CALLIE PRESS AUTHOR BIOGRAPHY
Callie Press is the Queen of Smutpunk, a new subgenre which is a literate blend of erotica, pulp, Cthulhu, cyber- and steampunk, Silver- and Golden-age comic books, and the speculative fiction genres (horror, fantasy, science fiction, western, etc)—or put in another way: sarcastic Gonzo realism with orgasms. She’s a natural redhead with a wild past, currently in the prime of life, who has been writing and editing for decades.
CALLIE PRESS BOOKS
ME BECOMING MORE
Hot Wife Lyssa’s Confessions 7
Excerpt:
So we did. I made Louie watch and jerk off in the corner, since his micropenis was all but worthless to me, and he’d rather not be touched anyway. I’ve let him touch me while he does it when he’s extra good, which keeps him drooling at my heels for chances to be extra good for me. He’s different, that’s all. I’ve gotten used to it.
And Ronnie’s thick cock had been half-engorged for me since I took his allegiance yesterday in the cafeteria, so I knew he’d be good to go. I had examined him, but I hadn’t yet let him have any kind of fun. Testing his limits, you know? He’d done well enough though, so it was time. When I stepped out of the damn sleep-pants they made us wear and he got his first peek at my bare ass, he swelled so quick and huge that I expected his barbell to rip right through the thin fabric and point at me.
Ronnie’s got a genuine monster down there, a real baby arm. Maybe a teenager arm.
Derrick was a special case, being mostly dead and all, and he led me through what I needed to do. Basically, I had to bring him to life a bit, so he wouldn’t be completely dead. He said Dan was, for some reason, keeping him alive just enough. I don’t know how that works with a decapitation, because he had definitely died, but it saves me from being a necrophiliac. Which makes me happy, even if it is just a technicality. He had to be alive, right? So my conscience is off the hook.
I couldn’t really make him alive. Not like ‘back to life for keeps’ alive. What he explained was that I could substitute enough of whatever he was missing, out of my surplus of it (whatever ‘it’ is), to keep him going. If I was close. Until I stopped providing it. Dan had some fluid lines and electrodes hooked to his head so he didn’t get to total brain death, even though he was ruined.
At least that’s kind of what I thought Derrick was saying about it, but I’m not sure now.
I didn’t understand it and I still don’t, because I think it was partly just, you know, magic. How the hell do you make sense of magic? See? Your guess is as good as mine was, back then. Plus I just wanted him to get to the important part so I knew how to make him hard. I wasn’t really listening.
It made sense at the time, and if you have ever explained something by telling someone else ‘it made sense at the time,’ then you know those stories don’t usually end well.
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Me Becoming More E-book Amazon
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BUTTERFACE
An Excerpt:
“Yer all eighteen now, and still ain’t got yer peckers wet?” Old Pap said to the group of boys. “You’d best find you some warm wet hole afore Butterface comes and gets ya.”
“Butterface?” Tommy Joe said. “What the hell you talkin’ about, Old Pap?”
“Butterface,” he said, spitting out tobacco juice. “Perfect body, and she’ll show up one night. Ya cain’t resist her none, but once she’s got ya in there, she roons ya.”
“Ruins you how?” JimBob asked.
“Why, right whilst yer at it, she shows ya her real face. And then your brains get roont. That’s what happened t’old Luther down’t the store.”
The boys laughed. “Luther got his head smushed by a tractor,” Bobby Joe said. “Everybody knows that.”
Old Pap spat again, the expression on his withered old face deadly serious. “Y’mean ever’body tells the young’uns that. Y’all ain’t young’uns no more.”
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ME IN RECOVERY (Hot Wife Lyssa’s Confessions 6)
An Excerpt:
My moment of clarity was when that actress stepped out of the screen and into the technicolor world of real life. I sat there with my mouth open as Dan walked over toward me, then after a bit, I finally managed to gasp in a lungful of air.
