All posts by ACaperton

St. Nicholas’ Eve

“St. Nicholas’ Eve”
© Angela Caperton
As published by Circlet Press in
Holly caught the 11 o’clock bus at the big stop on Industrial, way out at the edge of the empty parking lot. The last Number 22 for the night would take her all the way to Cedar Hill. Most nights, she rode the packed 10:20, but tonight she’d worked late and the bus was almost empty. She took a seat about halfway back, sagged against the window, and waited for the hiss of the door and the pneumatic bump of forward motion to release her spine before she sank fully into the cracked vinyl seat. She closed her eyes, grateful for the end of another lousy day and slid the stiff shamrock-green sleeve up her wrist to check her watch. She wouldn’t be home till midnight. How the fuck did she get herself into this?

Ten bucks an hour, that’s how, she thought.

She pulled her ridiculous red hat from her head, clutching the fuzzy ivory ball atop it. Her fingernails wanted to turn the fluff into lint.

“Bastard,” she grumbled as she shifted on the seat, the bruise from Santa’s pinch on her ass rubbed uncomfortably against a sharp break in the thick seam of the vinyl seat. By the time she arrived in Cedar Hill, the torn seat would probably cut into her leg. The perfect ending to a perfect fucking day.

She sat up and her gaze froze for a moment on the mirror above the driver hidden down in his well, and she frowned. She would have sworn there was at least one other passenger on the bus, but the mirror showed only rows of empty seats. Holly looked over her shoulder and saw, across the aisle and two seats back, a young man grinning at her.

Or was he young? She glanced at the mirror, empty but for her own reflection and then back at him. A trick of a bad angle, Holly rationalized.

Thick waves of long black hair framed a lean face and his closely trimmed beard adorned a narrow chin. Amber eyes stared at her, the skin at the corners creasing with amusement. He wore a tattered trench coat and a smudged, threadbare sweatshirt filled the gap where the lapels parted, the hood pulled up to cover the crown of his head.

He pulled an apple from the pocket of the trench coat and bit into it with relish, his gaze locked on Holly’s.

He nodded toward her clutched hat. “Sie arbeiten für ihn auch?”

Holly’s face scrunched as the strange words rolled over her.

“Ah! You work for him, ja?” He pointed to her hat, his hands long-fingered with nails that reminded Holly of talons. As he wagged his pointer for emphasis, a clinking sound drew her attention to a wide, shining band of metal around his wrist, and a serpentine curve of links flowing up the wide dark sleeve of the trench coat.

Her breath caught in her throat. Handcuffs, she thought. She looked toward the driver and saw clearly her own reflection in the mirror and no one else’s. She slowly let go of the air in her lungs.

“Maybe we can talk, eh?” he said. “Trade stories?”

The brakes of the bus whistled as it pulled to the curb and stopped beside a deserted bench, an advertisement for Maxine’s department store showing through the crimson and green graffiti. Holly glanced at the driver again, his grin like that of a gingerbread man. She rose from the seat and without truly looking at the stranger, nodded and walked past him to the open door of the bus.

She didn’t hear him behind her, but his warmth pressed against her back and ass, caressing her shoulders through the stiff material of her elf costume as she descended the two steep steps to the lamp-lit sidewalk below.

December fifth should’ve been cool, but the night air felt hot, almost steamy.

The bus pulled away as the stranger walked beside her, the damp light of the lamp casting devilish shadows onto his face. He took a bite of the apple and juice trickled down his chin beading in his beard. She followed the light and found herself leaning near him. He smelled like pine trees and old ashes.

He smelled like home.

“It’s different now, all those pretty windows with flashing lights and puff-cheeked Kringles.” He stepped away from her and started down the street, the shadows quickly threatening to devour him. Holly watched his retreating back, noticing the bundle of long, thin sticks that poked out of his coat pocket.

He stopped and half turned. She could barely see his face, but felt his gaze. “Coming, liebchen?”

Holly looked around the deserted street, the tall buildings dark, no golden glow in any of the rows and columns of windows, no barking dogs or sounds of pre-holiday turmoil.

She pulled her Santa hat back on her head and the ivory ball bounced against her cheek. She quickly joined him and shivered in the unnatural heat that seemed to surround him. The odd compulsion to follow him overpowered her pinched ass and debt-weary brain. Later she would tell herself it was the seduction of the rabbit hole that kept her feet moving.

He grinned, toothy, lips shining, and took a last bite of the apple before he tossed the fleshy core to the gutter. Back and forth, he wiped his hand on his tattered coat, then extended it to her, his shackle reflecting the distant streetlight.

And the moon.

“Rupert,” he said with a courtly nod, his thick accent turning his name into a stroke along her spine.

She took the offered hand, his long fingers curling around hers, one smooth talon caressing the delicate flesh at her wrist. “H-Holly,” she stammered.

He laughed, deep and throaty. “Of course.” Then he draped an arm over her shoulder and steered her toward the next street lamp halo. The scent of clove tickled her nose as his shoes clicked on the sidewalk with a soft, clopping rhythm.

