Arcadia Berger


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!