Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Do you like spice in your Sci-Fi? Then it's time for you to check out the work of 'Made in DNA'!

Made In DNA is one of my oldest online writer friends, his work his very modern in all the right ways but it also brings me back to the crazy and cool anything goes style of late 70's early 80's style Sci Fi.

If you are interested in checking out his work the $5 Sexploitation eBook Bundle is ready for download.

Here is a taste of his work

...On the other side, the ruckus of weekend festivities burst to life with crowds of men and women eager to dive into the varied sexual delights offered along tightly grid-set streets of the red-light district.

Hologram punters called out to passers-by, touting their wares of colorfully-clothed indentured sex slaves encaged in wooden-barred verandas.

As he walked, he employed Facial Tectonic chips to alter his appearance in
Have-we-met-before? proportions. Over fifty pre-programmed disguises.
Calling up a tagged AR overlap of the entire area in his right eye, he perused the data of each prostitute house as he passed until he finally decided upon one he had not yet visitedThe Blossoming Lotus.

It would be here. It was decided deep within his heart. This is where he must
perform the act.

Behind the wooden slats sat a row of beautiful women, a row of beautiful men and a row shared by androids and SynthFucks. He chose a woman from the front row with long hair that cascaded down over her robes and a blacklight smile.

Paying in virtual tokens he'd purchased near the gate, he removed his shoes and entered the brothel where upon he was greeted by an ageless woman in a deep purple kimono. Smoke from a cigarette in a long-stemmed holder wreathed her coifed hair. She bowed in greeting, thanking him in a long torrent of polite language wrapped greed and faux desire.

She continued spewing a memorized spiel that plied the history of the house to
exalted heights of absurdity until the girl he had chosen appeared from behind a panel.

The houses of the Floating World were rife with discreet passages and rooms to allow for seamless, timely entrances when tea or fuck toys were called for.

The girl bowed and greeted him as her mistress had, and bid the man follow her.

Though the rooms were all equipped with soundproofing, an undertone of
chiptune-shamisen white noise plunked tastefully through the narrow, panel-lined halls.

Along which the samurai elite and their lovers jerked in and out of staccato sexual acts by overlapping high-res ukiyo-e images.

They entered her sparse quarters where he immediately began to remove his

"If you would like"

"No," he interrupted her. "I appreciate it, but the truth is, I am only interested in fucking."

She bowed in acknowledgement…

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