I just noticed that The Progressive Art Project has "Maximum Consent on special today. (Every day a random Catharsis video goes on special.) What is especially special is that out of the 1000 odd videos I have produced, Maximum Consent is my personal favorite. If you've ever been tempted to pick up this gem and not gone for it, today is the day to allow yourself to be tempted again.

http://www.the-progressive-art-project.com/guest.php?specials
 

The idea that people's political leanings can be expressed on a one dimensional spectrum like 'left/right', is more than just absurd, it is 'highly' misleading, resulting in an utterly skewed political landscape and people having really no clue as to who is where. I am fiscally extremely 'conservative, but socially I am extremely liberal. Does that make me a centrist? I do not believe in middle sized government and moderate government control of people's social lives.

A two dimensional spectrum makes vastly more sense, as on such a spectrum, people's different positions actually can then be accurately placed. (Technically a multidimensional spectrum would make even more sense, but that is both difficult to discuss and impossible to easily display.) The two dimensional chart that has gained by far the most support is the Nolan Chart, displayed below.

You can take a quick survey online to show you where you fall on this chart, in case you aren't sure. Go to:  http://www.nolanchart.com/survey.php

None of us tend to hate the people we interact with in our normal routines. We do not hate our shopkeepers, loath the restaurateur who feeds us, or flame our plumber. If there is a business we do not care for, we simply do not give them our business, no hating involved. In our daily lives we treat people much as the golden rule says we should, as we would expect to be treated ourselves. Our disagreements when they occur tend to be more the source of laughter than anything else.

All this changes when we enter the realm of politics. When it comes to politics, we get angry and inflamed. We often hate those who disagree, vehemently. It behooves us to consider for a moment why, what is it about politics that causes such reactions? Why is it that our hate goes almost uniquely to those whose politics disagree with our own?

I believe I know the answer. There is a gun in the room.

The use of government to 'do things' invariably carries with it the 'force' of law. The government 'compels' obedience, it is coercion. If you do not obey the government, obey the laws written by government, men with guns will come to kidnap you and if you resist them, they will 'kill' you. Politics is literally holding anyone who disagrees at the point of a gun.

And so, if Redeemer has his way in politics, he through the intermediary of politics is literally holding Sandi at the point of a gun and 'forcing' her to comply with his desires. And conversely of course, if Sandi has her way in politics, she will be literally holding Redeemer, by proxy, at the point of a gun, 'forcing' him to do her will. It is small wonder that disagreements in politics result in anger, given that the victor in politics gets to hold the looser at gun point and force their compliance.

I would suggest to all those who hold their politics so dear that they loath those of the 'other' side, that they are in fact both on the same side. Both Republicans and Democrats 'believe' in government, they believe in the principle of force, the rule of the gun. There is however another perspective, and from that perspective both Democrats and Republicans really are together on the same side, opposite of that perspective. That other perspective is voluntarism, people going about their lives peacefully interacting without anyone else using force to compel anyone to do anything.

I could easily get bogged down in the minutiae of how such a society might function, but there are wiser minds than mine that have spent their lives considering every angle, and the truth of it is that society is more than capable of self organizing, peacefully, without overlords waving guns at us.

While the likes of Sandi and Redeemer are standing at opposite ends of their own room threatening each other with their guns by proxy, I stand at the door to another room where there are no people pointing guns at each other, wishing people would realize that the source of their disagreement is the fact that they are pointing guns. Put the guns away; realize that the use of force, the use of the threat of force, IS violence. And violence is not the solution to the world's problems.

"But what about this problem, and what about that problem...?"

The use of violence to solve problems, regardless of how important you think those problems are, is NOT the solution. ALL those problems have peaceful solutions, that you might have a chance to see if you would just put away your guns.

This is not about politics. This is about ethics. Might does not make right. The ends do not justify the means.

The Statist: Give me 10% of your money and 10% of your freedoms, my bureaucrats can spend your money better than you can, because we are nobler than you.

The Libertarian: No, this is my money and these are my freedoms, you have no right to steal them away.

The Statist: I will give you an illusion that you have some say in the theft of your money and freedom. You must compromise! Give me 5% of your money and 5% of your freedoms and then we will all bask in how reasonable we all are.

And so is born the state.

*

The Statist: Give me 20% of your money and 20% of your freedoms, my bureaucrats can spend your money better than you can, because we are nobler than you.

The Libertarian: No, this is my money and these are my freedoms, you have no right to steal them away.

The Statist: I will give you an illusion that you have some say in the theft of your money and freedom. You must compromise! Give me 10% of your money and 10% of your feedoms and then we will all bask in how reasonable we all are.

And so grows the state.

*

The Statist: Give me 40% of your money and 40% of your freedoms, my bureaucrats can spend your money better than you can, because we are nobler than you.

The Libertarian: No, this is my money and these are my freedoms, you have no right to steal them away.

The Statist: I will give you an illusion that you have some say in the theft of your money and freedom. You must compromise! Give me 30% of your money and 30% of your freedoms and then we will all bask in how reasonable we all are.

And so grows the state.

*

The Statist: Give me 70% of your money and 70% of your freedoms, my bureaucrats can spend your money better than you can, because we are nobler than you.

The Libertarian: No, this is my money and these are my freedoms, you have no right to steal them away.

The Statist: I will give you an illusion that you have some say in the theft of your money and freedom. You must compromise! Give me 50% of your money and 50% of your freedoms and then we will all bask in how reasonable we all are.

And so grows the state.

*

Until finally the Libertarian realizes that they have compromised away virtually everything, their property and their freedom has been nickled and dimed away, they have compromised themselves to the level of serfs without a shot fired in defense of freedom. And then they wonder if perhaps it is not time for the tree of liberty to once again be watered with the blood of patriots. The Statist gets wind of their thoughts and warns; The State has the guns, you will obey the State, you will submit, or the State will send men with guns to kidnap you and lock you away and if you dare resist them, the men with guns will kill you.

And thus the true nature of the Statist is revealed. The Statist is not the noble one, the Statist is the one who believes in force, the rule of the gun, the embodiment of might makes right, the State is violence. The State is the gun in the room.

Were you to come to me for real, for dinner, I would greet you right from the get go as if you were a meat girl and treat you kindly, but as just that, meat still on the hoof.

I would have you undress and then I would inspect your meat, judging it and making mental notes. I might grade your various cuts.

Then I would wash the meat, making sure it really was ready for the cooking, can't cook dirty meat.  I prefer to be quite hands on with the meat, I would wash it carefully.

That done I would lay the meat on the preparation table and start to work in the basting oil. That would likely take an hour, making sure it was well massaged.

Once the oil has been well massaged, I would add the aromatic spices and massage those more gently into the meat.  I would use almond oil. The aromatic spices could be discussed.

Then I would arrange the meat in it's final plate position, array the legumes appropriately, perhaps stick an apple it it's mouth, and stop to take pictures, prior to dinner being served.

That done, dinner would be served. Guests would arrive to enjoy the dinner, which would be a mixture of sushi arrayed on the meat and fondue, where people can cook their raw meat slices, many of which would also be arrayed on the roast.

And I might find that that last little nibblet of sushi is just too hard to pick up with my chopsticks, it slipping out from between them each time I try...

So finally as dinner is winding down, I might resign myself to just eating that last nibblet right there where it sits on the sushi girl.

People feel that because they can simply reinvent themselves on a whim in cyberspace, that they can hide their carelessness or downright rudeness, by closing one profile and opening a new, that nothing counts. And in truth they are right, as far as they are concerned. Certainly their fleeting and thereby irrelevant profiles do not count for much. They have self fulfilled their own preconceptions by their own actions. 'They' shall never count for much.

But when someone invests years into an online life, always with the same and recognizable 'profile', the actions and comportment of that person in cyberspace take on every bit as much significance as do one's real life actions. And just as in real life, where we take care to do the right thing, lest it reflect badly on us, so too does the same ethic follow into the online world. That too is a reality we make for ourselves.

The choice lays with an individual as to whether or not their online world matters, whether their impact upon other people there matters. And I believe it reveals a great deal about one's character, how one behaves when one can so easily hide from consequence. It is not the online world where people hide behind masks and the real world where they tell the truth. The real world is where most people present a face to the world, a mask to hide the truth of their innermost character. It is online where people can do or say anything, that they reveal their true selves. And often what is revealed is not flattering. And so they hide, and re-invent, and pretend that it does not matter.

Hunt Rules - The basic concept:

A 'girl meat' hunt and slave auction event, using BDSM play party conventions. This is a pre-registration event that will cost some money to attend. Women who elect to participate both as prey during the hunt and as slaves to be auctioned shall have their registration fees reimbursed at the gate.

Each full day of the event will see one or two hunts during the daylight hours. Each hunt will be for a defined set time period, likely two hours. Each of the prey will carry with them $100. auction dollars. Any hunter that bags a prey wins the auction dollars the prey is carrying. Any prey that survives a hunt keeps the auction dollars as their own. Prey caught by a hunter belongs to that hunter for the duration of that hunt only, but what the hunter may do with their captured prey is somewhat limited and is defined by the prey.

At supper time each full day, prey may go onto the auction block to be sold as slaves for the evening. The decision to be auctioned off is the decision of the prey, irrespective of any hunter that may have caught them during the hunt. Being auctioned is 'highly' encouraged, and prospective slaves should realize that it is 'they' who define their limits prior to the auction, and what therefor may be done with them as slaves. Auction dollars may be used to bid on the slaves. Real dollars may be added to any bid but any bidder who successfully buys a slave with the addition of real world dollars is limited to owning only that slave for that evening.

Slaves shall have their limits posted well before the auction so prospective buyers know what can be done with the slaves they buy. All fetish related play is to be conducted within a defined play area and time that will be supervised at all times. Fetish play must be limited to this area for reasons of the safety of all. What happens between consenting adults in their tents is their affair, but it must be safe, sane, consensual, and devoid of sharp objects (this means you Peter).


Specifics:

Prey may wear clothing, indeed protective clothing may be advisable if the prey intends to run through brush, but prey may at their own volition, aware that there is risk of injury by doing so, participate in the hunt nude. Any prey not otherwise fully nude, must wear pink, so as to distinguish themselves as being prey. Clothing of hunters is up to their discretion, but they many not go nude or wear any pink, lest they be mistaken for prey. Protective eye wear is required for all participants, no exceptions, even hunters, as stray fire might still strike them. Full face protection such as that worn by paintball gamers might be prudent, but protective goggles are sufficient.

Any prey 'tagged' (as in a game of tag) by a hunter is considered 'bagged' by that hunter. Hunters shall use rubber suction tipped arrows fired from a toy bow. This may feel silly to a hunter, but it is less silly than hunting ghosts, which is all we will be hunting the following year if the prey is too injured by the hunt to enjoy the event. Prey struck by such a weapon are considered bagged and are strongly encouraged to roleplay the part of prey having been shot by a real arrow. Prey is forewarned that being struck may be somewhat painful.

Prey may surrender to a hunter that has called them out. Prey that has surrendered is not to be shot! Hunters must warn prey that they have in their sights so as to give them a chance to surrender. No shots may be taken by a hunter upon prey that has not been warned! Warned prey may elect to either surrender on the spot or stand and take the shot. If the prey stands for the shot, and the hunter misses, the prey may run with a 30 second head start where the hunter must stand in place and count out loud.

Absolutely no sharp implements are allowed in the hunt. No darts or hunting implements that break skin are allowed. Hunters may not carry knives (except securely confined constantly in an optional survival kit). Other hunting tools may be considered as long as they pose no risk of injury to the prey. Safety must be absolutely paramount in the conduct of the hunters, the prey is not to be harmed!

