Nov 182016

The Hitachi Witch is well respected and feared for they know her magic wand is the most powerful ever made.

The Hitachi Witch flies through the air with ease, her magic wand buzzing between her legs.

The Hitachi Witch can bring you pleasure with a single touch, as well as summon every cat in a hundred yard radius.

The Hitachi Witch doesn’t do love spells but she knows plenty of self-love magic.

The Hitachi Witch knows a curse that will make all the spare batteries in your house disappear.

The Hitachi Witch tells her mother that she only does magic to cure back aches.

The Hitachi Witch knows a spell that will help you get over your ex.

The Hitachi Witch can’t make your bad work day any better but she can cast a spell so you don’t care as much.

The Hitachi Witch is the only type of witch known to be banned by the state of Texas.

Play With This is a series of articles designed to give you things to play around with in your writing. Feel free to borrow, modify, or completely change for your own stories.

*Hitachi Witch originated in a series of tweets from October.

 play with this  Comments Off on Play With This: The Hitachi Witch
Mar 222013

Mystics want you to believe that “ley lines” are an invisible network of energy that crosses the planet and intersects at historical places of mystery like Stonehenge and the Great Pyramids. The theory is that the ley lines are the spiritual lifeblood of the planet or perhaps magical roads of psychic energy.

The truth is much more explicit and therefore suppressed by our sexually inhibited society. The ley lines should be more accurately described as “Laid Lines”. They are the remnants of sexual energy that comes from a merging of two sexual energy fields. In other words, they are the paths of fucking.

Now when two or more people fuck, they create a remnant field of sexual energy. Sexual energy attracts other sexual energy so the field will stretch towards the nearest other field. These stretched fields create lines of energy that serve as a map for sexual encounters.

When you become attuned to Laid Lines (See chapter entitled, Divination Through Masturbation) you start to notice interesting patterns. Cities are filled with laid lines. They criss-cross in a web that center around locations where the fucking has been the most common. Hotels, stadiums, and high schools usually have so much fucking through their history that the sexual energy pools with such mass that the rest of the laid lines will bend towards them.

Sometimes however the web will center on something that doesn’t suggest itself as a place where a lot of people fuck. Atlanta, Georgia for example centers on an ancient restaurant of hot dogs and fried pies. Tawnee, Indiana centers on a curious park that is only five square feet in area. How can such unusual places become the nexus points of laid lines when it obvious that people are doing most of their fucking elsewhere?

It is quite simple. These unusual places are where Gods and Goddesses fuck.

Samuel Noone
“The Pussy of Life”

Play With This is a series of articles designed to give you things to play around with in your writing.  Feel free to borrow, modify, or completely change for your own stories.  

