Turned into a Fembot by Lisa Change
Your Plaything by Nikki Cresent
Pop & Lollie by Moctezuma Johnson
Template: A Masks Story by Rodford Edmiston
Video Game Gender Bender by Nina Nocturne
Taken Futa Aliens by Alison West
Futa Maid by Thomas Pike
Lipstick Her Leather Anthology by Multiple Authors
Futanari Switch Futa Female Extreme by Lara Longstaff
The Empress’s New . . . Rod by Julie Law
Futa’s Passionate Awakening by Reed James
Agent of F.U.T.A. by Kella Z. Driel
Gender Games by Nikki Crescent
Gallery of Delicous, Uncut Smutpunk Covers (you’ll never find these on major retailers)
Below is TEASER from the Gallery of Various Smutpunk Art from this site from 2015-2017. Browse through it as you wish and click to enlarge smaller images. Some of the covers are really precious but thanks to our conservative society cannot be shared in public places like facebook, amazon, and pinterest. So I ask that you join me in the exclusive VIP Smutpunk club where thankfully this site allows you the freedom and trust to see and read what you want 100% uncut. In the VIP Smutpunk club you can let your dick and/or tits hang out, smoke a joint or rolled unicorn spit for all I care, and touch yourself until you squirt bubbling pink hearts through the ceiling. I hope you feel at home. Enjoy!
There are hundreds more to browse, from a little erotica to hardcore smutpunk literary porn.
Get your subscription or join the Smutpunk Street Team for access to
the FULL EXXXTENSIVE SMUTPUNK GALLERY.
i want to send Jenny
a phat juicy ass
and puckered asshole
a watusi mass
and cupboard bowl
velcro’d to a message:
we could have stayed together
i miss pumping your
your either holes
and lemonade mix
no more cliffhangers, baby
she knows my
get your ugly whore face
over here now
we can swing together
from tit to tit
from ass to ass
like how you love
sneaking up behind me
and tossing my salad
write on bits
of torn paper
place in each
between the sheets
naked and revealed
like an author
in a book store
will open the pages
in Mumbai, or Strasbourg,
or an underground mall
wonder where this magical
ticker tape came from
machine in China? latrine in Bangladesh?
sweat shop in una hacienda en Mexico
political referendum in Kathmandu
criminal apprehended in a Chateau in West Bordeaux
extradited to Moscú
with nothing but a portmanteau
slung on his back
filled with toy
milking each other
in this literotica
until the glorious white ink
splashes, sprays, spooges
the tiny bits
this unlined moleskin
now has lines
not on the page
not in the library
not on this planet
but in your mind’s eye
that infinite ticker tape parade
sprinkling all over
word by word
letter by letter
serif sans serif
Please Share if You Enjoyed!
Rosetta Stone / Crypt Key
Definitions of portmanteau:
noun: a large travelling bag made of stiff leather
noun: a new word formed by joining two others and combining their meanings
Example: “`motel’ is a portmanteau word made by combining `motor’ and `hotel'”
*zedonk, from zebra and donkey (progeny of)
*literotica, from literature and erotica
Hotel Sex: There’s something so cheap and sexy about it!
Jynx is a little sexpot. She is curvy—with big tits like bulbous eggplants held by sports bras and a juicy ass that smacks you back when smacked because it’s so tight—and a crazy conniving bitch using cunt as a weapon and cum as a salve. Her arch enemy is Jenny. Her greatest love story is Moctezuma Johnson.
Read the Chronicles of a Humiliation Series to learn more about her.
Read an excerpt from the Hotel Party (part 1 of the series)
Read a poem about Jenny
Good Morning, Pulp Army!
I’m jetlagged, up early with plans to work out brutally with a friend but it’s raining in New York City, so that’s cancelled. I should write, but I’m too foggy yet hyped up and just don’t feel like it. I’ll probably troll FB and make snide comments on lots of shit that irritates me (well, everything) and remix poems that drive me up a wall. Am I a dick?
In related news, if you troll my site you will see that I often hate my own poems. One of my professors once told me that Anne Sexton used to read her poems publicly with a pencil in her hand and cross stuff out and rearrange things as she read out loud. I think the poetic soul is restless, unsatisfied, and just generally surly. Mine is. The thing that seems to be constantly out of whack and even changing as the world grows and the universe reconsiders everything and nothing and cares deeply and apathetically is the rhythm. Rhythm, rhythm, rhythm. They say when buying a house or learning how to throw a fastball “location, location, location.” Well, I say two main things to myself when writing: one, “so what?” and two, “rhythm, rhythm, rhythm!”
Personally, I think writing poetry makes my prose flow better and activates it. It gives it energy and sizzle. I mean we write to entertain. Who wants flat and boring? I mean, outside of FB (teehee). I’m not sure if writing prose helps my poetry. Probably not. I think the only thing that would help my poetry is electric shock therapy, but I guess I’m not much of an artist because I’m not willing to make that kind of sacrifice.