They crossed the street and as they entered the pale ring of the corner lamp, the air turned cold. Holly didn’t hesitate to press closer to Rupert, the warmth of his body banishing the night. The short skirt of the elf suit only reached mid-thigh and her stockings were more for festive show, not for keeping frostbite at bay.

“Why do you work for him?” Rupert asked as they continued to stroll.

Holly shrugged under his heavy arm. “Money.”

“He pays you?” He asked, as if amazed.

“Yeah he pays me—well, he doesn’t pay me, Maxine’s department store does. You think I’d wear this get-up and deal with screaming kids all night if I didn’t get paid?” Holly snorted. “It’s a good job,” she said with little conviction, then shrugged, all pretenses gone. “I need the cash. It’s only for a few weeks, but it’ll really help me out.” She looked up at him, the hood of the sweat shirt having fallen back a little to expose the crown of his head. She saw that his hair had been suggestively spiked, so that he appeared to have horns.

“So, you work for money, not for spirit.”

“Spirit? Of what? Out of control capitalism and obligatory good cheer? You’re kidding, right?”

“So cynical for so young.” Rupert tsked and squeezed her to him. “But I understand. He always smiles. That is why he needs me.”

“Needs you?” Holly laughed as her fingers caressed the shackle.

Rupert chuckled, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Saints need devils. When bribes of sweets don’t work,” Rupert lifted his arm off her shoulder and shook it. The heavy rattle of chains rang from the sleeve of the coat, “he calls for me.” His arm fell onto Holly’s shoulder again.

“The season is about more than presents, Holly. It’s about embracing what is found in the longest night and reborn day.”

“Longest night all right.” Holly grumbled as she slowed down, her fingers tingling as realization began to massage her brain.

Holly knew this place but it was different now. They had come to the branching sidewalk that led to Machen’s Park, its green wanderings hidden in total darkness beyond the pair of lights that flanked the path.

Holly breathed and felt him breathe with her. The heat from his thigh seared hers when he stopped. His left hand played with her hair and as the cold chain caressed her neck, another tingle began to work through her blood.

“The park’s closed,” she whispered. “It closed at sundown.”

“Silly, no,” Rupert answered her. “It opened at sundown. Come.” He led her down the path, past the open gate and dark park office.

Holly had not been in the park in years but she knew it had never looked like this. Trees covered almost every space, the limbs wild and grabbing. This little, boring tax-funded park seemed closer to an alpine wilderness than an obligatory green spot in the middle of concrete mountains. Rupert led her off the sidewalk, through a hedge gap and then onto a narrow path between thickets, and when they emerged into a marginal clearing, the moon shone through a canopied web of limbs overhead, brighter than the streetlights. She almost lost her footing on uneven ground woven by bulbous roots.

“Do you know?” he asked as he turned to her. Moon-lit, the hood falling back, his horns glistened sharp and shining. “How lucky you are, liebchen?”

Rupert drew one of the sticks from his pocket. Holly saw that it was long and supple, spiked with the knots where lesser shoots had been cut from it.

Her heart punched at her chest. Her mouth went dry, but her pussy nearly gushed. “Who are you?” she asked him. “Are you the devil?”

He caught her chin between his thin, steel-strong fingers, and leaned close enough to brush her with his breath. “Ja, liebchen. I am the devil. The fucking devil, and so happy we both work for him.”

His hands worked over her, loosening and plucking at her clothing. A flick of his wrist and the elf skirt pulled away from her thighs with a whisper. Something you could imagine seeing on Rupert tossed it away, his strong fingers inside the waistband of the leggings, then in her, the path easy and wet without the added barrier of panties. She held onto him, crying out at the wonderful invasion. Cold metal pressed against her belly, against her ribs, the stiff, green blouse open to the night as one link of the thick chain caught her right nipple and pulled at it without mercy. The shocking chill and sharp pinch pulled a cry of pleasant pain from Holly’s throat. He’d bound her in those chains, tethered her to him, and Holly reveled in the embrace.

“You’ve been bad,” Rupert growled. “You have been very naughty.”

She struggled against the chain, each arch only tightening the bonds. “So what? Are you going to tell Nick to leave me coal?”

He laughed, the sound close to a howl. “Delightful,” he chuckled as he turned her in the chain’s kiss. The December chill caressed her ass as he rolled the leggings down her thighs and tore them into scraps. Carols sang in her pulse as her pussy greeted winter. She clamped her teeth into her lower lip, sealing her cry of anticipation in her throat.

Liebchen, believe me when I say no one can hear you.” He put his tongue in her ear and set her body afire. “Except me.”

Something slid up her bare leg, caressed her calf, tickled the tender skin behind her knee, and trailed up her thigh to tease the wet lips of her sex. “You will know the night, Holly, and the reborn day.”

He folded her, her body helpless in chains, her ass exposed to the cold air and his hot touch. The thin caress that traced her legs continued over her back, to her neck, and when Holly awkwardly turned her head, she saw the sapling switch, one of the thin wood sticks he’d had in his pocket. She knew her eyes must have grown huge when she looked at him. In that instant she saw a gleam of understanding and manic joy in his gaze that nearly made her pee.

She struggled to pull air, her lungs squeezed by her prostrate position. “You’re kidding, right?”

