into a film, but as it would require every litigious corporate fast food behemoth to go out of business first, I suspect it might be a long time coming.  We can all do our part—don’t eat burgers, buy a vindaloo instead!

The Menstruating Mall

This is a shorter read.  Ten characters are trapped in a mall that appears to be menstruating.  Weird shit happens, some of them die, and then the mall and survivors start to change into something else.  Not as strong as Warrior Wolf Women as there isn’t much underpinning the story other than skewering some obvious stereotypes and being weird-as-fuck for the sake of being weird-as-fuck.  Fast, fun and inventive, but by the end of it I found myself sharing the same sentiments as one of the cast when they had their “Screw this, I’m outta here!” moment.

A Succubus for Halloween picks up a review on Monster Librarian

It’s a little ironic.  Last post I was moaning about the lack of places to find reviews of horror books and then I find out one of my collections picked up a nice review on MonsterLibrarian.com last month:

http://www.monsterlibrarian.com/anthologies.htm#A_Succubus_for_Halloween

So this is the point where the sales take off . . . ?

Well, actually no.

The same thing happened when the same collection received a lovely write-up on the Horror Fiction Review.  It’s what I meant last week when I was talking about the difference between “for other fans” and “for other writers”.  Is the audience avid readers looking for the next book to read, or avid writers eager to see how their book will be received?  One is an expanding universe, the other a shrinking bubble.

That’s not a fault of sites like Horror Fiction Review and MonsterLibrarian.com (If you know of any others, please plug them in the comments—I have a kindle, and it’s always hungry for fresh words), they’re doing a fantastic job.  It’s the reality of the world we live in.  If we can’t offer a compelling reason for people to put down their game controllers and TV remotes, then we scribblers of fiction don’t deserve to exist.  Harsh, but that’s how it is.

A review isn’t just an advertisement, it’s also valuable feedback, and especially important if—like me—you’re (sort of) self-published.  The great thing about having no snooty gatekeepers around is it means we can write whatever the hell we want to write.  The bad thing about having no gatekeepers around is there’s no one to stop us from walking out of the front door without any clothes on.  A positive review is a nice confidence boost.  It means I’m not deluded, I’m not wasting my time and I can write well enough to justify a seat at the table.

That’s not the end of it, though.  It’s an okay review rather than an “Ohmigod!  You must read this writer RIGHT NOW!” kind of review.  Being able to sit at the table without feeling like I’m dirty bum fresh from the street is nice, but being competent is not enough.  I’m not a Lovecraft, a Barker or a King.  I need to work harder on my craft and write better stories (while still keeping the same level of heat as a blazing hot porn film, because that’s my thang, and we all need a thang).

I also need to remember to send my other books out for review . . .

(and finish Succubus Summoning 201.  I know, I’m sorry)

Horror doesn’t need to be literary, but it needs to be horror.

I’ve been ruffling a few feathers again.

This Guardian article, “Horror: a genre doomed to literary hell?”, is exactly the sort of bunkum that gets written when literary types point their condescending noses at those horrible plebby “genres”.  It’s a nonsense argument.  Asking why horror isn’t more “literary” is like asking why Slayer don’t sound more like Coldplay.  They’re different beasts, with different aims.  Horror works best when it’s hitting the senses at a visceral level.  Sometimes it’s raw and not very pretty, but that’s fine so long as it evokes the right response in the reader.

That’s about as much of a rebuttal as needs to be written and it wasn’t the article but the clip-clopping of comments beneath it that dragged me out from under my bridge.  People offered up their lists of talented writers and argued this as evidence of horror fiction being in rude health.

I’m sorry, but this isn’t true.

It’s closed bubble thinking.  It’s one of the perversities of modern technology.  While the whole world is opened up to anyone with a keyboard, it’s easy to fall into little circles where shared thoughts and opinions are bounced around, amplified and magnified out of all proportion to their relevance to the rest of the world.

Step outside the bubble.  Who’s reading?  Who’s commenting?  Who’s reviewing?  Who’s recommending?

Who cares?

