yes it’s true there are other things i could or should be doing right now but looooooooook aren’t these new DOTTIE covers even better than the old ones? my kindleunlimited reads sure seem to indicate that they are. the cover changes are still flowing through on the Amazon page but why not use this exciting day as an excuse to make sure you’re up to date with this hot series of taboo bdsm erotica that makes 50 Shades of Grey look like Dr. Seuss. we’ve got cannibalism, femdom, findom, foot worship, snuff, guro, extreme consensual torture, a man with a nuclear cock, a cute immortal girl with psychedelic girlmeat, and lots of super inappropriate ddlg ageplay. and that barely even scratches the surface of what these first five episodes contain, baby–all that, and a real plot, too. READ DOTTIE TODAY BY CLICKING HERE OR ON THE AD BELOW!
Buy my debut standalone novel for $9.99 and get it the day it comes out on July 31st, 2020! If that command doesn’t convince you, then maybe these samples will.
By the next evening, the stranger had established her page on the video site. White, unadorned, empty of anything but her account name. Plain as her early set. After careful furniture rearrangement, she’d produced enough space to prop her budget photography screen against the kitchen/not-kitchen partition. There was even space for the lights. More adjustment made room for the camera. The barstool normally at the partition became her seat before the background. They were missing just one thing: after discussion, she took her seat with a hammer in her hand.
“Hello,” she began on his mark, but he immediately stopped the camera.
“You need more energy than that.”
“Yeah. Think about those videos I showed you! These people were all super excited. You need to understand that you’re crafting a character.”
She pondered the head of the hammer. Rust lined the metal edge: the result of a leaky pipe in the last kitchen sink under which it had been stored. Time’s victim. “I’m so detached from myself. How could I come up with a character?”
“Oh, please, you’re the craziest girl I’ve ever met. You mean to say you’re not a character already?” He waved his hand at her. “Tell me what you feel about your situation. Do you like it more or dislike it more?”
“I guess I like it more. I like it a lot more than I dislike it.”
“And what do you like about it?”
“Well…” Her thumb pressed to the jagged texture of rust buildup, almost cuttingly sharp. “I guess it’s an opportunity to feel things. Things nobody else can ever feel.”
“So, you want to enjoy it—I mean, your condition. Your life.” Obviously uncomfortable with the true degree of her sadomasochism, he scratched his cheek before turning back to the camera. “Then I think that’s what you should tap into. If you want people to watch you, be excited about something. People love artists who are passionate about their art… Nobody likes a singer who’s too blasé, not for long.”
“Do people really want to see my passion for self-mutilation?”
“Just roll with it,” he said, adjusting the focus of the camera. “In three, two—”
The most-discussed viral phenomenon over the next few days was not the disease sweeping the globe but a surreal video of a lovely young woman in front of a white screen.
“Hi, everybody!” The woman giggled as if at herself and continued, “I’m the Degenetrix!” She introduced herself as a performance artist living in the city. Fairly close to true, or was about to be. It occurred to the woman only in the first few seconds of filming that this was a whole new medium for her. A massive shift: from making art to becoming art. The assumption of a new identity, “the Degenetrix,” a title suggested by the stranger and immediately embraced like the answer to some riddle.
This realization of new emergence was not apparent in the video’s final cut, where her image was superimposed with the familiar clip of her body smashing against a windshield. “You probably know me from the hit-and-run video that’s been making the rounds! A lot of people have wanted to know about me: Was she in shock? Is she on drugs? Is it a publicity stunt? No! I’m a real person. And what you’re about to see is real, too.”
Once the camera panned to reveal the hammer in her hand, the woman known as the Degenetrix stood up, crossed behind the stool, laid her left hand upon it, and attempted to bring the hammer down with her right.
The first blow made her cry out but was not hard enough to achieve anything stupendous. The second got a knuckle and a “Fuck!” but yielded no satisfying break. “Help me,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Help me, help me, damn you—”
After the shake of the camera upon its tripod resolved to a still frame, the cameraman appeared in the scene to help her. Face obscured by the low angle so all that could be seen was his arm, the man took the hammer and repeatedly brought it to bear upon her fingers.
“Oh, God!” Her screaming pierced the apartment, and she realized at once that this would never fly—they had to get sound-dampening equipment to line her not-kitchen. This was one of a flurry of out-of-place practical thoughts—strange, spontaneous expansions of imagery the way people thought of chores during sex. In the video, she didn’t appear to be thinking about anything: only screaming, profaning, gripping her abused left hand by the wrist to keep it in place while the hammer smashed away.
The man stumbled off frame again. Viewers commented that the sound at time stamp 3:14 was likely the sound of the hammer being dropped. For about thirty seconds, the footage showed only the woman, gasping, weeping, her forehead against the edge of the barstool while she stared through tear-matted eyelashes at the pulp of her hand. Gradually, her crying calmed. The camera shook as it was removed from its tripod and the cameraman’s arc swung wide to reveal bits and pieces of an apartment, lighting equipment—no substantial wires or special effects equipment immediately visible. Only the woman, who, still collapsed against the stool, lifted her head at the camera’s approach and managed a shaky inhalation.
“This is real,” she wetly emphasized, reaching off-screen for a paper towel she used to blot blood from her bruised hand. “This is a magic trick. I’m a performance artist. But this is real.”
The camera zoomed in on her cleaned hand. Crumpled fingers snapped back into place as if the woman were a blow-up doll expanding into shape. By the time ninety seconds had passed, the woman’s hand was healed. The camera panned over the breadth of her grin, eyes bright and cheeks flushed as if by postcoital ecstasy.