He flicked the switch against the back of her right thigh. Holly laughed for the barest moment, then the sting manifested, traveled up her spine and turned the gay sound into a gasp of pain—and wonder.

“Birch, sweet Holly. Very hard to find in this place, but only the best for mein liebchen.”

He brought the birch across her left thigh, the mirroring sting raking her nerves, sending a small yelp past her lips. She struggled against the chains, tried to stand upright, but Rupert held her in place, bracing her against his legs, one steadying hand on her spine. Another whirr and the birch lanced across both cheeks of her ass and Holly’s knees began to shake like gelatin. The sting in her thighs dulled against the fresh pain on her cheeks. The seed of pain didn’t go away, but instead bloomed, a heat and slick ache on her skin that spread to her pussy, nearly dripping with want. She leaned heavily against Rupert’s hips and thrilled at the long, hard bulge that pressed against her side.

He brought the birch across her cheeks again, just above Santa’s bruise. She cried out, tears sprang from her eyes and she realized her skin was coated in a sheen of sweat. She looked up at Rupert. Raw lust etched dark lines into his face and turned his eyes to glowing amber.

“Remember this, Holly,” he said, tapping her butt lightly. “The next time you want to be naughty.” Rupert switched her hard and her bound breath ran free in a gasp. He put his fingers in her again, two of them, thick and strong, and struck her with short sharp blows. Well beyond pain, her gasp became a moan, and her legs turned to clarified butter as a mind-destroying orgasm tore through her. Just like the insane orgasms you’d find see at shemalehd sex.

Her sense of sight returned to her first, a glimpse of moon-spattered brick on a chilly night—and a smell that might have been the first hint of snow. The smooth painted wood of an old bench scrubbed between her fingers, and the faintest taste of blood coated her tongue from where she had bitten herself in her ecstasy. She leaned over the bench, her skin goosy with the cold. Rupert’s left hand caressed her bare breasts, circling and tweaking her nipples.

“Do you know liebchen, how much I love my work?” With his right hands, he adjusted her hips, lifting her slightly and she felt the hard tip of his cock bounce between her ravaged cheeks, brush her asshole, and settle against the ready lips of her sex. “We will get through the winter days, liebchen, but in the meantime we have such schone nights.”

His cock began to slide into her and she wondered how big he was—he felt huge. He filled her slowly, easing the fit, pushing deeper than any lover had ever gone, smooth and slick and enormous, until his shaggy thatch scratched at her raw ass. She imagined him halfway to her heart, the bumpy heat of his cock spreading her clit against the cold, as the bulbous head beat at her G spot and maybe H too, before he began to withdraw.

The trip out delighted her more than the trip in and he began to fuck her with short, almost savage thrusts. There was no question of waiting for him. She came again, almost as hard as she had from the birch, the sweat on her body misting in the cold, her breath a cloud the shape of her pleasure, amorphous and wild as a dream.

He bit her on the shoulder with his wide, flat teeth and thrust deeper still, grinding his thin hips against her, laughing now, wild, as orgasm engulfed her, divine and eternal in a moment of oblivion just like the sexually intense videos on websites similar to have depicted in times past.

Snow began to fall.

Rupert leaned over her, his hips rolling his astonishing cock deep as her soul. He rocked her, his finger on her clit, the touch almost unbearable. He pulsed inside her and Holly thought she might die.

Feral heat stirred against her ear and she heard him, though the words seemed distant as yesterday, even as the rush of hot pleasure rose out of her pussy and ran through her blood, her skin, her bones, her mind gone, returning to the cold, and the snow, and the silence.

When she opened her eyes, Rupert had vanished as though he had never existed, leaving only fading heat and musk, a whiff of burning coal, and the promise of his last words, “Remember, liebchen, no matter how cold and lonely the winter, the spring will eventually come.”

Every cold, yuletide night, for the rest of her long, happy life, Holly remembered.

Remembered Rupert, and whispered those words like a prayer.
Copyright 2010 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.


Halloween is my favorite holiday!  I hope you enjoy this little dark tale! Great Pumpkin indeed, Charlie…

by Angela Caperton
Copyright 2010

Out in the middle of Elder’s pumpkin patch, Gracie knew that coming out here with Jack had been the right move. She’d hardly known him a week and already she’d kissed him open-mouthed and let him touch her tits. She really wanted to fuck Jack before Susie or any of the others got to him first, and right here was her opportunity to brand him hers. Visit this reliable source of original big tits porn clips that hold similar steaminess to this.

The crisp air laced her skin with her jeans barely on and his fingers in her pussy. She held onto his cock, fingers teasing and made him ask to put it in her.

The dirt clods crumbled under her butt as he drove into her, just as rough and strong as she knew he’d be, cock, lips, and fingers expert, fast the first time and real slow the second. Out here in the country, she let herself scream when she came.

A full moon lit them where they lay naked among the pumpkins, her hand resting on the warm ripples of his abs.

“You know what I heard one time about this pumpkin field?” he asked her. 

“No, what?”

“Well I heard that a few years back some of them boys from over in Blackwater would come out here to have some fun.”

Blackwater was a notorious den of degeneracy and yet they always fielded the best football team in the county. “What kind of fun?”