Dec 142012

The following entry has been submitted by Daisy Danger. This is the kind of thing we talk about.
I woke up on the ground, slightly hungover, as usual, but not worse for the wear.
Looking around, I realized I was in a part of the park I’d never been in before. I don’t remember how I got there, but that’s was getting to be less and less unusual too.
What was unusual, however, was the unicorn standing over me. His breath was terrible, probably worse than mine, which was no small feat.
“Jesus, dude,” I muttered, trying to decide if I was still drunk.
“Five bucks for a blowjob,” the unicorn said.
“What?” I sat up. A talking unicorn. I tried desperately to recall what and how much I’d had to drink last night, but my stomach churned from the unicorn’s breath.
“All right man, three bucks. Fuck, I’m sure,” the unicorn said, annoyed.
“Back the fuck off,” I said, my voice became shrill.
The unicorn took about ten steps back, that’s the first time I got a full look at him. His nose, muzzle, whatever horse part you call it, was stained brownish-yellow. His mane was long and matted, full of twigs and leaves. His horn was what was unbelievable though, it was wrapped in pages from nudie magazines and fastened with long strands of scotch tape. An edge was loose and a pair of fake tanned tits flapped like a little flag.
“What the fuck are you supposed to be?” I asked him.
“I am,” he said pausing for effect, “the Pornicorn.” He shook his mane as he said it. I think the desired effect was supposed to look like long wavy hair blowing in a sexy breeze, but some twigs fell out and he looked ridiculous.
I backed up and sat against a tree trunk and found a pack of crushed cigarettes. As I put one to my lips, the Pornicorn said “Hey man, can I bum one of those?”
“Fine. Whatever,” I said, flicking the lighter. I took a long drag and the Pornicorn licked his lips.
I heard a squeak and a rustling sound. A tiny monkey the size of my hand emerged from the Pornicorn’s mane. The monkey crawled on top of the Pornicorn’s head, then leapt off, landed in front of me and opened his tiny hand.
“Can he bum one too?” the Pornicorn asked.
“What the shit? Why the fuck not. Fucking unicorns and monkeys and…” I said, handing two cigarettes to the monkey. The monkey stuck both the cigarettes in his mouth, then snatched my lighter. He lit both and the Pornicorn lowered his head to the ground. The monkey stuck one of the cigarettes into the Pornicorn’s mouth and they both took a deep drag.
“What’s with the monkey?” I finally asked.
“What?” answered the Pornicorn, “Does it look like I have fucking hands? Do I look like a fucking Centaur to you? Fucking assholes, all superior with their arms.”  He said this last part bitterly.
The monkey looked at me and seemed to plead “Don’t get him started,” with his little beady eyes, but it was too late.
“The monkey’s name is Stash, he’s like, you know, my helper,” the Pornicorn continued. “Like what the fuck am I supposed to do with four legs and a face? Fucking leap around the meadows shitting rainbows or what?”
Stash hot boxed his cigarette, then flicked the butt away into the bushes. Patiently, he held the other cigarette out so the Pornicorn could take a drag in between rants.
“All right, all right,” I answered, “Don’t get so fucking worked up about it.”
“Oooh, look at me, the pretty shiny little magical unicorn,” he said in a high voice while he pranced mockingly in a circle.
“Goddamn, you are one bitter asshole,” I said, and got up to leave.
“Wait, sorry, sorry,” he said, coming closer to me, “I’m sorry.”
“What the fuck do you want?” I asked.
He dipped his head down and Stash ran up his muzzle and disappeared back into his ratty mane.
“How about that blow job?” Pornicorn asked.
“I’m not blowing you,” I answered. If I didn’t know anything else that morning, I knew that much. I was not blowing a deranged Goddamned unicorn for any amount of money.
“No, I’ll blow you, for…um… four bucks,” he said.
“I thought you said three,” I said, “Wait, what the fuck? Are you some kind of horse gigolo?”
He looked slightly insulted, but I didn’t care. I walked away and left him standing in the park, alone with his scummy little monkey.
A hour later I came back, out of curiosity. Pornicorn was standing where I’d left him, his eyes closed. He opened one when he heard me approach, but closed it again.
As I got closer, I heard him make little chuffing sounds, and then a groan. That’s when I noticed Stash.
“What the fuck is that monkey doing?” I shrieked.
“Jerkin’ me off, man” he said. Stash was wrapped around Pornicorn’s cock, shimmying up and down as fast as he could.
“Oh yeah, that’s it,” the Pornicorn said to no one in particular, “That’s it, that’s the way.” He gave a shudder and suddenly my shoes were sticky. Stash leapt off his cock and rolled around in a patch of grass trying to get clean, but soon he had grass clipping stuck all over his tiny body.
“You wouldn’t happen to have another cigarette?” he asked.
“No, not for you” I said, “That was the most disgusting thing I ever saw.”
“You should see when he massages my prostate,” Pornicorn snickered.
All of last night’s mistakes burbled in my throat, and I retched behind some bushes.
“If Stash jerks me off early, then I can last longer during the day,” he explained.
“So you are a horse gigolo,” I said, wiping my mouth on my sleeve.
“I’m a fucking unicorn, not a fucking horse,” Pornicorn said. “Actually, I am a magical unicorn, but the gig got fucking boring, kids asking for a fucking pot of gold or some shit. What the fuck do I get out of it? Nothing. Does anyone say ‘Thank you’? No. All I get are virgins trying to lure me, and who wants that? I decided to go my own way.”
“So you grant wishes?” I asked, “Like that’s a real thing?”
“So I could ask for shit and  you’d grant my wishes?”
“If I wanted to, yeah,” he eyed me warily.
“Like, what could I wish for?”
“Here’s the deal. I’m in business for myself. I’m the Pornicorn. I’ll grant you three dirty wishes. Anything you want. Ass-to-mouth? Fine. A room full of pussy? Fine, but there’s one condition,” he said.
“What’s that?” I asked, suddenly imagining naked bodies writhing and grinding on me.
“I get to watch,” he replied. 
Play With This is a series of articles designed to give you things to play around with in your writing.  Feel free to borrow, modify, or completely change for your own stories  
Nov 302012

It passed through the millions of little holes in your screens.  It slipped through the vents in your home.  It slid under the door into your bedroom.  It oozed up from your floor and came crashing down on your bed.  It got between your clothes and slipped over your skin.

