Arcadia Berger


Masked Passions Special -- Free Issue!

Masked Passions Special
Oktobriana, Wonderman
and Wonderdog
Copyright 2014 By Arcadia Berger

The World of Masked Passions
They have always been among us, or so they say.  They were only shadowy figures, though, until a few years ago, when they began to appear more openly.
Not too openly: they still keep their secrets, covering their faces and using names and costumes out of history and legend (if there is any difference).  Some of them claim to actually be the people whose names they use, having stepped out of the mists no older than they were decades or centuries before.  Nobody knows quite what to make of claims like those, and the masked ones will only speak in contradictory hints and riddles.
So now we must try to share our world with people like the Black Terror, the Blue Beetle, Phantom Lady, Iron Jaw, Hercules, the Claw, Sir Parsifal, Sheena, Dracula and Captain Nemo.
Even Nature itself seems to have been affected:  the forests are yielding up their Sasquatch, the  seas are revealing their monsters, and planets which had appeared barren now radiate signals, and perhaps even spacecraft.
The world is a more colorful place than it was a few years ago.  More colorful, more dangerous, perhaps literally more mythic, with the masked ones moving among us.  Some people would like to find a way to go back to the old days, while others find more beauty and more hope in the new state of affairs.
But whether we like it or not, we ordinary mortals must acknowledge that in many ways the world belongs to the masked ones, and we are only living in it.  They set the agenda with their masked faces, their masked powers and their masked passions.

