Author: indieerotica

Episode 4: How to Make Money Writing Erotica: Part One

This is the first of the three-part mini-series on how to make money by writing erotica. Each of the three episodes will feature a different approach — this month is “writing for yourself”. Also, host Cameron D. James discusses a recent social media incident that happened with an author and how this does and does not impact other authors and how they interact online.

If you would like to support this podcast, you can do so at

Posted: April 14, 2018
Length: 39:53 m
Size: 54.77 MB

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Episode 3: Motivation

We’re talking about motivation! How do you stay motivated to write? How do you overcome the obstacles in your path to becoming a writer? To supplement Cameron’s ramblings, author Ian Lewis visits the podcast to talk about how he stays motivated.

Check out Ian’s books, under the pen name Enrique Cruz, Playing Doctor and Macho. Friend Ian on Facebook.

Support this podcast on Patreon:

Posted: March 8, 2018
Length: 44:35 m
Size: 61.23 MB

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Episode 2: Goodreads for Authors

At first blush, it would seem that Goodreads is a gold mine for authors. You’ve been told to market where your readers are and, well, Goodreads is full of readers! Easy, right? Not quite. In this episode, I take you through through some of the basics of Goodreads, including how, when, and where you should market your book on this site.

Want to connect with me? Drop me a line on Twitter (@Cameron_D_James) or by email (cameron(at)indieerotica(dot)com).

Posted: February 17, 2018
Length: 53:46 m
Size: 73.85 MB

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Episode 1: Facebook Changes

Facebook has made some recent changes to how pages work -- and it might mean that authors have to totally re-think how they engage with Facebook.

In this premiere episode, Cameron D. James discusses the options authors have on Facebook, what the changes might mean, and what impact they might have on authors.

The video by the Social Media Examiner that Cameron mentioned can be found here:

Posted: January 27, 2018
Length: 32:45 m
Size: 44.97 MB

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Project ALPHA 4-Pack Bundle

Driven to the brink of suicide, Thomas "Tommy" Crane enrols himself willingly in a secret government project. Given a new designation as Subject 5-15 Alpha, he becomes the Facility's last hope of successfully completing a project that they had embarked upon more than half a decade ago and their final chance to secure funding for the future.

Despite the misgivings of one of the lead researchers, Kent Jamison, the experiment is carried out and the results are far beyond the Facility's wildest dreams. In Tommy Crane, a new breed of man is born. Only, his initial transformation is filled with unfettered, uncontrollable rage. He reemerges into the world a veritable Beast pursuing only the instinct to rut.

In the wake of the destruction that follows, Kent attempts to escape the facility in order to find a cure for Tommy, but instead finds himself cornered by the Beast. He struggles vainly against the Beast's strange, preternatural magnetism and ultimately succumbs to its strange influence.

Once under the sway of the beast, Kent is remade into Kenny, a submissive, precocious omega who serves as a complement to Tommy, now Thomas. Kenny satisfies his Alpha's sexual needs and in so doing and curbs the aggression that otherwise simmers in Thomas' core, giving his Alpha the chance to pursue vengeance against those that drove him to desperation.

Project ALPHA 4-Pack Bundle is a 32,500-word collection of all four of the Project ALPHA stories in one ebook.

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Kent straightened his pristine white lab coat. In all his thirty years, he had never had a better opportunity to both advance his personal knowledge and innovate in his field than working at the Facility. But today, the lab coat he’d been so glad to receive five years ago weighed like lead upon his shoulders. The normally-comfortable cloth itched against his skin as just another sign of how uncertain he was about what they were going to do today.

But it wasn’t like they had any other choice. They had spent five long years working on a promising project that could possibly extend lives, prevent disease, and, because everything must have its military applications, improve the abilities of soldiers on the battlefield. They had also spent five long years failing to produce any results. There were near-misses, but they had been misses all the same.

The Facility was just one organization among dozens, and without results, its patrons were beginning to lose confidence. No, today had to happen because it was their last chance to secure the funding that was necessary to continue their operations. In any case, if today’s experiment failed, they were going to shut down, anyway, and it didn’t hurt to try one last time.

Kent knew all this. Rationally, the test had to happen. He had to see his research to its completion. They all did. But, emotionally, he was having a lot of trouble trying to process what was required to occur.