On my last visit to England I popped into my local branch of Waterstones.  Next to several shelves full of Twilight clones was the horror section.  The only books I saw by writers that hadn’t been fixtures on the horror shelves for at least two decades were Seth Grahame-Smith’s Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and Adam Nevill’s Apartment 16.

This is not a sign of health.

Step outside of the usual writer’s haunts and go clip-clopping into the tangled jungle of the World Wide Web.  Look for the places regular(ish) people hang out.  Look at how much is written about films, music, TV shows, computer games, anime.  Look at how little is written about books.

Even in The Guardian’s own book section.  Take a look at this thread recommending horror books to read for Halloween.  Spot a work that was written this century.

This is not a sign of health.

It’s not a mainstream thing either.  I have a fairly esoteric taste in music, yet if I want to find the best new death metal and black metal albums released there are plenty of online resources I can use to help me discover brilliant new bands.  Ditto for games and movies.  For horror books the best I’ve been able to manage is to slum around articles like this and see what gets recommended in the comments section.

That’s not to say there aren’t online resources.  Nick Cato and his team do a wonderful job with The Horror Fiction Review, there’s plenty of interesting stuff on the VanderMeer’s Weird Fiction Review, and there are also the websites of award givers like the HWA and BFS.  The crucial difference is these horror fiction resources are (mostly) written by writers, for other writers, while the others are written by fans, for other fans.  It’s crucial because the other media reviews don’t require me to disentangle the tainted web of who knows who to determine whether the recommendation/review/award is unbiased enough to be trustworthy.

This is not a sign of health.

We have a finite amount of leisure time and there are plenty of competing activities to devour it.  If we want people to read horror fiction we have to give them a compelling reason do so, otherwise they’re going to spend that time watching TV, going to see films or blowing zombie’s heads off on their Playstation.

Talk of horror becoming more “literary” raises the hairs on the back of my hands.  Trying to appease literary critics is a trap that has swallowed many a promising horror writer.  For me, the problem with a lot of modern horror is the writers are trying to court a literary audience that will never like, appreciate or understand them.  It’s like the hapless nerd of a teen movie trying to impress the prettiest, most popular girl in class when it’s obvious she’s a bitch and the right girl for him is the one hiding behind glasses and mousey hair.

This doesn’t mean horror fiction has to be shit, but first and foremost it needs to be aware of what it’s trying to do.  It’s a rollercoaster.  It’s a way for people to confront their fears from a position of safety.  It’s a spike in the heart rate, a prickle on the back on the neck, a lurking miasma of dread, a bowl of ice in the pit of the stomach—all from the comfort of the reader’s armchair.  The very good modern horror films and computer games know and provide this.

Horror fiction doesn’t need to become more literary, it needs to find and re-engage with an audience that, neglected, has turned to other genres and media for its thrills.  It needs to burst out of the bubble clique, grab readers by the throat and shout “Read Me!  Put down that remote and Read Me!  Put down that controller and Read Me!  Then go and tell all your friends to Read Me!  Because I’m the scariest, spookiest, creepiest, eeriest, most spine-tingling muthafucka you’ll ever spend an evening with.”

DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-9 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions

And finally we reach an end.  Fifi finishes Jackson off.


DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-9 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions

“Now where were we?” Fifi asked.  Her hand caressed the back of DaBigBoom’s neck.  She stared at him, her eyes bright.  And hard.  Like precious stones.  “Oh yes.  Who are you, really?”

DaBigBoom tried again to tell her his real name.  “I’m Da—”

Her tail came down and took in his whole length with a wet schlub.  Jackson twitched as his cock was once again sheathed in soft, pliable flesh.  The tail attached itself to his groin and began to pulse and suck obscenely.  Warm juices were exuded over his helpless member and lascivious flesh wriggled up and down his shaft.  He moaned and writhed as Fifi expertly used her tail to suck him up through higher planes of pleasure.

“The name isn’t important.  It’s just a label.”

Her moist eyes seemed to expand large enough to swallow him whole.  The tail worked up and down like a piston, making lewd squelches as it sucked and squeezed him into paroxysms of ecstasy.  His hips were already responding with sympathetic twitches.

“Tell me who you are and how you came to be here,” Fifi asked, light yet irresistible.

