Eddie Davidson: Blog

I have stopped started on about a half a dozen projects as I work on my next project after Cum Dumpster.

The one I like the most I am calling "Gladiator Brothel". It features a fit woman who finds out about a club that is essentially where women get paid to engage in sordid contests, and fights. The rich weirdos bet on them, and while they have an underground parking lot for most of their events, they also change venues.

Here is a short excerpt. Would this interest you?

“Mark, I know this sounds crazy, but I’d really like to do it, and I would like you to help me.”

“I am extremely open minded, Lisa, but I can’t be a part of this. You might get hurt! I’d feel responsible if that happened.”

“I am a consenting adult, Mark, and a BIG girl! I know there are risks, but there are risks crossing the street. I could make some real money at this,” I pleaded.

“Honey, I make a comfortable living for us. Inflation sucks, but we’ll get through it. This isn’t really about the money is it?”

“Yes, it is!” I hated it when my husband used reason and logic on me. “Okay, it isn’t JUST about the money, but it sounds exciting and I am up for a challenge. Why else do I work out for these muscles if I can’t use them?”

I’ve been interested in body building for the last few years and even competed in several semi-professional competitions for women.

“My friend Denise has been working there for six months, and she just now told me about it,” I pleaded. “She just won a match for $2,000 dollars, and it took less than two minutes! Easy money!”

“Her husband is okay with her working at some place called the Gladiator Brothel?” Mark was skeptical. I knew he would be and this would be a tough sell. “There is a reason they pay a premium, and I am sure there is more to working at a brothel.”

“That’s just the name. It isn’t a sex brothel. It is like an underground fight club that caters to rich weirdos. They like to bet on strange competitions and fights. That’s all! And yes, Denise’s husband knows. He is her coach! That’s why I am asking you!”

“I’ve never stopped you from having sex outside of marriage as long as I was in on it. I wouldn’t even have that much of a problem if you did want to fuck guys for money. You are hot and as long as there was no emotional connection, I’d be cool with it. It sounds like you could get really hurt! Is this fake like world wrestling federation?”

“First of all, you know that wrestlers don’t say the f-word,” I am a huge professional wrestling fan, and some of my idols are professional wrestlers like Chyna, Trish Stratus, and Lita. My husband Mark doesn’t enjoy going to see wrestling shows either. “It’s not fake. I am going to get banged up, bruised and scraped, and it is real. The spectators would know if we aren’t fully authentic. I’ll get banged up a lot LESS if you help me train for this.”

I still wanted to compete at the gladiator brothel with Denise. I just needed a coach that I could trust.

“You seem to do alright training at the gym on your own. Why do you need me?” Mark asked. He was fit, but he didn’t have a commitment to fitness like I did.

“Mark, this is competition fights and contests. I go to the gym, but I don’t always push myself to be the best and that’s why I don’t win competitions. I need someone I can trust to have my back, and to also kick my ass if I don’t do what I need to do. Don’t you want to do this with me? It might be fun?”

“It sounds like you may end up with a black eye, broken ribs, contusions after you get pummeled, Lisa. It won’t be fun for me watching you get hurt, and knowing that if I trained you, I am partially responsible for the outcome. I won’t stop you from doing this, but please don’t ask me to be a part of it?”

“Will you at least come watch me compete?” I was feeling defeated.

“I need to think about it, Lisa. You know that I love you, and I support you in everything, but I don’t want to watch you get the snot slapped out of you.”

“I might be victorious!” I reminded him.

“I know you will be. When you set your mind to something you go all out. You didn’t let anyone stop you when you wanted to try body builder. I know that you WILL also get hurt along the way and I don’t want to participate in that, Lisa. Let me ask you this question. If you are so proud of this, would you want Brad and Cindy to come watch you compete?”

“YES, Absolutely!” I instinctively replied. I hadn’t even thought about my teenage son and daughter watching me perform. They had come to some of my bodybuilding competitions. “I mean, obviously some of the contests are very adult oriented. I doubt they would want to see it.”

“If you are ashamed of them watching you, maybe you should question why you want ME to be there?” Mark left the conversation on that note.