It felt pretty great.

A year ago it was born in a sexual science laboratory.  Someone got a little careless and a tiny little accident happened.  A lot of sex lubricants mingled with some vibration nanobots and then somehow that got electrocuted and then someone spilled a carbonated drink.  The resulting self-recreating Lubricant Blob Monster slipped down a drain and traveled the pipes to freedom.

What did the Lubricant Blob Monster want?  Who knew?  It seemed to understand that it was made of mostly sexual aids and this drove its monstrous behavior.  It liked to get into tight places and it especially liked to get into tight people.  It oozed onto them with its incredibly slippery body and the billions of tiny vibrating nanobots excited sensations and feelings that most people had never experienced.  It slipped and slid over the bodies of the people it ‘attacked’ and then usually slipped away shortly after orgasm.  It was almost as if it knew it was no longer needed.

Thanks to the spilt carbonated drink, the Lubricant Blob Monster had a refreshing lemon lime flavor.

Play With This is a series of articles designed to give you things to play around with in your writing.  Feel free to borrow, modify, or completely change for your own stories.  

Nov 162012

Some people don’t want a therapist.  They don’t need to explore their inner feelings and they sure as fuck don’t want to talk about fathers.  There is a stigma to therapy and some people can’t accept that they need medical help to become a better person.

The Life Coach industry recognizes this.  They help people with their lives by reskinning the therapy process with the sports coach model.  Every one has seen the movie where the inspirational coach helps the normal guy become a super athlete.  People understand this fantasy trip and they are more than willing to enter into a student-mentor relationship than they are a patient-doctor relationship.  On paper it might be the same thing but it is all about how you present it.

Life coaches don’t ask questions as much as they make demands.  They are part cheerleader and part drill sergeant.  They don’t talk about your mother; they talk about how much ass you are on the verge of kicking.  They don’t put the focus on your past as much as they focus on how you are making the future better. 

As you might guess, life coaches are completely free of getting any sort of therapist or medical license.  This might be why a large number of life coaches spend a great deal of time making their money by telling people how they can become life coaches.  One might suspect that it is some sort of self replicating scam.  I bet it is like most things in that it depends on who is doing it.

Meet Veronica Umaria.  She is a second generation Japanese-American.  Her appearance gives her that exotic touch that people want in a life coach while her completely American upbringing makes her very approachable.  Veronica is a Sex Life Coach and she is very good at her job.

Need to spice up your marriage?  Veronica will provide hands on advice and training. 

Single and frustrated?  Veronica won’t offer any dating advice but she will teach you twenty different ways to masturbate that will spoil you for human contact.

In the middle of a hot night of lovemaking and suddenly things turn cold?  Veronica will take your call in the middle of the night and help with your problem.  Shit, she might just do a house call.

Need to grudge fuck someone for personal petty reasons?  Veronica has a nine step regimen that will get you into grudge fucking shape.

You might look at these list of services and conclude that Veronica is some sort of super sex therapist.  Remember, it is all in the delivery.

“Now Carlos, you might think you have a small penis but I want you to think of that penis as a stiletto of sex.  That is not a pencil dick, it is a precise instrument of pleasure.  You’re going to learn how to use your tool to get into places women never knew they had.”


“Geena, you can fuck yourself better than that.  Pound that pussy!  You spent money on a dildo worthy of a pussy and you’re using it like it a virgin.  Get in there!  Remember your training!  Fuck, fuck FUCK! You’re worth it!”

At this point you might be thinking of Veronica as a sort of dominatrix.  You’re close.  She will give you structure and a sense of order but she isn’t spanking you, she isn’t there to turn you on and she is not going to punish you if you are bad.  If you don’t follow her training then you fail yourself and Veronica will be happy to point that out to you.