“Well, some say Elder’s pumpkins are the fullest ones grown anywhere ‘round here, full and firm. Them Blackwater boys thought they’d be wicked and picked a young one.  They warmed it up a little, then they cut a hole in it and took turns fucking it.”

“I heard of boys fucking watermelons,” she agreed.

“These pumpkins are supposed to be even better. But that ain’t the story. What happened a year later, when the field was full again, and them boys came back is the interesting part. Seems like they had messed around with the wrong pumpkin and, I don’t know, offended some kind of pumpkin spirit.”

She giggled. “Just like Charlie Brown?” Not far away, something rustled among the vines and she stopped laughing. That Great Pumpkin would be some pretty scary shit if it was real. She moved closer to Jack and listened.

“When they came back, something was waiting for them, something big and fast and strong and, one-by-one it knocked all three of them boys down and cornholed them, and they never come back after that. They say it’s still out here in this field on fall nights when the pumpkins are ripe and ready for picking.”

Silly, she thought, but there were sounds in the field around them, shuffling and rustling and something that might’ve been footsteps. The moon passed abruptly behind a cloud and darkness fell like a gunny sack over her head.

“You know what else I heard?” Jack asked her.

She could hardly speak, her throat dry as the dirt in the field. His rippled abs felt hard and cold under her fingers, like the waxy, pimply skin of a sun-ripe pumpkin. 

She dreaded the moment when the moon would reappear.

“I heard it likes girls even more than it liked them Blackwater boys.”

© 2010 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Lab Rat – Scifi Erotica

I love science fiction books and movies, and sometimes the pulpier the stories are, the better! I wrote this erotic story “Lab Rat” several years ago and it was sold to the now closed Oysters and Chocolate website. If you didn’t get a chance to read it over there, I present it here for your amusement. Enjoy!

“Lab Rat”
By Angela Caperton
Copyright 2010

Davie arrived at the psych lab ten minutes early. Psychology was only an elective in his geology degree plan, but the subject had proven more interesting and challenging than he had expected. He’d struggled with the first test, his score guaranteed to bring down his grade, but the prof had told them extra credit could be earned by any student who would spend six hours as a volunteer test subject for grad students. Some of Davie’s friends had done their time the semester before in the various testing labs and, even down to androgynous Lexxie Mathis, unanimously they all told him if he didn’t sign up for the Sex and Intimacy series he would be making a huge mistake.

“I got credit for jerking off,” was Oliver Soland’s two-thumbs-up recommendation.

The lab occupied one of the older buildings on the Quad, a place that smelled like an old fire, ashy and damp. Davie made his way down an empty hall, found the door to Room 232 unlocked, and walked in.

The waiting area looked suspiciously mundane, complete with an empty desk and a closed door he figured must lead to the lab. His knock echoed into unknown space so he took a seat and waited. At nine sharp, the door opened and a pretty brunette wearing jeans and a white coat unbuttoned over a Spoon tee-shirt, emerged smiling into the waiting room.

“You must be Davie Ingles,” she said. She took the seat nearest him and handed him a clipboard with a release form. “I got your stats from registration. You’re 22, right? Science major… You know what you’ve signed up for?” She had a great smile and the greenest eyes he’d ever seen.

“To be a lab rat?”

Her lips quirked into a grin. “Some people would say a lucky lab rat. You signed up for the Sexology lab. Read the release please, and sign it.” Did her grin widen a little when she said “release?”

He gave the paper a spotty read, signed it, and tried not to smirk as he returned … the release to her. He saw clearly that she wore no bra under her t-shirt, one of the o’s in Spoon beautifully circling an erect nipple pushing against thin cotton.

“You know my name,” Davie said, keeping his voice steady in spite of the anxiety building in his stomach. “What’s yours?”

“Maybe later. We need to get you hooked up first.” Her grin twitched again. She led him through the door and down a hallway to a little room with a chair and a bank of PCs, monitors, and other gear. She handed him a robe. “Undress and get into this.”

“Undress? To my shorts?”

“All the way,” she said and left him to it.

Davie stripped off his shoes, socks, jeans, and shirt. He hesitated at the jockeys, his boner already of considerable size. She’s probably seen hundreds of them, he reminded himself and peeled off the tight drawers. The robe was nicer than anything they would give you in a hospital, calf-length and made of some lightweight synthetic. He put it on and tied the belt loosely, careful to tuck his overanxious dick down just as she came back into the room.

She took his upper arm in a casual grip and pushed him gently toward the chair, pausing just before he sat. “You’re going to have to take the robe off while I wire you or I’m going to have to tell you how to wire yourself. I hope you’re not shy because it’s much easier if I do it.” Her gaze was stone still, impassive.

No, he thought, it’s going to be much, much harder. “You get a lot of shy guys signing up for sex experiments?” he asked and untied the robe. Mr. Lively had calmed down some but Davie knew the lull wouldn’t last long.

“You’d be surprised,” she said. “Most people never really think about sexuality except as … an applied science.” She hardly glanced at his unruly cock, which was probably just as well. “Sometimes we get guys in here who think they’re Chippendale dancers, but the lab makes them nervous and they…well they get embarrassed and shrink. You don’t seem to have that problem.”