All hunt participants shall carry a whistle. The sound of a whistle is to be responded to as an emergency, the whistle is to be used in case of serious injury or getting lost. If you think you are lost, do not wander for half an hour trying ot get your bearings, whistle. Hunters may not bag anyone responding to a whistle.

Prey may of their own volition wear a neck collar or choker during the hunt. The wearing of a neck collar or choker by a prey is a statement by the prey that they consent to being used sexually by the hunter that bags them at the time of their bagging (condom use is absolutely mandatory). They may revoke this consent at any time by either removing their collar or using the safe word. Any hunter that takes sexual liberties with prey that is not wearing a collar or that has invoked the safeword is guilty of rape, and charges will be levied and civil authorities called to make an arrest. DO NOT VIOLATE THIS!

The universal safeword for this event is: "Safeword".

Prey wearing collars or chokers may be dragged or carried off the hunting grounds as trophies and a little bit of appropriate (safe) role play encouraged. Carrying must be safely done, rope binding to a pole is unfortunately not sufficiently safe, over the shoulder or 'fireman's carry' is optimum. Dragging must be done on a very thick blanket so as to avoid damaging the prey.

Bagging any prey is worth $100. auction dollars. These dollars will be a specially marked 'play' currency. Lucky or skillful hunters may accumulate these dollars by bagging multiple prey. Prey may accumulate dollars by surviving a hunt without being bagged. If a prey is not bagged during any hunt during the day, she may bid during the auction at her discretion on any slave being auctioned. Auction dollars may be traded or gifted, at any time for any reason, but they may not be bought or sold for real world dollars.

All prey is highly encouraged to put themselves up for auction. It is permissible of a slave to 'gift' themselves to someone prior to the auction, which will then exempt them from being auctioned. It is our hope however that most slaves will refrain from doing this routinely so that the majority be available to the bidders. Each slave to be auctioned shall be given an extra $100. auction dollars in advance of the auction. This $100. may be gifted to anyone so as to confer a small but not insignificant advantage to whomever they would prefer to be purchased by.

All slaves to be auctioned must have at the time of their inscription made a formal list of their permissions and limits in a slave contract, that they swear to abide by once they are purchased. These limits shall be posted so all auction participants know in advance what they are bidding on. Bidders are advised to make no assumptions and to consult the posted limits before auction. The posted limits are the rules, they may not be violated.

All BDSM and fetish play must take play within the designated and supervised area and while that area is open. The area shall be supervised by experienced BDSM dom/mes who may intervene in a scene if they deem it necessary for the safety of the participants. Anyone ignoring the authority of the supervisor may be summarily ejected from the event, and if the transgression warrants, possibly even formally charged. Obey this authority!

Slaves bought at auction (or that have gifted themselves) are the property of their buyers within the constraints of their posted limits, until such a time as the play area is closed down for the night. Sex play IS permitted, as long as such play has been listed in the posted limits of the slave. Once the play area is closed for the night, the slaves again become un-owned and may retire. Sexual dalliances are completely optional at that point and up to their own decision.

Any prey on the grounds of the event that is fully nude shall be considered to be a meat girl, common property chattel. They shall have a pen where they may sleep together which will also have a covered area. Some old blankets 'might' be found. Sufficient food and water will be provided for them. Fetish play with them is not permitted outside of the scope of the above play area / auction rules, but they may be put to work servicing the event, doing menial tasks, etc.. Any such fully nude meat girl that is 'also' wearing a collar may be used sexually for the pleasure of any free person at the event, at any time. Note that to avoid being treated as a meatgirl, all that is necessary is for the woman to wear some clothing, even as little as panties.

Hunters and slave owners must respect the property rights of all. That most specifically means that no one may take liberties with someone else's property without the permission of the property owner. A generous hunter/slave owner may of course at their sole discretion decide they wish to share, but no one is to assume such.

Absolutely no photography is allowed at this event except by the official event photographer who shall secure a waiver of consent from anyone photographed. No photograph shall be deliberately taken and none shall be published for whom such a waiver has not been secured. Waivers can be conditional, so as to permit publication if the face is blurred out for example. Anyone worried about photographs of themselves being taken should either decline to sign a consent waiver or sign one on condition that their face be blurred or otherwise not seen.

There will be at least one armed constable on site at all times. The instructions and decision of the administrators and the constable(s) are to be obeyed without argument for the safety of all and the smooth operation of the event. Debates about decisions can be held afterwards so as to improve decisions for future events. Failure to obey is grounds for immediate ejection from the event. This may seen draconian, but consider the nature of the event and how seriously we need to ride herd to ensure the safety of this sort of event.

Registration shall cost money for hunters, just how much remains to be seen but it will not be cheap. The registration cost of the hunters shall be sufficient to cover all the costs of the event and still net some profit for Dolcettgirls. Registration of hunters must be made in advance, absolutely no hunters registrations will be accepted at the gate. This is because each hunter shall be required to provide proof of their real identity and verifiable references given to ascertain their safe conduct. Again, if this is too much for you then you are not welcome at this event, as your attendance would pose too great a risk to the other participants. Such records shall be kept securely and not divulged to anyone for any reason save a court order (and that would be difficult because the record keeper shall be a foreign national). After the event, all such identifying records will be destroyed except for an Email address and record of conduct.

Women attending the event as prey/slaves shall also be required to pay a pre-registration fee, but this fee will be refunded at the event if they do in fact participate as prey/slaves. This pre-registration fee is necessary so that we will know in advance who is serious about coming and who is just roleplaying their intent. This because the number of hunters who will be allowed to participate is strictly limited by the number of prey that will attend. As we receive a registration from a prey, a hunter will be selected from those who have submitted a registration and their invitation confirmed.

Note that couples have a much easier time gaining entry as they are automatically balanced with one hunter and one prey. Many prey have expressed an interest in attending but cannot due to the financial cost of travel. A hunter may at their option 'sponsor' a prey of their choice, arranging with her to cover transportation. This obligates the prey in no way to the hunter, the sponsoring hunter gains no special privilege with the sponsored prey. What the hunter 'does' gain is couple status, essentially an automatic entry to the event as long as they can pass the security check.

This is the second draft of the second generation of the rules. Version 2.1

This is a work in progress. I welcome comments and suggestions, which I hope will help modify this article to make it both more accurate, and perhaps more humorous.


If on a girls profile;

If it's too good to be true, it's a guy.

If it's every guy's wet dream, it's a guy.

If there is a picture album labeled "Me" (or something similar) and in it are 12-18 completely non-fetish related photos of a woman who could make serious money modeling nude, it's a guy (who swiped the photos off of Facebook).

If you chat with them and they want lots of photos or videos from you 'that are not of you', it's a guy.

If you chat with them and they promptly offer to send you explicit nude pictures of themselves, it's a guy.


On the other hand if on a girl's profile;

If there is no picture at all, or it's just an abstract, it's probably a girl.

If the profile picture is stated as not being themselves but looks similar, it's probably a girl.

If the profile picture is clearly a borrowed picture from a producer that depicts the stated fetishes of the person, it's probably a girl.

If the profile picture is such that the face is not recognizable, it's probably a girl.

If the profile picture is not the face of an angel and the body of a porn star, it's probably a real girl.

If the listed age is over 30, it's probably a real girl.


Do not assume that someone must be older simply because of good writing style. Just because they can write well does not mean they cannot be young. Some young people are extremely intelligent and well educated. Just like many older people cannot write for beans.

Apologies in advance to the perhaps handful of real girls under 30 that have posted actual mouthwatering pictures of themselves.  If this describes you, please follow Pam Perverto's advice from below, quoted here:

"...take a photo of themselves, fully clothed, touching their nose with the first finger of their left hand and post it in their photo album. Very simple way of proving it's you. "Oh I can't my camera is broken" or I don't have a camera anymore" or "It will freak my partner out if I ask them" means they are a guy. "

From an RP session:

