Author Archives: Jack Stratton
She missed his wall; his hall. That place he always threw her against when she came into his apartment.
She missed feeling small and afraid. She’d grown up too much, become too jaded, too brave to feel so little.
She missed the anxiety and hunger she felt walking down his block. She missed his pretty cock. She missed the fear that was particular to being in his elevator.
The fear wasn’t about what he’d do to her, she knew he would hurt her and fuck her and use her like a doll. The fear was that she wouldn’t be good enough, tough enough, pretty enough.
He sliced the exotic fruit with a huge knife on the perfect cutting board. Furry greenish gray splitting to show vivid green and neat circles of black seeds.
She sipped her coffee and watched him with annoyance. There was some kind of distracting formality he put into things that should be simple, like cutting up fruit. It was one of the million things that once seemed charming, but now annoyed the shit out of her.
She couldn’t watch any more as he took his oh-so-sharp knife and pealed the fur off of the thing. She went into the bathroom to finish putting on her makeup.
As some of you may be aware, there has been a bit of a brouhaha in the ebook world. Kobo, an ebook distributor, recently pulled all self-published work in hopes of purging works they deem unsavory. Amazon, as well as Barnes & Noble and practically all other ebook distributors, has done the same thing. Another distributor, WHSmith, took their entire site offline.
About five of my books have been taken off the market by Amazon and I’m not sure they will return. They all skirt the edge of what Amazon and the others are trying to remove, edgy erotica with incest/roleplay and age play themes.
Name: Jack Stratton
Twitter ID: @writingdirty
Where in the world are you?
New York City, New York, USA
What brings you to Eroticon USA?
I’m giving a talk on self publishing, plus I’m excited to be part of an erotica conference!
What are you looking forward to most about Eroticon USA?
I can’t wait to meet other writers, since I’ve really only been exposed to the New York City writing scene. As well, it will be lovely to finally meet Ruby Kiddell and the others I have followed on twitter and on their blogs and to see the charming Harpor Elliot again.
I looked down at my phone for the hundredth time, then up at the train as it chugged back into its underground tunnel. People rushed to leave and in moments I was alone on the platform, turned on and scared.
“Take the L train to Lorimer, get out and walk two blocks west…” the instructions started.
I got out of the subway station, looking around the foreign streets of Williamsburg or Greenpoint, I wasn’t sure which. There seemed to be nothing but bars, pizza places, and trendy little boutiques.
There was a peace in the courtyard of the hotel that he thought was gone from the world. A good strong pot of coffee wordlessly placed on his table, fresh fruit and fresh croissants, pristine white tablecloths under wide cerulean umbrellas which were in turn under a wide and cloudless azure sky.
He took his breakfast there every morning and between sips of coffee closed his eyes and listened for the not too distant sounds of the river. Waves lapping ancient stone bridges, the lonely cries of sea birds.
Due to a few serendipitous and some sad but inevitable happenings I have been given the opportunity to spend the Summer writing and traveling.
I’ve been working on a number of non-erotic writings and taking part in a 10-week writing workshop at Gotham. I’m also going to spending all of August in Europe!
August 4- 8th – Prague, The Czech Republic
August 8- 10th – Vienna, Austria
August 10- 14th – Budapest, Hungary
August 15- 28th – London, United Kingdom
August 29- September 8th – Various cities in Italy
“Promise?” she whispered.
Her pink t-shirt was pulled up, as was her bra. Her thick black rimmed glasses were almost falling off and her bangs were in her eyes. Her breasts were big, pert, the imprint of the lace of her bra left pink and red patterns on the soft skin. Their eyes locked and she squeezed one breasts hard as her hips swayed. Her eyes were thickly rimmed around with black makeup and the corner of one eye was smeared.
She was straddling his legs as he laid back on the couch. She moved one hand down and grasped his cock again, biting her lip as she played with it.
Welcome to Writing Dirty, a collection of the works of Jack Stratton.
A warning: the stories within often contain graphic depictions of sex and BDSM.
The easiest way to navigate this site is to take a look at the table of contents. If you are looking for some highlights, some of my most popular stories are The Wrong Smith Girl, The Secret I Couldn’t Keep, and Ménage à Text.
Some personal favorites are Knowledge Base – a Sherlock Holmes tale, Wake Up – an example of a particular fetish of mine, and the Mister McIntyle’s Secret series – a Mad Men-esque tale of a secretary who will do anything for her handsome boss.
Winifred stood proudly in the gray light of dawn. A hair over five feet tall, seven stone, and barely nineteen years old, she was stark naked save a pair of Jack’s childhood hunting boots and a bright red fox hat, its tail flapping in the wind. She blushed down to her navel and her green eyes burned with fear and excitement.
Jack and the others watched her stand there, her cream skin with nary a blemish nor a freckle was sheened with morning dew. Her smallish breasts were high and pert, the curve of her bottom seemed to jut out at a lurid angle. Her chest heaved and her heart raced from the shame of being naked, the joy of being the savior of the foxes and, if Jack guessed correctly, the wicked thrill of being wildly bad.
To call him handsome was a misnomer; he was pretty. A delicate face, a somewhat chiseled chin, warm brown eyes, always clean shaven and looking slightly younger than his twenty-something years. He had the grace of an old time actor. Cary Grant in leather pants.
The room was large, low ceilinged, all black and red in some budget approximation of chinoiserie. Black lacquered chairs and overstuffed embroidered couches. Gold dragons on the walls and paper lantern hanging from the ceiling.
The crowd was riding the line between a kink party and sex party. As I walked around and eyed the pretty boy it struck me that we’d all become disconnected from the vanilla world. As I watched friends kiss and play kinky games and fuck out in the open, I thought how normal it all seemed to me and how shocking it might be to someone else.
Somewhere in between dreams I heard the shower start.
Opening my eyes some time later I found myself bathed in gray light coming through white linen curtains. Then I watched the naked legs of a woman in a towel walking back and forth in front of me as I laid on my side trying to decide whether I was awake or not. Occasionally those legs were followed by a nervous black cat who batted at the towel.
There were the distant smells of soap, shampoo, perfume, and all those sweet feminine scents I associated with her.
A mysterious magician comes to the sleepy New England town of Latham. He’s looking for a new assistant for his stage act and he’s set his sights on Penny, a beautiful young redhead who works at the local paper. Is the Astonishing Asmirac all he seems? What secrets lie in his travelling magic show? Why is Penny so drawn to the gleam of his lovely pocket watch?
Excerpt: Continue reading
The Valet is a collection of three inspired and exciting erotic novellas. The first is the tale of a dedicated valet doing his best to attend to the needs of his employer’s guest. In the Park is the story of a young woman’s fascination with a Frenchmen she meets in the park. Let Go is about two coworkers who find a cure for the tension of a rough day in the office.
Excerpt from The Valet: Continue reading
Excerpt: Continue reading