ABOUT THE STORIES

  Written at the tender age of 16, this was the first ‘kinky’ story I completed.  This was back when most online people either chatted on BBS’s or on CompuServe.  I wrote it on an Amiga 1200 with the extremely basic Memacs text editor (it could indent and that’s about it).  Since then it has been transferred through half a dozen formats as I upgraded computers, and needed to be repaired for incompatibility each time.  It may still have error artifacts in places.

   At the time I wrote this story I had recently discovered mannequinization fetish literature and wanted to make my own contribution to the genre.  It also reflects the fascination I had at that age with the ‘forbidden’ lingerie stores.  I prefer to keep my stories more or less in the realm of possibility, but that obviously can’t apply to subjects like mannequinization... can’t be done without a sci fi or magic plot device.  I ran with a sort of alchemical explanation.  In lots of those sorts of statue/mannequin stories, the victim dies as a result - or at least goes into suspended animation - but that fate seemed sad to me then and still does so now.  It’s much better if a person is able to experience it.  Living statues are always better, in my opinion.

   I think my youth and inexperience at writing shows through pretty clearly.  The plot is okay as these things go, but the dialogue and grammar leaves a lot to be desired.  People have suggested that I revamp it in George Lucas fashion to improve it here and there, but apart from a grammatical pass I gave it some years ago I prefer to leave old stories alone.  They are what they are, like a snapshot in time.

   I wrote this one around the same time as The Boutique, perhaps even started it while writing The Boutique but didn’t finish it up til later.  My memory of chronological details from that long ago is a tad fuzzy.  It, too, was moved through many computer formats that left it pretty scrambled.  Beyond piecing it back together and going through the grammar a bit, I’ve left it untouched since then.

   This story is obviously a vehicle for a diaper/adult baby theme.  It’s certainly more graphic, scatologically-speaking, than later stories.  And I’m not even into scat stuff.  Well, not in real life, anyway.  It’s just too smelly.  Yet in other areas, such as body modification (she lost a few teeth), it doesn’t go nearly as far as I would if I was writing a similar story nowadays.  Again, I think it shows a little immaturity overall.  One thing that annoys me when rereading it are the occasional expressions of pain or pleasure all written out like “NononoOOO OOOoooh”...  that sort of thing is common enough in porn or kink-based literature, but it didn’t take me long to figure out that was just bad writing.  There are usually better ways to express feelings than with long strings of ululating vowels.

   In the end, the Lisa character finds happiness in her new role.  I know that sort of thing frustrates some strong-willed readers who, if picturing themselves in a similar situation, would stubbornly resist til the end.  In most of my stories, the victim characters usually end up accepting their lot in life, having little other choice.  The speed with which this happens is a bit unrealistic, I admit.  I accelerate the process quite a lot simply to avoid having to detail many years’ worth of brainwashing/torment/subjugation.

   This is a very short little story that I wrote in a day or three.  One of the rare times when an idea is fully formed in me brain and I can easily pound it out in a few hours.  The entire thing is written as one side of a conversation, which is a little unusual.  Honestly, there’s really not much plot or character development in this one.  It was just an amusing way to explore a few body-mod sort of scenarios, such as extreme hirsutism and premature aging.  However, it marks the point in my life where I really began to write for pleasure, as a hobby, rather than as an occasional lark.

  This is a fun little story, though it definitely spawned a great deal of frustration before it was done.  I think I started it sometime in the late 90s, but I never got past the first fifteen pages or so.  I put it on the back burner for a long time.  When I returned to it years later I found that it was written rather poorly, so I started over from scratch.  Well, I was about a third of the way through when the word processor crashed and corrupted the file (and MS Works, which I was using at the time, doesn’t make back-ups).  Lost the whole thing.  That’s discouraging, to say the least.  So, I had to start it a third time, and I suppose the third time’s the charm.

   It’s one of those stories where I expound on a fetish or two and take it to an extreme in the hands of an obsessive captor.  I wouldn’t say I have a huge fur fetish, myself, but I like the thought of it, particularly when used in bondage or in unconventional outfits.  I had to adopt a sci fi element in the form of mysterious pharmaceuticals in order to achieve the desired results.  Can’t really stuff someone full of fur and expect them to live, otherwise.  Again, it has the victim character, Terra, finding some kind of happiness at the end.  I feel unsatisfied otherwise.  I get to like my characters and I don’t like the thought of them being miserable for the rest of their lives.