Brad Spencer, known to the world as Wonderman, lay on a large circular bed, his wrists and ankles bound with manacles and chains of the strongest alloys known -- alloys he had devised himself, as he had so many things.
His iconic green and red costume was draped over a nearby chair, as though to mock him.
A woman climbed onto the bed, after making sure the restraints were properly in place.
“Okay, stud,” she whispered, “let’s see what you’ve got.”
She rubbed her vulva across his chest and abdomen.  His steel-hard flesh was covered with smooth, unblemished, bulletproof skin.  When she had aroused herself sufficiently, she raised herself up and slowly lowered herself onto his erect penis.
“Mmmmm, that feels good, Brad.  How does it feel to you?”
“Exquisite, darling.  My tactile nerves process sensation sixty times faster than a normal person’s, so when I put my entire attention on my penis, it’s --“
“Don’t put your entire attention on your penis, darling,” she said, running her hands over his belly and chest, smiling as she felt his nipples stiffen.
It wasn’t a totally satisfactory solution to the problem of how they could make love without him hurting her, but it wasn’t bad.  Not bad at all.
Carol Paige was straightening the living room when Oktobriana arrived unannounced.  The Wonderlab’s voice came from a speaker, informing her that the Vacuum Spiral was warming up, and a visitor from Earth was imminent.  Since Wonderman was on Ceres, she knew it wasn’t her husband.  But it had to be someone who had permission to enter one of Wonderman’s laboratories or business offices on Earth’s surface, and therefore was presumably a friend -- at least, a friend of Wonderman’s.
Carol looked down at her embroidered silk lounging pajamas and decided they would do for company.  She crossed the large open space at the center of the Wonderlab, walking around the various workbenches and experimental devices her husband was always working on, to reach the location of the Vacuum Spiral. When she had first moved into the Wonderlab full time, Carol had thought it was going to be her ideal home: all cleaning and cooking handled automatically, no need for her to ever take on the role of “housewife”, which she had been dreading since before puberty.  She was not pleased with Brad’s careless attitude towards creating a liveable environment, though.  He had installed a large double bed to supplement the cots which were scattered here and there about the Wonderlab, but Carol had informed him that one bed and a chamber scarcely big enough to hold it would not suffice.  He had grumbled at the inconvenience but had added an entire apartment to the Wonderlab.  She’d made it a space she was comfortable in, one where she would feel capable of raising their children, which she hoped to persuade him they should have sooner rather than later.
The Vacuum Spiral’s target platform filled with a dazzling white spindle-shaped electrical discharge which dissipated to reveal a very tall, very muscular woman in a snakeskin-print halter top and red stretchpants so tight it was obvious she wore nothing under them.  By the woman’s immense head of blonde hair and the red star on her forehead, Carol knew her for Oktobriana, a Russian superhuman Brad had worked alongside in the past.  Carol was surprised, but glad of the opportunity.  There were things she needed very much to discuss with Oktobriana.
.”Ah, hello, Carol,” the woman said in heavily accented English.  “So good to see you.  And, is Bradley here?”
“Not by a couple of AUs.  Is there something I can help with?”
“I, er, doubt it,” the Russian said with a quirky smile.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here anyway, because we need to talk.”
She laughed.
“Is that like in the story where the man has a dream, that he lives in a palace?  You know, and in every room is a different beautiful woman, and every one of them is saying, ‘We need to talk’, ‘We need to talk’, ‘We need to talk’ . . . ?”
“Rather a lot like, as it happens.  So, how about if we sit down and have some coffee and discuss a few things?”
They went into the apartment, into the kitchen unit.  Carol spoke to the Wonderstove.  She had programmed it to only respond to commands in Esperanto, to avoid accidental orders if it overheard a conversation in English.
“Mirigas forno, komando!”
“Kio estas via celo, sinjorino?”
“Duobla - kafeino Mocha.”
She started to ask Oktobriana what she wanted, but the Russian just rattled off “Teo, Samovar-stilo.”  Apparently, she was quite familiar with how Brad’s food synthesizer worked.
They sat down at the kitchen table as though they were old friends, but the tension in the air was palpable.
“So, Carol, I suppose you are going to ask me if Bradley and I are lovers.”
Carol didn’t respond visibly.
“No, because I already know you’re sleeping with my husband.”
Oktobriana reached out to touch Carol’s hand.  Carol withdrew hers, avoiding her touch.
“Carol, I hope you understand why this is necessary.”
“Yes.  Bradley is a being more than human.  An ordinary mortal cannot be his lover in full.”
“You mean, because he has to restrain himself to avoid hurting me?”
Sometimes literally, Carol though, remembering Brad’s installing of chains and cuffs in their bed.
“Exactly.  And it is not merely his strength which separates you from him.  There are his senses, and his reflexes.”
Oktobriana’s hand suddenly darted into the air above the table.  She held out her hand, showing that she had caught a fly, alive and unharmed, out of the air.  She folded the fly into her napkin and crushed it.
The Russian looked around the kitchen, maintained by automated systems in a condition which was not merely spotless, but as sterile as an operating theater.
“I suppose the fly wandered into the Vacuum Spiral while I was using it.  My apologies.  A good thing I was not merged with it, like in the movies, eh?”
She laughed.  Carol did not.
Damn, did she actually carry a live fly with her and release it, just to show off to me? Carol thought.  I think she did.