I politely concluded the conversation. I planned to give him some time and ask him again. I needed to go back to Denise and ask if her kids even knew she competed at the brothel. I hadn’t given that much thought.

My son Brad had overheard us arguing. I suppose he knew everything. I used to be very shy. I thought a boob job and getting a killer body by working out would help with that. It did on the surface, and there are times I am very extroverted, but I can still be embarrassed. I didn’t know what Brad might think of me.

“I’ll be your coach,” Brad suggested with confidence. “I play Football, I’ve gone to State competitions as a wrestler, and I am going to join the Marines after my senior year. I got you!”

“I appreciate that Brad,” I looked down at my feet. I couldn’t look him in the eyes. I didn’t want to disappoint him. “The competitions are kind of adult in nature, and I doubt they would even let you in there to watch.”

I had only been to one show at the brothel, and I had no idea who was in the stands. I was watching from where the competitors sit. My friend Denise had been naked. She wasn’t fully nude. She wore spiked leather straps. She clenched a dildo in her mouth, ass, and pussy, and the fight wasn’t over until one of the competitors either dropped or had their dildos removed by their opponent. I couldn’t even imagine having the kind of physical control to clench a dildo in my pussy. I was envious Denise and her opponent could do it.

It sounded crazy and humiliating to me at the time, but Denise and her competitor took the fight quite seriously. The spectators loved it, and the payday was really nice. I think I craved the adoration of the spectators more than the money, if truth be told.

I was willing to play along with the weird rules, as long as I got to get scrappy and fight another girl. I am pretty, although some people think I ruined my appearance by being too ‘mannish’ because I have broad shoulders and I am shredded. I’ve got long blonde hair and I am usually pretty well tanned. I kind of look like the girl next door, but only if she could rip a phone book in half.

I was positive that I could be a big hit at the competitions. I loved the idea of gladiatorial competitions. It sounded really wild! I just wasn’t so sure I wanted my son to be involved in any way. This was grown up stuff and although he sometimes acted like one, he was still a teenager - at least for a little while longer.

“C’mon Mom. I can help you here or at the gym. We can even go out in the woods and do some work in private away from the house!”

“I don’t think you want to watch me do these things, Brad. I can’t ask you to coach me, but I appreciate your offer of support.”

“You aren’t asking. I am telling you I want to be your coach. You told Dad you need someone you can trust. Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely, Brad! It’s not that at all,” I didn’t want to tell him what he might have to train me to do. I felt just putting the mental image in his head would probably disgust him.

“Then what’s the problem? You will have to do everything I tell you without question. I’ll kick your ass, so that you don’t get your ass kicked out on the mat.”

Brad had supreme confidence, and that was awesome. He is a teenager, but he does come across maturely.

“I don’t know how to say this,” I hemmed and hawed about it. “There are some intimate aspects to the competitions,” I hinted that he should let the matter drop. His heart was in the right place, but I am his mom and watching me fight with dildos seemed beyond inappropriate.

“Intimate? Like we have sex?” Brad scrunched his nose in disgust.

“No, not quite. However, The fights are in the nude, and uh, a little unsual.”

“Kick ass! Like nude MMA?”

I had briefly done some MMA training, but it never felt quite right. I didn’t do it professionally, but I signed up for some classes a few years ago. It just didn’t hold my interest.

I wanted to really throw down and it felt too rigid. The Gladiator Brothel matches that I watched were hair pulling, face scratching, teeth biting, pull and grab, punching, and ass-kicking throw downs that had very few restrictions. It was simply do whatever it took to take your opponent down and keep them down.

The matches were brutal, but exciting.

“I’ve seen you on stage in the skimpiest possible thongs during your competitions. I think I can handle you being naked, Mom,” Brad shrugged.

“What about your girlfriend, Taylor? Do you think she is going to get jealous?”

“Of my mom?” Brad laughed.

“Well, we’d be spending a lot of time together. I was thinking of setting aside four hours a day for this.”

“On weekends, you belong to me the ENTIRE weekend. Four hours a day of intense training on weekdays, but even how you eat or sleep will be up to me!”

“Hah, already making plans for me?” I was flattered. I told my son that I would think about it.