   It also has the recurring theme of dropping an average girl into a totally insane situation and seeing how she reacts.  I do enjoy that, though I don’t always know what’s going to happen.  Usually when starting a new story I know the beginning, a few scenes in the middle, and sometimes an ending.  The rest I discover as I go along.  When I started Terra in Furs, all I really saw clearly was that scene where Terra’s all bundled up and strapped down in a fur cocoon in the alcove.  I wasn’t sure how she’d get there or what was going to happen to her along the way.

   I’d say Terra in Furs was the first story in a more mature phase of writing.  By that I mean that my prior stories were basically fetish vehicles.  Starting with Terra in Furs – though the theme is of course heavily fetishistic – the stories started to become a little more story-like, and more psychologically exploratory... getting inside the characters’ heads a little more.

   This is another story where an activity, in this case exercise, is turned into a fetishized obsession.  I suppose you could call it a sort of commentary on the diet-and-health industry and being driven towards an unattainable goal of physical perfection.  Could be.  But mostly it’s simply based on fantasies I’ve had, though I certainly wouldn’t take them to this sort of extreme in real life.  Forced exercise is a rare subject, though I have run across it a few times.  I sometimes find it fun to take rare subjects and make a story out of them, if for no other reason than to fill a niche!

   Interestingly, this is the only story I’ve written where the protagonist/narrator could possibly be male.  In all other stories, they’re explicitly female.  The ambiguity wasn’t intentional at the start, but once I realized it, I decided to leave it that way.

   Shortly after finishing this story, I decided I ought to get my own website to share my wares.

   This was the first story I finished after my site was complete.  I rewrote the first page half a dozen times before I figured out where I was going with it.  You know, I don’t even have a sunbathing fetish, and yet I wrote a story about it.  Nor can I say that I have a fetish for cocoa butter scented tanning lotion (though I do seem to have powerful sense memory nostalgia for the smell, perhaps from water parks I went to as a child).  I can’t recall where I got the inspiration, but the idea of forced sunbathing got into my noggin and I decided to make a story based around it.  I did like the thought of a sort of non consensual body modification in such an unusual way.  Most people wouldn’t even consider tanning a body modification, but it does alter the appearance and might seem to be quite a violation if you were forced to do it.  Like the victim in the story, I hate being in the sun and don’t like being hot.  I can’t even sleep when it’s too warm.  So there’s a lot of me in her, in that way.  There are definitely some squicky bits in there, with the sweat and all... but hey, it’s all-natural!

   I remember going back and forth on whether I wanted the girl to be actually kidnapped, or blackmailed, or simply talked into the situation.  I knew she wouldn’t want to endure it willingly, at least not at the start, but the kidnapping angle didn’t jive with the personality of the protagonist I had in mind.  I settled on having her believe she couldn’t escape, though she could have if she was truly motivated to try hard enough.  But deep down somewhere, she was enjoying herself enough to keep her from trying very hard.

   And now that I look at it, it would appear that this was the last story I did from the dominant or captor’s point of view.  The captor’s point of view is all good and well, and can make for a compelling story, but I decided, subconsciously, at some point that the victim’s point of view made for more interesting stories most of the time.  After all, the victim has no idea what’s going on or what’s going to happen, just as the reader doesn’t know what’s going to happen, and we learn and experience it with them.  It’s also more enjoyable as an imaginative exercise.

   This is essentially a D/s romance.  Of course, I consider most of my stories to be romances, in a twisted, one-sided sort of way (I like to think of the genre as horror romance).  But this one was purely romantical, with a few unusual twists thrown in.  It’s also the most realistically plausible, down to earth story I’ve written.  I remember having fun thinking up all the dreadful ways you could abuse hair around the house.  And, surely, I can’t be the only one whose seen one of those carport grease spots and pictured using someone’s hair to clean it up.  Yes?  Maybe?  Ah, well.

   This one was actually a bit emotional for me to write, since the story itself goes to some deep emotional places at times, some based on my own experiences.  For instance, I was bullied a great deal in grade school about my hair because it was so thick and curly.  I got to the point where I hated my hair.  Of course, once I got older and grew it out, I started getting compliments on it from total strangers.  Go figure.  I recall tearing up a little while writing some of the happier scenes.

   As a side note, the character Rebecca is probably the most like me of any of my characters.  Not in appearance, or anything.  Just in personality.

   I think that the mother-daughter sort of relationship is common in my writing.  But not because I’m into incest or anything.  There’s simply an appeal in the motherly dynamic of that kind of relationship, which can be both nurturing and controlling.  It can also be warped to become something quite scary, though that’s not the case in Vainglorious – and they aren’t actually related.