“So you see, although I know Bradley loves you, he also needs a woman like me to feel truly satisfied.  You do see that, don’t you Carol?”
There was a deep thudding from the next room.  In the rest of the Wonderlab, it would have been a clattering like hobnailed boots, but the living area was carpeted throughout.  Oktobriana must have thought it was Brad, because her face lit up and she spun around.  It was gratifying to Carol to see how her jaw dropped when she saw the hundred-kilogram beast.
The dog looked like he must have German Shepherd in his ancestry, and Husky, and probably a good deal of wolf.  He was twice the size of a normal dog, weighing as much as a large man.  His eyes were yellow and suggested an intelligence which was at least human.
His teeth were bared in a way that suggested he was grinning, and perhaps he was -- it was clear that this was no ordinary animal.  Last of all, Oktobriana noticed his green collar, from which dangled a tag in the form of a yellow oval with a broad red “W” on it.  Wonderman’s own emblem.
Brad Spencer still insisted in public that the treatment which had given him the powers which inspired him to call himself Wonderman had occurred by accident, when a “sizzling voltage of a secret current” had gone through his body.  The truth was, he hadn’t wanted to admit he had been experimenting recklessly on himself, after only one successful animal test.
“What is that thing?” Oktobriana said, bracing herself as though she thought the immense dog might attack her.
“Brad always calls him ‘Wonderdog’.  You may have noticed that he’s fond of names like that.  I call him Rexie, and he seems to prefer it.”
The dog moved closer, sniffing.  He didn’t seem to be hostile, merely very curious.
“Well, I . . . do not prefer him.  Please send him away, Carol.”
Oktobriana was backed up in her chair, doing everything but hide behind it, while the dog continued to sniff at her, ignoring her efforts to push him away.
Carol watched, amused by how the dog seemed to overawe the arrogant superwoman.
“I’m afraid I can’t control him very well.  You can see how strong he is, and he doesn’t really mind me, only Brad.”
That was a lie, but there was no need to tell Oktobriana that she could dismiss him with a word or two.  The Russian had abandoned her chair and actually was cowering behind it, for all the good it did her.  The dog lunged around the chair and got the waistband of her stretchpants in his teeth.
“Carol, radi Boga, get him away from me!”
Before Carol could answer, Oktobriana’s waistband tore.  That was pretty impressive, given that they were Ultralon, which was supposed to be knifeproof and almost bulletproof.  Her pants tangled around her knees, causing her to fall to all fours.
Now Rexie had full access to the thing that smelled so good, and he took full advantage.  Oktobriana yipped when she felt his cold nose, then screeched when she felt his tongue.
Interesting, Carol thought, watching the proceedings.  Rexie has never shown that kind of interest in my pussy, only the occasional sniff any dog might take.  He seems to have found something downright fascinating between Oktobriana’s legs, though.  I guess she really does have something special to offer.
She backed over to the Wonderstove, not wanting to miss a moment of the scene, and said, “Mirigas forno, grandan glason da ruĝa vino.”
Rexie was lapping eagerly at Oktobriana’s crotch, showing no sign of slowing.  The Russian didn’t seem to be trying very hard to rise to her feet any longer, being seemingly mesmerized by the Wonderdog’s tongue.
“Mirigas laboratorio, komando!” Carol shouted.  The Wonderlab’s main computer responded to the Esperanto codephrase, saying in a soft genderless voice, “Kion vi volas, sinjorino?”
She commanded the computer to transfer all security video since the last activation of the Vacuum Spiral to her personal files, under the name ‘Oktobriana 01”, to remove said security video from the security video log, and to continue transferring and deleting said video until further notice.
“Mi obeas, sinjorino.”
Carol sipped her wine, watching how Oktobriana was slowly beginning to respond to Rexie’s lapping.  Her knees were gradually moving apart, her back arching.  Her cries and complaints had turned to low moans.
Rexie’s penis was not-so-slowly responding, growing longer and thicker as he went on.  The drip from its bevel-pointed tip and the way his knot swelled showed that his interest was definitely sexual.
Carol sat back down in her chair, watching with fascination.  He’s really getting into it, she thought.  And so is she.  Just how far am I going to allow this to go on?  Am I really going to allow my family dog to rape this woman?  What would that make me?
Rexie suddenly jumped up onto Oktobriana’s back, wrapping his forelegs around her ribcage.  Her head rose from the floor and her eyes opened wide with alarm.
“Carol, please,” the Russian whined, making one last effort to return to sanity.  “Please, I can’t....”
Can’t what? Carol wondered.  Can’t make him stop?  Can’t resist the urge any longer?  Well, no matter, because I’m doing you no favors today, girl.
Rexie began to work his hips eagerly, his swaying cock trying to find entrance.
God, Carol thought, her hand straying to the crotch of her lounging outfit.  There he goes.  Any second now....
The tip of the dog’s penis found its mark at last.  The woman’s mouth formed into a perfect circle, as though it were imitating her vaginal opening.  And then Rexie was thrusting away savagely, in a bestial mating that Oktobriana was not ready for, but had no choice but to submit to.
Carol watched, delighted, as her rival writhed helplessly under her dog.  The arrogant woman was now a bitch indeed -- at least, Wonderdog seemed to have no objection to using her as his bitch, and if he found her satisfactory, why should Carol object?