With quick efficiency, she applied gooey sensors to his nipples and abdomen, his temples, shoulder blades, and lower back. Loose, thin wires connected him to a modest console spangled with blinking LEDs. Her fingers were warm even when the jelly chilled his skin. “You can put the robe back on,” she said, “and have a seat.”

With her help, Davie wrestled the robe around the streaming wires. He left it open in front until he sat in the chair and then he started to fold the tails across his restless penis.

“Wait,” she said. “One more.” She held what he took at first for a condom, though he quickly saw the tube was more rigid and, yes, wired.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a plesmograph.”

“It doesn’t shock, does it? Or vibrate?”

She laughed. “No. It’s just a sensor.” Without asking if he wanted to put it on for himself, she bent to the task. Little Davie volunteered eagerly for his new uniform and she had no trouble sliding him into the cool plastic sheath. “There,” she said. “All snug. You can cover up now if you want to.”

Out of general respect for science, he closed the robe. Next she gave him a pair of clumsy gloves, like the mail gauntlets of a plastic knight. “VR gloves,” she said. “State of the art.”

“Nintendo would kill for these,” he said as he put them on. They felt a little stiff.

Finally she produced a helmet and fitted it on his head. “You ever been in true virtual reality before?” she asked.

“No. I’ve heard about it. Didn’t know anyone really used it.” The world looked milky white through the helmet’s lenses.

“We’re lucky to have the rig. There are a dozen of them around the country in psych departments all networked together. We call it the O-Zone here.”


She grinned that sweet little grin but didn’t explain further. “When I turn it on, the first thing you’ll see will be an orientation space … where you can get a feel for the gloves and we’ll make sure the zone doesn’t make you sick. Some people can’t take it. I’ll talk you through that part, but then – if you’re okay – you’ll be on your own.”

“What happens after that?”

“You’ll see a door. Go through it. You’ll find your partner on the other side.”

“My partner?”

“Yeah. Someone in another lab that’s using the zone like we are. They will present to you as an attractive, young woman.”

He thought about that a moment. He knew that anyone in cyberspace might not be anything like what they seemed.

“We’re measuring your reactions here, so try to relax and behave naturally, but even nervousness and hesitation can produce good data.”

“What do I do?”

“Whatever you feel like doing, but I need to tell you. Your partner is in a different kind of rig than you are. You’re reactions are being measured, but your partner will feel sensations based on what you do. If you do something that causes pleasure – stroke her for example – she will feel good. If you …decide to make love to her, she’s equipped with hardware that will simulate intercourse.”

“You’re shitting me?”

“You’ll be able to hear her reaction, though the voice you actually hear may not be her real voice.”

“She could be a guy, huh?”

“Is that a problem for you?”

“No. I don’t think so.” He wondered if the sensors could read a lie. The idea of virtual sex with some guy in a girl suit made him a little uneasy.

“One more important thing. If you decide to hurt her, she’ll feel pain. Nothing really harmful, of course, but enough that she’ll know it, and so will you.”

Davie took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said as his heart began to race. His dick shrank a little inside the plastic sheath and he pulled the robe tighter.

“Remember, try to follow your instincts,” she said and then left him alone in the room.

The milky lenses flickered and the dim lab vanished, replaced by a table rendered in high-res graphics, like a top-end video game. The lab girl’s voice whispered in his ear to guide him through the orientation. He turned his head. The space around him appeared amazingly real, almost too real. His hands waved in front of him, bigger and darker than his real hands. He flexed them.

She talked him through simple exercises, taught him to “walk” by gesturing in the direction he wanted to go, helped him handle the objects on the table – a glass, a ball, a pencil. The gloves produced enough feedback that he quickly learned the subtleties of touch, and it wasn’t much of a stretch to see how the technology could replicate other sensations, pleasurable or otherwise. His self-awareness and the boundaries of his senses stretched and he relaxed a little as the alien space became more comfortable.

“Turn around,” she said and he did, almost fluidly, without changing his place in the chair. Where there had been a white wall, he saw a door now. “Relax,” she said one more time. “And have fun.”

Davie glided toward the door and opened it. The knob clicked in his hand and he blinked against the rosy light inside the new virtual space. His partner waited for him there and he remembered the questions he had answered when he signed up for the lab, asking what he found attractive in a partner. Tall, blonde, high-breasted, long-legged. He wondered how many variations they actually got on the answers to those answers.

Naked. Gorgeous.

He looked down and saw that he was naked too with a virtual cock roughly the size of his real one, and he had a flashback to Sunday school. Adam and Eve knew they were naked…

He saw and felt himself getting hard, aware of the plastic sheath but comfortably detached from it. His virtual cock grew to impressive proportions and his breath quickened, making a sort of rhythmic shushing sound under the helmet.

“Ooh!” the virtual girl giggled when she saw him. “I’m glad to see you too.”

“This is weird.”

“You’ll get used to it fast. Try touching me.” Her voice was decidedly feminine, light and bubbly.

He closed the distance between them in his jerky glide and reached out a gloved hand to her arm. There was no warmth, but the glove registered softness. “Mmm,” she said. “Now touch me somewhere interesting.”