   This one’s the longest story I’d written to date.  And it’s strange that it should be the longest, considering most of it occurs in one or two rooms with primarily just the two characters.  It’s hard to keep a story in such a setting interesting for so long, but I did my best for better or worse.  I hadn’t intended it to be so long when I started it.  But, for me, a story isn’t finished until it’s finished.  I’ve heard more than once that people simply weren’t interested in reading it because it was so long.  They weren’t looking for novel length sex stories, or didn’t like reading stories that long on a computer screen.

   Of course, it was never meant to be a masturbation fodder style story.  It’s really more of a psychological exploration, occurring from the point of view from the victim.  How would someone react when placed in such a seemingly inescapable situation?  How long would it take for them to break down and stop fighting?  The main character goes through a lot of changes in the course of the story.  I tried to describe the mental changes subtly, though, since the character herself wasn’t aware of them at the time.  Just slight alterations in language and rationalization and such, until eventually she’s internalized her captor’s point of view.

   I enjoyed going through the holidays and seasons from Katherine’s perspective.  I like it when the mundane and commonplace is mixed with utter bizarreness.   You know some crazy stuff goes on behind the facade of suburban homes.

   I’ve been told that the ending and epilogue drags on too long, but I just wasn’t satisfied with an abrupt ending.  I’d spent a very long time inside the heads of these characters and I wanted to lay out their future a little bit, to make sure they’d be content.  And I like to think that readers, if they’ve gotten into the story and enjoy the characters as well, appreciate that.  In 2011 I went through and fixed some grammar and typos, and rearranged the epilogue a little to hopefully make it a bit smoother.  The changes aren’t really all that noticeable, though, unless you compared the versions side by side.  Just little things.

   I spent a couple days Googling poisons before finding notexin, the myotoxin Evelyn used to weaken her companion.  I’m not sure it would work exactly as described in the story, especially when ingested, but, hey, this isn’t a scientific journal.  And I’m not sure if they’ve ever made an automated enema machine.  If not, they should!

   I had tons of fun writing this one.  It’s silly and gross and educational!  Zombies have always been my favorite movie monster, possibly because they’re the only ones that scared me as a child.  I remember watching Night of the Living Dead when I was around six and literally vomiting in fear... though that was more for the claustrophobic trapped situation, I think, than anything to do with gore.  And why shouldn’t zombies be scary?  They’re relentless, mindless, can come in the form of your own loved ones, and they must stink something awful.

   Of course, my zombies are a little different.  They aren’t mindless or bloodthirsty, and they’re practically indestructible.  They’re people, just... dead.  And easily amused.  So why not keep some around as pets?  You just have to clean them up a little first.

   I did a lot of research on embalming techniques and stages of decay for this story.  Many of the corpse preparation processes described in the story are indeed used in funeral homes.  Throw in some sterilization methods and some field-dressing techniques, and you’ve got yourself a presentable zombie!

   The story is only available in html because I didn’t want to mess up the format.  The mood of the story is intended to be partly visual, rather than just text.  It’s supposed to look as though it was some amateur Geocities site made in the late 90s, complete with missing images and a FAQ.  The captions for the missing photos are to get the imagination working.

   Beauty in Repose seems to get the strongest visceral reaction of any of my stories.  I suspect it probably has something to do with the whole ‘buried alive’ thing.  Yes?  Maybe?  Could be.  And I suppose it gets rather emotionally intense.  Unlike most of my stories, this one doesn’t exactly end more or less happily.  But it couldn’t have ended any other way.  It wasn’t a story that was meant to be happy.

   The idea of live burial, entombment, mummification, and all that sort of thing has always captured my imagination.  Being sealed up, sealed off, sealed away.  I’d been wanting to do a story with that theme for a long time.  Truth is, it’s one of those subjects that get written about a lot in certain circles, and I dislike writing stories that have already been written – with minor changes – a thousand times.  But when you get down to it, most tales have already been retold a million times over, so in the end you just have to write whatever makes you happy.  Absolute originality isn’t as important as telling a decent story that captures the imagination.

   And capture the imagination this story apparently did.  I think there may be four or five fan-made sequels floating around out there... some written with permission, others not so much.  Other people writing sequels to your stories is a weird thing.  Sure, it’s flattering, but it’s also unsettling.  As a writer you get rather familiar and attached to your characters, and when someone else has them do things that you know they wouldn’t do, you get all indignant – thinking, “She would never act like that!”  Of the various sequels, only one person got the personalities right.

   Another problem is that people seemed to have wanted to correct my story by enacting revenge and providing a happier ending – rescuing the girl and putting the woman in her place.  Makes me feel that the story as it is written must be flawed.  If I had thought the story needed to end totally differently, I would have written it that way.