Evidently Wonderdog was fucking to Oktobriana’s satisfaction, too, even though she seemed to be trying to avoid it.  Grunting and biting her lip, the Russian tried to restrain herself, but finally her mouth opened in an orgasmic wail.  It was one more humiliation, when she had thought she could sink no lower, to climax while being raped by a dog, in front of a woman who despised her.
Carol’s hand slid inside her pants.  She began masturbating in earnest as Oktobriana’s moans grew louder, and sounded less and less human.
God, what a show.  No wonder my old editor paid three hundred dollars to watch one like this, that time in Tijuana.  Boy, did he get in trouble for putting it on his expense account, though . . . .
Sliding her fingers along her labia, brushing her clit only occasionally because she couldn’t stand too much direct stimulation whens he was this aroused, Carol imagined that her old editor was kneeling between her legs, giving her head while she watched the Rexie and Oktobriana Show.
Oktobriana’s head was still on the floor, a stain formed by her sweat and drool visible on the carpet.  Her eyes were closed, and she was clearly in a world of her own.
“Hey, Tovarishinja,” Carol called.
The Russian’s blue eyes snapped open and focussed on Carol.
“How are you doing?  Is your new boyfriend treating you right?”
Oktobriana squeezed her eyes shut again, tears flowing freely, and suddenly she began to moan in orgasm again.
Carol laughed at the woman’s misery, and suddenly had her own climax.
Rexie had been humping away for an unusually long time, but then he was an unusual dog.  He appeared to have finally finished ejaculating, though, as his hind leg stepped over Oktobriana’s torso, leaving them butt to butt, connected by the bulge in his penis.  Carol shuddered at the thought of how big that knot must be.
She knew that a woman’s vagina being larger and more flexible than a dog’s, many women could disengage from a canine mate at this point.  Evidently, though, Rexie’s equipment was too big for this, as when he moved away from the spot where he had claimed Oktobriana, she was obliged to either be dragged or hastily crawl backwards.  That was her least dignified position yet, and Carol laughed aloud to see it.
Rexie climbed onto a couch and lay down to rest, so Oktobriana did as well, although the dog didn’t leave her much room, and she didn’t look as comfortable as he did.  He lifted his leg and began calmly licking his belly.  When his tongue passed over Oktobriana’s red and swollen vulva, she winced and moaned.
Carol watched in silence for the fifteen minutes it took for Rexie’s bulge to shrink far enough that Oktobriana could pull herself off his prick.  Even reduced in size, it was big enough to make Carol flinch at the sight.  Oktobriana got up off the couch, tried to sit on a chair but found she was too sore, and wound up curling up on the carpet very much as a dog would.
Too bad she can’t lick herself, Carol thought as she saw dog semen leaking from her vagina.
Carol went into the utility room and recited an order in Esperanto to her Wondermaker.  There were several models of the molecular compiler her husband had invented around the Wonderlab, and Carol had gotten pretty good at having it run off clothing and knickknacks.  She left it to manufacture her order and returned to the living room.
She took a fistful of Oktobriana’s blonde hair and raised her head, forcing her to look at her.
“I don’t think Brad is going to be seeing any more of you.  Not after he’s seen the video of you giving it up to his dog.”
“Carol, no!”
“You don’t want me to show it to him?  Okay, I won’t, provided you never spend any time alone with my husband, ever again.”
“I...yes, yes, I won’t!”
“Now, I can understand your love of Wondercock -- I’ve had it myself, after all -- so I’m willing to be generous.”
A light awoke in Oktobriana’s eyes.
“’re willing to...?”
Carol reached down and tousled Oktobriana’s hair -- much the way she had Wonderdog’s.
“If you want to, you can come by and spend some more quality time with Rexie.”
The Russian’s eyes widened.
“You can’t be....”
“You liked it.  You can’t deny that.”
Carol took Oktobriana’s chin in her hand and brought her face close enough to smell the 5 Gum on her breath.
“You. Liked. It.  Deny it if you can.”
The blonde put her face in her hands and burst into tears.
“And I’ll tell you this: I enjoyed watching.  I’m going to get a kick out of watching the recording over and over in years to come.  But I’d love to see an encore performance sometime.  So just let me know, pigeon, and I’ll be happy to arrange it.”
The Wondermaker called out, “Via ordono estas preta, Sinjorino” and Carol went to retrieve what she had ordered.  There it was: red Ultralon tights to replace Oktobriana’s ruined pair, and another item Carol thought the woman needed.
“In fact, thinking about it, I’m going to insist: any time I feel like watching a show like we just had here, I’ll let you know, and you damn well better show up, or your little video is going to be in everybody’s inbox.”
She opened the Wondermaker and tossed the new stretchpants to Oktobriana.  While she was putting them on, Carol held up the other item she had requested.
It was a collar, a replica of the one Wonderdog wore, with a tag dangling from it.  Oktobriana took the collar in her hands and read the words stamped into the tag.
She turned the tag around and read the same words in English:
Tears ran freely down the Russian’s face but she remained silent as she handed the collar back to Carol and bent her head to allow her Mistress to collar her.
Wearing the collar, tears running down her face, the Russian vigilante went silently to the Vacuum Spiral and set it to deliver her to the Vacuum Spiral in the Wonderoffice in Berlin.
After she had vanished, Carol looked at the vacant Vacuum Spiral, smiling with satisfaction.  She had really had no idea how much she would enjoy having a woman under her thumb.  She was looking forward to learning more about herself, with Oktobriana’s generous help.
She looked up at the ceiling and called, “Finu!”, notifying the Wonderlab to return to normal security recording.