“I don’t want to be the last choice because you exhausted all others. Are you going to ask Cindy?”

My teenage daughter was a possibility. She and I often have friendly competitions. She isn’t dedicated to fitness like me though. I doubted very seriously Cindy would want the job. “I’d give you the job, but frankly I don’t know if you truly understand what is involved and I doubt they’d let you in the brothel.”

“You told dad there is no sex there,” Brad replied.

“There ARE naked ladies, and I would be one of them. The competitions are brutal and a little embarrassing.”

“Ah, I see,” Brad sounded hurt. I didn’t know what he ‘saw’, but my intention wasn’t to hurt him. “You would be embarrassed to have your son there supporting you? That’s what you told Dad.”

“I really hate that you were eavesdropping on a private conversation with your father. That’s not it at all. There are just some things that you will see me do that you may not be able to unsee. In order for me to do them, you’d have to train me to do them, make me practice until I get them right. I am trying to spare you”

“So it’s basically like a nude version of that TV show American Ninja mixed with MMA fighting?”

“I think it is a little more hardcore than that,” I tried to downplay what I had seen. I was blushing and nervous as Brad put me on the spot. I didn’t want to paint a picture for him.

“I am in!” he promised.

Later that day I phoned my friend Denise and told her about my conversation with my son and husband.

“I don’t think teenage boys have the money for a membership to the brothel, so I doubt that age requirements ever come up. It is an underground club that is off the grid, Lisa. They aren’t going to ID him at the door. If Brad wants to coach you, and you are okay with that, I doubt they would stop him from coming into the locker rooms.”

“Where all the other performers change?”

“Most of our fights are nude, so these girls aren’t shy.”

“What do your kids think about what you do?”

“They like the extra money. It paid for a timeshare in Myrtle Beach, and we have a trip scheduled for Walt Disney World in a few weeks.”

“Yeah, but do they go to your competitions?”

“My sons are a little younger than Brad. I’ve never thought about it. They see me work out around the house.”

“Do you practice with the dildos?”

“Yes, but I have my own dedicated gym room. They don’t have any interest in watching me squat and Kegel.”

“You would let them watch if they wanted to?”

“I would talk to my husband about it. He’s my coach, so he is the boss. It’s very liberating. I don’t think, I just act. He says jump, I jump. He says squat, I squat. He controls my entire diet, and kicks my ass when I need it. I am surprised that Mike wouldn’t jump at that. You know my sex life with my husband hasn’t been better, and now we never have arguments.”

“So he is a coach 24/7?”

“That’s a good question, Lisa. My husband and I made a rule at the start that when he is in coach mode, I call him Coach and I do whatever he tells me. If he goes back to Oscar mode, then I can get sassy, or complain.”

“How often does he go to Oscar mode?”

“I’ll let you know when he does,” she joked.

“That’s probably not going to work for Brad. I am his mom, and I have to be able to set boundaries and punish him.”

“Brad is a good kid. Do you mean you still tell him to brush his teeth and when to go to bed?”

“Hah, no. He is way past that. I guess, I just mean that as his mom, I still have the authority and I am not sure I can just abandon my responsibility.”

“Look, if you want Oscar to be your coach that is a no-go. He’s mine, Chica. You need a coach in your corner. It isn’t as much about knowledge. It’s about heart and being more stubborn than me. When I want to lay in bed on a rainy day, he dumps my ass out of the covers and runs me even harder. He makes it grueling and difficult, runs me under barbed wire, and through mud to harden me up so that I will win more competitions.”

Brad certainly would be in my corner.

“You can probably find any stranger on the Internet with a dick to be your trainer. Will he be there when you are cut and humiliated after a defeat? Probably not. Will he try to slip you the hot beef injection when you are strung up and practicing for the competitions? Absolutely. It doesn’t sound like Mike is going to go for it, but he doesn’t oppose you doing this. My suggestion is show Brad some of the basics and take it from there. If he doesn’t run away screaming then you got yourself a coach.”

“I don’t really know the basics. You said that you get strung up?”