   Anyhow, in this story both the characters are victims in their own way.  The woman has been hurt too many times and that, along with loneliness, has driven her around the bend... so that she can’t even see honest love anymore when it’s offered to her.  Ironically, she went ahead and buried a girl who might have been able to give her what she needed.  At least, on the plus side, the girl doesn’t die, and the woman does truly love her... just in a rather inappropriate way.

   I had no idea that this story would become as popular as it has.  It really seemed to touch people, and I’m quite flattered and gratified that it has.  I don’t think you can ask much more than that as a writer.  The Banishment thing has since become popular on Second Life (a free online game kinda like an adult Sims) and has even been translated into Italian and published there as a paperback.

   I completed this story in record time, for whatever reason.  Writing it only took I think four or five months from start to finish, which is very fast for me.  I wrote it in 2007, but I went back and edited it and added a few small scenes, gave it a little polishing, in 2008 in preparation for publishing.  The story itself is quite a departure from my usual stuff in that it’s much more mainstream.  That wasn’t intentional;  I didn’t have any plans on trying to get it published while I was writing it.  That’s simply the story that wanted to be written.

   The story is a bit of a chimera.  It starts out much like most fetish-based stories, with the latex and shades of bondage and all that.  But before long it switches gears and the fetish aspect fades away to be replaced with the character’s frustration and loneliness, alongside an exploration of this conceptual society.  Then it switches gears again and becomes something entirely different when Winter comes along.

   When I got to the end, I was a little worried that the happy ending was a bit too happy, a bit deus ex machina, and wondered if I should have left it more unsure of what would become of Katrina.  I decided I liked it the way it is.  I felt that both the characters and readers deserved it after plunging to through the story’s emotional depths.  It needed a bright dawn after the dark night.  Having a more ambivalent ending might possibly have made it better literature, but I think a happy ending makes it a better tale.  And, really, when we sit around the primordial fire to listen to the storyteller, are we there to hear good literature, or are we there to hear a good tale?

   This is an odd little story I wrote for the Second Life Latex Dolls group I was involved with at the time.  The Latex Dolls were kind of like quasi-religious cult (roleplay, of course) based around a dedication to latex, bondage, and public service.  It would be cool if such a thing existed in real life, I think.  I don't get on Second Life anymore these days, mainly because it takes up a lot of time, and it had started to become more like a job than a fun online hobby.  Also, it was a bit frustrating.  Online stuff is entertaining and all, but when what you want is real life experiences, all online roleplay does is serve as a reminder of what you don’t have.

   Anyhow, this story was my little contribution to the group.  It’s written in the form of a diary and is based on the mythos of the group’s origins which came from the group’s founders.  Sadly, I don’t believed it was received very well by some of the members at the time – I heard tell that it was too dark – so I didn’t make any further attempts.  But, since then I tried to make the diary a reasonably self-contained story (in that you don’t have to be familiar with the group to get the gist of it) and I made it available on my site.

 This isn’t a story really, more of a short snippet, like something out of a half-remembered dream.  It’s essentially taken from a hypnotic latex immersion scene and made a little more prose-like.  There’s not really much more to say about it than that.  I do like pink, though.

   This story is one of those that came to me almost fully-formed in that fugue state after waking.  Most of those sorts of ideas usually bear no fruit, but this one seemed coherent and compelling enough for me to be able to make into a story.  Now, obviously, it’s all kinds of shades of The Matrix, with machines in control and using people as batteries.  Really, that didn’t even enter my mind as I was coming up with the story, though I’m sure there must have been a subconscious influence going on.  I just thought it was a sexy scenario.

   I wanted to show the character struggling against her situation at the outset and also show her accepting it after much time and subtle brainwashing.  I know the switching back and forth between past and future might be a little confusing at first, but I felt that doing them simultaneously was more effective than doing one after the other uninterrupted.  I’m not sure why I wrote the dialogue without quotation marks; for some reason I just liked it that way.

   Sometimes I scan the stories at the mind control stories archive.  To be honest, I find most of the stories rather repetitive, but there are a few authors I like and am eager to read.  While I was reading through Madam Kistulot’s series of superheroism and mind control, a storyline began to seep into my head.  Although I used to collect comic books when I was young, I’d never really been interested in writing any sort of superhero themed story so this was all new territory for me.  After checking with the author to make sure that she was cool with people writing add-ons set in her ‘universe’, I went to work.

   The first draft I wrote wasn’t quite acceptable, on the grounds that it had one or two of her original characters doing things that didn’t fit their personalities.  I totally understood how that feels (see the entry on Beauty in Repose), so I wasn’t upset.  I did have to ponder and rethink things for a while.  Finally, I presented a version that was more or less acceptable, and there you have it.