All these years. They felt like lifetimes. All the neglect I’ve shown him, all the terrible, terrible things I’ve done that hurt him, and even when I knew it, I didn’t really care. It had always been just a ‘thing to fix’ or a problem to get out of, rather than anything like regret, which I should have had for decades. What a monster I have been! Not for the sex, or for having my appetites, or for being me—but for not caring enough to understand him.
It’s like I had never truly seen him before that moment.
My eyes ran with the first genuine tears of my life, except for when Andrea died. I held my arms out to Dan, and for a change he didn’t reject the contact. He had been so distant recently, and I hadn’t even really noticed that in my self-pity. He smiled at me, kindly, and took me in his arms and gave me a big bear hug. I needed it more than ever.
“Oh Dan,” I said.
He waited, and all I could say was… “Oh Dan. Oh, Dan, how…why…” and then I broke down in enormous, wracking sobs that hurt my ribs and barely allowed me to breathe.
“How what?” he said softly into my hair. “Why what?”
I tried to calm myself a little. “I didn’t know I was so unlikeable.”
“I like you,” he said, leaning back to look me in the eye and giving me an entirely innocuous look. He wasn’t upset, and he wasn’t even sympathetic. His tone was the same as if he were saying, “Dinner’s ready,” or “I’m going to take a shower.”
“You’re my life,” he added. The look, the way he said it, so plain, so straightforward. Like it was self-evident and anyone who didn’t get it just wasn’t quite as smart as he expected people to be. It broke my heart all over again, and it hadn’t even stopped from the first time yet.
That’s when I hit bottom. How many people had I hurt and never really known it?
Everyone, that’s who.
Everyone I could think of. Literally everyone. I had been an emotional battering ram all my life, feeling little or nothing, bouncing myself unthinkingly off everyone, crashing them up as I swung and swung and swung with no thought of anything in the world except me and what I wanted and what I thought. I used people up and tossed them aside and I had never felt anything about it at all.
It was unusual to realize I had only had a few real feelings until then. We all have the same vocabulary, but it doesn’t always line up the same way with the things those words represent. Anger, arousal, fear, self-pity, curiosity, hunger, pleasure, sensuality, distaste. That was pretty much my entire true arsenal of feelings. Few, but remarkably subtle and effective and redundant, even. I was a complete princess and at the same time, completely oblivious to anyone’s needs but my own. And somehow it made me into the perfect sex toy, the perfect slut, the perfect mistress and naughty nanny and sexy nurse.
Did it make me insane?
Would Dan allow anyone to put a straitjacket on me if it didn’t?
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EROTIC PULP (Smutpunk Reader Volume 1)
An Excerpt:
This page is the table of contents!
In this ish (volume, whatever!) we have the following sexy, thrilling, freaky-ass pulp adventures! I told you to hang on to your asses, get a load of all this shit, boys and girls:
- Fit Man and Burpee Girl in … Street Justice!
- Barnacle Man stars in … FUCK Your Boat! (See? Continuity already!)
- Candy and Danny in … A Romantic Hurdle!
- Untitled Smutpoem by your own sweet Callie!
- An introduction to the Intraworld in … Last Day On Earth!
- And the main event this ish is San Esperma in … Queen Kegel’s CASTLE!
Holy shit, do you see that roster? That’s a boatload of crap for one puny, cheap e-book! That’s right, #1 is GIANT-SIZED! You are in for a booty whippin’ the likes of which are gonna knock the fuck-juice right out of your collective groin! So hold on to your god damn nutsacks and jugs, you sexy sons and daughters of folks with questionable morals, it’s about to get fuckin’ batshit up in this beeyotch!
SMUTPUNK UP YOUR ASS, TRUE BELIEVERS!
Now…ON WITH THE SHOW!
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QUEEN KEVEL And The ARENA PLANET
An Excerpt:
One —
This is where we put on our happy face, drink our drinks, take our meds, smoke whatever’s legal, maybe crank up some Sabbath or Beastie Boys or Ramones, wink-wink. We must do our thing to do our thing, yeah? And you can’t have a solid chapter without that. Can you?