amy jackson: wanna hear my fave rp scene?
Peter: Sure.
amy jackson: its my 18th birthday and i go on a tour of a girlmeat processing plant and u r the guide who tricks me into being processed
Peter: Heh. That could be over terribly quickly.
amy jackson: y is that?
Peter: Depends on how efficient the meat processing plant is.
amy jackson: lol
Peter: But maybe the processors enjoy the idea of playing with the meat...
amy jackson: yes
amy jackson: ill start
Peter: Ok.
amy jackson: i walk in the front door of the plant. i am wearing a red dress and heels. u r at the front desk
Peter: I look you up and down appreciatively.
amy jackson: i walk up to the desk
Peter: Well hello there. Deliveries are usually made at the rear.
amy jackson: um im not here to become meat
Peter: Oh? But you would make for lovely meat!
amy jackson: ty
Peter: So, why are you here?
amy jackson: todays my birthday and id like to go on a tour
Peter: I get up from behind the desk and circle you, admiring the meat.
Peter: Ah, your eighteenth?
amy jackson: yes
Peter: And why wold you like a tour? Are you thinking of being meat and deciding where you will be processed?
amy jackson: no i just moved here and have never seen a girl become meat
Peter: Ah, I see. Well, we would be happy to oblige you.
Peter: Please step this way, and sign this release form. It's just a formality, in case of accidents. A meat processing plant can be a bit dangerous.
Peter: (It has lots of legalese and fine print.)
amy jackson: i sign it
Peter: Now, that is a very pretty dress.
amy jackson: ty
Peter: It is going to get very dirty inside, a meat processing plant is quite dirty.
amy jackson: ok and?
Peter: Would you perhaps prefer to leave it here at the front desk?
amy jackson: i blush
amy jackson: ive never been naked in front of anyone before
Peter: Don't worry, we are very used to the sight of girl flesh, no one will give you a second glance.
amy jackson: i strip the dress off
Peter: Might I suggest taking off your bra and panties too? If they get blood soaked, your dress will still be ruined when you put it back on.
amy jackson: ok
amy jackson: i strip naked
Peter: There we go, now, would you like to see some processed girls first?
amy jackson: yes
Peter: Ok, step this way...  This is our showroom for prospective buyers.
amy jackson: i follow u
Peter: In the waiting room over there are our live roasters. They are specially selected for sex appeal and stamina.
Peter: I suspect you would make for a good live roaster. *I again look you up and down appreciatively*
Peter: Some of the merchants also look at you appreciatively.
amy jackson: i blush
Peter: I wave them off and tell them that you are not a live roaster.
Peter: The live roasters stare at you with big eyes, some of them very scared, others clearly very aroused.
Peter: Now, over here we have the whole roasters, having been cleaned and prepared. I walk you over to a big counter.
amy jackson: i have a question
Peter: Yes?
amy jackson: do u have full participation tours where the tourist is treated like a meatgirl?
Peter: We do not normally do such things, but we could do that.
amy jackson: really?
Peter: Certainly, would you like to see the plant from that perspective?
amy jackson: yes
Peter: We could come to this final processed meat place at the end of the tour.
Peter: Very well, lets go in through the back where the deliveries are made.
amy jackson: ok
Peter: We walk around the large building, me having you walk a bit in front of me so I can admire your meat.
amy jackson: i walk swaying my hips
Peter: You are still butt naked of course and make for a lovely sight.
Peter: We walk in through the back, where there is much noise and goings on.
amy jackson: ok
Peter: A cattle cart of women has just arrived and they are being led into a pen.
Peter: "Special delivery, special choice meat" I call out and give you a big conspiratorial wink.
Peter: Someone comes over. "She's here for the 'special' tour."
Peter: Ok, special attention, gotcha. Says the meat man. "Have fun." he says, though you're not sure if he was speaking to you or to me.
amy jackson: i blush
Peter: Ok, lets put you in with the others so you can see what it's like to be a meat girl in with the others.
amy jackson: ok
Peter: I open the pen to let you step in.
Peter: The pen closes and locks behind you.
amy jackson: i look around
Peter: The girls are all good meat, most are scared, some are excited, all are nervous.
amy jackson: i smile
Peter: Now each meat girl is inspected and labeled so we know what processes they will be subject to. Let's have you go through that as well.
amy jackson: ok
Peter: I'll go talk to the inspector so he knows what to do with you. Just wait here with the rest of the meat girls.
Peter: I walk off.
amy jackson: i wait for u
Peter: You are standing in a line of meat girls, in a locked pen.
Peter: The line moves forward a bit.
Peter: You see a girl being lead off.
Peter: The line moves forward again.
Peter: You hear a loud buzzing and a girl's high pitched squeek, suddenly cut off.
Peter: The line moves forward again.
amy jackson: i step forward with the line
Peter: I seem to be taking my time.
Peter: The line keeps moving forward.
Peter: One by one the girls in front of you seem to be being led off. The line gets shorter.
Peter: You can watch the inspector now.
amy jackson: i watch
Peter: He is very business like. He inspects the girls just as one would expect a butcher to inspect a load of hamburger.
Peter: He pinches and prods, he has them bend over, he inserts a finger into various orifices!
amy jackson: i look around for u
Peter: I am nowhere to be seen.
Peter: Each girl is given what looks like a brand. They yelp when it is applied, and then are led off in various directions, depending upon the brand.
Peter: There are only three girls left in front of you.
amy jackson: i keep looking for u
Peter: There are two girls in front of you.
amy jackson: where is he i mutter
Peter: The girl right in front of you turns to you with big doeful eyes, staring in wonder. She says to you. "We are going to be meat."
amy jackson: im not
Peter: She looks questioningly at you, and then it is her turn with the inspector and she is summarily spun about, squeezed and categorized. And then she is led off.
amy jackson: i stand still
Peter: There is no other girls in front of you.
Peter: Firm hands move you forward.
amy jackson: wait im not meat
Peter: The inspector pokes you, squeezes your breasts...
amy jackson: ahhh
Peter: He prods your belly, pinches your butt cheeks.
amy jackson: owww
Peter: You get bent over and feel a finger thrust deep into your vagina. It feels around inside of you.
amy jackson: it feels my hymen
Peter: It breaks your hymen.
amy jackson: ahhhhhhhhh
Peter: Finally he mutters 'special processing' and a brand is pressed onto your butt. Sizzle!
amy jackson: ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Peter: You get led off to you are not sure where. At this point you are not sure just what is happening.
amy jackson: whats going on?
Peter: You are being handled like meat.
Peter: They do not respond. You are just meat to them.
amy jackson: wheres peter?
Peter: Again no response. But then you see me waiting for you beside a few other girls. You breathe a big sigh of relief. All is well.
amy jackson: whew
Peter: You join the other girls. I walk over to you...
Peter: "So, did you find that part of the experience interesting?"
amy jackson: yes but i was branded
Peter: "That is what it feels like to be a real meat girl. You wanted the full experience, no?"
amy jackson: yes
amy jackson: but
amy jackson: thats permanant
Peter: Just think of it as a memento. Something to remember this experience with always. You'll be able to show it to friends and they'll all be impressed.
amy jackson: oh ok
Peter: Let's watch as these girls get put onto the conveyor.
amy jackson: ok
Peter: As you can see it is quite elaborate. These girls are going to be processed for parts, but it all has to be done in proper sequence.
amy jackson: whats does my brand mean?
Peter: You brand is 'special processing', it means you are special.
amy jackson: oh ok
Peter: See how they are put into a set of special restraints? We don't want them squirming and making a mess of the cuts.
amy jackson: i see
Peter: Each girl in turn is strapped into a flat shallow cage and their arms and legs affixed such that they are spread eagle and unable to move.
Peter: *It is a very revealing position.*
amy jackson: i stare
Peter: The cage rotates and moves into a different room.
amy jackson: whats going to happen to me i ask
Peter: Would you like to try the cage and see how comfortable we make it for the girls? It really would be the culmination of the experience.
amy jackson: sure
Peter: I put you in the cage myself, I position your arms and legs... A belt tightens around all your limbs. I was right, it really is quite comfortable, except for how extremely exposed you are.
amy jackson: i blush
Peter: I run my finger over your clit.
amy jackson: i jerk
Peter: Sorry, I couldn't help myself. You really do make for fine meat.
amy jackson: ty
Peter: I press a button and the cage rotates and abruptly moves into the next room.
Peter: You see a man covered in blood cut the girl right in front of you, he cuts her throat wide open and hits another button. The cage flips upside down and moves off to one side. Buckets of blood pour out of her, she wiggles vainly.
amy jackson: i stare in fear
Peter: He looks at you, just more meat. He hits a button. Your cage moves forward. He brings the knife to your throat.
amy jackson: peter help
Peter: You see me put my hand on his shoulder and say, "This one is special." He lowers the knife without cutting your throat.
amy jackson: i sigh with relief
Peter: I hit the button and the cage flips upside down and you move in line with the other girls whose throats 'have' been cut.
amy jackson: im on a ride huh?
Peter: You hang there for a while. "Yes dear, you asked for the full tour."
amy jackson: oh ok
Peter: Other girls join you on the other sides of the cage. You watch them bleed out.
Peter: So, are you enjoying the ride so far?
amy jackson: yes
amy jackson: i see one who looks familiar
amy jackson: hey uh peter
Peter: Yes Amy?
amy jackson: i know that one. i point to a blonde
Peter: I bet she'll be tasty.
amy jackson: thats my mom
Peter: Wow! Did you know she as going to be a meat girl?
amy jackson: no
Peter: Well, she's just meat now.
Peter: One by one as they bleed out, the cages disappear into another room.
amy jackson: what happens in the next room?
Peter: That's where they get gutted and cleaned out.
amy jackson: oh am i going in there?
Peter: Oh for sure, full tour, right? Don't you want to see your mom get gutted?
amy jackson: not really
Peter: Well, just don't look then. You can watch the other girls get gutted.
amy jackson: im tired
amy jackson: i want to go home
Peter: The cage moves and you find yourself moved into the other room.
Peter: There are several men working there, with big knives.
amy jackson: i stare
Peter: I am not there.
Peter: The other girls are all dead, but not you.
Peter: A big man step up to you with a big knife. He looks you over. "Special processing, right?"
amy jackson: yes
Peter: At that point, I step up and put my hand on his shoulder.
Peter: You notice that I am naked, and I too have a big knife in my hand.
Peter: "Don't worry sweet, you'll still get to experience most of the tour."
amy jackson: i will?
Peter: "Sure, the others are being completely gutted, cleaned out, but I'm going to leave you with your heart and lungs, so you'll stay alive through much of what is to follow."
amy jackson: what do u mean?
Peter: Full tour, remember?
amy jackson: what do u mean stay alive?
Peter: With that, I plunge the knife deep into the bottom of your belly, you feel the tip of it almost come out of your ass! Your belly pops like a balloon.
amy jackson: ahhhhhhhhhhhhh
Peter: I mean I am going to gut you but not kill you.
amy jackson: but y r u going to gut me?
Peter: You will die later as you are fully butchered.
amy jackson: noi i dont wanna die
Peter: Yes dear. In fact you are already dead. You just have a lot more dying to do.
amy jackson: please no
Peter: I pull the knife out of your belly and plunge it back in again, a little bit higher.
amy jackson: i scream in agony
Peter: Over and over the knife goes in and out, slowly cutting your belly open, from your crotch right to your chest.
Peter: Your guts pour out from inside of you like water.
amy jackson: i moan
Peter: I reach inside of what was once your belly and remove any extra bits still remaining. I cut them away and drop them into a refuse bucket.
amy jackson: oh god
Peter: I stick a hose inside of you and wash out your inside.
amy jackson: y i ask
Peter: You look down to see your belly open and hollow.
amy jackson: oh my god im gutted
Peter: There's just one thing more I want to do still before we move off to the next processing station.
amy jackson: w w w what?
Peter: You see that I am furiously erect. Apparently gutting you has aroused me greatly.
amy jackson: i start sobbing
Peter: I want to fuck your dying meat.
Peter: I enter you and start to jerk myself off with your gutted body.
amy jackson: i moan
Peter: Somehow, despite your gutting, you can still feel everything.
Peter: You can feel me fucking you and despite everything, your body reacts with a building orgasm.
Peter: You are dying, gutted meat, and you are having an orgasm while your butcher is fucking you.
amy jackson: i scream as i cum hard
Peter: My own cum jets out from inside of the hollow of what was once your belly.
Peter: I shudder from my own release and stay inside of your meat for a little bit.
amy jackson: y did u do this to me?
Peter: "Because you are excellent meat, that's why."
Peter: Still inside of you, I take your head in my hands and kiss you.
amy jackson: i dont wanna die
Peter: "You are already dead meat Amy. We just have a bit more processing to do"
amy jackson: i start sobbing again
Peter: I am going to buy all of your meat Amy. I am so going to enjoy eating your belly bacon for breakfast.
Peter: And your cunt fillet, the very cunt that I just fucked, that is my dinner tonight.
amy jackson: nooo please
Peter: Too late Amy. You are already gutted. No medical science on earth can save you. You are dead. You just have a bit more dying to do. Might as well enjoy it.
amy jackson: ook
Peter: I slip my cock, now no longer erect, out of you and step back from the cage.
amy jackson: whats going to happen next i ask
Peter: "Limb removal." I hit a button, the cage pivots and moves away.
Peter: You find yourself in a room with a large number of saws. Much whining and buzzing can be heard.
Peter: They seem to be controlled robotically.
Peter: Your cage is laying flat, as if you were on a table. Four saws descend over you, big buzzing round saws going to your ankles and wrists.
Peter: All four saws touch at the same time, buzzing loudly they quickly saw through your ankles and wrists.
amy jackson: ahhhhhhhhhhhhh
Peter: Then they move up while other mechanical arms sweep the refuse into a big garbage pail.
Peter: They move to your knees and elbows.
amy jackson: i moan in pain
Peter: Again, they all four touch at the same time and slice through, your forearms and calves being shunted into a different receptacle.
Peter: In the haze of your experience, you can just make out a sign where those warts went saying girlburger.
Peter: Two of the saws move up to your shoulders and neatly slice off the rest of your arms, just below the shoulder. Those parts too go to the girlburger.
amy jackson: ahhhhhhhh
Peter: The cage rolls and you roll off the cage onto a conveyor belt, unable to control the roll at all, as you only have stubs for legs and no arms at all.
amy jackson: oww i say as i land
Peter: The belt moves, you go through a dark tunnel and out into another room, again with big buzzing saws.
Peter: Your body is handled roughly by burly men as they align you on a special table. "Oh look." Say one of them to the others, "A special process!"
Peter: "Cool!" "I Like those" you hear approving voices.
Peter: Several men stand around you as one of them brings a really big round buzzing blade to the bottom of your legs.
Peter: "Thigh steaks, in case you are wondering." the one controlling the saw says.
Peter: With that, he brings the saw to your thigh meat and proceeds to slice off a 3/4 inch slice off of both of them.
amy jackson: ahhhhhhhhh\
Peter: "Oh, I love how the special ones wiggle!" says one of the watchers.
Peter: Again the saw slices off another 3/4 inches of you.
amy jackson: i writhe in pain
Peter: The men there keep up their banter, joking at your agony, laughing at your squirms as slice by slice, the rest of your legs get cut off.
amy jackson: oh god kill me
Peter: You are now just a hollow gutted torso, with a head.
amy jackson: oh god kill me
Peter: "Well, time to send her on her way." "Bye meat, it was swell."
amy jackson: i moan
Peter: They push a button and instead of you dying, your gutted torso with a head still attached gets moved down the line.
amy jackson: i moan
Peter: And then there is bright light, and fresh faces. You are in the processed meat department!
Peter: You are put into the meat isle.
amy jackson: i moan in fear
Peter: You recognize some of the shoppers!
Peter: "Look! Daddy! It's Amy!" Says a little boy voice you cannot see.
amy jackson: i stare at my family
Peter: All those faces you recognize gather around you.
amy jackson: kill me
Peter: Your father looks to the butcher, and asks, "How much for this gutted torso?"
amy jackson: i gasp daddy no
Peter: You hear my voice in the background... "Oh, I'm sorry Sir, did you wish to eat your daughter? I was hoping to be able to fuck her one last time before she was dead."
amy jackson: i start sobbing again
Peter: "By all means," Says your father, "She is just meat now, no reason you can't fuck meat. Give us a call when you are done."
Peter: "Well Amy, I had meant to eat you myself, but family does have it's privilages."
amy jackson: please kill me
Peter: You feel me enter you again and start to fuck you right there and then.
Peter: You have no control, you are just dead meat being fucked.
Peter: And despite yourself, again you feel an orgasm building.
amy jackson: i moan
Peter: You are beat red, people you know, family is watching.
Peter: You feel my orgasm about to burst, yours too.
amy jackson: i scream as i cum
Peter: You hear your father's voice nearby asking, "Are you done yet?"
Peter: And at that point, mercifully, you finally die, of embarassment.

