‘Exposure Therapy’ is now FREE to access!

‘Exposure Therapy’ is now FREE to access!

Thanks to the voters who participated in a poll on our Twitter page, TSP’s erotic short story Exposure Therapy is now FREE to access!

Synopsis: A shy, embarrassed fetishist has an appointment with an understanding therapist who knows exactly what he needs.

This V (Vanilla) story features:
Foot Fetish, Foot Worship, and Nylon/Pantyhose Fetish.

Check it out on our Short Stories page!

PUBLIC PREVIEW – Nora’s Game

PUBLIC PREVIEW – Nora’s Game

This story is NOW AVAILABLE on Amazon and Smashwords ($0.99) and FREE HERE to backers on Patreon who subscribe at the $10/month level or higher.  Current subscribers can click here to read the whole thing!


Nora's Game cover (JPG)Synopsis: Playtime with Nora revolves around a cheeky dice game of her own design.  (2,821 words)

This F (Femdom) story features:
Foot Fetish, Sock Fetish, and Footdom in Socks.


Nora gave me a mischievous little wink and put one hand on her thigh as she leaned down over the edge of the bed, and my eyes scanned across the pale, creamy white of her skin. She was sitting cross-legged wearing an elegant, tasteful set of lacy black lingerie, the effect of which was offset only slightly by the thin, worn, and dirty striped socks she had kept on when she had undressed a few minutes before.

I had returned her smile as she pulled off her pale blue jeans and her brown and yellow ringer t-shirt, and I must admit I was surprised by what she was sporting underneath. I had always known her as a playful, upbeat, and down-to-earth personality with an active sense of humor, but I had sensed here and there little hints of what I knew must have been a deep and vibrant sexuality. We had known each other for years, since high school even, and along the way she had made this joke or that one, laughed a little too hard at this one or that one of mine, and always there was this latent, indirect level of winking innuendo that colored our interactions.

She was on the shorter side, maybe 5′ 5”, with a kind of tomboy-ish style and long, straight brown hair that was usually worn up in a ponytail. In our little group of friends back in the day she had acted more or less like one of the guys, but she had grown into a strong, confident, independent woman, and underneath her old jeans and homemade inside joke t-shirt her breasts were medium-sized and perky, her legs were thick in all the right places, and the rest of her body was almost effervescent with her spirit.

She reached down beneath the bed skirt and pulled out a shallow wooden box with a hinged lid and a small latch, and she sat it on the bed in front of her and turned it towards me. She kept eye contact as she felt for the latch and undid it and, putting her hands on either side of the lid, said, “Why don’t you pick something to play with?”


© 2017

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PUBLIC PREVIEW – Anthology

These are the first ~1,000 words of an in-progress novella that’s currently at 7,087 and counting! Subscribe now on Patreon at the $10/month level or higher for access to what’s been written so far, and to read the whole thing when it’s finished!


Synopsis: A young assistant librarian stays late and finds her inspiration in the thousands of books at her disposal, whiling away the hours by writing erotic stories of lesbian domination in her notebook.

This L (Lezdom) story features:
Isolation, Edging, Foot Fetish, Nylon/Pantyhose Fetish, Sock Fetish, Trampling, Cunnilingus/Facesitting, Spanking, Strapon Play, and Bondage.


A fresh trail of graphite dust and fine tendrils of rubber cascaded from the edge of the desk as Jennifer corrected the latest entry on the small scrap of paper that she had been nursing for the last hour and half. Her olive-colored eyes flicked again to the ticking hands of the clock on the wall across from her desk at circulation, the ones that had been teasing her for at least that long and that seemed to move more and agonizingly more slowly as they approached six thirty.

She stood up and turned to the stack of books behind her, hoping that the last several minutes would pass more quickly if she processed the last of the day’s returns. She picked up the faded wooden handle of the rubber stamp and pressed it into the ink pad, but her eyes wandered out to the small windows of the tall, brass doors to her right and gazed through at the last remnants of the dying September sun. She listened for a moment to the silence growing louder, and to the last echoes of locks being turned somewhere in the building, and then began to stamp the cards.

She heard footsteps coming up the corridor to the grand hall as she closed the last cover, and a voice as she placed it on the cart with the others. “Alright dear, I’m leaving now. Would you care to walk out with me?”

“Oh, no thank you Mrs. Bennett,” she said, turning. “I’m staying late again tonight.”

Mrs. Bennett chuckled softly as she adjusted her thick maroon coat and collected her purse from the rack near the desks. “There’s more to life you know,” she said with a smile, “a dissertation isn’t everything. A girl your age should be going out Friday nights, having dinners, having drinks. Meeting men?” she added with what she must have considered a knowing look. Jennifer smiled demurely.