Davie tried to tweak her nipple, midway between timid and playful, and the best he managed was a thump. “Ow!” she blurted, but then she smiled widely.

His cock grew again – Pinocchio’s lying nose.

“What are we supposed to do?” he asked.

“Anything we want to. But, I’ll tell you, I don’t want to waste my appointment talking.”

He desperately wanted to ask, “Are you a guy?” but he resisted the temptation, even as the thought made his cock shrink a little.

“Listen. We can play a game if you want to,” his playmate said.

“Maybe. What’s your name?”

“Justine.” She didn’t ask his and while he was wondering whether to volunteer it, she said. “Ask me a question, and if I don’t get the answer right, you can spank me.”

Why not? He thought for a moment. “What’s the capital of New York?”

“New York City?”


“Oops!” She turned coyly away from him and extended a gloriously perfect digital ass. He swatted her with a clumsy stroke, harder than he meant to. The blow registered against his palm.

She cried out, “Oh yes,” her voice delighted and a little breathless. “Scranton?”

“Scranton’s in Pennsylvania,” he said.

“You better spank me harder.”

Davie had never spanked a real girl, but he found himself intrigued, his cock growing harder by the moment. He swung with considerable force and the glove registered a sharp blow.

“Fuck,” Justine cried and she staggered a little. “Fuck yes!”

He swung again and again and she began to make little noises like the ones he had heard girls make when they were enjoying being fucked in the porn movies he watched on He realized that he had become almost comically hard, the plesmograph tight around his real cock and his virtual one reaching out toward a porn star’s native country.

Part of his brain clung to the reality of his being in the chair wrapped in electronics, but the girl in front of him seemed very real. Somewhere, she was very real and he knew by the sounds she made that she was really enjoying whatever the computer was doing to her.

He swung harder. His cock swelled again inside the plastic sheath, the sensation shocking heat and pleasure up his spine.

Justine began to utter a breathless scream and Davie lost the fight against shooting his wad – a fight also lost by many of the men who like to watch Beth Bennet on Babestation – the sensation like the disembodied pleasure of a wet dream. He hoped to god he didn’t short anything out. He knew she was coming, whoever she was, wherever she was, but he didn’t stop spanking her until the room blinked and faded to milky white.

Wetness trickled down his thigh.

For a moment, nothing was real except the helmet and the mess in his lap. His cock shrank stickily out of its techno-cunt. He dabbed at the semen with the edge of his robe, dazed by what he’d just experienced.

Time passed, what seemed like half an hour went by before he heard his tester enter the room. She unfastened the helmet and lifted it off him. His eyes struggled to grasp the real world in front of him. The tester seemed almost two-dimensional in the dim room but her face flushed red and her eyes stared wide.

“Look, I’m sorry… I hope I didn’t break anything,” he started.

“No, no. It’s okay. Really,” she helped him stand and took the robe off him. As she removed the sensors, her fingers seemed to stray a little more than they needed to and when she came to the straps that held the cock sheath in place, she hesitated a moment before she touched him.

She slipped the device off and laid it aside. He considered offering to clean it up for her but before he could speak, she stroked his shrunken cock, pausing to smear a slippery circle around the tip.

“Listen,” she said and he recognized the inflection of the word. Justine. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? But I’m not a Psych student. My friend let me come in here to work tonight because I begged her. I just wanted to see what it was like, and … wow.”

“Do I still get credit?” he asked.

She nodded, but he wasn’t sure she had really heard him. “I have to ask you something.”


“Can we go out sometime?”

Copyright 2010 Angela Caperton. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or partwithout written permission from the author.

Goodbye 2012 – Hello 2013

2012 comes to a close in just a few hours, and a new year starts.  2012 was not an outstanding year for me. In many ways it seems to have passed in a blur of mundane activities.  I find myself looking back with some regret, mostly that I wish I had not let a variety of life irritations interfere with the momentum of my writing.  I did write some stories that satisfied me in 2012, but I feel like I should have done more.  I look at my files of partially completed manuscripts and wince at the possibilities put on pause.

But this is it – I am done beating myself up over not spending more time at the keyboard, of leaving so many worlds and words frozen like ants in amber.

Tonight is a night to celebrate the triumphs, to take them and let them feed a rededication to my craft.  I did have some successes this year.  I had several short stories published and had one of my favorites turned into a audio podcast over at Nobilis Erotica with the lovely voice of Rose Caraway giving my story “Tourist” life. My erotic superhero short story “Lawman” was chosen to appear in Circlet’s best of print collection Fantastic Erotica.  I was honored to have stories in collections edited by Delilah Devlin, Kristine Wright, Rachel Kramer Bussel, D.L. King and Maxim Jakubowski.  eXtasy books, Xcite books, Seal Press and Renaissance eBooks published some of my work as well, and I was thrilled to have a couple of my older stories reissued by new publishers.

So 2013 starts with a flurry of successes including the two stories that Maxim Jakubowski selected for his Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 11 (available January 1) – “The Boiling Sea” and “Barnacle Bill.”  I am delighted that “The Boiling Sea” is the lead story in this year’s collection.  Also, two of my quickie shorts will appear in Maxim’s collection due out in the spring.

