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Dr. Mabeuse is a frequent contributor to Literotica.com and an active participant in its story review and author forums. Click here for free, privacy-protected access to the Doctor’s dozens of short stories, novellas and erotic poems. Or begin with a selection of the author’s own recommendations by following the links below.

‘Gender Issues’ is a 2006 winner of Literotica’s Readers’ Choice award and a finalist for “Most Original Sex Scene.” A man at a costume party is seduced by a woman dressed as a man. Then things get complicated. Excerpt:

"That's a nice costume," I said. "Who're you supposed to be?"

"No one special. Just some guy. A man. Who are you supposed to be?"

I laughed. "The same, I guess. Just a man. And that's all? Just a guy?"

"That's enough, isn't it? It's part of my New Year's resolutions. I'm going to spend this year as a man. I want to see how the other half lives."

"And how's it going so far?"

A smile lifted one corner of her mouth. "It's easier than I thought. You just have to be nasty with the girls and rude to the other men, and everything seems to work out fine."

I laughed again. She was doing things with that cigar that made thinking difficult, and she knew it.

"Sounds like you've learned our secrets," I said." But wait till you try and get someone to go home with you. That's the hard part."

She put her head back and blew another stream of smoke at the ceiling. She had a dancer's neck, and the grace to go with it, and I wondered if Ilene had been right about her working behind the curtain. She obviously loved the spotlight. "That shouldn't be a problem. The girls are crazy for me."

"And is that what you want?"

"It's a possibility." She tilted her head and looked at me as the lights from the disco ball streamed over her mask. "Unless something better comes along."


She was playing with me but I didn't mind it from her. Not a bit.

"Pardon me for prying," I said. "But are you gay? I mean, it would be good to know before I really get involved."

"Oh? Are you planning on getting involved?" Another smile, another slow, plume of smoke swirling in the air like cream in black coffee. "A gentleman never tells," she said, closing those long lashes in false modesty.



To read all of 'Gender Issues,' click here.





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Matt Danger, Bondage Detective, wasn’t always the hotshot star of his own novel (‘Bound Angel’). He got his start in ‘Hard Boiled Dick,’ in which a good girl gone bad crosses a man who ties a mean knot. Excerpt:

She’d tried to play him for a fool, a stooge, in a game that was way out of her league, that she’d had no business playing in the first place.

But she had played. Too bad for her, she’d lost.

Now he held the all the cards, and she was in no position to bargain, no position at all. As far as Matt was concerned, there was only one thing she had that he wanted, and he was looking at it right now, deciding how much he wanted to take, and how he wanted to take it.

The tune was over, and the piper was standing with his hand out. Time to pay.

He went back to his desk drawer and pulled out a mare’s nest of ropes and shackles. He untangled some thick nylon rope and went to her chair, passed it beneath her arms and pulled, forcing her elbows together and making her breasts protrude and flatten against the fabric of her silk blouse.

“Matt, what are you doing? Don’t! I beg you! We can work something out! If you’ve got the Frog, there’s enough there for both of us! Matt, tell me what you want. I’ll do anything!”

“You know I might just take you up on that, darling! I think we both know that you’ve got it coming! And is that what you offered Niles? Did you use your body on him as well? I’ll bet he was an easier sell than me. Niles always was a sucker for a nice piece of tail. I’m a little more…discriminating.”



To read all of ‘Hard Boiled Dick,’ click here.





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In ‘Santa, Jesus, Rachel and Me,’ a writer embarks on a whimsical journey and receives a rare gift: a chance to revisit past loves, heal old regrets, and burn away loneliness in the arms of the fantasy lover who embodies his best memories. Excerpt:

We're selfish to join; selfish to give to each other and to take, selfish to push each other into that dark pleasure of orgasm. Her skin is so soft and she's so willing; she feeds my hunger with her kisses and her cries. What feels good to me feels good to her. It's the secret of love: that pleasing her is my only pleasure, that every thing I do for myself is good for her as well, and we strive against each other now, two people in the dark of Christmas eve in this lonely bed, bodies entwined, hunting for that savage beauty that's the only cure for loneliness we know, brief, but brilliant with light, and as she comes her body convulses against me in helpless surrender, pushing itself onto my punishing cock as I grit my teeth and wail. My hot seed gushes into her as I hold her as tightly as I can, as if holding her I hold this moment against me as well, welded together in the heat of orgasmic release.