“Yes, well, I don’t suppose it will write itself.”

“No, I should imagine not. Try not to work too hard,” she said, walking toward the doors. “And don’t forget to lock up when you leave. Good night.”

“Thank you Mrs. Bennett. Good night.”

Jennifer paused for a moment to listen as the sound of the closing doors reverberated through the marble entrance hall of the library. She liked to listen to it, and to imagine it echoing through every room and aisle, down the shelves and past the catalogs of cards, reaching its way into every corner. She had come to love that sound, because it meant that for the next several hours, for as long as she wanted it in fact, the library belonged to her.

She went the way Mrs. Bennett had, to the doors, and locked them, first the outer set where she noticed the cool autumn breeze beginning to sharpen the air, and then the inner ones, taking care to test them before turning back and sighing contentedly as she gave the entrance hall a friendly looking over.

She knew she wouldn’t be disturbed. The custodian worked during the daytime and was almost always gone by the time everyone else was, and there was little need for security at the Eleanor J. Ludlow Memorial Research Library; even less than there was in the little defunct mining town of Olmsted, Pennsylvania, which wasn’t much to begin with. The library was situated far at the top of a high, remote hill, making it a destination that even the most ambitious of the town’s young hooligans avoided when they were looking for something to pilfer or deface. There were no passersby, there were no phone calls, and on nights like this one it seemed there was nothing in the entire world except Jennifer, a few dozen long, neat, and seemingly endless shelves, and her notebook.

The building’s seclusion and its special plot nestled in the trees at the edge of the woods were two of Jennifer’s favorite things about the library, even if some of the older patrons tended to complain about the long, winding drive required to visit it, and she paused near the bust of the eponymous Mrs. Ludlow which stood to the side of the doors, enjoying again the subtle, understated glee that heralded the beginning of another night to herself.

She went back over to her chair at the circulation desk and retrieved the black, speckled composition notebook from her purse, thumbing through to a new page, and she took a fresh pen from the square, wooden cup near the ink pad and slipped it behind her ear. Next, she opened the bottom drawer of the small, grey filing cabinet behind her and pulled out a thick, plaid fleece blanket, spreading it on the floor behind the desk, then she pulled the tortoise-shell comb from her tight bun and let down her sandy blonde hair. She smoothed her navy blue sweater, under which she wore a white blouse, and her matching thigh-length pleated skirt, under which she wore a thick pair of matching wool tights, as she stepped out of her brown leather clogs.

She stretched her legs out like a ballet dancer a few times, pointing and then flexing her toe, first one and then the other, and then she let her arms skirt their way up her sides before lifting them over her head and stretching out her back. With that, she switched on the red desk lamp, bringing it down to the floor by the blanket, grabbed the little slip of paper from the desk, and made her way back into the stacks.


© 2017

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Mischaracterizing Sex

Whether it’s public figures in prominent positions being taken to task for their misconduct or the apparent epidemic of sexual assault and abuse, or whether it’s ire and strife over the rights and status of LGBT people, or whether it’s cultural attitudes towards and public policy involving sex workers, it seems like the current climate for sex and sexuality is an unusually fraught and problematic one. But I’ve been trying, and I actually can’t think of a single moment in my lifetime when public attitudes towards these things have revolved around anything but the same pervasive anxiety that characterizes our approach to them today.

I grew up somewhere between “stranger danger”, the Clinton impeachment trial, boycotts of companies that supported the so-called “gay agenda”, and spooky stories of predators in chat rooms that might accost me while I was surfing the Web, and I’d like to say that things have changed. True enough, the public worries about different things now, but what hasn’t changed is the common thread between all of these things– that sex in America is a kind of universal boogeyman, forever rearing its head in new ugly ways– and it’s time we addressed what a disgustingly dysfunctional attitude that is.

How are we surprised that we have so many societal ills associated with sex when we so routinely set the stage for our sexual lives with such abundantly creepy scenery, while at the same time refusing to consider or entertain anything resembling a healthy, normal, realistic experience of the sexual dimension of life?

Our public approach to sex polarizes things to such an extent that all we have is the condemnation and vitriol associated with misbehavior and the sanitized over-glamourization present in media and advertising, unless you count the awkward 7th grader’s mentality that characterizes sex’s representation in comedy.

The only time we ever address sex publicly is to remind people what a sordid, painful, embarrassing affair the whole thing is to begin with, and that has got to change.

We have to start addressing sex in a more honest way, and that involves acknowledging the good as well as the bad. We have to start being open and candid with more than just our pain and our self-righteousness and and our glamour and our awkwardness. We have to start being genuine and real about sex. It’s the only way for things to get better.

Short Story “Katy Did” is complete!

Short Story “Katy Did” is complete!