“Rope play is a big part of the competition. Do you remember those two girls that were suspended by their tits in the ring, that had to grapple with their feet?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“In order to make the fights interesting, they may take a higher rank fighter and make her fight with her hands tied behind her back, or reduce her mobility somehow. There are also competitions,” she explained.

I had done a few kinky things with rope with my husband before. He just lied there when I tied him up. It didn’t interest me. It seemed like an excuse to lay there and let the person tying you up do all of the work.

“The competitions aren’t all fighting. Sometimes it is an endurance contest. They might clip weights to your tits and race other girls while you pull a heavy cart around a track, or drop you in a tank of water with heavy weights attached to your bits and see how fast you can tread water across the pool.”

“I didn’t see a track or a pool at the brothel the last time I was there?”

“The Gladiator brothel is an underground club. They rent different venues, but they are based out of an old gym that used to train boxers. They have a big basement ring that some say was owned by the mob, but I just think it is an old underground parking lot.”

“Would you and Oscar show him what he might have to make me do?”


“No way is Coach going to let you see how the secret sauce is made, Chica,” Denise seemed amused that I would even ask for insight into her training regimen. “He is not going to share the secret sauce of my training!”

“We are friends, Denise. I am just asking you to show me what I am signing up for,” I clarified.

“Look, we are friends, but when we are in the ring, we are competitors. If I get you in my sights, I am going to tear you a new asshole,” she teased. “I can’t let you see ALL of the ways that I train and learn all of my secret tricks.”

“I just wanted to join a fight club and kick a little ass. This is sounding complicated,” I was getting intimidated.

“Trust me, if I can do it, you can do it,” Denise assured me that I could handle it. “I can ask Coach if I can send you a few of my training videos.”

“What are those?”

“Coach records my workouts and training and makes me watch them over and over. He wants me to see my sloppy behavior and improve my form. Your son could probably watch those and if he isn’t scared off then he’ll make a good coach.”

“Do You always call your husband coach?”

“Yeah, when we are serious about training! Oscar insists I call him coach in training matters. When he is coach, he is the boss of me, and when he is Oscar then he’s just my husband.”

My husband and I had a relatively equal relationship. This was another issue that Mark would have had an issue with. He probably wouldn’t have wanted a shift in the power dynamic between us even temporarily.

“Coach calls me MB at home, but in training I even tolerate him calling me by stage name. Denise’s tone suggested she accepted the name because it was just part of the way things were done at Gladiator Brothel.

“You have a stage name?”

“Didn’t you pay attention to the ring master when he introduced me?” Denise seemed disappointed.

“I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see your tits shaking around with spiked pasties and the dildos popping out of you. I was kind of overwhelmed. What stage name did you choose?”

“I didn’t get to choose it,” Denise’s tone suggested she would NOT have chosen it either. “The ring master traditionally assigns you a stage name after you complete the initial trials. I probably pissed him off a little. My stage name is Mulatto Bitch.”

Denise was half-black and that seemed incredibly offensive. She said it wasn’t even the worst name out there. “There is one whore that is called Udders because she has huge knockers. I think I’d hate that.”

“That sounds incredibly humiliating, but you call a whore?”

“It’s Gladiator Brothel, so once you get through the trial, you are considered one of the stable whores. It just means you can be put on the roster, and you know the rules and risks. You sign the waiver, have our checkup, got the piercing, all that stuff.”

“Piercing?”

“All the stable whores have their clits pierced. It’s like a tradition. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No,” I mumbled nervously. That was pretty intense, but I could do it if all the other women did it.

“The stage names make us seem like superheroes or super villains. It kind of reinforces the fantasy that while you are there you become Mulatto Bitch and get into character. I leave Denise at home and get nasty.”

I chalked that up to the professional names that Wrestlers use when they perform. “You didn’t mention a trial?”

“It’s a formality for you, Chica. You are even more buff than me. You just have to prove you can take a licking and keep on ticking, if that makes sense. Once you finish, there is a little ceremony to welcome you to the club and the tradition is the current ring master will give you a stage name. Then you get your piercing, and your name goes up on the roster for future events!”

“Send them over,” I pleaded. She assured me she would talk to her husband, and I hung up.