“I don’t know,” Jackson moaned.  He writhed in pleasure as her tail continued to pleasure him.  “I was playing a game, a computer game, and I got sucked in.  I think.  I can’t remember exactly.  All I know was one moment I was living a normal life in the real world and the next I was in the game.  Not just this game.  Other games too.”

Fifi’s tail slowed down and began to gently pulsate around his cock, teasing him with soft, insistent tugs.  She rubbed her leg against his.  A gurgling sound travelled down her tail and Jackson shivered as his cock was flooded with a slithery, licentious liquid.  The bulbous jar massaged it into the stretched skin of his erection with lewd pulses.

“I play them,” he continued.  “I thought if I completed the game I’d get back to the real world, but it doesn’t happen.  I keep getting moved on from game to game before I can get near the end.”

“Fascinating,” Fifi said.

Jackson groaned.  Her tail had sucked him to orgasm.  His muscles bunched and spasmed as he sprayed cum right up into the cloying grip of her tail.

“A gamer from the human world, the real one.  And not just an avatar, here in the flesh.  How can that be?”

She leaned over and pressed her soft lips against his in a kiss.  Jackson came again.  Or maybe it was a continuation of the last orgasm.  The succubus had him completely in the palm of her hand.  She reinforced the point by cupping his overworked balls in her hand and tickling the flesh behind with the points of her nails.

“No wonder you taste so delectable,” Fifi said with a contented sigh.

Jackson was starting to get afraid.  A steady stream of single digit numbers floated up from his body as her tail milked semen from him.  That didn’t concern him so much.  It was part of the game.  Pixels.  It was what the succubus was doing to him and how it made him feel inside that was worrying him.  He felt weird—tugged about and twisted around.

“Please,” Jackson said.  “I just want to get out and get back home.”

Pink sparks crackled around the end of her tail.  Jackson felt it grow warm around his cock, but pleasantly so.  Electricity sparkled across Jackson’s nerve endings.  His cock stayed hard and throbbing, eager to disgorge another load.  Fifi continued to squeeze and suck on him with her tail.

“Who welcomed . . .”

She paused while Jackson bucked and thrashed in the throes of another orgasm.

“Who welcomed you to the game?  The first one?” she asked.

Her tail continued to pulse with slow throbs.

“Welcome?  No one, I think,” Jackson said.  The inside of his innermost jacket was soaked with sweat.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Fifi said.  “There are rules.  Someone should have been there to meet you and give you your quest.  A gamer must always have a quest.  Oh well.”

Numbers continued to stream up into the sky.  Jackson screwed up his eyes as the channel within her tail contracted around him.  Soft flesh squeezed up against his swollen glans in a wet kiss.  The bulb squeezed right down, preparing for one last, final suck.

A loud cheer went up from the direction of the castle.  Fifi lifted her head, glanced over and tsked.

“That fat pile of blubber always was a most unimpressive boss,” she said.

Her tail detached from him with a noisy wet squelch.  Sickly white streams of cum dribbled down his shaft for a few moments before the flow dried up.

“Pihanga’s—your—forces have won this level.  This battle is over.”

She stood up.  She was about to turn and walk away when she looked down at DaBigBoom’s jackets and mmmed.  She reached down, pulled the outermost one off him and tried it on.  It was blue with yellow trim, with broad shoulders and long like a cape.  It looked good on her, which was stating the obvious; her supernatural sexiness meant she could wear anything and make it look good.

“Wait,” he called out as she was about to leave.  “What’s this quest I’m supposed to complete?  Where—how—do I find it?”

Fifi shrugged.  “I’m sure it will become apparent.  These things usually do.”

Her hair changed colour.  Violet flowed out from her scalp and down her silky long hair, washing the black away.  Her skin lightened in colour and a spiralling black tattoo blossomed on the left side of her body like twisted ivy.  She struck a sexy pose for DaBigBoom.

“It’s been most enjoyable, but I’m needed in another game.”