Play With This is a series of articles designed to give you things to play around with in your writing.  Feel free to borrow, modify, or completely change for your own stories.  

Nov 092012

In a forbidden temple that sits on a forbidden mountain resides a master of a forbidden art.  The Mast of Spanking spends every day practicing his spanking.  He uses the back of his hand, the front of the hand, paddles, crops, books, random pieces of wood and once he even used a limp noodle to devastating effect on a woman’s ass.  He knows every detail to the art of spanking.

The most incredible technique that the Master of Spanking knows is the Six Secret Spanks.  These spanks will transform a person’s ass to a state of perfect happiness.  It will also hurt a lot. 

For some reason, this ancient secret technique is now available to the masses.  It is being printed on cheap paper and left at Asian supermarkets.  Monks with really large hands are distributing the pamphlet at airports.  Kinky people have reported seeing the technique explained on subway walls and tenement halls.  
Perhaps the Master of Spanking wishes to enlighten the world.  Who knows?  He could just be a really nice guy.

The First Secret Spank awakens the person’s body to heightened super sensitivity.  They will become aware of the slightest change in air pressure on their skin.  They will hear birds fart at a hundred yards.  They will feel the desire in people’s glances.

The Second Secret Spank will bring great heat to entire body.  They will feel as if they were cuddled inside a giant fur blanket that is actually made of a hundred tiny spanks.

The Third Secret Spank will hurt. 

The Fourth Secret Spank will hurt so much that the person being spanked will evoke an uncontrollable flood of curse words, swears and impossible anatomical positions.

The Fifth Secret Spank will humiliate.  It will break down the ego of the one being spanked.  It will strip them down to their core beliefs and in the moment, they will either decide that they are deserving of punishment or worthy of reward.  It will also hurt. 

The Sixth Secret Spank will take the spanked person to a state of perfect pain and pleasure.  They will experience the most painful sensation of their life along with the most pleasurable.  They may orgasm.  They will cry.

Applying the Six Secret Spanks incorrectly will have unforeseen side effects.  Please read the pamphlet correctly.   

Play With This is a series of articles designed to give you things to play around with in your writing.  Feel free to borrow, modify, or completely change for your own stories.  

Nov 022012

Today’s Play With This is provided by the supra-creative Joe Tortuga.

There’s probably no bigger downer at an orgy when everyone is all entangled together, and about to do something nasty to one or more other people, and discovering that some important supply is missing or out of reach.  The condoms are out, but there are more beside the guest bed nightstand.  The lube bottle rolled away and is now in the closet. The special blank and white feels-like-real-skin double dildo is still in the dishwasher since the last orgy.

All of these things, I must be honest, happened to me.  But then I discovered Sex Butlers, Inc.  I now have them at every function that I can (sometimes there’s no time to call ahead, alas).  They provide a simple service: someone trained in Sex Butlery will attend your event.  That persons’ job, as any good butlers’ is to pay attention and be ready.

When it is time for a condom, and you are search the floor or bed next to you, the Sex Butler will drop one in your hand.  When the lube rolls away to corners unknown, the Sex Butler will be there to gently nudge it back into place.  They’ll be sure to place any necessary equipment near you, be it dildos, rope, ice, matches, crops or handcuffs. For a fee the Sex Butler themselves will bring a case of esoteric equipment your orgy-goers could make use of, all of it properly cleaned, and sanitary, of course.

Like all good butlers, Sex Butlers are there, but they aren’t part of what is going on.  They buttle, but don’t butt-in. This is the key to their success, and their usefulness at your party.  Unlike traditional butlers, who are almost exclusively men, Sex Butlers come in all genders, shapes, sizes and ethnicities. The temperament to be a Sex Butler is rare, and is thus encouraged wherever it is found.  Sex Butlers, Inc provides no “sex maids” although they do sell branded outfits for the adventurous role-player.

So, how do you use this in a story? Surely the Sex Butlers have seen everything, and could perhaps tell you some of what they’ve seen.  Also, who trains a Sex Butler, and what is that like? Are they asexual or hyper-sexual beings? What’s a Sex Butler party like.  I mean, other than incredibly organized?

Oct 192012

Claudia Gaines was a shy woman.  She didn’t like being the center of attention, she didn’t like looking people in the eye and that whole sex thing was just one long anxious activity to her.  This probably explains why she was fascinated with the possibility of invisibility.  This also explains why she experimented on herself despite the terrible fate that befell the pioneer of invisibility, the insane psychopath, Dr. Griffin.