My thanks to the Public Domain Super Heroes website , which bears no responsibility for what use I make of the characters they profile.  That’s kind of the idea, you know?
About Wonderman
Exposed to "the sizzling voltage of a secret current" Brad Spencer finds that he can make himself as hard as steel and super strong, so calling himself Wonder Man he battles crime and/or evil, and eventually starts to take on monsters from space while engaged in adventures in space.
About Oktobriana
Allegedly created in Russia in the late 1960s, Octobriana is one of very few non-Golden Age Public Domain comic characters. Her actual creation is highly-contested. Petr Sadecky, in his book Octobriana in the Russian Underground, claimed her to be the creation of a group of dissident creators of samizdat comics called the PPP (the Peoples' Pornography Party) who, in accordance with the ideals of Communism, made the character freely available to everyone. In fact, this was all a hoax and Octobriana was based on a previous character called Amazona with no political overtones (No relation). However, it appears that Octobriana was indeed created almost exclusively for the Public Domain and to allow anyone to tell stories featuring the character.
The combination of sex appeal and vague revolutionary politics made Octobriana something of a minor pop culture icon in 70's and 80's Britain.  Billy Idol tattooed Octobriana on his arm. Bryan Talbot gave her a major role to play in The Adventures of Luther Arkwright, and she has appeared in a number of other British comics since. The concept of Octobriana was part of the inspiration for Jenny Everywhere.
About Wonderdog
I made him up, but I hereby declare that he is a public domain character, and others may feel free to use him.
About this story
This story is being offered free of copyright because it is shorter than other Masked Passions stories, somewhat different in tone, and because it was inspired by “A Dog’s Life” by C. Lakewood, which was inspired by “The Breeding Bitch” by J. Shawn Stephens.  It’s not in any sense a plagiarized story, but I feel it is more appropriate not to charge for it, since it is part of such a distinguished line of succession of free stories.