Other successes conceived in 2012 will be given life in 2013 – another audio version of one of my popular short stories and other works that I am determined to finish up and send out into the world.

In a few hours I will enjoy some champagne, the company of good friends and family, and I will bid farewell to 2012 and welcome 2013, embracing the possibilities and adventures that can only be born through will and a creative heart.  I hope your New Year’s Eve is filled with laughter, good company and most of all, I hope it is safe.

All the best for a bright New Year.  Life is sexy – live it.

Return to the Dark Century – 2010 – Let Me In

2010 continued our collective journey through the financial crisis, and while our politicians ratcheted up the rhetoric and demonstrated a shortage of leadership, the American people tried to rise out of the muck and remake themselves.  It only seems fitting that horror movies also seemed to find meaning in remakes.  Breck Eisner took on the George Romero classic The Crazies, Samuel Bayer raided Wes Craven’s closet and remade Nightmare on Elm Street, Joe Johnson cast Benicio Del Toro as The Wolfman, and Steven Monroe remade Meir Zarchi’s I Spit on Your Grave.  Besides being noted for the remakes, 2010 gave us Cropsey, a creepy documentary by two filmmakers exploring the urban legend of their youth, Splice fed our need for a genetics-gone-wrong story, and Paul Bettany played a sexy fallen angel trying to prevent the End of Days in Legion.

But it was the remake of the amazing Swedish horror film Let the Right One In that hands down won our 2010 race for best horror film.

We approached Let Me In skeptically. As mentioned in our 2008 post, Let the Right One In left an indelible mark on our expectations not only for vampire films, but for horror films as a whole.  Combine that with our lack of faith that such a rich story could be transplanted without killing the roots, and we feared the worst.  Obviously, we were pleasantly surprised by this high profile production from the reborn Hammer studios.  Let Me In moved the story from Stockholm, Sweden to Los Alamos, New Mexico, but still did a wonderful job of making the girl vampire Abby, both sympathetic and terrifying.  The chemistry between actress Chloë Grace Moretz and actor Kodi Smit-McPhee rivaled that of their Swedish counterparts (Lina Leadnersson and Kåre Hedebrant) and gives this movie an amazing tension. Outcast and bullied Owen befriends Abby at night in a local playground, and eventually he learns her true nature. Let Me In reminds us that vampires are terrifying creatures, predators of the first order, and even though Abby appears as an “adolescent” and is in need of a guardian, she is a monster.  The relationship between Owen and Abby has a sexual charge, but it is subtle and sweet, and has more to do with mutual understanding and respect than sex.

Another surprise of Let Me In was Richard Jenkins as Father, Abby’s guardian, and in some ways, her prisoner.  His performance does an amazing job of portraying his devotion to Abby, but also his jealousy as Abby and Owen grow closer. His unwavering loyalty is tested and tortured as he tries to provide for his charge, and his inevitable end leaves Abby vulnerable.

Let Me In beat the odds by staying remarkably true to Let the Right One In, and it paid off.  This remake won several awards including Best Horror Film and Best Performance by a Younger Actor (Chloë Grace Moretz) from the Academy of Science Fiction, Fantasy and Horror Films.  There is no doubt this film qualifies as a new classic horror film and redeems the vampire as an object of smart horror.

Return to the Dark Century- 2009 – Trick r’ Treat

So, 2009…

As noted, it’s hard to say anything meaningful about a year so recently passed, but it’s safe to say that not many historians will view 2009 as one of the world’s great years. Wars and rumors of war; the continuing unraveling of national and international economies; earthquakes and hurricanes. Michael Jackson died, but shallow celebrity culture lived on!

In horror films, the year was not as rich as 2008, but then few years are. Torture porn lurched forward on a hundred legs with the dreadful The Human Centipede (First Sequence), which reduced the unspeakable to ironic posturing. Lars von Trier’s Antichrist gave us a front row seat at a personal Gnostic apocalypse that may have done the best job of capturing the world’s mood in this dark year, but ultimately felt unsatisfying as a narrative. Bad sequels (Cabin Fever 2) and stupid re-makes (Friday the 13th and The Haunting) captured the quality of most of the year’s offerings.   Zombieland was hugely popular, but we found it un-engaging and painfully self-conscious. Close contenders for favorite of the year included Pontypool (which I inadvertently listed in 2008) and Wake Wood, a scary, low-key tale from Hammer.

But our pick is a brilliant little gem that was released, almost accidentally, in 2009. Trick ‘r Treat, written and directed by Michael Dougherty, is well on its way to becoming a holiday classic! A brilliantly woven web of stories, Trick r’ Treat reminds us that humor and horror can still be effectively combined, if the humor is smart. Trick ‘r Treat was intended for release at Halloween in 2007 but Warner’s nerve apparently failed and the movie teetered on the brink of oblivion before finally finding a DTV release in 2009. In the mean time, it had started to pick up a buzz from a few screenings at festivals and underground digital “distribution” and has gained considerably more of a reputation since its release. Any lover of Halloween should see Trick ‘r Treat.