Snap, Crackle, Art by MJ (for Nu Romantics)
Week Five (5) of #SnapCrackleArtByMJ has to veer off the kitschy pop–art–tram–dressed–as-train and get on a proper Dali locomotive for a moment. While at the Dali Theater-Museum in Figueres, Catalonia, Spain, I took a photo through a looking glass of the Mae West room. A few weeks ago I posted that Mae West photo. That was a photo I took from the internet. This time it’s my photo with my own hands. I think you’ll enjoy it. If you click the above hashtag and scroll back on the Nu Romantics site, you will see Mae’s lips (and other lips). Here is Dali’s rendition of her, built with furniture and two paintings for eyes. To see the exhibit in Figueres, Catalonia, Spain I traveled by AVE (Alta Velocidad Espanol) to the sleepy little hometown of Dali. It’s a lovely town that was a pleasure to visit even if there wasn’t the amazing artist’s museum. The pre-museum cortado was delicious and afterwards my wife and enjoyed one of the best gazpachos I ever had. Unfortunately, salmorejo seems scarce in Catalunya (I adore that spelling of the word). If you’re like me, Spain is worth visiting just for the food (much as France is). However, Spain has Dali. Dali was a fierce nationalist, so much so that he openly supported the Franco dictatorship. Most journalists don’t dwell on this fact because they like to make art seem always made by liberals. Dali was a complex man, one who wasn’t even allowed access to his wife and muse Gala. By the end of their relationship, he bought her a house in the countryside, one which she had always wanted, and was only allowed visitation rights rarely and set up by formal request and acceptance via post. All of this Dali tension makes sense as you approach the red museum with eggs on the roof and a great big glass dome in the middle. His tomb is inside the museum and the whole place reeks of surrealism. To see the Mae West exhibit which I’d like to talk about as it links to a past post, I went into a dark room and then walked up a small staircase and stood under an elephant. I looked through a viewfinder between the super long legs of an elephant sculpture. The viewfinder fish-eyed the room to reveal a beautiful Mae West. See the photo below.
I also had the pleasure of visiting the Miro Museum in Barcelona. Among many amazing features of Miro’s work, I was struck by one particular phase of his work were he burned the canvas that he painted. He didn’t burn it to smithereens, he just set it ablaze enough to poke a hole in it, and blacken certain edges, and char some of the colors. As I stood in awe of his work, I thought how that would translate into writing. I thought about If on a Winter’s Night a Traveler by the incomparable Italo Calvino (by far my favorite writer ever) and thought that his book about a manuscript gone wrong at the printer is about as close as anyone has come to simulating the burnt canvas of Joan Miro. In today’s ePublishing ecosystem, I think it can be done pretty well. I mean the digital file is certainly corruptable. What possible permutations are there? In Choose Your Own Kink SEXcapade, I tackle some of those possibilities, but a book I’ve been taking notes for before writing (Tentatively Titles If on a Mid-Summer’s Early-Evening a Prostitute) has more of a possibility of doing some justice to Miro’s vision. He made some incredible art that really stretched the boundary of what is art. Smutpunk owes Miro and incredible debt of gratitude. See photos below.
- Whose work do you enjoy more, Dali or Miro?
- What do you like about each artist?
Find more photos from my museum excursion in Catalunya and facebook.com/MoctezumaLXIX.
‘Snap, Crackle, Art’ by MJ
on Nu Romantics
Week 5 at Nu Romantics (featuring photos from the Dali Theatre-Museum in Figueres, Spain) – Mirror Post Hosted Online at moctezumajohnson.com
Week 6 at Nu Romantics (waiting for the Nu Romantic Folks *avg wait time so far = 12 hours) – Mirror Post Hosted Online at medium.com
The Futa Dicksicle Stand by Moctezuma Johnson
It’s out! Live! New Release! Compra compra compra! Damas y Caballeros…Ladies and Gentleman…여러분…download the sticky, creamy dicksicle sisterhood fun now.
A sexually repressed pregnant woman tries to solve hot flashes by a drive to get ice cream. Instead her friendship with her bestie gets tested when a FUTA-on-FEMALE ménage-e-trois is suggested by a sexy, sassy dicksicle cashier. Find out how far our heroine is willing to go to please her bestie and keep the creamsicles milkie.
- What do these pop art pieces speak to? Did Eduardo predict the world being owned and controlled by Amazon and other algorithms? Did he foresee our inability to discern truth from bullshit? As you know, the motto of 2017 is “Bullshit is Truth, Truth Bullshit”
- Do you like the art? What does it remind you of?
- Are these pieces romantic? sarcastic? or something else?
- Do you believe there’s a Child Slave Colony on Mars