“If you want to see more, be sure to like this video, leave a comment, and subscribe to the channel. See you next time!”
One last shot of her waving her broken hand: an auto-suggestion from the website’s algorithm that viewers might also enjoy this clip of a man falling from a ladder and smashing his head on his driveway.
-END OF SAMPLE-
IF YOU ENJOYED THIS, YOU MIGHT ALSO ENJOY…
pre-order industrial divinity, my standalone transgressive fiction debut! i’m thrilled to finally share this novel with you and am eternally grateful to nuno moreira for his cover, as well as editor michelle hope for her keen eye–and for her generous willingness to forego the proceeds of the editing process in exchange for donating it directly to several charities. and i guess m.f. sullivan deserves a little credit for the typesetting. 😉 anyway check this new release out. this one is for fans of chuck palahniuk, j.g. ballard, hubert selby jr., ryu murakami, chandler morrison, and anybody who generally likes splatterpunk, transgressive or bizarro fiction. fans of dottie for you are also particularly urged to check out industrial divinity.
Once upon a time lived a woman who was immortal but not invulnerable. This is the story of everything that happened after she discovered that fact. This is the story of a virus. It is the story of a country that is afraid of change. This is the story of a woman who becomes a sadomasochistic performance artist called “The Degenetrix” during a time when the human race is more isolated than ever before.
This is the story of the Degenetrix and the career she built by mutilating herself on the Internet for the pleasure of strangers, of stalkers, and of a mysterious benefactor who showers her with wealth but refuses to reveal his identity. This is the story of love during pandemic, of alienation in an alienated world. This is the story of pain and of lust and of the human mind.
But don’t worry. This is a happy story, and you are permitted to feel happy while you read it. Empathy is the greatest of all human virtues and the human race has been put on this planet called “Earth” so as to learn it.
Such is the will of spider-mother.
DOTTIE FOR YOU Episode 2: DOTTIE CAN’T DIE, is out today! if you thought Episode 1 didn’t have enough ageplay, spanking, anal sex, corpse dismemberment, consensual cannibalism, necrophilia, and steaming hot dysfunctional psycho romance, rest assured DOTTIE FOR YOU Episode 2: DOTTIE CAN’T DIE will satisfy your perverse cravings. best of all, this episode is novella-length, as are most DOTTIE episodes i am writing now and will be writing in the future.
we all know deep down inside we have the capacity to be just as depraved as harold fleetwood. it’s why we read the marquis de sade, the degenerate fairy godfather of this surreal sci-fi romance. let DOTTIE prove you love it, baby. buy episode 2 of the series i can’t believe painted blue publishing is letting me publish here! while you’re tooling around check out the back matter for episode 3 and 4, available for pre-order on the amazon series page.
oh, and if you’re a really sick, sick pervert (u know, my favorite kind) be absolutely sure to stick around after for instructions on how to get the first short episode of DOTTIE AFTER DARK, the DOTTIE side series full of sequences too depraved to publish on amazon. stay tuned for information on how to acquire future DOTTIE AFTER DARK secret episodes.
DOTTIE FOR YOU EPISODE 2: DOTTIE CAN’T DIE
For a man with a lot of money and a depraved imagination, Harold Fleetwood has never dreamed of anybody like Dottie. Young, beautiful, talented, charming, the captivating office secretary who moonlights as a guro artist speaks to his very soul. Better still, her magical abilities are out of this world. After visiting her home for an intense evening of pleasure with his fellow Dolcett aficionado, Harold has learned something very vital: he’s learned DOTTIE CAN’T DIE.
But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t leave a corpse when her pulse is stopped. The first question in the aftermath of this strange discovery is the issue of what to do with the dead body…and given their mutual taboo proclivities, the solution may be simple enough.
Setting aside their devouring passions, however, the real question is: where the devil do they go from here?
This serialized work of transgressive horrotica explores concepts that some readers may find disturbing. Discretion is strongly advised.
Harold loves Dottie. Dottie loves Harold. Dottie and Harold both love Dolcett. Welcome to the first entry in a flavorful billionaire love story like you’ve never read before: American Psycho meets Helpful Fox Senko-San on a bad acid trip. (And for the blog reader: check the Spotify playlist to your left to see what I’m listening to while I work on this series!)
Harold Fleetwood is pathetic. Despite being the billionaire CEO of a major Fortune 500 company, he’s a divorcé in his mid-fifties who can hardly bear to look a woman in the eye. His dark compulsions and sick fantasies fill him with shame and leave the Internet as his only outlet, not just for titillation, but for intimacy–until the day he discovers bratty Dottie Shipman, the sexiest secretary in the office, has a dirty little secret she’s been hiding.
Turns out, Dottie is as intrigued by taboo fantasies as Harold. Not only that, but she’s the artist he’s spent countless hours fantasizing with while wasting time in his filthy-minded chat room for fellow lonely perverts. He’s terrified, and thrilled. After all these years of hiding his intense, twisted desires from everyone except the prostitutes he employs, sharing himself with this almost too-perfect woman seems like a recipe for deadly consequences from which no amount of money can save him.
Luckily for Harold, though, Dottie’s got another secret. An unbelievable secret. A secret that’s destined to change everything.
This work of transgressive horrotica of consensual cannibalism explores many concepts that some readers may find disturbing. Discretion is strongly advised.