She sent three short videos about an hour later. In retrospect, I probably should have watched them before showing them to my son. I was so excited that I went and got Mark and we sat down and watched the first one on my phone.

The first video was titled “Warm up procedures”

The scene opened with Denise standing naked in a room surrounded by mirrors. I anticipated that and warned my son that he’d see that. He knew my girlfriend Denise because we’ve gone shopping together and to different restaurants.

She was riding an exercise bike. Her tits were swinging in front of her. She bounced up and down on a dildo and seemed to be humping herself.

“Do you see why I was hesitant to include you in my training?” I warned my son.

“Damn, she is a horny slut,” Brad shrugged.

“Women can enjoy their bodies without being horny sluts,” I informed him. In my head, I was thinking that she seemed to be enjoying humping herself on camera a bit TOO much. I have to admit that I was a little turned on by the thought of practicing fucking myself. I kept a dildo hidden under my mattress for times when Mark wasn’t interested or home.

I wasn’t super horny, but I wouldn’t have complained about mandatory fucking myself. The part that felt way wrong was doing it out in the open around my son.

“We have an elliptical machine in the front room you can use,” Brad raised his eyebrows up and down and offered a bemused expression.

“I do not think I should be out in the living room with a dildo, Brad,” I poo-poo’d his idea.

“Who is going to mind? Dad’s seen you, I’d be your coach. Are you worried about what Cindy thinks?”

“I am worried about what EVERYONE thinks. What if a neighbor visits?” I asked.

Brad said I could take the dildo out if they visit. I’d be still be hot, horny, sweaty and naked. I just shook my head in disbelief. This idea of joining an underground fight club for women was starting to feel a bit unworkable.

Denise didn’t orgasm, but she sure did look like she was enjoying the ride.

I met Denise at the gym. She has a competition body builder body. She is more into weight training than I am. Weight training and body building are two different disciplines, but don’t get me started on how you can build “glamor muscles” while still having a weak core and putting up relatively light weights.

Denise’s frizzy black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her skin is olive, making her appear more Italian than black. Her muscles are very well defined, and she has broad shoulders like me. She is a little stockier.

“Clap those cheeks,” her husband was off screen. Denise started squatting and spreading her knees wide while twerking her ass and clapping her cheeks. She bent down deeply, and her fat clit was visible. It was obvious she had a noticable pierced ring through it. She seemed non-plussed by having to spread her legs and expose the pink, wet meat between her legs. She rose up and as she did she clapped her cheeks.

Brad was already grinning. I knew he was picturing me do that.
“She is exercising in the nude to be able to see her musculature, and obviously stretching out before she gets started,” I explained. It was a little unorthodox to clap her ass cheeks but it made sense to me. I’d need to get used to being naked in front of a bunch of people and they’d probably see my body spread out when I start rolling around on the mat.

“Yeah, it’s kind of funny. You would do that?” Brad asked. I nodded that I would. I wish he didn’t smirk too much about it though. After a few more ass-clapping knee-bends, Oscar’s arm appeared in frame. He was holding a riding crop.

“C’mon bitch! Clap the cheeks, clap the cunt! Let’s see that hood jiggle crisply when you come all the way down and snap back up! Stop being lazy, Mullato!”

I explained the stage name to my son and how there were no hard feelings about it between them. I told him that I didn’t understand why Oscar was being so vulgar about his wife’s body parts.

"Mom, just chill out. You have a vagina, a pussy or a cunt. Whatever you want to call it. If they call the girls by a stage name, then they probably say cunt when you are competing. That’s what we have to call it in training. It would be stupid for me to help you get your vagina in shape only for the referees to casually call it something else. It's part of getting you into the right mindset for the competition so stop looking at me like I crawled in out of the gutter!"

My son was already thinking about how he was going to be my coach. We watched Denise do more stretching exercises. She stretched her long legs and often the camera even caught my friend’s spread butthole when she moved a certain way.

“I haven’t decided that I am doing this, yet, but if I did then I would call you Coach Mark. You would be the boss, but I would go back to being mom when the training is over. Is that something you can really process? I don’t want it to get personal and drive a wedge between us.”