About the Author
Arcadia Berger got out of bed this morning, sat down with a cup of coffee and took her small brown pill, her big pink pill, her tiny yellow pill, her three yellow capsules, her big tan vitamin, her small transparent vitamin and her large translucent vitamin.  She grumped to herself about how old it made her feel to be taking so many pills first thing in the morning.  Then she remembered that, having watched Apollo 8 orbit the Moon, she must be old.

Also by Arcadia Berger


Masked Passions #1

Here is something new I'm trying: a "comic book without pictures" starring famous superhero characters who have fallen into the public domain.

This is the first in the Masked Passions series, in which classic superhero characters appear in erotic text stories. The private lives of Black Terror, the Phantom Lady, Iron Jaw and other famous names appear, free of censorship. They are famous, and they are all in the public domain. No longer the property of huge entertainment corporations, their masked passions can be revealed at last.


Fictional Car Models and Makes

I may just use them in future stories, because I like things like that.

Bethlehem Motors Betsy:



Hruck Bugbear:

Vaillante Ouragan:

Karin Asterope:


Academy for Difficult Girls Student File #3: Callie Is Now Ready To Post

Just one problem: I don't have a cover image, and don't at the moment have credits to pay for one.

If anyone has the rights to a "naughty schoolgirl" image they'd be willing to let me use, or access to a suitable public-domain image, please let me know.

Otherwise, Academy for Difficult Girls Student File #3: Callie will be available for download very soon, instead of immediately.

Either way, watch for it, it'll be up soon, and thank you for your patience.


The Secret Story of the Diamond Lens

SteamPunk fiction invokes the style and sensibilities of Victorian science fiction, and the Secret Stories transform the text of public-domain Victorian fiction into SteamPunk-flavored erotica. In the "Secret Stories" series, Arcadia Berger takes the public-domain texts of classic works of 19th Century fiction and rewrites them as erotic entertainments for a 21st Century audience.

In "The Secret Story of the Diamond Lens", Linley, a man obsessed with perfecting the microcope, kills to possess the giant diamond which he needs to carve a lens for a microscope of unheard-of power. Through his diamond lens, he sees a microscopic woman, and falls in love with her. He names her "Animula", and is entranced by her grace and her transparent beauty as she swims through the endless seas of a drop of water.

He loses interest in the women around him, and sinks even deeper into madness as he gazes upon her, even knowing he can never touch her, nor even speak to her -- that he can watch her frolic among the microscopic forests every day, but is unable to make her aware of his existence.

And then, Animula seems to fall ill -- can Linley save her, or must he watch her die? And can he save his own mind from his descent into madness?

And if you're interested in reading the uncontaminated original version:


Taming a Tomboy Part 2: She's All Girl

A month ago, pre-med student Chris Malone had been happy with her life as a nineteen-year-old tomboy. She kept her hair short, never wore skirts, never wore makeup, never wore anything pink, and absolutely never wore the "little pink panties" she was teased about as a child. Being obliged by chance one day to wear a pair of pink undies seems to have turned her life upside down, leading her to explore her feminine side in more ways than one.

Her mother would certainly approve of her occasional use of makeup, and her purchase of a few more girlish garments. She wouldn't approve of Chris' sexual exploits, but Mom doesn't need to know about that part of the "New Chris".

Now a new challenge has arrived in the form of Mark, a very opinionated, very conservative student whom the old Chris would have shredded in daily conversations. Now, Mark is intrigued by the quiet girl who lives down the hall, and when she offers him comfort after his candidate loses the election, he gets a deep kind of solace -- and Chris gets something, too.


Review Me!

Hey, folks, if you write a review of one of my stories, please send an e-mail to, and I will send you another one, free of charge.

Laci Cox, who reviewed "Academy for Difficult Girls Student File #1: Alix", get in touch with me, because I owe you one already.


The Secret Story of "From the Earth to the Moon"

Jules Verne's prophetic story of an expedition to the Moon, retold by Arcadia Berger as an erotic Steampunk romp. In the re-imagined version, the members of the Baltimore Gun Club enjoy an active sex life as they plan and carry out the casting of a gigantic cannon to launch an aluminum shell to hit the Moon.

As if this audacious scheme were not enough, Felix Nadar, a randy French adventurer proposes to ride inside the shell! Nadar believes he can survive the launch and will be able to live on the Moon, and he will not hear any suggestions to the contrary.

