I’m sure you get this question all the time but what got you into the hardcore bdsm and other fetishes that you like to write about? When did you first realize that you liked them and did you ever feel weird about liking them at first?

It was reading stories like these, that introduced me to them. And yeah, I felt really awful with myself for a very long time about it, and still do on occasion. But being into BDSM doesn’t mean you’re broken, nor does it mean that you’ll never have a fulfilling life if you never find a master/slave/dom/alpha/pup/etc. 

An older story, Matchmaker, heavily teases at a sequel, but I have never found one. Is that one just part of story flavour, an abandoned idea, something on the “to do later” list, or what? It was really quite the hot and varied story, so I’d love to see how you could use the setting again.

I did have a sequel planned for it. If I recall correctly, my original intent was to have the matchmaker run afoul of either Leo from “Letters From Prison”, or have him cross Pigtown in one way or another. It never got anywhere beyond the fantasy stage, however.

Do you have any advice on writing a better mind control story?

Conflict is vital. If there’s anything lacking from most stories in the genre by new author’s it’s that the characters have no real stakes in what’s happening, and there’s no conflict between any of the characters–they’re usually just getting everything they ever wanted, i.e. wish fulfillment, that thing I hate.

Stories need conflict more than pretty much anything else, and that means you need to have characters fighting for conflicting goals, *and* you have to have a level enough playing field so that the stakes aren’t boring. That is, if one character literally possesses all of the power in the story, and is changing everyone else against their will, it still won’t be interesting despite the presence of conflict, because you basically have a god vs. men. *snore*

A lot of your stories use mind control and transformation as a means of revenge, comeuppance, abuse or punishment–often with the victims left in worse conditions than they were in previously, and aware of that fact. Do you see mind control/TF as an inherently negative thing?

Short answer–no.

Longer answer–I pretty much hate the whole fucking system of the world. I feel fucking alienated from everything, and most of the people I care about are stuck on various precipices of unemployment, loss of health care, deportation, state violence, etc. etc. etc. These stories are essentially me screaming incoherently back into that void. So personally, I find MC/TF empowering. It helps me deal with some of that rage and push it back out in a way that makes some sort of sense to me, as a reaction to the world around me. Of course, that doesn’t do much to touch on the moral qualities of MC and TF itself.

I think mind control is pretty morally dubious in all cases. I don’t know if there’s a reasonable way to understand consent within the context of mind control at all, so pretty much every application of it is, at the very least, indistinguishable from rape.

TF, on the other hand, I think is radical and revolutionary. So much of our current world system depends on the assumption that much of who we are in intrinsic and immutable. I don’t think that’s at all true, but TF stories force us to grapple with that. How do we get to determine who is worthy of happiness, if all individuals are equally mutable, and this, essentially (potentially) identical? TF is a statement of radical equality, which is why my stories tend to rely much more on TF, than they do on MC.

What do you think is your darkest, strangest, most societally-taboo kink that gets you hard? Something really wild and out there.

Basically all of the stuff in @tagagen‘s manga “Zenith”. I’ve probably jacked off to that scores of times. 

I have long been fascinated by the question of what a body can become, when we no longer consider it as an agent, but instead think of it as only an object. It’s also a question that I think will become more and more relevant in the near future, as tasks which were usually done by bodies are inevitably done by machines and AI instead. 

For example, when it’s possible to fertilize and breed children entirely beyond the womb, then what sort of incentive is there for a woman to even possess an internal reproductive system? A vagina could be entirely repurposed beyond the considerations of reproductions, into something entirely new (designed around maximizing sexual pleasure, or perhaps removed entirely, depending on her preference.) As medical science advances, we could create brand new artificial orifices or organs for any purpose we might desire–we stand at the threshold of futurekink, I think. Assuming we survive, in a few centuries I doubt very much that our understanding of bodies as something holistic and unalterable will seem incredibly backward.

I mean, humans have been doing shit like this to ourselves for a very, very long time; there’s a massive history of “ruining” our bodies for the sake of status, everything from binding women’s feet to purposeful amputation. Of course, adding a sexual power dynamic complicates things, but having a slave whose sole purpose is living art, whose body can be crafted and manipulated into any form you might choose, functional or otherwise? I think that’s sexy as fuck.

Use It or Lose It (Part 9)

Around seven, he finished his work and left the building, but the parking lot was empty. He was too poor to afford a car now–he waited for the bus, his cock burning frustrated, already feeling like it was too late. Could he really wait until he got home? Did he have a choice? Was this a life he was willing to accept. He saw a bar nearby…and he knew he could probably go in there, get a drink, and find a rude fucker willing to fuck him, but he didn’t want to be that person. He’d hold it. On the bus, the need only got worse, and by the time he was home, it was clear he’d have to hold out, or he’d lose another inch.