TSP’s lastest short story, Katy Did, is now complete and available to backers on Patreon who subscribe at the $10/month level or higher!

Synopsis: An unfortunate mistake leaves an office assistant and her boyfriend in a desperate situation, and they’ll do anything to help her keep her job. (7,437 words)

This F/L (Couples Femdom) story features Blackmail, Punishment, Bondage, Facesiting/Cunnilingus, Strapon Play, Footdom in Nylons, Erotic Humiliation, Edging, Orgasm Control, Spanking/Slapping, and Cuntbusting.

Click here to read the FREE PREVIEW, or current Patreon subscribers can click here to read the whole thing!

Art “versus” Porn?

This week there is controversy in the Adult Content world regarding changes to the crowd-funding platform Patreon’s terms of service, which include restricting the creators from offering certain kinds of rewards (webcam sessions, Snapchat access, subscriptions to other services) and from funding certain efforts (website creation/maintenance, erotic video). The new TOS also omits a paragraph from the previous iteration which affirmed the value of erotic expression in an artistic context, and which explicitly declared such content an acceptable use of the platform, and it is that perennially prickly distinction which I should like to address in this essay.

[In an effort at full disclosure, I should submit that The SMUT Project has a page on Patreon, that we are a signatory to a circulating open letter that responds to these moves, and that the content we produce may or may not be subject to Patreon’s self-censorship depending on how that process is conducted.]

It seems that Patreon is the latest in a long line of those who would undertake the role of chaperoning eroticism in the arts, and while the effort is certainly nothing new in itself the modern twist is that its role is one of facilitation; they are not a governmental body dictating how people can be punished for what they produce, and they are not a publishing entity determined to curate a specific cultural brand, they are simply a means of connecting creators with patrons, which puts them in the unique position of being able to dictate both what people are able to support and what content is able to be supported through their platform. (This is, of course, their privilege. While the internet is a public utility, its services are not, and Patreon remains a private organization that can do what it wants to manage its affairs.)

Let’s take as read that I am not arguing for the facilitation of what anyone in their right mind would consider authentically obscene. To my mind the emphasis on strengthening the language against depictions of sexualized violence and the victimization of children and animals is some combination of low hanging fruit, red herring, and pushing the open door. What’s more it’s a tired cop out, which always prefaces these discussions, the assumption that that sort of bilge somehow comes with the territory of respectable pornography.

What we’re really talking about is a matter of taste– what is art, and what is porn? — and my question is: Why does it have to be one or the other?

We all know that there’s a difference. If you imagine one scene with soft lighting and violin music and another with platform heels and constamoaning you probably would assign them to different categories. But the aesthetics of it aren’t what I’m talking about; David LaChapelle’s photography is more garish and tacky than most porn and he’s still considered an artist.

What I mean to say is that something specifically designed for arousal, something meant to push one’s buttons, shouldn’t be written off as being without appreciable artistic merit. The point of art is to affect and stimulate the human soul, and I don’t think we should demand that sexuality be separate from that. Our response to the erotic is part of our humanity, and so is the way we address that response in others.

We have to stop pretending that a thoughtful, enlightened, sophisticated approach to life and to human expression is necessarily a chaste one. It’s bad for art, it’s bad for sex, and yes, it’s bad for society.

Video porn isn’t the same as cinema, erotic writing isn’t the same as literature, and I don’t know that either of them need to be indistinguishable from their more accepted counterparts. But I do think that they are both art forms unto themselves. They have traditions, they have genres, they have periods and movements, they have icons, they have practitioners great and small. And just because a good deal of what’s produced falls flat or rings false in the sophisticated ear doesn’t invalidate the medium, it just means it’s bad art.

I think if we started treating and thinking of and criticizing pornography that way it might rise to the occasion and prove itself worthy. Maybe if we treated it with respect it might really become respectable.


FOR THE RECORD: As I was writing this article I received an email sent to Patreon’s Adult Content creators by their CEO Jack Conte. It emphasized Patreon’s implicit support of its erotic creators and committed to working with them on a case-by-case basis in the event of a policy violation.  It also reiterated that the changes are meant to address the obscene and declared that they affect very few of their NSFW accounts.  I found it genuine and we will have to see how they handle things from here on out.

Short Story “Mallory’s Messages” is complete!

Short Story “Mallory’s Messages” is complete!

TSP’s lastest short story, Mallory’s Messages, is now complete and available to backers on Patreon who subscribe at the $10/month level or higher!

Synopsis: A university bombshell catches someone staring in class and teases him relentlessly with tasks and texts.  (5,771 words)

This Femdom story features Foot Fetish, Sock Fetish, Teasing, Erotic Humiliation, and Orgasm Control.

Click here to read the FREE PREVIEW, or current Patreon subscribers can click here to read the whole thing!