The door to the subject’s quarters hissed open in front of Kent, revealing a darkened room beyond. Kent walked in and clapped his hands. The lights turned on, though illuminating the room only dimly at first. Over the next minute or so, they gradually increased in brightness until the whole room was bathed in a clinical, sterile white light.

The young man on the bed tossed off his blanket and ran his fingers through his unkempt, dark hair as he yawned. He looked up and blinked blearily at Kent with his soft, green eyes. “Hi, Mr. Jamison,” said Tommy, voice slurred with grogginess as he reached up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Is it time?”

Thomas Crane was a special subject. One that, despite Kent knowing better, he had grown attached to. That was because unlike the criminals who were headed for death row who had signed up for this program only because they thought they could cheat the system, Tommy had volunteered. The young man had shown up one day, about a year ago, drenched from the torrential downpour of that night, grimy and beleaguered, and begged to be accepted into the program.

Kent was shaken from his thoughts by the sound of Tommy sitting up in bed. “You look worried, Mr. Jamison,” said Tommy. “Should I be?”

Kent shook his head, taking a look around the room. The walls were barren of any personality, a stark white that revealed everything and hid nothing. Even the bed and the sheets were white. The gown that Tommy wore, which showed off his thin physique and left little to the imagination, was also in the same pristine white. “No, Tommy,” said Kent, forcing a smile. “You shouldn’t be.”

Tommy smiled as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and motioned for Kent to sit beside him. For someone that was about to participate in a dangerous experiment that had seen nothing but fatalities so far, Tommy seemed surprisingly upbeat. That innocence spurred something in Kent into action. Screw the Facility. Tommy didn’t deserve what was likely to happen to him. “Actually, forget I said that,” said Kent. “I’ll probably get into a lot of trouble for saying this but...”

Before Kent could finish, Tommy placed a finger on his lips, promptly shutting him up. Tommy giggled, eyes briefly glancing at the single personal effect that brightened up the otherwise drab and featureless room. It was a photo of Tommy, which, if Kent recalled correctly, had been taken almost three years ago, to the day, during Tommy’s graduation from college with a degree in the fine arts.

Tommy had been a hopeful young actor with the talent and the looks to definitely make it far in the industry. Kent had no idea what had happened to drive Tommy to desperately try and get away from it all. He had always meant to ask, but Tommy had never seemed inclined to talk about it. “There’s nothing left for me out there, Mr. Jamison,” said Tommy, “So, by all means, don’t get yourself in trouble for me.”

“But you could—” Kent began, but was interrupted, again.

“I know,” said Tommy. The smile had slipped from Tommy’s face, replaced by a steely expression. “And I’m prepared for the consequences, Mr. Jamison. I will be all right. You will be there for me the entire time, won’t you?”

Kent nodded, feeling numb. Well, what good was trying to discourage Tommy if he knew the consequences and still felt like going through with it? He wished he knew what had happened to make a young man with such a bright future ahead of him so willing to face death, but he wasn’t about to ask now. “I will,” he said.

“You’re a strange man, you know, Mr. Jamison,” said Tommy, who was now busily looking at his feet. His cheeks were red and there was a tinge of pink at the tips of his ears. Kent couldn’t help but smile. “You were the only one here that treated me with any warmth. I mean, you’ve dealt with other subjects before, haven’t you, Mr. Jamison? What makes me different?”

“We specifically chose the scum of the earth to participate in this program because we knew the risks,” said Kent. He didn’t know why he’d phrased it that way. Why he’d made himself out to be one of the villains. Maybe it was because he felt he didn’t deserve Tommy’s trust for everything that he’d done in the name of this research. “They were criminals all looking to cheat the system. We made sure to check and double check. But you, you weren’t a convict waiting to die. You volunteered.”

Tommy laughed. It was so pure, innocent, and carefree that Kent had trouble believing the more serious expression he’d seen on that boyish face earlier. “Thank you, Mr. Jamison,” said Tommy. “You’re a good man.”

Kent nodded. He leaned over toward Tommy and out of a complicated mixture of guilt, shame, and affection for the brave young man sitting beside him, he pressed his lips to Tommy’s forehead. He had violated one of the most basic, commonsense principles of potentially-fatal experiments: don’t fall in love with one of the subjects.