The sexiness of her body was breathtaking.  DaBigBoom felt like he’d just gone thirty rounds with Lennox Lewis, but a glance from her sultry eyes, a glimpse of the creamy white bulges underneath her jacket, the hairless folds of her sex, and his body wanted to do it all over again.  She knew it and her eyes glittered with amusement.  The orifice at the end of her tail dilated.  DaBigBoom thought it was winking at him.

“It’s a hentai game,” Fifi said, her eyes lighting up with lust.  “If I beat the hero I get to do whatever I want to him.”

And this wasn’t a hentai game? DaBigBoom thought.  He looked down at the slimy mess of his crotch.  Sure seemed perverted enough.

“Maybe it’ll be you,” she giggled.

She put a hand to her lips and blew him a kiss that took the form of a sparkly red heart.  It floated through the air and burst against his skin with a sound like silvery bells.

A 1 appeared above DaBigBoom’s head.  He popped and vanished from the game board in a puff of smoke.

* * * *

DaBigBoom opened his eyes.  Three faces were looking down at him.  Pihanga and Fiore were already familiar to him.  The third wasn’t as familiar, but DaBigBoom remembered seeing her outside the hospital tent back at the castle.  She smiled and looked down at him with wide blue eyes that held a smidgeon too much crazy for DaBigBoom’s comfort.

“Good as new,” the girl with long black hair and unsettling eyes said.

“We won,” Fiore said.  “You held off the succubus long enough for us to kick Wally’s flabby ass.”

“In recognition I hereby promote you to the rank of sergeant,” Pihanga said.  “Now get out of bed and follow me.  We’ve the next level to complete.”

“Ahem,” the girl—DaBigBoom assumed doctor or nurse despite her wearing a costume that looked more suited to a shrine maiden from Medieval Japan—said.  She held out a hand.

Pihanga tossed her a coin.

The girl looked down at the single coin in her palm and frowned.  “Hey.  Resurrection and full HP restore.  This isn’t enough.”

Pihanga pointed to DaBigBoom’s yellow baseball cap.  “K’winny,” she said.

The girl looked dubiously at DaBigBoom but didn’t push it further.  DaBigBoom shrugged apologetically and followed Pihanga and Fiore out of the hospital.

Jackson in HRPG-World: 2 End


As some have already guessed, the main game being parodied is the complete lunacy of Disgaea.  Disgaea (there are four main games in the series, although I've only played the first on a DS emulator) is a tactical RPG that also spawned an anime series.  It's great fun to play and has plenty of moments of wicked humour.  The other game I spliced in is an old arcade classic: The New Zealand Story.

Neither are adult games.  Disgaea does have a succubus monster type and while she has plenty of "bounce", she's harmless innuendo at best.  Harmless . . . unless you have a cesspool for an imagination like me.

If you enjoyed this series, please support my writing by picking up one of my books (which I'm sure you'll also enjoy).
I'm going to give the series a break for a couple of weeks while I continue to work on Succubus Summoning 201.  Jackson will return in "A Sticky Starting Scrap."

DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-8 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions

Part 8 actually on schedule for a change.


DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-8 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions.

Fifi looked down at him and her big eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re still going?”

DaBigBoom could just about move his arms and legs.  He wasn’t sure that qualified as still going.

“How intriguing,” Fifi said.  Her lips turned up in a wicked smile.

DaBigBoom wasn’t so sure he liked that smile.  He pulled up his knees and started to get back to his feet.  He was unsteady, like a punch-drunk boxer in the tenth round.

Fifi held her tail in her arms like a rifle again.  DaBigBoom liked that even less.  The bulbous end swelled up as if inhaling a deep breath and then puffed out a thick cloud of sparkling pink dust and shimmering red hearts.  DaBigBoom was enveloped.  He breathed in and inhaled a powerful, sultry perfume that smelt like something an expensive escort would wear when entertaining exclusive clientele.  The scent set his heart racing and caused his brain to throb with sexual excitement.

It also made his arms and legs feel like sacks of wet cement.

“Don’t get up,” Fifi said with a smile.

Not that it was needed.  DaBigBoom was already falling back to the floor.  The cloud wrapped around him like a comfortable duvet.  Ephemeral hearts collided with his skin and popped like wet kisses.  The dust covered him and set pleasure receptors sparking all across his body.