“If all you need is someone to make you shake your butt in a room, and pop you with a little flexible rod when you get lazy, I am betting dad would do it. It’s really not that big a deal if you are worried about me seeing you naked.”

“I am worried that you may be made uncomfortable, I am fine with it,” I assured him. Denise was instructed to hold her wrists together at the base of her back. She was made to high step and told to bring her knees up as high as she could. Oscar smacked her under thigh, and on the butt as he marched her around the room. The camera remained stationary, and she disappeared off screen. We could see her in the mirrors of the room as she marched in circles.

“What does this have to do with fighting?” Brad seemed puzzled.

“The brothel hosts competitions. I didn’t pay attention to them after the arena battles,” I explained. “I think they are sort of like endurance games and obstacle courses that cater to the tastes of rich weirdos.”

“It seems a little like BDSM,” my son observed. I didn’t think he knew what that was, but then he did have the Internet and a girlfriend. The high stepping that Denise was to do caused her tits bounce in time with her knees. She had smaller breasts than me. I felt uncomfortable with the exercise but told myself that if Denise can do it – then I can do it.

“I hope he puts her over her knee and spanks her,” Brad joked. I offered him a wintry smile and made a lemony face. We continued watching and after marching he made her high step in place rapidly so that her tits were jiggling. He wanted her heart rate up.

“Cardio,” I shrugged that off. Oscar made her perform traditional jumping jacks. It looks a little obscene when a woman with a big ass does jumping jacks in the nude. I won’t even try to describe it to you, other than to say that her tits flew up as she jumped and then bounced down as she hit the ground. Her ass cheeks spread as she landed.

The warm-up video was pretty short and just the highlights.

The second video was entitled “Racing” with yesterday’s date. Denise was back in her mirrored gym. She was breathing heavily and sweating, so this must have been further along in the work out.

“Hit it again, let’s see how fast you can run the course, bitch.”

“Please Oscar, let me do cunt sprints,” Denise begged. A black leather belt lashed her ass from off camera, and she started high-stepping while waddling bow-legged. “It’s coach! Don’t you forget it and stop trying to manipulate me into letting you have fun! You’ve got 10 more of these.”

Denise looked miserable. Her expression went from discomfort to anguish as she dropped low. At first, I did not see what she had done. Oscar rotated the camera on its tripod. There were seven dildos sticking straight up on a painted wooden board that was elevated a foot off the ground.

The smallest dildo was at the start of the board. Denise dropped down on it and sat on it. She held her butt cheeks wide open as she did it. She groaned in pain and waited. Oscar slapped her ass with the belt, and she rose up completely, waddled over the next dildo and plunged herself down. It was obvious it was going up her ass.

“All the way to the base, five more after this! Cunt lips should be touching the wood!” he demanded. Denise arched her back and waited to for the belt strike before sliding up and onto the next dildo.

“It hurts, Coach!”

“Yes, it’s supposed to! No pain, no gain, wriggle your ass. You want to win, right?”

“Yes, coach!”

“Good bitch! Up and down on the next one. Go!” Oscar struck her with the end of the belt. Denice slid off the dildo and slid down on it. I couldn’t stop watching. It helped not to look over at my son and get his reaction. I was too embarrassed to look at him.

The final dildo was about a foot long. I couldn’t tell from the angle of the camera, but the dildo was probably poking Denise’s stomach.

Once she finished, she waddled with her legs apart to the board and did it again the same way.

“Are you okay with doing that in front of me?” Brad asked. I was having my doubts. I was hoping that he would make the decision for me.

“Are you okay with making me do THAT?”

“Have you ever done anal, mom?” Brad asked as if it were a perfectly normal question. It made me uncomfortable to be put on the spot.

“That really isn’t your business,” I harumphed.

“If I am going to be your coach, I need to know if your ass would tear if I pushed you hard, or if you have..oh my god..” Brad stopped talking when Denise changed activities.

She had attached weighted clips to her pussy lips. Two spiked three-pound weights swung on chains between her thighs. She had similar weights on her nipples dangling on her chest. Her husband made her stick her tongue out and he attached a clip that forced her tongue to hang out due to the small weight he attached. Spit began dripping down her chin immediately. He attached a clothespin shaped clamp to her nose with a weight on it. I was surprised she didn’t have heavy earrings. It seemed like any tender part of my friend’s body was weighted down.