Since she was a smart girl without the distraction of a social life, Claudia quickly unraveled the secrets of invisibility.  She was almost not even surprised the first time she turned invisible.  What did surprise her was the effect it had on her libido.  For the first time in her life, she was relaxed enough to get laid. 

Now that she was invisible, it was nearly impossible to be ashamed of her body.  Now she that she was invisible she stopped seeing her body and started to feel her body for the first time.  She felt how sensitive her nipples were.  She liked the feeling of the wind on her ass.  She loved touching her cunt.  For the first time in her life, Claudia felt like a sexual creature and she needed to be fucked.

Completely invisible when she was butt-naked, Claudia wasn’t in a position to meet and form relationships with men.  That was okay.  She didn’t like it when they looked at her.  She didn’t really like talking to him.  She didn’t need a relationship, she just needed a cock.

Claudia walked the streets looking for men.  When she found a cute one, she would follow them.  She waited until they were alone and then she would indulge herself.  If she was feeling flirty, she would start by kissing them unexpectedly.  Some days she would pinch their ass.  If she was really wet, she would grope their cocks through their pants.

The funny thing about men is that most of them don’t seem to mind an invisible hand touching them.  Those who do panic calm down quickly when their hands are guided to an unseen breast.  If all else fails, Claudia has found that her mouth can coax the most terrified of cocks.

There are downsides to the invisibility.  When he eat, it takes about an hour for the food she consumes to turn invisible.  The same applies to sperm.  Being butt-naked all the time makes the winters tricky but she manages.  She has become quite adept into breaking into warm homes and even warmer occupied beds.   

Sometimes Claudia wonders if the invisibility formula has given her a kind of nymphomania.  The formula did drive Dr. Griffin into a power mad maniac after all.  Could the invisibility have driven her sexually insane?

Claudia worries about this right up until she sees another handsome man.

Play With This is a series of articles designed to give you things to play around with in your writing.  Feel free to borrow, modify, or completely change for your own stories 

 play with this  Comments Off on Play With This: The Invisible Slut
Oct 122012

I have decided to open up “Play With This” for guests to add their own essay.  As soon as I floated the idea, people asked for guidelines.  I am frustrated once again by people’s inability to read my mind so I will post some hints.

My inspiration for Play With This came from role-playing blogs.  In those blogs, writers will create monsters, locations and items for other players to use in their games.  Someone will come up with stats for the Purple Cock-Eater and then release it into the wild.  Other plays are free to use the Purple cock-Eater in their game however they wish.  There is no licensing fee, no legal disclaimer or paperwork.  It is just players tossing out ideas for other players to use.

Writers understand that an idea is not a story.  I could create The Crystal Lake Killer and other writers would use him differently.  One writer would tell the story of Killer’s first time getting laid while another writer would tell the story of the summer camp gangbang that came to a tragic end.  That is the beauty of ideas.  They are just components to be used as the individual writer sees fit.

I was also inspired by the pilot episodes of Alton Brown’s Good Eats.  In these pilots, he closes with the phrase, “Play with your food.”  He was referring to the newbie chef’s fear of treating recipes as something sacred that you can not modify.  Brown’s entire approach is to educate you about food to the point that you feel confident enough to create your own permutations of recipes.  I want my readers to feel the same freedom of experimentation with these essays. 

There is something similar to Play With This and it is called the Prompt.  Perhaps irrationally, I am not fond of prompts.  They tend to be really vague like “a guy finds out his wife is bisexual.  Big whoop.  To me they sound like anthology pitches.  Everyone write a story about the bisexual wife!  Whooo! What creative writers we are!

I envision Play With This as a bit more modular.  It creates concepts that can plug into other stories.  Like say you are telling a story about a guy and his bisexual wife.  Know what would jazz it up?  A Crystal Lake Psycho Killer.  Don’t have a psycho killer?  That’s cool, I got an essay that breaks down the character for you.