“I surrender,” DaBigBoom said.  “I give in.  You’ve beaten me.”  Even his dick had decided it’d had enough.

“I thought I had,” Fifi said, “And yet you’re still here on the game board.  Most intriguing.”

She grabbed his ankles and pulled his body off the rocky path and onto the softer dirt or ash making up the verge.  DaBigBoom noticed he was now lying at the intersection of four board squares with Fifi lying on her elbow next to him.

“What about the game rules?” he asked.  “Shouldn’t we be staying within our own squares?”

“Rules, feh,” Fifi said dismissively.  “I’m more interested in you.”

She tip-toed up his exposed chest on long fingernails and flicked the bottom of DaBigBoom’s chin.

“You’re clearly not a k’winny, but what are you?  Even with the stat boost from these,” she tugged one of the three jackets he was still wearing, “you still have far too many HP for any character class of your level.”

“I’m DaBigBoom.”

For once he was glad that stupid word fell out of his mouth rather than his real name.  A cold calculating spark had appeared at the heart of her big bright eyes.  DaBigBoom had a disconcerting feeling the over-sexed demonic ditz with a magical tail was just a costume and now he was glimpsing the actress beneath.

“That’s the name Pihanga gave you.  She behaves as though she’s the main character, the player, but she’s just another piece in this game.  Her role is to attempt to usurp the starring role for comedic effect.  That’s all.”

Fifi’s long nails tickled lightly around his nipple.  They looked a little too pointed and sharp for DaBigBoom to be entirely comfortable with them being where they were.

“You, however, are something entirely different.”

DaBigBoom didn’t need to be told that.  He was human.  Real.  Everything apart from him was a collection of pixels—nothing more than 1s and 0s within the memory of a computer.

At least that’s what he’d thought.

Fifi’s hand, her fingers tipped with those wickedly sharp nails, tickled down to DaBigBoom’s crotch.

“I’m DaBigBoom,” he blurted out.  Again getting the word wrong.

DaBigBoom’s penis lay on a nest of pubic hair matted down with a combination of both his and the succubus’s sexual fluids.  Like all dicks after sex, it looked sorry for itself.  Fifi placed a thumb and forefinger around his flaccid manhood and began to rub up and down in an attempt to bring his sex back to life.  DaBigBoom never would have thought he’d be unable to get erect in the presence of a hot girl until he was at least ninety-five, and definitely never would have thought that inability would make him feel relieved.

“Tsk, males,” Fifi said.  “No stamina for sex at all.”

Fifi’s tail curled over his prone body.  The three triangular flanges opened out to reveal the puckered orifice at the heart of the jar-like structure.  Like a gun to his head, was DaBigBoom’s uncomfortable thought.

“That’s not going to help,” he said.  “It’s making me nervous.  And nerves are kryptonite to erections.”

The bulbous jar at the end of her tail expanded and then contracted to whoosh a cloud of pink gas into his face.  His head was completely enveloped.  The strong scent—a melange of sleazy perfume, sexual perspiration and the forbidden musk between a woman’s thighs—overwhelmed his senses.  His head fell back and his brain throbbed.  Countless memories of illicitly-watched porn films and eager fumbles with old girlfriends poured forth.  Pornographic images—slutty eyes, long silky hair, bulging boobs, lasciviously long legs and vaginas held agape—flooded his eyeballs in a slick of sexual depravity.  His ears were plugged with sighs of passion and the quiet squelches of coupling bodies.  And the smell—it was like Fifi was sitting right on top of his face, her wet cunt dripping juice onto him.

“Aphrodisiac, keyed directly to your physiology,” Fifi said.  “We succubi never accept ‘No’.”

The pleasurable throbs passed down DaBigBoom’s spine and collected in his balls.  There they grew in strength and frequency.  Blood stampeded back down to his groin.

“Much better,” Fifi said.

Her tail contracted again and puffed another cloud of sensual odours into DaBigBoom’s face.  It encompassed his head and this time he inhaled eagerly, lost in his appreciation of the exciting fragrances.

“And now with a little encouragement . . .”