He lived in a different apartment now–smaller than the last, and even more filthy than before. It hardened his resolve–he couldn’t imagine living here for the rest of his life, settling for this. But a new voice piped up in response for the first time, familiar and alien all at the same time. It was him–his voice–but it was a voice from this life. It was insulted at the idea that this life was somehow inferior to the one he might have had before. What was so good about that life? Who wanted to deal with a wife? Who wanted to deal with kids? Here he could jack off all he wanted, he had an easy job that kept him afloat (and a few hot teachers willing to use his hole never hurt either!) What was so bad about this exactly?

Randal knew there were reasons, but they were slipping through his hands like straw. Still–if he jacked off now, things would get worse. He couldn’t let things get worse. At least hold out for another day, regroup, and go from there. What he needed most was a beer, and some food. He’d feel better with something in his belly. He threw a frozen dinner in the microwave and then popped a beer, chugged it, and opened a second, drinking it nearly as fast. By the time he’d finished dinner, he was feeling a solid buzz, his rational voice was spinning, and his body was on it’s way to the bedroom. It needed a good fuck, and he needed to cum–why hadn’t he gone to that damn bar earlier? He would have loved another fuck, but a dildo ride would have to do.

Reason put up a weak resistance, but Randal was in no mood to listen to it. Where had it even gotten him now? That old him–that was the whole reason he was in this mess to begin with! Maybe…maybe he deserved this. He certainly felt like he deserved this. The dildo slid in, his hole still a bit loose from his fuck earlier, and he started groping his cock through his filthy whites, the sensation of the crispy fabric against his cock doing wonders, bringing him closer and closer. There was a grungy mirror in the room, and reason made himself face it, hoping it would bring him back to his senses, but his new voice found the fat bearded slob in the mirror fucking himself on a dildo through a hole in the back of his underwear so sexy that his cock exploded, pumping a huge load into the front of them–and the euphoria! It was the hottest cumshot of his life, somehow, and one of the largest. He rubbed his underwear, getting them good and soaked, and then stripped them off, dildo still in his ass, and sucked the cum out of them for the camera.

It surprised him, for a moment. It hadn’t been there a moment ago, there next to the mirror, but seeing it now, and that red light–fuck, it made him so fucking horny, knowing he was taping himself. He loved taping himself, and later tonight he was going to put on the internet, and show the whole fucking world what a fucking slut he is. He sucked harder, bouncing on the dildo some more, his four inch cock barely visible under his sizable gut, but he wanted to make this one a double–his fans loved his double shots. Yeah, it was coming–his arm was tired, but he could make it, he knew it. He shot the next load into his palm–it was smaller, but he had a sizable pool in it. He got up off the bed and went in for a close up, smearing the cum into his tangled beard for the video, sucking some of it out of his mustache.

“My name is Randal Gray, and I’m a fucking cumpig faggot,” he said, and then turned off the camera.

An hour later, he was in front of his computer, his newest video uploaded, still fucking himself silly and jacking off, watching the views start to climb–watching the humiliating and degrading messages come pouring in. Part of him was absolutely horrified by this, but why should he care? Soon enough, that old him wasn’t going to matter anymore, right? No–this was the way things should be. He was a faggot–a weak willed, masturbation addicted faggot who craved humiliation and a well fucked hole all day long. He came another couple of times, before the old Randal could take over again, before reason conquered lust for the moment, and he could look on in horror at his online legacy.

There were hundreds of videos here, all of them featuring him. About a third of them were videos of him getting fucked by men who at first appeared to be strangers, but as he saw them, contexts began to fill there way in: men from the apartment complex, a couple of teachers from the school (including a couple with Mr. Jones), and plenty of hookups from bars around the city and online. Most of the others were just him fucking himself with various dildos and jacking off, usually while humiliating himself and begging others to expose him far and wide, to spread his pictures and videos all over the world, to show him off as the faggot pig he was born to be.

What is your biggest pet-peeve that you read in other people’s work, erotic or non?

I have a few pet peeves.

– I really hate stories that revolve around wish fulfillment. This is because the result is usually not a story at all, because it lacks anything resembling conflict. I have this discussion with commissioners on occasion, where they ask me for a story, but it’s clear that they don’t actually *want* a story–they just want a 5000 word TF sequence. I mean, don’t get me wrong–I understand the desire there, and I see that as legitimate, but that’s not what I’m doing here. I’m not granting wishes, I’m writing stories.

– Clueless characters. Oh god, does this get my shit twisted up. Generally, this manifests as characters surprisingly not knowing key facts about their world, despite the fact that, having gotten as far as they have into the story, they would have been required to understand how the world functions. It’s super sloppy writing, and a signal that the author hasn’t really bothered to grapple with their characters as beings, as opposed to dolls.

Those are the big ones, I think. I’m sure there are others.

Do folks in your personal life know you write these epic stories? And if so- do they have any opinions about them?

I’m pretty open with people about this at this point in my life–at least partly. Most everyone knows I write these stories, but I usually refrain from discussing the content with them, and very, very few people in real life know my nom de plume. Most people don’t seem to give many fucks, to be honest, but I live in a liberal part of the country, so that helps.