Impey Barbicane, President of the Gun Club and maker of the mightiest cannons, has a long-standing (and sexually-charged) rivalry with Dr. Catherine Nicholls, maker of the finest armor plating. Nicholls says Barbicane's Moon shot plan is madness, and her campaign against Barbicane culminates in her challenging him to a duel! Nadar offers them a different solution to their rivalry: that they both ride with him in the shell to the Moon.

The cannon is cast, the shell is readied, the three Victorian cosmonauts are launched into space. The story is continued in "Round the Moon", the second half of this book, and so are the erotic adventures of Barbicane, Nicholls and Nadar.

Arcadia Berger takes the hints of sexuality in Verne's original story and makes them enjoyably explicit. If you like erotic Steampunk fiction, read here a genuine classic of Victorian science fiction, turned into a sexual show in which scientists, adventurers, soldiers and whores divert themselves even as they carry out an awe-inspiring project.

This is a trip to the Moon with a bang.

His Dog Dick

A woman, Willi, meets a man, Peter, and is strongly attracted to him. He tells her he is a transman, and although she's never been with a transgendered person, she is undaunted. She is, though, taken aback when he tells her that rather than use a strap-on as a substitute penis, he has a dog trained for that purpose. She reluctantly agrees to try it, and finds that she does like it, and really does feel that his dog Dick is Peter's penis.
They settle into a happy relationship, until Peg, Peter's deranged ex-girlfriend, comes back to town. Peg rapes Peter in an especially horrid way, and Willie later takes a terrible revenge.

[Note: This story does feature transgendered persons, bestiality and nonconsensual sex. It is not recommended for persons who have difficulty with any of these subjects.]

Arcadia Berger has been writing erotica even longer than she has been masturbating, but the decrepit condition of her hands is not the result of either activity, but another form of self-abuse: manual labor at a job which is performed mainly by illegal immigrants. She found the immigrants to be intelligent and polite, and not at all snobbish about her lack of Spanish. The work was messy but not too unpleasant, but it really did a number on her hands, so she's hoping people will buy her stories.

"His Dog Dick" is Arcadia Berger's first, um, dog story, and she hopes it finds an interested audience. She has also written about other subjects, including age regression ("The Academy for Difficult Girls"), feminization of the female ("Taming a Tomboy") and Victorian/Steampunk erotica ("The Untold Story of From the Earth to the Moon"), and intends to move further afield.


Taming a Tomboy, Part One: Dancing at the Cobalt

A no-nonsense young pre-med student who hasn't worn a dress since before puberty and has never worn makeup at all, and who absolutely never wears anything pink, finds that the simple act of wearing pink panties because there aren't any others in her drawer, has a startling effect on her life:

Sometimes people looking for “Chris Malone” were surprised to find out she was a woman, but she figured that was their problem. She liked “Chris” better than “Christina”, or “Christy”, or God forbid “Chrissy”. Her grandmother had called her “Chrissy”, and even at age four she had hated it. Somehow the name had followed her into school, even occasionally in high school, but when she enrolled at Plainfield Teachers’ College as a Pre-Medical student, she was determined to be known only as “Chris”.
On the morning of February 24th, Chris was awakened by her alarm clock at 7:00 AM sharp. She rolled out of bed, grateful that she didn’t have a headache this time, peeled off her dorm shirt and opened her dresser.
Her heart sank as she found that she was almost out of underpants, and would have to use the ones she’d been avoiding.
It had been really nice of her roommate Debby to buy some new underwear for her -- Debby was always shopping for clothes, while Chris only bought clothes when she needed something -- but she wished that when Debby had bought those two three-packs, they hadn’t each included a pair which was pink. Chris had always hated pink clothes of any kind, and when she looked at the two pair remaining in the drawer, which she had avoided so far, she seemed to hear the voice of the nasty boy who had tormented her all through the fourth grade saying, “little pink panties”.
Chris shook herself and picked up a pair. It was silly for her to get so worked up about it. It wasn’t as though anyone were going to see them, and even if the waistband happened to peep out somehow, her jeans and flannel shirt and denim jacket would tell everyone what sort of woman she really was.
Even so, as she slipped the panties (underpants, not panties, dammit) over her hips, she felt something creepy and abnormal come over her, as though she had just taken a dose of some strange new drug. She looked at herself in her bedroom mirror, saw a tall, athletic girl (woman) with short brown hair, in a pair of little pink panties (underpants, perfectly ordinary, sensible cotton/poly underpants). Her hand went to cover her crotch, and then cupped over her mound.
I don’t have time to play with myself, she reminded herself sternly, and went on dressing. She pulled a gray sports bra over her head, then a T-shirt declaring her admiration for the Plainfield Pioneers softball team, jeans and her denim jacket, her olive Chuck Taylors and a flat cap of black canvas. She checked her look in the mirror and decided it would do. She pulled her backpack onto her shoulders and went out the door....