DaBigBoom’s cock started to rise in Fifi’s hand.  Through a pink haze he watched as she bent over and pressed her considerable boobs together around his swelling erection.  Nestled between her warm and soft pillows, his cock quickly swelled back to a hardness that tugged at his crotch and caused his balls to ache.  Fifi dipped her head down into her cleavage and lapped up a droplet of pre-cum from the tip of his penis with her tongue.

“Much much better,” she said.

The cloud of perfume dissipated and DaBigBoom recovered enough of his senses to realise Fifi was now lying alongside him.  The soft bulges of her breasts rested against his side.  One of her legs was crossed over his.  One arm was slid underneath his neck while the fingernails of her other hand twiddled with his chest hair.  His erection stuck up like a pole.  The fleshy bulge at the end of Fifi’s tail hovered above it.  The orifice at the end opened out and a little stream of slimy lubricant drooled down onto his lap.

“Now where were we?” Fifi asked.  Her hand caressed the back of DaBigBoom’s neck.  She stared at him, her eyes bright.  And hard.  Like precious stones.  “Oh yes.  Who are you, really?”

to be concluded . . .

DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-7 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions

A little later than planned, but still going.  Fifi gets well and truly XXX-rated.


DaBigBoom in HRPG-World: 2-7 Exploding Kiwis in the Nether Regions

“I can take triple of this,” DaBigBoom said.

“Mmm, that’s good to hear,” Fifi said, “then let’s begin.”

Begin?  Weren’t they already beginning?

Her hips came back down and this time DaBigBoom felt his cock plunge into something soft, warm and sinful.  Sinful.  That was the best word for it.  Like he’d just plunged into a cushion of congealed sin.  It puffed up inside her and smothered the swollen tip of his cock.  A pleasant little tickle crawled across his engorged glans.  Fifi pressed downwards and that warm something engulfed the whole of his member, right to the root.

Fuck.  He felt like his dick was soaking in every dirty little immoral thought given physical form, every filthy little perverted desire.

“Oh yes,” Fifi sighed.

 A gentle little rippling squeeze ran along the length of DaBigBoom’s shaft from the root to the tip.  It felt like a soft little tug from a hand entirely made out of honey.  DaBigBoom lasted about as long as every perpetually horny teen presented with the real thing for the first time.  At least he didn’t feel guilty this time.

“Coming,” he said with a grunt.

He squeezed her ass between his hands and pressed his hips forward.  A column of semen rushed up his shaft and erupted into the soft sticky tissue enveloping his twitching manhood.  It absorbed his seed like a sponge, like a black hole absorbing light. The sinful organ wriggled and pulsed leisurely around DaBigBoom’s swollen penis while Fifi moaned in delight.  DaBigBoom’s cock responded with a series of slow, steady throbs as he emptied his balls into her devilish body.

“That was one,” Fifi said with a smile.

A ghostly red heart bloomed in the air between them and floated upwards into the sky on a spray of smaller spinning red hearts.  One hundred and forty appeared above her head in green numerals.

That was one? DaBigBoom thought.  His knees were trembling and his fringe was wet with perspiration.

Fifi relaxed her legs and shifted position.  She leant forward and let a flap of her wings pull their conjoined hips apart.  DaBigBoom’s cock was released from the cushion of super-soft sinful tissue.  She nearly let him slide all the way out before her pliable labia squeezed down around the mushroom head of his cock, keeping it inside her heat.

The bulbous tip of her tail pressed up between his arse cheeks.  The flanges stuck to his buttocks.  The orifice at the centre of her tail nudged against and began to suck on his anus in a sensation that was unexpected but surprisingly pleasant.

Fifi rubbed the tip of her nose against DaBigBoom’s.  “Two,” she said.

Her legs folded tightly around his waist.  She slid back down his pole and once again DaBigBoom was pushing up against that moist, perversely pliable bulge of tissue at the back of her vagina.  His cock never even had a chance to go down before its head was wrapped in a clingy membrane that drew him back into a glob of congealed depravity.  Fifi closed her eyes and pulled in her taut midriff.  She sucked.