He marched her around high stepping in the gym in what he called “quick march”....

(This is subject to change before I post it). Does this seem like something you'd be interested in reading? It's very different from some of my past stories)

I believe a lot of people read only the 'latest' stories in the queue. I often fall into that trap. With my favorite authors (Vulgus, Vanessa Evans, etc) I go back to their old stories and read their entire catalog.

However, I tend to remain on the surface of the "New" or "Updated Stories". I have fifty two stories (posted), many with dozens of chapters and more words than war and peace. I sometimes go back and look at the stats. My more popular stories like "Do you have a big dick?" have a huge readership. My more niche stories have next to no interest. That's totally normal.

I wondered if anyone who likes my latest stories take the time to explore the old ones. I have certainly progressed but some of my old stories are still my favorites.

I thought I'd create a scored quiz and ask you to send me your answers, and score yourself on what kind of pervert you are. Let's face it, if you read even one of my stories and enjoyed it - you are a pervert. Now let's find out how big of a fan/pervert you truly are.

10 Questions:

1. What does the title "Do you have a big dick, why not?" mean:

A. If you don't have coke or money, you must have a big dick, and if not why are you talking to this woman because she wouldn't be interested in someone who doesn't have at least one of those things.

B. It is a big dick contest

C. The women are all size queens and they laugh at men with small cocks.

D. There was no reason. It was just random.

2. What is the first name of the sister in "Resetting my bitch button"

A. Kelly

B. Kim

C. Piggy Fartz

D. Kandy

3. I once wrote an Indian-porn story. What province/region of India was it set in?

4. In HOA, what is the name of the pony girl?

A. Peepee Poopoo girl

B. Starqueen

C. Dancer

D. Prancer

5. What popular video game "mod" was the inspiration for one of my stories?

6. What famous illustrator was the inspiration for my story set in Victorian Paris - Madeleine?

A. Ludwig Bemelmans

B. Hans Augusto (H.A.) Rey

C. Georges Pichard

D. Scott Adams

7. What TV Series have I written fan fiction about?

(partial points for naming them all (.25 each). There are four)

8. What comedian did I write a fanfiction story about?

9. What story written originally by Mike McGifford have I published but never completed?

10. What town/village is "My Son's Dared Me" set in?

A. Godstone

B. Brighton

C. Staines

D. Faversham

Send me your answers and I'll grade it and provide you a score. Come back to the blog to see where you rank.

Score:

Didn't Try It/Do it: You Bastard!!

Rank: Bastard

1-3 points: At least you tried,

Rank: Mild Pervert

4-5 points: You are a fan!

Rank: Freaky Weirdo

6-7 points: damn, bitch! You did your homework

Rank: Horny Motherfucker

8-9 points: nicely done/brilliant

Rank: Degenerate fan!

10 points: perfect pervert!

Rank: Truly Depraved fan

Obviously, when I call you a depraved, dirty freak I mean it in the best possible way and with all gratitude because if I wasn't one too, then we wouldn't have the shared experience of enjoying these dirty stories.

Don't worry, the quiz is just for fun, do it or don't.

:)

I was thinking about writing a story after the hurricane, about a kink-friendly family that has to deal with the hurricane.

Imagine, a woman with pumpkin sized-titties in her thong outside treading water 2-3 feet up past her knees, flood water around her house.

"No power inside, have to wash my clothes somehow. Anyone mind if I bang my clothes against a rock like the pilgrims did?"

Tits start jiggling.

No power, candle up her ass, standing on her head outside at night. Her neighbor notices her. "Sorry, I didn't think anyone could see me out here, should I go back inside? Its so hot and muggy in the house right now.."

"Gosh, we're so hungry...I do not normally do this, but would you mind if I sucked your cock? I am starving. We lost power and had to throw out the contents of the fridge."

I've finished several stories and they are in the editing process (including Cum Dumpster). There are still quite a few chapters left to post.

I am working on a new story set in England. I've already written one that I researched heavily. "My Son's Dared Me".