   I enjoyed writing the characters in this story: Nadine – not quite an anti-hero but certainly not a typical hero type, and Artifice who was a rather complex character.  She’s not wholly evil and doesn’t set out to cause havoc or gather wealth, but she’s certainly amoral by normal standards.  And, of course, Nadine has trouble fighting an enemy whose motivations she can’t understand.  The series this is based on is steeped with lots of mind control sex.  I veered away from that since I’m generally not very interested in writing explicitly about sex.  I think it turned out to be a pretty engaging little story.

   Decades ago I had a daydream of various kidnapped slaves being forced to take on roles that were randomly assigned to them by pure chance in the form of tiles drawn from a bag or fishbowl.  The resulting role might be something relatively innocuous – even fun – or it might be entirely dreadful... and it would all be decided by fate.  It'd be an entirely arbitrary way of going about it, but that's what makes it amusing.

   Around the start of the year, I had a little idea about making the idea into a page as a sort of a game.  It started out as a plan to make an html script that would simply spit out a combination of variables.  Of course, I was and remain clueless about scripting languages.  Always have been, just can’t get my head around it.  It tastes too mathy for me.  But a friend was able to help out, and her help throughout all of this project has been invaluable.

   Although the results were entertaining, I felt there was more that needed to be said.  I then wanted to add a short little blurb, or description, of the resulting role from the point of view of the Headmistress of the place.  The project snowballed and I found myself faced with the prospect of writing a description for each of the possible 1000 or so combinations.  Daunting?  A tad.  But it was my own idea and my determination for completing ridiculous projects I set myself to knows few bounds.  So, about six months after it was just an inkling, the role generator was complete.

   I really tried not to censor myself much while writing these blurbs... some of them are unsettling, or disturbing, or downright gross.  But it’s mostly meant to be a comedy, you see, and not to be taken quite seriously.  It was mainly a mental exercise in creativity by finding workable combinations for all the possibilities.

   Of course, not every single blurb is entirely unique.  That would be madness.  And also unnecessary.  So there was quite a bit of copying and pasting involved.  After all, I wouldn’t want to rewrite the same paragraph describing a Chambermaid’s duties over and over forty times.  But each blurb is personalized, even if some are only differentiated from the others by a change of uniform.

   I must say, it’s quite a relief to have this one completed, although now and then I have added a new set of roles or styles.

   This story was exhausting to write, but it was also one of the most ‘pure’ writing experiences I’ve had.  While laying awake in bed, the story came to me almost completely.  That rarely happens.  So, for an entire month, I was writing.  When I wasn’t writing, I was thinking about the story.  It only stopped when the story was complete.  I’m very fond of this one.  I think it may be my favorite.

   Agony is a tragic monster. She wasn’t born that way, she was created that way. She doesn’t want to hurt anyone, most of the time, but she needs to feed her learned masochistic self-torment. She didn’t tear up Layla’s portrait to hurt Layla, but to hurt herself.. causing herself terrible pain which she got off on. Not a malevolent predator.. more like a Frankenstein’s monster, a haunted, tortured creature, wanting a normal life and love, but believing herself to be foul and corrupt and undeserving of love (and all the more dangerous for it). But she learns from Layla by the very end that she might just be deserving of love, after all, from someone who accepts her as she is. It’s a revelation that shook her to her core, and it allowed Iris to resurface and become more of a part of her. A more integrated whole, and stronger for it. The Agony at the beginning of the story would never have revealed who she was and told Layla she loved her as she did at the end. Who knows? Once she gets control, she might go about making big changes in the Order.

   This was a spontaneous short story which came out very quick.  It was based on a somewhat vague dream I had where there was a group of strange, secret gods with alien agendas - not necessarily conquering the world or some evil, nefarious plan - but rather some weird, overarching design that would be nearly incomprehensible to us mortals (if there is any end design, at all), and these gods were opposed by a centuries-old, Inquisition-like order of fanatics.  The gods' converted human servants/acolytes were bound to a hive mind, existing in a strict hierarchy, and acted in accordance with the whims of their particular god or goddess.

   I've always been drawn to hidden 'true' world scenarios, where strange or unspeakable things are happening all the time, seldom seen or noticed, behind the fragile veil of what we consider reality.

   This story delves into none of that back story, as I intentionally left it vague and unexplained because we are in the point of view of a hapless victim who had the (mis)fortune of brushing against this hidden world.  Like her, we know only what The Woman tells us.  Why a velveteen worm transformation, of all things?  Because it seemed cute, gross, and cuddly!  Also, you don't see many worm transformations out there and, well, I like to be different.

   And for anyone curious about The Woman, well, she's now a shapeshifter.  She can change herself like she changes others.