We like this film not only for its sense of humor and clever structure, but for its playful use of Halloween iconography and numerous, often subtle references to horror comics, films, and folk tales. Sometimes compared to John Carpenter’s original Halloween, Trick ‘r Treat is a far more loving and complete tribute to the weird holiday that, above all else, celebrates the power of imagination.

It was easily our favorite horror film from 2009, even if it should have been released in 2007!

Return to the Dark Century – 2008 – The Burrowers

2008 was an election year, which made the year horrible enough all by itself. The US was dealing with potential economic collapse as well as the ongoing threat of terrorism and adjustment to the idea of a more multilateral future in the world. Maybe all that tension is what made it such a fantastic year for horror films.

Of the four years we will be considering, 2008 was by far the most challenging from which to pick a favorite. Apart from traditional movies or DTV productions, 2008 saw a boom in web-based horror with such efforts as Beyond the Rave, an online serial from the newly resurrected Hammer Studios. The burgeoning age of instant media also inspired Cloverfield, a truly innovative take on kaiju stories. From Sweden, Let the Right One In told a new kind of vampire story, and vampires were everywhere in 2008, so this was no mean feat. Zombies were pretty common too, though their numbers would increase in the following years, and no zombie tale was more innovative or entertaining than the Canadian Pontypool.

But our pick was a 100% American film, rooted in the country’s eternal fascination with the epic of westward expansion. “Post-colonial” in every sense of the word, respectful of Native American culture without dancing with wolves, and genuinely horrific, no other fright film in 2008 was quite as effective as The Burrowers.  Directed by rising star J.T. Petty, who may be the smartest horror director currently working, The Burrowers owes debts to John Ford and to countless monster movies from the last half of the 20th Century, while also managing to be spectacularly original. Whether viewed as allegory or as straightforward horror, The Burrowers is relentlessly entertaining, even when it’s hard to watch.

Like Ford’s The Searchers, Petty’s script tells the story of a band of white men in search of a stolen girl, and plays with all the familiar trappings of classic Westerns before turning them inside out like a gutted deer. Making the very best use of a small budget and full of great touches, The Burrowers may be the best horror film of the entire decade. All of Petty’s movies are worth seeking out. His 2001 debut, Soft for Digging, is probably the best horror movie ever made for less than $10,000 (no, that’s not a typo). He has a new film, Hellbenders, which should be out any day now.

Drake and I will be the ones at the head of the line.

Return to the Dark Century

Back in 2008, Drake and I chose our favorite horror movies, beginning with the very dawn of film and coming decade by decade to the present. We thought it would be fun to update that list by looking at the years since then. Our year-by-year list of recent favorites will appear here between now and Halloween.

In some ways, this list will be more of a challenge than the original one. Time gives one perspective and makes it easier to fit a movie into its era. A decade also offers a lot of choices, too many in some cases. Dealing with years as recent as 2008 and 2010 tends to be an exercise in tunnel vision; it is hard to know the characteristics of an age when you are still inside it.

Still, there have been some terrific horror films in the last few years and it’s time to recognize them. In the mean time, I invite any of my readers who want to send any suggestions for movies to consider, just email me at muse @ angelacaperton (dot) com.  You may well steer me to films I don’t know and prizes are a possibility!
Come back on Sunday and see what Drake and I thought was the best of 2008!

Happy Halloween!

Review: Dances of Vice, Horror, & Ecstasy

Dances of Vice, Horror, & Ecstasy
By Anita Berber and Sebastian Droste
Side Real Press
300 copies

Thanks to the wonderful and unique Side Real Press, one of the seminal artifacts of Weimar decadence is back in print after 90 years. I’ve written about Anita Berber here before, but I never expected to see a reprint of her notorious book, Dances of Vice, Horror, & Ecstasy, co-authored with her dancing partner/husband/partner-in-debauchery Sebastian Droste. The original booklet was probably sold at their performances and surviving copies are rare and expensive, if they can be found at all.

Fortunately for anyone with an interest in Ms. Berber, naked dancer and pioneering celebrity bad girl, Side Real has recreated the booklet in a glorious new edition, translated into English by Merrill Cole and including the original photographic and artistic illustrations. Side Real continues to be one of the most interesting small presses, and I am very honored to have been featured in one of their books, Delicate Toxins, a collection of short stories inspired by Hanns Heinz Ewers, notorious author of dark fantasy and horror stories in the decades before World War II. One of Droste’s poems name checks Ewers, so it’s safe to say that Berber and her lover either knew the author or admired his work:

Villiers de l’Isle Adam
Edgar Allan Poe
E. T. A. Hoffman
Hans Heinz Ewers
And 1922
Rooms long left
Suicide, by Sebastian Droste

The poetry is honestly pretty awful stuff, but it may have been effective when recited over two near naked bodies writhing in an Expressionist dance against hallucinatory backdrops. Alas, I don’t think there is much surviving film of Berber and certainly none from the performances where this exceedingly dark little book was offered for sale. We are left to interpret exactly what the  numbers Cocaine or the Byzantine Whip Dance must have looked like.

My favorite part of this delightful little volume is the section of color sketches at the end, showing concepts for sets and costumes. These drawings, even more than the photos of Anita and her grotesque lover, are windows into a world we will never see, but that we can touch in our own flights of erotic imagination.