Thinking of Ice Princess on her birthday, I offer this absolutely 100% true story:

It was not a play party, it was a dinner party, or to be even more precise, it was an absinthe dinner party. It just happened to be given in one of the most beautifully decorated and equipped BDSM dungeons on the planet, coincidentally located right below my personal shooting studio (and if you peruse my work, you will see parts of that dungeon in photos and videos, as I did shoot there on occasion). All the dinner guests were also major players in the local BDSM community. There were perhaps 25 in attendance.

I am very much not a drinker and so I was the 'designated' sober person at the party, which is always nice to have one of, if you can. Dinner was a lavish affair of many courses that took a long time to consume, especially as it was frequently interrupted by preparations to burn sugar cubes and such, there being apparently much ritual involved in the copious consumption of absinthe. Needless to say, most of the people there were quite drunk after two hours of this.

It was at 11 in the evening, all the food long eaten, that we remembered that we had forgotten desert! So out came vast quantities of ice cream in big buckets, several cans of whip cream spray and a few jars of cherries. And Deja doffed every speck of clothing and climbed atop a table there to be tied spread eagle. Deja was an absolute bombshell of a woman that was every bit the rival for any pinup model, the face of a movie star and a body most women would sell their souls for, and so she was quite the sight.

Ice cream by the fist fulls were rapidly applied all over her by Mistress Yvanka and Bianca Beauchamps, with heaps of whip cream adding to the height of Deja's mountains and making new ones. Cherries were strategically planted. This did not stop until there was very little of Deja left in evidence. And then it was time to chow down. I was first in line, scoring a delectable nibble from her navel as I took her cherry there. Others dove in face first for their share.

But Bianca has difficulty keeping clothing on and was not to be content with a few mouthfuls of ice cream. She meant to eat Deja, rather literally. So she too dropped every shred of clothing she was wearing and mounted the table, there to do justice to the idea of eating Deja. This looked to be so much fun that Yvanka too removed all of her clothing and joined Bianca on the table.

A moment's digression... Deja was to die for gorgeous, but so too were Bianca and Yvanka. Both of these two are cover girls in the fetish community, Bianca making major money as a professional fetish model and Yvanka being one of the highest paid professional dominatrixes in the world, in no small part due to her awesome looks (and figure). And there they were, those three, absolutely stark naked and diving head first into a god awful mess and enjoying themselves thoroughly.

Now remember, they were not just having a good time in there, they were also way past tipsy drunk. The buckets of ice cream and cans of whip cream were ready to hand, and so it turned into a bit of a food fight with them to see just who was to be eating Deja at any moment. It did not take long for all three of them to be absolutely 100% covered, utterly drenched, in melted ice cream, whip cream and cherry juice. I did manage to score a few more navel cherries, as they were typically replaced as fast as I could get them, but I also got a fistful of ice cream to the back of my head so as to push my face deep into the softness of Deja's belly. I certainly did not mind, that journey being well worth the expense.

The riotous play subsided after a bit to a more mellow caressing and smearing between the three of them. There was not a hair or an orifice by then that had been spared among them. It was at this point that there was a knock on the door. I had by then cleaned myself off for the most part and as the sober person I answered the door, the rest of the party goers tried vainly to keep the giggles to a minimum. There was the landlord of the building, at midnight on a weekend. What the...

He informed us that there was a problem with the plumbing and they had regrettably been forced to turn off the water. He hoped it was not too much of an inconvenience.

Three pairs of doeful eyes stared agape.

Timeline:

This is not meant as a complete time-line. This is me contributing what my memory allows, those parts of the history of this community that were the most relevant to myself. This was originally written in the second person as my contribution to someone else trying to do a more comprehensive timeline. I do not know what happened to that project, so I figured I would share with you my side of it here. This might well sound self serving as it talks about myself a lot, but that is simply due to me telling 'my' side of the story. The original intent was that other participants in this community's history would tell their own stories and it be added.

Pre-90's
Dolcett prolifically draws hundreds of illustrations of women being consensually or at least acquiescently, hung or impaled, often to be roasted and eaten.

1994
Peter writes the story "Bellybutt" as a writing exercise, followed by several more similar stories.

Perro Loco scans most of the Dolcett drawings and makes them available on the Usenet newsgroups. They form by far the bulk of the visual content for this community on the Internet back then.

1995
Peter gets on the internet for the first time, the 'Web' still virtually non-existent. He posts his stories on the Usenet newsgroup, alt.sex.stories. They are extremely popular, requiring frequent re-uploads due to the nature of the newsgroups. He also posts scans of hand drawn art he has done. Perro Loco and Sam of Sam's Place become close Email friends with Peter.

Vicki starts an Email list of people who want video captures of death scenes from TV and movies. Vicki sends photos to people on her list, ultimately having as many as three hundred subscribers.

1996
The Blackplague.com web site gets started early in the year with a couple hundred photos previously posted to the Usenet and a couple dozen stories/articles (a lot for that day and age), the very first Web site with content for our community.

Peter sends his own stories and art to Blackplague, already formatted in HTML so as to make it convenient for Leviathan (the administrator of Blackplague) to include it on his web site. Leviathan deals with it not by including it in his web site, but by turning into a web host for other web sites. He sends Peter an FTP address, username/password for uploading the work to Peter's own web site. In short order, Peters Art and Stories, is born containing a huge amount of material for that time.

Within weeks, several other web sites get started with Blackplague, including Vicki's Necrobabe and Samson's Asphyxia Movie Guide. Several more sites get started there, but Peter's and Vicki's are by far the biggest consumers of bandwidth.

By mid summer, the bandwidth usage had grown to such an extent that Leviathan could no longer afford to host everyone for free. Vicki and Peter both got bills for several hundred dollars, with the expectation that further such bills would follow. Together they launch Necrobabes, the first members only pay site, with the intention of using it to pay for all the bandwidth costs. It grows far faster than anyone expected and Peter finds himself working full time for no pay, supporting himself with savings.

Killville and Club Dead (Hank and John Marshal together then as Club Dead, JohnM now solo as PKFstudios.com) are producing content for Necrobabes from the beginning.

In an effort to generate revenue so as to pay people, Necrobabes spawns a couple of extra member sites, 'Asphyxia' and 'Erotic Horror'. Samson joins the Necrobabes team to administer the Asphyxia site. Soon his role grows.

The IRC chat system grows in popularity, with the chatroom 'snuffsex' being frequently populated by many roleplayers.

1997
Blackplague gets taken off line due to censorship of it's content by it's internet service provider. Necrobabes, now a growing business with capital resources, finds another service provider (the first of several, until finally finding a good one that would not censor). Necrobabes creates the necrobabes.org domain so as to offer free web hosting to anyone in the community wanting to create original content for the people of this community. Most especially, most of those who were originally hosted on Blackplague move onto the necrobabes.org server. Sam creates Sam's Place and takes over the administration of the necrobabes.org domain.

Peter stars shooting photo content at the beginning of the year, ultimately spending less time on web site administration and much more time on content creation. Peter produces under the name of Catharsis Productions.

Over the course of the next few years, Necrobabes spawns a great many other spin-off sites, ultimately stabilizing with the original Necrobabes, followed by; Erotic Horror, Asphyxia, Necrodudes, Amazons, Post-Mortem, SleepyGirls, Barefoot Sleepygirls, Battling Babes, Crazy Carries, Hypno Babes, and Chloro Fantasies.

1998
Cuddly Necrobabes (later simply known as CNB) gets started by Dennis. Serega starts Russian NecroWorld. Peter pays Serega $100. a month for Necrobabes advertising banners (out of his own pocket) because he perceives Russia as being a place of economic hardship.

Lissa Noble starts producing for Necrobabes under the name DDG (Drop Dead Gorgeous). Bailee starts producing for Necrobabes under the name Panic Productions, later changed to Alternate Reality Productions, and then changed again to Horrorgasm.

Dr. Don creates his first videos pioneering digital special effects in fetish videos.

Karyn creates her 'LaCasa de Dolcett' where Dolcett's pictures are all collected in one web site. Unfortunately it is a big consumer of bandwidth and she has difficulty finding a free web host. Dolcett and Karyn become friends and Dolcett creates numerous original drawings of Karyn for Karyn's site.

1999
The Golden Age. Photostory production is elaborate with time and budget paid to detail and creativity, often featuring several actresses. All Necrobabes photostories have story texts written with the photos. The producers have been producing long enough that they know what they are doing and are at the top of their game. Everyone is flush. The Catharsis actresses get treated to a Christmas dinner at the fanciest restaurant in the city and get a big bonus as well as presents.

Peter moves into his production studio, but it is not used for shooting for a couple of years yet as other venues offer more elaborate sets.

Karyn's 'LaCasa de Dolcett' finds a home on necrobabes.org. Peter helps her with the web design so that all the links to the picture files are displayed with decent thumbnails.

2000
The last of the Necrobabes spin-off sites gets created with the site Amazons. Technically this was an in house 'Catharsis' production but tentatively administered by two of Peter's most active actresses, Anna and Carrie. Shortly Anna bowed out and it became Becky and Carrie's Amazons. Becky was especially active, writing photostory texts for several hundred photostories, both on Amazons and many other sites.

Dr. Don gets arrested for his work. His trials continue to this day, with the Canadian government always finding new ways to ruin his life.

2001
(I'm not certain of the exact time frame in which the following happened, my memory is faulty, I 'think' it started in 2001.)