(Static)
No, my pretty little hairless apes, you certainly can’t. This is the Callieverse, and that’s how it is because I say so. It’ll be ok, bear with me. The story has already begun.
And now our heads are on straight, so this is where we start. I am not Whitman’s multitudes, I am my own multitudes of multitudes. And I draw my gladiators close, make them surround my nakedness with their nakednesses like bed and blankets, their skin under me and around me and over me like flowing water, hard arms and abs and dicks finding their ways inside me—no hands, just bodies—undulating me atop them and amid them and randomly impaled by them like I were a naked speck of cool flotsam adrift on a sweaty ocean of manly muscle and arousal.
This is how I do this spell, if it’s even a spell. It’s my magic, in any case, and so much easier when our heads are on straight, with my full happy face on. My new man/associate Sarchasmo finds his way into an assertive position atop me, his head reaching higher than the usual face-to-tits, until he is in my vision, flickering at my concentration but nothing close to interfering. His chunky, plump, uncut hardness, and his angular face before my eyes, each join the magic, amusingly close to a true distraction as he enters me like the alpha I knew him for, trying to upset my balance, trying to draw from the deepest well, trying to empty me, trying to make me give everything, just as he ought.
Not everything, never everything, but I give enough, opening onto him like the lotus I am, rising to him, offering him more than enough obedience and desire and fire begging for him to quench with his essence, that soon the spell will end, and we are where we need to be, and I whisper in his ear so quietly that even the others in me and on me and on us can’t hear, so he knows it is only for him, fill me, fill my tight little cunt with your seed, now, you big sexy fuck, let me feel your cock come in me, and the spell ends as his hands separate me from the flesh of the others, big hands, each covering half of my ass as he explodes wetness and heat and throbbing into me, his tight hot balls against my asshole, entire ounces of his juice dribbling out of me and down my thigh and crotch as I catch my breath on the soft tanned cock-leather chaise I suddenly place myself on.
We’ve made it. It’s the Arena dimension, by which I mean it’s the branch off the infinities where the Arena planet is held, immutable and locked by agreement for resolving disputes and awarding laurels. Getting here is always a sure thing for me, but sometimes some of the boys don’t quite…well, let’s just say that sometimes they don’t show up the same as they were when we left. These days I just call that the price of doing business, but it never pleases me.
“Queen Kegel,” the majordomo said, almost questioningly.
“Yes,” I exhaled. I always exhale to the locals in other dimensions. It saves me a lot of hassle, what with how unpredictable places can be, not even mentioning how downright sensitive sentient things can get. I don’t remember anything from this place last time, not much—just flashes. Goofy things happen often when one starts hopping into different dimensional spaces. I think The Book said this one has a 6-d time axis. Close to what I’m most comfortable with, but The Book has been wrong before. Never believe everything you read; all writers are liars, it’s what we do.
The real pisser is that I knew I had been here before. Often, even, it seemed. But this is part of the price of doing magic with my full happy face. Or maybe it’s just too hard to convey the experience of different dimensional spaces between each other. I retain it all, but that doesn’t mean I can process it properly when I’m in the wrong place or time.
“You are not expected,” the Majordomo said. “Please excuse me while I alert the staff. Can I offer you anything in the meanwhile?”
I looked at him directly for the first time. Sized him up. Officious, finicky little man, rotund and balding in an immaculate full tail, looking so much like a penguin I wanted to give him an umbrella. That one wasn’t mine, not before now. Splendid.
I gave him the Charming smile, and found him resistant, but weak. “Water please, when it’s convenient.” The Warm smile—oh my, and the dimple, very much the dimple, I did not expect that, usually it’s some body part—won him over. “No rush.”
He left, and all my gladiators made their way to the showers. From there they would go to rest, since it would soon be Fight day.
All of them save Sarchasmo, of course. We needed a strategy session, and this was the plan before I even cast the spell.
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Wicked Pens 