The Crystal Lake Killer is an extreme example but hey, it’s Halloween.  The concept is still sound.  Odds are, a typical Play With This article will describe a person, place or thing that will inspire a writer to do something with it.  It is not about everyone telling stories about The Crystal Lake Killer, it is about how each individual writer reacts to the concept.  Maybe you are disgusted by the fascination with Killers and you decide to write a scathing deconstruction of the concept told through a wild threesome.  Good for you!  Want to make the Crystal Lake Killer into the Crystal Lake Kitten Kisser?  Hot dog! More power to you! 

Another way to approach Play With This is think of the coolest person you know in real life.  Think of the most exciting place you have ever been.  Think of the strangest object you ever saw.  Think of these things and remember the feeling that you could write a dozen stories about that cool person, that exciting place and that strange object.  Capture that feeling and reverse engineer your own exciting concept that inspires those feelings in other people.

So make some shit up.  In my essay about Trailer Parks of Bondage, I listed how why I thought it would be a good setting from a writer’s point of view.  In the Dom Identity, I laid out a rough outline for a story without an ending.  In Dreams in the Whorehouse, I gave some in-character information for readers to riff off of.  Your approach can be just as personal.  Kick the idea out there and let others run with it.

Which comes to perhaps the scariest part of this whole concept; you are letting these ideas go.   Oh, you can write about them in your own stories but when Some Writer takes your cool idea and makes a story about a guy who finds out his wife is bisexual, you don’t get to cry foul.  You don’t get a royalty check.  You don’t even get a credit though credit would be nice.  You only get the satisfaction of knowing you gave some other writer a building block for their story.

So email me your articles.  My yahoo email is shonrichards.  You can send it my gmail of shonrichards, but I will roll my eyes.  I will credit you when I post the article and I will post them on my own whimsical schedule.

Play With This is a series of articles designed to give you things to play around with in your writing.  Feel free to borrow, modify, or completely change for your own stories.  

Oct 052012

The Purple Spa was a pretty lackluster massage parlor when it was open.  The women who worked there didn’t have hearts of gold, the madam didn’t sing songs about Christmas and the customers sure as fuck did not look like Richard Gere.  It was the kind of place that teenage boys couldn’t wait to go to and adult men regretted having been. 

The only reason if lasted the five years that it did was because it was located at a crossroad between four small towns.  Men could stop by on their way to go to work, visit family or go on dates with unsuspecting girlfriends.  A convenient line of trees blocked the parking lot from the prying eyes of anyone passing by on the highway.  Secrecy was more important that service quality.   

It has been closed for ten years now but people still talk about it.  They say if you spend the night there, you might dream about the whores who used to work there.  Even stranger, the whores in your dreams are far more exciting and friendlier than the women who used to work there.  They say that you will come in your pants twice and that is on a slow night.

You have to spend the night to get the full effect.   You have better luck if you stay in one of the rooms that whores used to work in.   Some guys bring money that they leave on the ground.  They say that your chances of having a good dream are much better that way.

What do they dream of exactly?  All sorts of shit.  The original whores used to give you a lazy back rub and a bored handjob but the dream whores have all sorts of tricks.  They do things with their mouths, their tits, their cunts and their asses that will spoil you for life.  A lot of the stuff they do in your dreams might not be physically possible but when you are dreaming, what do you care? 

The best part about the dream whores is their attitude.  The real whores were strict about what your money could get you but the dream whores are insatiable.  They are the cock hungry nymphomaniacs that exist only in masturbation fantasies.   

Some people think the dream whores are so lusty because they are damned souls that are needy for cock.  This has led to speculation that the whores in the dreams must have died there and are now haunting the place.  That is an excellent theory except for the fact that no one ever died there; although old man Jenkins certainly came close to dying once during a session with a top heavy Asian woman.  Local legends have a tendency to ignore facts and new theories pop up every day. 

The best time to go is Halloween.  Your chances of having a whore dream is almost a guarantee.  It gets so popular that you might need to go from room to room to find one that isn’t occupied by a sleeping bag and a horny man.  On Halloween, you might just dream an entire orgy of dream whores and you get to fuck every one of them. 

Some say that people disappear if they spend the night at Halloween. They claim their friends never came back.  That’s just crazy talk.  If someone disappears from this neck of the state, it just means they got fed up with small towns and moved to the big city.  What would dream whores need with live people anyway?

Play With This is a series of articles designed to give you things to play around with in your writing.  Feel free to borrow, modify, or completely change for your own stories.