The Bush administration had been elected with the help of religious conservatives, in part because promises were made to this constituency that the internet would be censored. Unfortunately due to that pesky Constitution the US is saddled with, the US federal government is prohibited from fulfilling that promise. So a deal was struck in a nice side step. In exchange for the credit card companies being given preferential treatment versus other creditors in bankruptcy proceedings, a deal worth billions to the credit card companies, those companies agreed to censor the internet themselves by refusing to do business with anyone creating material on a list of banned subjects. Over time of course that list has grown to the point now where jello wrestling scenes are prohibited. They will keep growing that list until either everything is prohibited or something else comes along to render credit cards obsolete.

Necrobabes and many other sites started repeatedly loosing their credit card services and it became the bane of our community. Those problems persist to this day. The profitability of producing content for this community has declined ever since as the potential customer base has grown more and more limited due to restrictions on who could purchase.

2002
Peter takes his first tentative steps into the world of video production, finding the going very hard at first. He produces all of seven videos in the first year.

Necrobabes launches it's PPV site to market those videos and much other content. Ultimately the Necrobabes PPV site offers thousands of videos and photosets for sale.

Karyn retires from running 'LaCasa de Dolcett' due to life pressures. Peter not wanting the work he did on her site to go to waste asks if it would be ok if he took it over. Karyn agrees and passes along Dolcett's blessing, on the condition that the site be re-engineered so as to no longer be 'LaCasa de Dolcett'. The Dolcett Archives are born. http://necrobabes.org/dolcett/

2003
Becky and Carrie are unable to continue with administering the Amazons site and it is formally taken over by Peter.

Perro Loco creates dolcettgirls.com which grows into one of the most active forums in this community.

2004
File sharing starts to become more ubiquitous. As the videos created by the community's fetish producers are often available for free for the unscrupulous and patient, the market gets even harder to create content profitably. This problem continues to grow over time.

Peter starts to regularly shoot video content for the Necrobabes member sites.

2005
The financial squeeze is passed on to the Necrobabes producers. Budgets start to be nibbled at, requiring productions to get less elaborate and less creative, in the effort to shave costs.

2006
Production budgets at Necrobabes continue to be cut. Lissa Noble retires from producing.

2007
Bailee retires from producing for Necrobabes as production budgets are slashed. Only Peter is left, producing all content for all of the Necrobabes sites and being required to do so with a budget vastly lower than what even the most basic production costs. He is promised that this is a short term hump and that it will be made up to him. He goes deeply into debt trying to keep the sites afloat.

In a desperation move, Peter starts Catharsiserotica.com in an effort to generate revenue outside of Necrobabes. The effort proves fraught with technical problems.

2008
Peter is completely tapped out, all his avenues of credit extended to the maximum. He is informed that he is being cut loose from Necrobabes to fend for himself. He is forced to abandon his production studio. No new production is created from that point for Necrobabes. Predictably Necrobabes ceases operations a couple months afterwards.

The Progressive Art Project www.the-progressive-art-project.com gets started by Samson and Bailee, making available much of the content formerly available on Necrobabes. It is a badly needed lifeline for several producers.

Catharsiserotica.com and a trickle of sales from Nicheclips.com and the-progressive-art-project.com keep Peter barely afloat. But he is down from his peak of 15 video a week to more like 15 video a year, much due to loosing his shooting studio.

2009
Peter formally declares bankruptcy and while now living like a miser, has a much healthier gut.

2010
Serega of Russian NecroWorld, creates DarkFetishNet.com and breathes new life into our community.

*

Notably missing from this time-line due to my lack of memory is when Nicheclips got started, which is a big deal for most producers. Also the time-line is missing for Templar and his Darksites.net site and other related gallery sites. Of course other producers might add their particulars as well.

The Society for Creative Anachronism (SCA) is a very large society that has existed for many decades. It is a society that among other reasons, exists so that people may live for a while in another time, another world, the middle ages, not at they were perhaps, but as they 'should' have been. In some ways it is more like Valhalla than an historical society, for it is mostly feasting, fighting, and living to do it again the next day. There are some fairly stringent rules that must be followed in the fighting, mostly to prevent serious injuries, because the fighting is real, full contact, and not stylized at all. The weapons used are made of wood, but the impacts could easily break bones and crush skulls without proper armor.

Of all the events in the SCA, Pennsic is the largest. One can go to some sort of day or weekend long SCA event every weekend if one is willing to drive for a few hours, but once a year there is the Pennsic Wars, where people will come from literally around the world to attend. For two weeks, an area of Pennsylvania becomes a different world. Ten thousand or more people will show up, a huge tent city being erected complete with all the merchant services one would expect from a fantasy medieval city. For two weeks people live and breathe that alternate world, often so immersed in that world, that it is hardly roleplaying at all.

I had a samurai sort of persona that I had largely fallen into. I have an extensive background in oriental martial arts and it fit. I wore a hakama and kimono, and carried a boken as a weapon when not on the field. All manner of other persona roam such events, but Pennsic has the largest such variety. And while they are not technically part of the SCA, at Pennsic once a year can also be found for instance, the Tuchux. Their name comes from the Gorean novels, and while they are not expressly following that lifestyle, they are far more the real thing than anything else in this reality. The Tuchux camp can have several hundred people, a great many of them very fierce fighters. They create quite a wonderful and believable atmosphere of suspense and danger.

So...

No shit, there I was, sitting in a merchant stall, minding it for half an hour while a friend went to get lunch for himself, when an insanely sexy woman sauntered into an otherwise unpopulated stall not fifteen feet from me, my eyes tracking her. She stepped behind a screen that only opaquely hid her from view and stripped off all her clothes. Then she donned but the flimsiest, skimpiest bellydancing outfit, stepped out from behind the screen, put on some bellydancing music on a magic box, and started to dance. My eyes never left her as I rearranged my garments to hide my erection. She was utterly stunning!

She was a tall, long legged woman, of perfect Playboy proportions, a gorgeous face and long curly blond hair down to her ass. It was as if she had stepped out of some fantasy artist's painting. And there she was, flesh and blood, writhing seductively in an unabashedly sexual dance, leaving little to the imagination. She practiced for a good twenty minutes, myself utterly entranced. And then she stopped, turned off the music and patted herself down with a towel.

Fortune smiled and my friend returned right then. Not being one to be allow such a moment to slip without at least an attempt at making more of it, without much thought, I stood and approached her. I dropped to one knee before her, took her hand and said, and I quote verbatim, "My lady. If ever there is anything in this universe you should desire that is in my power to grant, you have but to ask." And with her blushed response, more words flowed as I put on my best show of gallantry.

We struck up a lengthy conversation and took a walk. I studiously tried hard not to stare, as it was not difficult to see that which is usually hidden if one carefully looked. She had apparently come to Pennsic with some acquaintances, for she was at an odd point in her life and needed time to think. It was her first such event. More to the point of this tale, she confessed to me how she had arrived virtually broke. I promptly told her that here at Pennsic, a woman of her beauty and talent had no need to be broke, that the various camps would be more than gracious were a hat passed during her dance at their evening feasting.

I, 'gallantly' offered to be her escort that evening and to take care of passing the hat while she danced. Her broke status hardly permitted her to refuse my offer, and so we spent the rest of the day together until then, myself of course, greatly enjoying. That evening as the various camps started settling down to their supper, we started the two of us making the rounds, at each camp offering up my dancer for thier entertainment, and while she would gyrate to whatever beat the camp could maintain, I would pass a hat.

The evening was lucrative and we spent a good few hours entertaining various camps. But of course as the evening hours got later, many camps calmed down and it became obvious that we should end that evening with the grandest of performances at the main drinking hall, that would have several hundred for an audience. The hall was of course overjoyed to have such a dancer perform, though I was asked to pass the hat 'after' the performance rather than during, and so I knelt beside where she would perform, to watch, and to be her visible security. To thunderous accompaniment from both the audience and the musicians present, she put on the most intense of show, not a loins anywhere not left burning, to be sure.

And there, front and center of the audience, as if displayed as a trophy lurked Minimal, actually chained to the ground.  Minimal was a Tuchux, accompanied by many others, and his name described him well. He wore an iron helm, bolted shut. He was a giant hulk of a beast, a barrel chest heaving with lust, his fingers digging into the ground as his animal grunting could be heard through his muzzle. Someone unchained him, and I could hear the others around him saying, "Go for it Minimal. Go for it." I braced myself, my hand went to my boken, I was ready to leap.

*

Minimal waited, perhaps to allow others to lust over the prize he intended to claim. Though perhaps I ascribe too much intelligence to Minimal, for no doubt such a beast as bursting with lust as he no doubt was, was not thinking much of anything other than desire. And then he surged and charged my dancer, as if to grab her up. I was ready however, and leapt to interpose myself, my boken half drawn. Her dance stopped and a roar went up from the audience. Minimal too had stopped and the scene held for a brief moment, Minimal swelling with a gargantuan display of might as I, the much smaller man stood the ground between him and the prize. And the crowd started to chant, "Fight... Fight... Fight..."

There are rules to such fighting, and the fight would not happen at that instant, for neither of us wore our fighting gear, and so the two of us withdrew to equip ourselves, to come back a half hour later to settle the matter, of who would have the prize. I do not know what was said to my dancer during my absence, as she was ministered to by other women. Perhaps some of my readers might like to imagine and recount what might have transpired for her during that time. Suffice to say that when Minimal and I came back to the ground, to settle our score, she was kneeling on the ground, looking upon us with some distress, for she knew not her fate. She knew only that her champion was the smaller, and faced a monster.

Minimal stood at one end of the ground, and I at the other, a distance of perhaps thirty feet, the crowd surrounding. A marshal stood to one side to signal the fight. Minimal carried a sword and buckler and wore relatively light armor, still in his bolted muzzle helm. I carried a single sword, but held in a two hand grip. My samurai armor was somewhat heavier than Minimal's, but constructed to allow great flexibility. Normally a single sword is at a disadvantage versus sword and shield, as the sword and shield can attack and defend simultaneously, while the single sword can do but one at a time. But a two hand grip is faster. Such was my fighting style.

The marshal cried, "Lay on!" We both bellowed a war cry, and the two of us charged each other; my sword held high above my head as I charged, ready for a powerful downward blow. Minimal's sword arm was back, ready for his own swing, as his shield raised to meet my blow. And then as we met, my sword dropped, missing Minimal's shield. Minimal swung, his sword passing above my head, as I had dropped my legs out from under me and ducked, as my butt skidded the ground. My sword had dropped at the last instant low, for a rising cut to Minimal's belly. There was silence, except for Minimal's muffled grunt as my sword took him hard, midriff. He bent over as I rose, my sword rising again above me. And then down it went again, low to the back of Minimal's head, and he went face first into the dirt to lay still.

A great roar went up from the crowd as I stood over my fallen foe. My virtually nude dancing girl came to me, with a look of no small relief, to kneel at my feet. She embraced one leg, the other hand reaching higher as she gazed up at me. I held my sword aloft in victory. My prize, mine.

My very first actresses (fourteen years ago) were friends of mine. I told them about what I was intending to shoot, mentioned that their acting for me paid rather well, and asked if they would be interested. I am relatively comfortable with my own fetish and did not find it terribly difficult to be honest with women who were already friends of mine. Plus I am rather articulate and good at presenting ideas (I've won first and second speakers prizes at large debate tournaments at one point in my life), so I am able to paint our fetishes in their most positive light.

I do not approach strangers for modeling work. My actresses after those first few, universally either came to me through word of mouth of other actresses who had already worked with me or through other friends who knew someone who might be interested. Nowadays, most of my actresses are semi-professional in that they do other adult acting/modeling for other photographers/producers as well as myself. I think that is the best deal for everyone. I don't think people should be doing this sort of work unless they are making decent money from the work, plus the additional experience from working with other producers only helps their experience and talent.