Forbidden pleasures whispered up DaBigBoom’s shaft.  His body tensed and he groaned in pleasure as he erupted again.  Once again she thoroughly absorbed his issue.  The black hole pull of her sex extended down his urethra and into his crotch until DaBigBoom was no longer sure if he was pumping his seed into her, or she pumping it out of him.

Another spectral red heart bloomed in the air between them.  A +1 floated up into the sky together with two lots of 220, one green and one white.

That sounded like a lot, DaBigBoom thought.  It felt like a lot.  His breath came out in ragged gasps.  Sweat ran down his body and stained the inside of his jackets.  His hair was a soaking mop.  Wasn’t he supposed to be a level one k’winny or something?  How come he had so many HP?

Fifi shifted her body again.  Her internal cushion released DaBigBoom’s cock, but this time not so far.  He was still deep inside her, his still-engorged cock pressing lightly against the pliant membrane of the mysterious organ at the end of her pussy.

“Are you okay there?” she asked.  Her voice was all light and breezy as if this was just a bit of fun rather than a series of brutal bashes to DaBigBoom’s HP total.

“I’d be enjoying it a lot more if it didn’t take so much out of me,” DaBigBoom panted.

“Oh quit complaining,” Fifi said.  “You’ve still got plenty to give.”

Her tail wormed up against his ass.  The orifice kissed and sucked on his sphincter in a way that sent shivers of pleasure running up his spine.

Then DaBigBoom heard a crackle.  Like static electricity.  The flanges of her tail grew warm—hot—against his soft ass cheeks.

DaBigBoom’s eyes widened.

Fifi laughed at his expression.

“I’m not going to blast you,” she said.  “That would be gross.”

DaBigBoom was trying not to picture several thousand volts of electricity jolting up into his ass, or imagine what that would do to his colon.

“Men are such fragile little things when it comes to sex.  A couple of pops and you’re done.  Totally unacceptable.  I still have an attack left.”

Her tail orifice sucked his anus open.  The bulbous tip of her tail contracted.  A warm crackle of energy zinged up his rectal wall and enveloped his prostate gland in a warm glow.

“There, a little help for your prostate,” Fifi said.

DaBigBoom’s mouth fell open.  His cock, which had just started to soften, twitched back to aching fullness and nudged up against the sticky trap at the base of Fifi’s vagina.

“Three,” Fifi said.

Back down she came, and back into that soft bubble of concentrated degeneracy DaBigBoom plunged.  It felt like the moist organ was whispering indecent suggestions right to his cells, murmurings he could not resist.

Fifi took her hands off DaBigBoom’s sides and brought them back to her own body.  She sighed and massaged her heavy boobs as they bobbed back and forth with each thrust of her body.  He wasn’t even sure who was supporting who now.  Her body tugged and pushed him while her wings flapped harder and faster, working to keep both of them upright.

DaBigBoom had thought he had nothing left.  Fifi had other ideas.  Her tail continued to pulse pleasant little crackles of energy into DaBigBoom until his prostate—then his balls—felt like they were lit up and glowing.

“Oh yes!” Fifi cried.

Her sex clenched around him, smooshing that soft sinful something against his over-sensitised penis.  DaBigBoom groaned and let fly with the biggest ejaculation of the three.  Fifi drew the torrents of cum from his body and absorbed it all.

Then she released him.  Her tail detached from his ass, her legs uncrossed from behind his buttocks and her vagina dilated.  DaBigBoom toppled backwards and fell flat on his back.

Fifi continued to hover for a few moments before elegantly landing back on her naked feet.

“Mmm, that was most enjoyable,” she said to no one in particular.

DaBigBoom gave a loud groan.  How could something that felt so good leave him feeling so shit.  He looked up.  Two 400s, a +2 and another stupid red heart.  That must be it.  She’d knocked him out, incapacitated him, or whatever this game treated zero HP as.

Fifi looked down at him and her big eyes widened in surprise.

“You’re still going?”

DaBigBoom could just about move his arms and legs.  He wasn’t sure that qualified as still going.

“How intriguing,” Fifi said.  Her lips turned up in a wicked smile.


Oh Fifi, haven't you already done enough to the poor lad.
Next week: Nope, she hasn't.