Hold her. Hold her as if that keeps the night away, as if that keeps the cold from entering…



To read all of ‘Santa, Jesus, Rachel and Me,’ click here.





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‘The Pillar in the Garden’ is erotica that defies categorization. Originally written for Literotica’s annual Earth Day story competition, it celebrates the sexual energy and sensuality of all creation. It’s also a hot read. Excerpt:

The fool sees only the fuck. The complete man sees the currents of the universe, the slow, thick energies of the natural world, mute but inevitable in their urgency. You feel her calm accepting breath on your chest, warm with her sighing, languorous pleasure, the slow patient workings of her beautiful animal thighs. She stretches out in time and enjoys your enjoyment of her. She knows she's beautiful when you're inside her: the mystery of the moon, the glory of the sun, the freshness of the rain on your parched and hungry land.

"What are you doing?" she asks me with her little girl lilt.

"Looking at you. Studying you."

She is sitting in a wooden chair as I kneel at her feet. Her thighs are spread at my insistence and my chin rests on the seat of the chair, so close that she feels the breath of my nostrils in her pubic hair. She's amused at how serious I am, and she's getting embarrassed and uneasy.

Her labia are two folded mountain ranges, critical foothills that signal a profound topographical change. From here on, everything changes.



To read all of ‘The Pillar in the Garden,’ click here.





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‘The Moth’s Song’ is erotic horror that flutters around the porch light long after you’ve finished reading. It’s also an unexpected and thoroughly haunting love story – for readers with the courage to look beyond the “blind, faceted eyes” and “twitchy, sucking mouths.”

I should have stayed in bed. Everything told me to stay in bed, but the same time something made me get up. I swept the sheets off me and got to my feet. The shadows of the moths on the windows showed a sudden trembling agitation. I put on my pants and went to the door and opened it.

Moonlight in the empty hallway, the moving shadows of the moths made giant on the walls; the moving shadows of leaves on the trees. Now the creaking of the bed stopped, to be replaced by another sound, a kind of scrabbling sound of something hard scurrying or clawing against the polished wood floor. Then that soft, spluttering explosion of moth song again, like puffs of air against my skin, like dry bubbles somewhere in my chest.

I already knew what was happening. I don't know how I knew, but I knew without looking, yet still I had to look. I tiptoed out into the hallway, keeping near the wall so the floorboards wouldn't creak. Their bedroom was just down the way; the door stood ajar, moonlit darkness beyond it. Somehow I already knew what I'd see.

The room was filled with moving shadows and when I pushed the door open there was a violent flurry as its wings began to beat.



To read all of The Moth’s Song, click here.





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With ‘Game of Chance,’ the author took a chance by choosing a darker path than the one he had intended. Readers expecting an erotic romance are cautioned that ‘Game of Chance’ is something else: disturbing, controversial, unforgettable.

I won a hand, a big one, and Alena got up and walked over to the bar rather than see me scoop up all those bills. As tired and exhausted as Bogdan was, he was still a hustler and not too far gone to miss a last chance, and not above grabbing for it. He caught me glancing at her and said, "She's nice, huh?"

I looked at him and he grinned. "I'm not so dumb. I know what I see. You like her, huh? She likes you too. Give me 500 euros and we'll play for the rest, your money against my wife."

Josh was back at the room asleep. Dimmy was passed out again in his chair. Bogdan sat there grinning at me. It was a hateful sight.

"I don't think so," I said. "Cut the cards."

"I'm serious. We'll play for her."

"Maybe you should ask her what she thinks," I said.

Bogdan put his glasses up on his head so I could see his red and watery eyes. "She'll do what I say. I've been watching you two. Give me 500 e's credit and we'll play for her. You clean me out, you get her for a night. I win, then we're friends again."

"Bullshit."

His smile broadened. "This isn't Wisconsin, my friend. She'll do what I tell her to. Now what do you say? She's as good as she looks."

"You're slime," I said.

He shrugged and lowered his glasses. "You are too, my friend."



To read all of ‘Game of Chance,’ click here.

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