I am actually sought after in my city by working actresses as I apparently pay better than many and I am frequently told that working with me is both more fun and more comfortable than working with other producers. We have an extremely professional, at the same time as friendly atmosphere on set, with a lot of laughter.

"So, what do you do for a living?" I get asked.

"As little as possible," is my glib answer.

"No, seriously..." after a laugh, "What do you do?"

"I'm a pornographer." I brazenly state to all sorts of interesting reactions.

I like to state things that way because if I say that I do 'erotica', everyone figures that I'm just being evasive and trying to butter up the truth.  So I hit them with the worst and let them try to find wiggle room.  From that first statement, if they're still interested, I'll explain a bit more detail.

I, along with a few partners, run a series of extreme fetish web sites.  Each site is oriented towards a very small audience with a specific fetish, many of them, highly politically incorrect.  On each of these sites we have a message board where our members post their fantasies.  We create photosets (around a hundred pictures) that depict a short scene based on those fantasies, we then write text to go with those pictures and publish that as a 'photostory'. Once a week we post a new such photostory on each of our sites.

After explaining that we really only do 'R' rated photos, people start to get the idea that maybe what we do really is erotica.  With us acting out stories and doing photo comics, it's hard to lump us in with the likes of Hustler.

"It's all an accident actually.  I never intentionally set out to become a pornographer."  I continue with a twinkle and a wink.

"How do you become a pornographer by accident?"  They ask.  I smile.  I like telling this story.

Back in 1994, I made a lot of money speculating in trading cards, sufficient money that I could contemplate taking a year off.  I had always felt that I could be a good writer and had a few novels in me. So I quit my day job intending to try my hand at writing.

The first day of my sabbatical, I sat down in front of my computer, hovered my hands over the keyboard and waited for that novel to happen. It didn't. Nothing happened.

The second day, again, nothing happened.

On the third day, I realized I was making a mistake. (I can be a bit dense.) It dawned on me that I really had no idea how to start writing a novel. I figured that what I really needed to do was write a short story. Start small and work up to a novel. Confident in my new found wisdom, I held my fingers above the keyboard and again, nothing happened.

It wasn't really till the fourth day that I truly started to get a clue. What I needed to do was not so much write a novel or short story, it wasn't even a question of writing really, it was more simply that I needed to start typing.  I needed to see words appear on the screen, it didn't even matter what the words were. I needed to do stream of consciousness writing just as an exercise. Just start typing and let the words flow.

So of course I started writing a masturbatory fantasy.  I mean it was just an exercise, right?  Nobody was ever going to read this, and it's not like I had to worry about plot, motive or characterization or anything.  It was just the easiest thing for my words to follow.  Sure enough words appeared as if by magic.

A couple hours into this exercise I stopped to read what I had written and was surprised to note that I had been censoring myself.  Eh?  To what end?  Nobody was ever going to read this stuff, it's an exercise, so if it's an exercise I should be doing the exact opposite of censoring myself!  I erased everything I had written.

I started over, this time very consciously not censoring myself. If there was the slightest inkling of something in my mind that related to the fantasy I was depicting, I wrote it out as succinctly, articulately, and in as much detail as I possibly could.  At the end of the day I read what I had written.  Damned if I didn't have a story!

Now admittedly, the story didn't have much in the way of plot and characterization.  It was however a pretty decent bit of porn, if your fetish twists in my direction anyway.  I was rather pleased with myself.  I had accomplished my exercise for the day.

The next day I sat down again in front of the keyboard, hovered my fingers over the keyboard and thought 'novel'.  Nothing happened.  I thought 'short story'.  Nothing happened.  I thought 'sexual fantasy' and words started to flow.  At the end of the day I had another story. The day after I wound up writing another such fantasy and the day after, yet another one.  It took me a couple of weeks to work it out of my system.

I don't recall exactly what I got caught up in afterwards, some computer game likely.  I didn't quite get back to my original intent of writing a novel.  I started studying computer programming figuring I wanted to create computer games.  And at much the same time, I found myself getting connected to the internet.

This was many years back and the web was still quite new.  The biggest thing about the internet then was not the web which was virtually in it's infancy, but rather still the newsgroups.  So of course one of the very first things I did on the net was to go check out alt.sex.stories.  I wanted to see what other people were writing.

I was rather surprised and somewhat dismayed by what I found.  I was surprised by the degree of illiteracy among many of the writers, many of them were really bad.  And I was dismayed by the degree of misogyny in most of the stories that dealt with my fetishes.  I knew they didn't have to be written that way.  I had several examples of stories that dealt with those fetishes that were not at all misogynistic, the stories I had written myself.

I thought about it for a few days.  Finally I figured, 'Well, the internet is anonymous', (I was a newbie) 'nobody will know it's me if I post one of my stories.'  I wanted to show people that these sorts of stories could be written differently.  So one evening at midnight I posted one of my stories and went to bed.

The next morning the first thing I did once I had a coffee in my hand was check my Email.  Low and behold, I had 30 to 40 Emails all of adulatory praise for my story and asking if I had any more!  Wow!  Well of course I did have more and it's awfully hard to resist a fan club.  So I posted another story and the next day had another crop of Emails waiting when I woke up.  Over the next week or so I posted all my stories and when I ran out of stories, I wrote a few more.

I had found a community.  I made friends, good friends with whom I shared details of my self I had never shared with anyone before. I scanned and posted some fetish related drawings I did which became popular too. One of my net friends, Vicki, started an Email list with which she sent video captures to as many as three hundred people.

Over time though, the nature of many of the Emails changed.  They weren't so much asking for new stories as they were asking for reposts of old stories.  Postings to newsgroups expire after a week or two so if somebody doesn't see them right away, they miss them, so I was always having to repost my stories.  I got tired of this after a while.

Then one day one of the members of this community started his own web site (blackplague.org) and archived a couple hundred photos and a couple dozn stories and articles he'd collected from the newsgroups (that was a lot back then, 1996).  I realized immediately that this was the solution to my problem of having to repost all the time, and put together all of my art and stories in an HTML format with a nice little index and description and mailed them off to Leviathan, the administrator of Blackplague.org. I expected that he would simply include that in his own web site, as at that moment he was not 'hosting' web sites.

I promptly got back from him an FTP address and username/password for building my own web site, which I called 'Peter's Art and Stories'. My site thus became the very first site 'hosted' by Blackplague. Vicki too a couple weeks after built her own web site called 'Necrobabe', as she too was tired of constantly having to send her video captures to people who missed them. We were effectively neighbors in cyberspace, linked together and sharing our community. In short order, several other people started their own web sites there and a burgeoning community was born on the web. Notably among those firsts with web sites was Samson, who soon joined with Vicki and myself in what followed.

We were too popular for our own good it turned out.  One day Vicki and I got hit with a bill for bandwidth.  Web sites cannot be kept on the web for free, not big or popular sites anyway.  Somebody has to pay for all that data traveling through the phone lines and for Vicki and I the dues were up.  Vicki and I had a long, long distance phone call.  Neither of us were prepared to spend an appreciable portion of our rent for the privilege of giving away stuff.  Something had to be done.

We figured we had one of three choices.  We could close down our web sites.  We of course did not want to do that because we had a community of friends and that would be like abandoning them.  We could turn our free web sites into pay sites.  We also did not want to do that because our community had grown up freely exchanging our work with each other.  Charging for it now seemed somehow a violation of that ethic.

We decided to go with our third option, to open a third site.  This new web site would be a member's site where people would pay with their credit cards to get a password to the site.  The money collected from memberships would go towards paying the bandwidth for both the member's site and Vicki's and my free sites.  Any money left over would go towards the creation of new material for the member's site.  We figured running this new site would take a couple of evenings a week, a nice hobby. I built the site itself with photo contributions from several sources while Vicki handled the credit cards. Thus was born 'Necrobabes.com'.

Our calculations were that if we could get one hundred members, we could afford to pay our bandwidth bill. Our wildest hope though was that we would get three hundred members because with that many, we could afford to actually hire models each week to create custom material.   Well, we got our three hundred members within the first month! Thing is though that the members kept on coming!

We quickly found ourselves to be growing at a pace neither of us had ever anticipated.  We maintained the original focus of wanting to serve our community but it quickly became obvious that our original modest plans were insufficient to meet the demands that this new site placed on us.  I had (perhaps naively) thought that I could do the web work for the site just a couple of evenings a week, basically as a hobby.  Heh.  Silly me. I found myself working full time and supporting myself with my savings, at first just handling photo processing, story text writing, html, etc.. But within the first year, I also started creating photo sets for the sites.

Obviously that situation could not continue and Necrobabes evolved into a full time job for a few people that actually paid the rent. It grew to include a large number of other related web sites (Erotic Horror, Asphyx, Sleepy, Battling Babes, etc.).  With the censor of Blackplague (they were shut down by their server hosts for being too extreme), we expanded the original vision of covering the bandwidth cost of Vicki's and my free sites, to actually hosting those and other peoples related sites as well on our own server, and that's where necrobabes.org came from.

I should at this point stop to mention several of the notables who were involved with the community back then. Samson (originally famous for his asphyxia movie guide) joined us as a web site administrator within months of Necrobabes getting started, and ultimately also became involved with production and all parts of the business. Shelby of Dark Fantasies was our most prolific source of photos in the beginning. JohnM (PKF Studios) and Hank (together working then as Club Dead) were among our earliest producers. Several scenes from Killville were present in the initial launch.

Over time, inevitably other member sites opened up and the initial meteoric growth of Necrobabes slowed down significantly. Notably among those earliest other member sites were Dennis with CNB who got started in 1998 if I recall. Serega created Russian Necro Porn roughly around then too (Serega recently created DarkFetishNet.com). Not involved with Necrobabes in any way but someone I care to mention, as we were friends from the earliest Usenet days was Perro Loco, of the gynophagia/Dolcett community. He is still around and the driving force behind dolcettgirls.com. Last but very much not least is Samiam, Sam of Sam's Place, one of my best buddies for the longest time on the web. We must have exchanged literally hundreds of lengthy Emails. Sam is the person who pretty much single handedly managed the necrobabes.'org' domain since it's beginning back in 1997.

Within the first few years of Necrobabes a couple of actresses from those early years became producers themselves, notably Lissa Noble who created DDG (Drop Dead Gorgeous) and Bailee whose production company's have gone through a few name changes over the years, originally Panic Production, then Alternate Reality, and now Horrorgasm. Lissa stopped producing several years ago. Bailee is still producing.

The technology of the Web improved and video came more and more to predominate over photo sets. Necrobabes was a little slow to respond to this beyond opening up the Necrobabes PPV site to sell individual videos. For several years Necrobabes continued to host only photosets on the member sites, while people were gradually coming more to expect video from member sites. It was myself who ultimately took the initiative to start to post videos instead of photosets on the Necrobabes sites, by the simple expedient of creating them myself. I had to learn to produce them quickly and cheaply as the budget I had for any given video would be considered very small by all the independent producers, and I was being called upon at the peak, to produce fifteen videos a week!

Necrobabes itself fell into hard times when Joe, who had morphed into Vicki's original role, fell into his own hard times being over extended in housing speculation at the tail end of the housing boom (last I heard he had mortgages on 13 homes). As his financial pressures grew, it became more and more of a drain on the resources available for production with Necrobabes, and the producers were being squeezed to produce more and more with less and less. Ultimately all the producers got squeezed out until only I was left. I had literally built the site myself from day one, it was 'my' site in my own mind, and I would do whatever it took to keep it going. Unfortunately it got to the point where I was the only producer on staff and being required to produce 15 videos a week with a weekly budget most producers would charge for a single ordinary custom video. It utterly boggles my mind that I was able to stick it out with that situation for over a year.