I discovered that the British don't really eat lunch, and that their hot dogs come in packs of 10 instead of 8. It's cool details like that which makes a story set somewhere else fun.

I had the PERFECT proofreader for a time. He was a real gent. He had participated in nude bicycle rides in Britain, and I think I'll dedicate this story to him - without naming him to protect his privacy. I'll write an homage in the story to him in my own special way.

He told me not that long ago that the toxic people on this site had made it unfun and he was leaving. I really hated that, because I've felt that negativity as well.

I recently watched Lord of the Rings: Rings to Power and noticed how poorly the actors seem to perform the Irish accents for the Hobbits. One person called it "Famine Cosplay" - they play Irish stereotypes. It's fairly obvious that the writers and directors have no idea what Irish people really sound like.

I don't either. My influences are Benny Hill, The British Office, Doctor Who, Doctor at Large, Steptoe and Son, Monty Python and that British show "Dating Naked".

Many of my characters are what some would call Northie slags. "Oooh, Ahhhh, I got me titty caught in me knickers again, see if ya can pull it right out for me..."

"Mum, it's right disgusting when ye tuck your knee-shooters in your pants"

"Just give them a proper tug, you cheeky monkey!"

Sort of bawdy and vulgar - like a tavern slut that loves showing off her tits and laughs a lot. I love that kind of scenario but these are Southies from Kent and they are going to probably be much lighter on British slang.

What I am looking for is someone who is into my stories (and the themes, which includes bondage and humiliation). This one is going to be heavy on sex and fetish. Ideally, they are British or have lived over there and patient enough to read rough drafts and give feedback.

I am not asking you to check every little punctuation, although grammar help is useful too. I wouldn't turn that down (EVER).

What I just need is a patient person, who wants to help me produce the best story possible, that is an expert in British culture to fact check me and ensure the story would not insult British people.

Ideally, we'd use the email system provided by SOL, I'd send you an advanced draft, and you send me back the lines you'd replace.

Example:

"Are you stupid?"

Suggest

"Are you daft?"

Thank you in advance. If you are curious about the story:

I call it Glutton for Punishment.

Sophie Walsh is on holiday with her family. She gets off on punishment so much that she kept acting out to get it. She was going to a neighbor's who tied her up and disciplined her.

When the family discovered, rather than be upset they accepted her. they found loving discipline helped Sophie in many ways, and she became a model student. The Mum was never a dominant and has always been a bit of a free thinker and she came to submit shortly after, for very different reasons - she simply likes to submit/is a natural submissive but she didn't realize it.

My inspiration for her is this article:

https://www.dailystar.co.uk/love-sex/mum-gets-ruler-tattooed-arm-26125479

and this article:

There is another British Mum, that I remember seeing, I think her name was Dawn and her daughter was Sophie. They lived in the north and the article was "Britain's Worst Mum" and it was simply that Dawn encouraged her daughter to be a "chav" and dress slutty instead of slut shaming her. I can't remember their names exactly, but she was from the north. As I recall, Dawn had a boyfriend who liked to wear pantyhose. (if you know who this is/have the article, be a saint and send it to me please).

The entire holiday in Brighton was paid for by her income as a full time sex worker.

if you've been following, the story has hit an arc and it is about at the midway 'half' point. I am curious is this holding your interest? is it exciting? are you tuning it to see what is going on next?

Hurricane Ian has also inspired me to consider a story.

Imagine a BDSM-friendly family that lives in a place like Sunny Manor (HOA story), a kink-friendly clothing optional community.

The Hurricane is coming through and knocks out power, tears off the roof.

The sewer backs up, the girls have to go wash their clothes out in the street because the watermains are busted inside/no water pressure. Tits flapping in the muggy Florida heat. No air-conditioning or wi-fi, there isn't much to do except for fuck and play with themselves after draining the men of the family of their cockjuice.

Food is scarce, so cum is a commodity to be shared between the girls. A source of protein and more valued than bottled water in the community.

At night, the power is out and there are no lights. Candles are lit and stuffed up their asses as they walk the yard removing branches with leashes around their necks.

Has anyone considered a story about a BDSM family dealing with a natural disaster? that might be fun.