The Secret Story of The Time Machine

Hey, folks, here's something different that you might like.

The Secret Story of the Time Machine is the original novel by H. G. Wells, rewritten by me to serve as an erotic fantasy with a Steampunk edge.
In my version of the story, the Time Traveller tells his circle of sexually-adventurous friends that he is building a time machine. They laugh at his claim, naturally, but when they return for their next weekly gathering, he appears before them ragged and disheveled, and tells them of his visit to the far future, where he has enjoyed the sexual favors of the dainty little future girl Weena in the idyllic future world of the Eloi, and has faced the terrifying Morlocks in their lightless caverns beneath the sunny Eloi realm.

He tells them also of a strange tryst with the brutal, beautiful Morlock Queen. In an era still further into the future, he samples the charms of another woman even stranger than Eloi or Morlock.

The Secret Story of the Time Machine is the first in a series of books in which I'll be retelling classic works of 19th Century science fiction and fantasy. Watch for future installments such as The Secret Story: From the Earth to the Moon, The Secret Story of the War of the Worlds and many more. Some of these books will be only slightly altered, while others will be very extensively rewritten, depending on how I decide to re-imagine them.

Anyway, I think this could be fun.  Take a look and tell me what you think!


Academy for Difficult Girls: Alix

The first novel set in the Academy for Difficult Girls, a "girl's school" where women (always over 21) are forced through an "educational" curriculum to suit the desires of their sponsors.

Students wear a traditional schoolgirl uniform, sleep in dormitory rooms they must share with fellow students, eat in the Academy's cafeteria and attend classes like Fellatio 101 and Erotic Literature 201.  Failure to perform in class will result in spankings and worse punishments.

The Academy is housed in a large building at the center of extensive grounds, surrounded by a high wall. It is situated in a remote location from which escape would be difficult. Students are told that there has never been a successful escape.

Come read The Academy for Difficult Girls, Student File #1: Alix. I think you will enjoy it.


Welcome to My Blog

Hi, folks! This is the blog where I will be providing links to my fiction, for sale at Amazon, Smashwords, Barnes & Noble and anywhere else they'll let me post.

I write stories set at the Academy for Difficult Girls, a "girls' school", complete with plaid skirts and Mary Jane shoes, which is strictly for grown women over 21, where women wind up if someone decides to "sponsor" them for a term. There, they are forced to study whatever their sponsor desires: housework, sex techniques, age regression (if the sponsor thinks he'd like his "student" to remain a schoolgirl once she has gone home), forced bisexuality, even petgirl training.

I write stories set in the business world under the New Order, a future in which men have crushed feminism and reinstated an unmasked, unapologetic Patriarchy. A world in which female doctors are forced to work as nurses, female pilots as stewardesses, and female fighter pilots are lucky if they are only employed as waitresses at the Officers' Club, and not as plain old enlisted men's whores.

I write other stories, too, about even crazier topics, under titles like "Taming a Tomboy" and "His Dog Dick", but we'll get to those later.

For now, just look for me online wherever erotic e-books are available.

You can also look for me on Yahoo and Tumblr, under the names Arcadia Berger, Dr. Psycho and Anton Psychopoulos (eh, I encompass multitudes):

 I hope to see you at Yahoo, at Tumblr, in comments here and anywhere else you run into me. You can e-mail me at