Various promises were made to me and I was fed quite a few lines so as to occult the true nature of the hard times Necrobabes had fallen on. And I was gullible enough to believe that this was a hump we would get over, so I went deeply into debt during the last years, basically subsidizing production to the sites would stay afloat. Ultimately the final nail was struck when Joe informed me that he was "doing me the favor" of cutting me loose. With perfect clarity of hindsight, I suppose it was a favor in some perverted sense, as at least I was no longer going further into debt. Of course by then I could not go further into debt, I was utterly tapped out, which is probably why I was 'cut loose'.

Nothing new was ever posted from that day forth on Necrobabes, and within a couple of months Necrobabes shut down. I carried on with my own Catharsiserotica.com member site and PPV sales. Samson put the Necrobabes archive onto a new site PPV site, The Progressive Art Project, and did his best to honor the old Necrobabes memberships. Bailee got back involved helping Samson. I formally declared bankruptcy and my gut is a lot healthier, even though I now live like a miser compared to how things were a few years ago.

Over the course of my career I have shot roughly 100,000 photos and 1000 videos. Many of these can be found at the Progressive Art Project, though I believe most of the Sleepyrealm material I created is currently unviewable. I am producing very little nowadays since I lost my shooting studio, mostly coasting on my laurels and reminiscing about the good old days. If I ever win big in a lottery (which I don't often play) I'll create some 'big' things for this community. But until that day comes, the most likely hope for is for Dalila to stimulate me into doing some work with her. So I'm not quite dead yet. ;-)

This will mean nothing to most of you, as this has nothing to do with our fetish world. But it has a lot to do with me at the moment, and I live in this fetish world. So I wanted to post this testimony to a very dear friend of mine, Ross Nickle, who has just, very unexpectedly and far too soon, passed away. It is for myself that I do so, and whatever spirits may be listening.

*

I think Ross would be quite aghast at my comportment at the moment. Tears are streaming down my cheeks as I write this. I am blubbering like a child. A full box of Kleenex may not be enough. It would seem Ross meant more to me than I ever realized.

We had communicated very little over the last years, but Ross was my best friend in my twenties. I was recovering from very mis-spent teens, and Ross was the anchor in sanity for me as I put some semblance of reality back in my world. Ross was stalwart and stoic, upright and full of integrity. He was a man's man and everything any of us could hope to be. I was incredibly proud to have been his friend.

Ross was an awesomely handsome man and could easily have had a gaggle of beauties at his beck and call. And not once did he ever stray from his love for Monica, the woman to whom he gave his heart. Most men would have succumbed in a heart beat to the temptation that sort of charm would have presented to the world. Not Ross, he was too big a man to bend low.

Ross was the sort of person you could rely on. You didn't need to explain or cajole, you didn't even need to ask. Ross understood and did what needed to be done. When there was a problem, something wasn't right, Ross was the person one could count on. And the galling thing was that it was so natural for him, many of us hardly noticed how much he gave of himself or of how he expected nothing in return. He was the most principled and honest human being I've ever met in my entire life. Two wrongs 'never' made a right with Ross. He had a Clark Kent level of ethics.

He agonized at length over the exuberance of purchasing a suit of full plate armor for the S.C.A., he worried that it was an extravagance, that such was presumptuous of him. I encouraged him to make the purchase, for never had I ever met anyone more appropriate to don a suit of knightly plate armor. Ross was, long before he was knighted in the S.C.A., as chivalrous as any Arthurian legend.

And his skill was extraordinary, and one he never boasted about and took pains to downplay. I recall one instance where in a woods battle, he walked up to four of the enemy and engaged them in friendly conversation. They chatted for a few minutes and then Ross asked them if they were ready. They braced their shields and nodded their heads, no doubt not expecting at all what was to happen. There was a blur, and all four fell. Ross was that good.

I shall treasure the memories of sitting in the living room of his parent's house so long ago, playing a game and the two of us giggling like little girls as he kicked my ass. I shall treasure the conversations we had where he patiently listened to my ramblings while I sifted reason through his filter. I shall treasure the memory of his simple physical presence, which was so comforting.

My heart goes out to Monica and Ashley, and the others whose lives he touched. We are the lesser for his loss, but we are so much the greater for having had Ross in our lives while we did.

Someone a while back asked me; "Did you ever have sex with Ishtar?" He was refering to one of my actresses. That inspired me to respond with quite the article, which I thought many of you might enjoy.

*

No, I have never had sex with Ishtar. Though if she jumped my bones, I doubt I could say no. I have a crush on most of my ladies, Ishtar included.

That said, I have very strict rules of conduct I impose upon myself as regards my comportment with my ladies. Specifically, I am not allowed to cruise them. I try very hard to not even flirt with them so as to not cross that line. I am however very friendly and talkative (sometimes to the detriment of the shooting). When I talk to them I look into their eyes, especially when they are naked. I do not watch them while they undress, I do not hang out in the dressing room while they are fiddling with costumes, if they are doing their makeup in the washroom, I make sure to give them privacy, etc.. I do not complain about their faults, I complement them on their qualities. Universally my ladies tell me that shooting with me is the most pleasant experience they have ever had working as models. I am quite proud of that and try hard to make sure that experience holds true for them all. I've been told that I am more comfortable to be naked in front of than their husbands/boyfriends.

Many of my ladies I consider to be friends, good friends even. Several of my very first models from way back were my friends before I started shooting (that's how they wound up as models). Many of my subsequent friends first met me as models. One of my girlfriends wound up modeling for me while we were together (I leave it to your imagination which one). Another of my models developed a crush on me and cruised me for years till I finally succumbed to temptation (which one I again leave to your imagination). It is quite normal for me to invite my ladies out to dinner after a shoot. It is quite normal for me to also invite their boyfriends.

I have indeed often attended birthday parties. I don't have birthdays of my own. ;-) I am a popular invite to parties where I am asked to invite my ladies (I am sure it's not for my own company that I am invited). The last party I went to I brought seven of my models with me to the party. I was not noticed at the party (by the other guests). You can be sure I will be re-invited. ;-)

The atmosphere in my studio is very relaxed and informal. Several of my ladies wind up doing other work than just modeling, work such as photo processing, web work, video editing, etc.. I have on several occasions come home from running some errand to find two or more ladies busy at work in their underwear and less because it was hot.

My girlfriend/model was also doing video editing for a good while, and early in that career she discovered an outfit in my costume room that she absolutely had to keep. She begged me to let her keep it and when I explained that I couldn't just let people keep all the costumes they liked, lest I run out of costume, she made a devils bargain. I accepted the bargain and she got to keep the costume. From then on, whenever she was in the studio, whether she was working or not, she was only allowed to be either nude or wearing a harem suit. On at least one occasion when we happened to have a harem set up, she treated me to a short harem dance, short because shortly the harem set got used for what harems and harem girls are supposed to be used for. Yes, I do have some fun.

Ok, this warrants a bit of an introduction. I wrote this many years ago, back when there was virtually no web and no web sites in our community, as a response to someone who had asked for advice. The article got a very nice response from those who read it and ultimately when I started my first web site, I posted it there too. Over the years, I have received a few thank you's from women whose boyfriends read it. Those were especially rewarding. :-)

This by the way has nothing whatsoever to do with fetishes. Placating those comes later.

*

You want it to be special, something that she will remember and bring her closer to you? All right. Here is my advice.

First and foremost get the thought of your own satisfaction out of your head. There are many who would disagree with me saying that the happiness of both of you is important. They are correct. However your happiness is not your concern, it is hers. If you want it to be special for her then her happiness must be absolutely paramount in your mind.

Take your time. I cannot stress this enough. Take your time. Set aside the entire evening. Better, devote the entire day to being as romantic and as charming as you can be, prior to the evening you have planned. Bring her flowers, go for a long walk hand in hand, treat her to supper in a romantic restaurant. Never take your eyes off her, and never stop telling her that she is the most desirable woman in the world, and other similar encouragement's.

That evening make sure that you won't be disturbed. Unplug the phone. Put on quiet romantic music, not rock and roll. Light some candles. Skip the wine, it looks good in movies but alcohol will reduce the pleasure of the moment. Then above all, remember what I said previously, take your time. There is no hurry, and hurrying it up will spoil things.

Sit close beside her on the couch and hold her hand. Look into her eyes and stroke her hair. Let her come to you. Do not rush her. Kiss her gently, caress her with your lips and the tip of your tongue, softly, slowly, at length. (Make sure you've brushed your teeth.) Hold her. Make her feel secure. Confess your love for her. Tell her how you would do anything for her. She will respond to you. Clothes should come off slowly and only when she initiates it.

In all likelihood you will have an erection straining to burst. Leave it alone. Deny yourself the release. If she insists on doing something about it, OK, but that is for her to decide. Whatever happens, the evening is not over until the wee hours of the morning. If she does something to cause you to come, be it oral or otherwise, enjoy the moment then get back to work. Your job is not over until she has had at least three orgasms, and if you are an artist, she could have dozens.

(Quantity of orgasms is hardly the only criteria for good sex but it works for a benchmark.)

As a side benefit if you do come, it will make controlling your second erection much easier. The ability to maintain an erection however is of secondary importance to your ability to give good oral sex. More on that soon.

Do not rush into genital stimulation. Spend at least an hour slowly building her excitement. Kiss and caress her. Explore her with your eyes and hands gently. Massage her softly with your lips and teeth in all those places that you would normally find ticklish. Run your fingers lightly over her body. Let her feel your body next to hers. Let her get comfortable with it.

The heat of the passion you share will rise. Wait and be patient. You will know when she is ready, she will be begging for it. Kneel down between her legs and run your tongue along her inner thighs. Nibble gently with the focus becoming ever closer to her sex. Her desire will reach a feverish pitch. With the tip of your tongue, lightly flick the tip of her clit and enjoy her reaction. If you've done everything real well this might be her first orgasm. Continue with your lips and tongue to gently, softly, and slowly stimulate her clit. Pay attention to the lips of her vagina and her surrounding pubis. Let your hands and fingers for the most part do this while your mouth concentrates on her clit. Be gentle. You are not in a hurry. (If your fingernails are clean and well trimmed you may insert one or more fingers into her vagina. If you do, use your fingers to softly push her clit toward you from inside her.)

She may need you to stop for a bit between each orgasm so watch her body language. Don't wait till she forces you to stop. You will know by the way her legs and hands attempt to control the degree of stimulation you are giving her. Do not let her push you away completely. Stay close and when you feel her relaxing a bit, let your tongue dart out to stroke her clit again. Watch her reaction. It is these moments that make life worth living.

If you have gone slowly and given her prolonged soft and gentle stimulation, she will perceive her orgasm as a gentle wave. Watch her body language and any other cues she may give you. Vary the amount of stimulation in sync with her orgasm. As her orgasm builds, increase her stimulation gradually. The only time to be 'rough' is at that moment where the wave of her orgasm reaches its peak.

Visualize her orgasm as this wave. As it peaks it crests, and crashes violently. Let your tongue be like the beach that the surf of her orgasm washes against. At that moment you must be present for her wave to wash upon, but like the beach, you should be firm and stable.

A woman's pleasure is like the ocean and has many waves. As soon as one has crested another starts to build. As always keep the degree of stimulation in sync with her waves. If you do this well her each wave will be higher than the last. There is no limit to how high she can go.

If you do this well, there may come a moment where she perceives the depth of the ocean from which her orgasm arises. At this moment she is having a mystical experience, and you have joined the ranks of Wizards.

Alternate oral stimulation with intercourse. Try not to let yourself come. If you feel yourself getting too close to orgasm, stop, relax, and go back to oral sex. At some point she will likely insist that you come. It is OK, as long as she insists. She is probably exhausted at that point, good job. What ever you do, do not fall asleep after your orgasm. Rather hold her and whisper sweet things to her. Tell her how happy she makes you and how much you enjoy making her happy. Tell her how much you love her.

If you do all this she will never forget you. She will be back for more, often.

I was once asked by someone in this community; "How do you deal with the guilt of having these fantasies?"

It behooves us to understand the nature of guilt, if we wish to overcome it.  The best definition I have ever heard for guilt is, 'the fear of not being loved'.  If that is indeed the essence of guilt, then it follows that the cure for guilt is seeing yourself as being someone who 'can' be loved.  You have already done the one thing that could most aid you in this endevour, you have joined this community.  Here you will find people who accept you as you are, people who will befriend you.  Here you will find examples of people who have found love (and who are thereby deserving of it) despite their fantasies.

You know that you are never going to actually harm someone. You may actually not yet be firmly convinced of this, but rest assured, it takes more than fantasies to turn you into a murderer.  It requires that you be the sort of person who values an orgasm more than you value someone elses life.  Likely you already know if someone else's life matters more to you than an orgasm and if their life does matter more to you, then you can rest content in the knowledge that you are not and never will be the sort of monster that kills people.

If you never actually harm anyone, you have nothing to feel guilty about.  The only one harmed by your fantasies is yourself harmed by your own guilt.  Let go of the guilt and your fantasies become that much less harmful.

I was digging around in my files and found a curious something written many years ago to Karyn, who was then the web site administrator of what became the Dolcett Archives. She was in regular communication with Dolcett at the time and she had communicated to me the willingness of Dolcett to perhaps do a drawing for me, a drawing of a 'Used Bellybutt Pile'. Unfortunately nothing ever came of that, but I wrote back a detailed description of what such a pile was, so he could better visualize it. I thought perhaps a few of you might enjoy reading this.

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To understand what a bellybutt pile is and what it would look like, one has to know the origin of the idea.  The idea of a bellybutt pile comes from a series of stories that were written a few years back that were rather popular in our community (hence there being a few of them).  They all took place in a magical, sexual carnival that would appear once in a blue moon, where ever in the world there was the most desire for it.  At this carnival, all sexual fantasies could come true.  All of them.  It was a magical place and anything could be done.

One of the attractions of this carnival, and the main subject of the first story ('Bellybutt') was the 'bellybutt shooting gallery'.  This was much like the game attractions you typically find in any carnival except here instead of a tiny booth shooting inanimate targets, it was in a tent and the targets were the bellies of willing women who were called 'bellybutts'.  (In archery, the target during archery practice is called a butt.  The target in this case was the bellies of the women, hence the term 'bellybutt'.  The similarity to bellybutton was not lost.)

Being shot this way was actually of lesser importance to the popularity of these stories than the fact that the women were willing targets.  (It was a magical place where impossible things happened.)  They wanted to be used this way, even more than those who would shoot them.  (Hey, it's a fantasy.)  They would actually enjoy the experience of being shot and would as often as not beg for more.  They would beg for the man to come to them after shooting them and make love to them while he slowly finished her off with a knife.

The first couple of these stories were written originally solely for my own pleasure, never at the time thinking anyone else would ever read them.  Hense, the target that was being aimed for in the stories was the lower bellies of the bellybutts, not their navels or upper stomachs.  In my fantasies and thus in the stories, virtually all the ladies were shot low in their bellies, and many were subsequently stabbed there, sometimes repeatedly.  Occassionally in the stories, they might even be gutted.

A Bellybutt Pile would arise during the course of these ladies being shot as each bellybutt would be tossed on the pile once she was 'used'.  I would typically detail this as being a large pile (a bit spread out) of dead and sometimes still dying women, virtually all having been killed with belly wounds, laying in all manner of contorted yet very exposed positions.  They would all have orgasmic overtones to their facial expressions, often with eyes open and rolled up, with their tongues lolling out of their mouths.

I would envisage a good two dozen ladies, if not more (at least implied) laying about and on top of one another, sometimes three or more deep.  They are all completely nude and very exposed.  They all have been killed or are dying from wounds to the center of their lower abdomen.  Some still have arrows projecting from them.  A good many have multiple wounds and a few have suffered grievous wounds, such as guttings and/or breast amputations.  None look agonized or like they died in distress.  Most look like they've died during an orgasm.  And at least one (clearly visible) who is not dead yet, who still has an arrow dead center in her lower belly, is masturbating while she dies.

The bellybutt stories can all be found on the web along with a bit of art that might help describe this at the following URL: http://www.necrobabes.com/peter/Text/Series.htm

I gaze adoringly upon my you, my slave girl, my bellybutt trainee, as you lay upon my bed doing your homework, fully nude, back arched, legs spread wide before me as always, as invitation.  The hypnosis training we've been doing daily for months now, that and your other training, your homework, has paid off handsomely. You have been able to keep yourself in a nearly constant state of orgasm for the last two weeks, without even needing to touch yourself, while imagining yourself being used as a bellybutt is destined to be used.

And today is special. I have watched today enraptured as you, my bellybutt, started your meditations and almost instantly reached your orgasm, and then, you have not stopped! For many minutes now, your belly and breath are a quiver, your voice squeaking with intensity, your vagina visibly pulsing, your juices practically squirting. Your arousal, your orgasm, has not ebbed! My bellybutt has archived her final goal, a state of perpetual orgasm!

You are ready, and my own lust can no longer contain itself. I go to you, I kneel between your legs, my cock furiously erect. You are lost in orgasm and do not notice until I slide myself deeply inside of you, and your eyes go wide, the nature of your orgasm that much more full.

"Oh Master!" You gasp, "Yes, take me now, take me all the way!"

I move within you as I bend over you, gather you in my arms and kiss you deeply. I whisper to you between kisses, "You are ready to be killed now my sweetmeat."

Between gushes and gasps, you exclaim, "Oh yes Master! Yes! Please." Your kisses are returned to me with boundless passion, "Please kill me! Kill me now! I need to be killed! I need to be killed now!"

I lift you as I lay back, staying inside of you as I do. "I need it Master," you extol, "I really do. I desperately need to be a dead bellybutt!" You sit straddled atop me, riding me vigorously. "Please do it Master, please kill me. Make me finally a well used, dead bellybutt."

I can see the whole of you clearly stretched before me, your back arched to present your belly, head back as you grasp your heels. My hands are free to touch you, caress you, to hold a knife, which I then grasp.

"I'm just a piece of meat, desperately needing to be butchered!" You gasp as you ride me. "Do it Master! Do it! Plunge your knife deep inside of me while I fuck you!"

You feel the sharpness of the tip of the blade as for just a moment, I tease you with it, touching it to your breast, your navel, then down lower. I lightly prick your clit as you ride me, eliciting a squeal of glee. "All the way inside of me! Push it in all the way, please!"

I put the knife low to your belly, I press with it enough to dimple your skin, the sharpness of it felt by you deep in your orgasm. "Oh yes!" You gasp, "Inside of me, push it in, burst my belly!"

I push harder, your belly dimples deeply under the blade, your skin still holding. The pain of the sharpness transmutes instantly to excruciating pleasure.  "Yes! Yes! All the way! Don't stop!"

"Please! Push! Harder! Deeper!" You beg and I put more pressure still, more than I ever have before. You squeal knowing what is about to happen. And then it does, your belly POPS!

So intense is the sensation your voice is frozen! You gasp as you feel the pressure on your belly suddenly subside and the blade slip inside of you! The moment freezes as we both hold and marvel in amazement at what we have done. You look down to see the blade buried half way inside of you, the two of us a quiver.

We look into each other's eyes. "I've done it." I whisper with marvel, "I've killed you!"

You smile through your lust, "Yes master, but I still have a lot of dying to do." You look back down to the knife. "Push it in, push it in deep." You whisper and beg, "All the way, deep inside of me."

Slowly, dragging out the moment while you watch, as I push the knife all the way inside of you, you feel me cum inside of you, and again your orgasm transmutes. I am so excited by your being killed that I stay hard, building for another.

I let go of the hilt of the knife to admire it jutting proudly out of your belly, the blade deep inside of you, right to your core. The smallest amount of blood leaks from your belly. Your orgasm has not abated in the slightest, it has transformed itself into something greater than you could have ever imagined. You ride me, feeling the blade inside of you move with your every rise and fall, the sharpness of it inside of you seeming to cut you again and again, every time.

You bend down to kiss me deeply, the pressure of our bodies moving the blade even deeper within you. You squeeze yourself to me, to feel the knife cutting you more as you whisper between passionate kisses. "Kill me some more Master." You moan, "Stab me again. Stab me over and over again. Keep stabbing me till there's nothing left to stab."

Finally you sit up, always riding me, back arching to again present your belly.  "Kill me some more." you lustfully beg. You ride me always as I grasp the knife and pull it out from within you. Blood gushes from your belly.

I put the blade very low, just above your pubis. You trust me that I shall not stab myself, so low is the knife. "Oh yes Master, oh yes, deep inside of me!"

You ride me as again I slowly push. Again your belly dimples beneath the blade, again your skin holds as it pressed hard into you. And then again, you feel your belly POP and the blade sink further. You cry out from the sensation of it!

And then you feel it pressing again, against another pressure deep inside of you! You feel that pressure build, and then something inside of you explodes! You shriek with the intensity of it as your guts are sundered, the knife again buried to the hilt, deep and low in your belly. The sharpness of the blade inside of you is all the more intense as with your every rise and fall, you really can feel your insides parting over it. You are being split asunder, inside of you, with your every movement over me. Your vagina has been opened inside of you split open at the top. My cock is fucking your guts now.

You try to ride me harder, but you are loosing energy. "More." You beg. "Again." You plead between orgasmic pants. "Keep killing me."

Slowly and carefully I pull the blade out from within you. You gush even more as I put the blade to yet another fresh spot on your belly. Again I push, again the blade bursts within your belly as you groan with the pleasure of your being killed. "Yes!" Your voice is a squeak. "More."

Over and over I pull the knife out and plunge it back in, hard and deep within you. Over and over your belly is plundered, your guts sundered, your insides sliced, your vitals chopped. Little remains inside of you but hamburger. Till finally you have no energy left with which to ride me. You are all but dead.

You sit astride me, quivering. The throbbing of your vagina keeping you fucking me. Through the delirium of your dying you manage to beg one last time. "Gut me Master."  Your stare is one of wonder as you gaze upon the ruin of you.  "Split me wide open." You arch your back, your head goes back, "Gut me like a fish."

One last time, I put the blade to the very bottom of your belly and push it deep inside of you. And then I start to fuck you with the blade, moving it in and out of you as if it were a cock, but this one is killing you. Slowly I lift the knife as it fucks your belly, and slowly it cuts your belly open. As your belly starts to open, you feel a pressure inside of you grow less, and then just in time, you look down to see your belly open wide as the whole of what was once your guts flows out from within you like water!

There are no words left to you, only wide eyed amazement as you watch me reach into your wide open belly with both hands. I grasp all that remains inside of you and with one big movement, pull it all out of you. You are nothing left but a hollow, empty ruin!

You have just enough time left to you to watch as I reach though your open belly to grasp your vagina, and jerk myself off with your vagina. I cum and you see my ejaculate jet out from within you, as you disappear into that eternal moment of your final and greatest orgasm, forever more.