When Tommy tilted his head backward to catch Kent’s lips in his own, Kent pulled away, jerking back entirely on instinct. This time tomorrow, Tommy could be a bloated, swollen corpse burning in the incinerator along with all the other data. Impulse. Fear. That was what had driven his reaction. He didn’t want to get hurt.

But the moment he saw the hurt shining in Tommy’s eyes, he regretted pulling away. With a sniffle, Tommy wiped the tears from his eyes and stood up. “Okay, Mr. Jamison,” he said, “Let’s go.”

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Punished by Daddy

When Jessie is brought home by the cops, he knows he’s disappointed his daddy. But as soon as the police leave and it’s just father and son, Jessie learns just how angry his father truly is. Though he’s eighteen, an adult, his father lays a whooping on his bare ass, then threatens to tell Jessie’s mother all about what happened. Jessie, though, is desperate to keep this a secret from his mother and will do anything — anything — to please his father.

Punished By Daddy is a 3,400-word short story.

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Daddy’s hand comes slamming down on my bare ass again, re-igniting the fire he’d set off with this thorough spanking. I’m eighteen — an adult — and here I am getting an over-the-knee spanking like I’m a little boy. I grunt, doing my best not to cry out in pain, and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to hold back the tears of pain that threaten to fall.

Finally, he stops spanking me and he rests his hand on my tender cheeks. He starts smoothing his hand over my hairless skin, soothing the fire.

“Stand up, son,” he says. I can hear the anguish in his voice — he doesn’t like that he had to punish me. He doesn’t like that he had to do this.

It’s all my fault. I made a stupid choice and was brought home by the cops, barely avoiding a criminal charge. Dad is furious.

I push myself to my feet. My ass is so sore that I wince with every movement. I struggle to stand, but my knees give out and my feet are tangled in my jeans and briefs. I fall to the floor and I let out a yelp of pain as I land hard on my ass. Those tears that I had struggled so hard to hold back suddenly spring forth, rolling down my cheeks. I look up at daddy, his angry face blurry through the tears.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’m so sorry.”

Even though my sight is tear-blurred, I can see his anger softening. He knows I’m genuinely apologetic. He knows I never want to make him mad.

He puts his hand on my head and ruffles my hair, like he always does. In that simple touch, I know things will be okay. With his other hand and his thick, meaty fingers, he wipes away my tears.

“I know, son. I know.” He puts his hands on his hips and I suddenly feel lost without daddy’s touch. “But you’ve really disappointed me tonight. Your mother is going to be so upset when we tell her the cops brought you home.”

A new wave of sadness crashes into me and tears threaten to fall again. “Please don’t tell her, daddy. Please. I’ll do anything to make it up to you — anything!”

He puts his hand on my head again, running his fingers through my hair. It’s a tender gesture, fatherly. But then his face turns almost sinister.

“I love it when you beg, boy.” He grips my hair and I yelp as he pulls my head toward him, shoving my face in his crotch. “You want to make it up to me, son? You can start here.”

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Gay Piss Play 4-Pack Bundle

Gay sex is unsatisfying unless men let their bladders loose and add hot, acrid, tart piss to the fun. In this soaking wet bundle are the following previously-published piss stories:

PISSING MY PANTS IN PUBLIC: When William accidentally wets his pants in public, his moment of shame quickly turns into the erotic encounter of a lifetime.
CRUISING FOR PISS: A discreet men’s room encounter rapidly turns into an orgy filled with piss, gloryholes, fisting, and more!
TRUCKER PISS: A straight, married trucker discovers the wet and messy fun of gay piss play.
PISSING MY DIAPER: Needing a little stress relief, Logan hits up his much older friend with benefits, Mike, for some hot dad/son role play, complete with diapers.

21,500-word bundle

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“I gotta take a piss — I’ll be right back,” I tell my buddies as I get to my feet. The world spins as I do so and I grab the back of a friend’s chair to steady myself. I’m drunker than I thought I was.

The loud music of the Pride festival pounds through the air, surrounding us here in the beer tent. But even above that noise, I can hear my buddies laughing at me. I’m the lightweight of the group — they always joke about it, calling me the “two drink bottom twink.”

I ignore them and weave my way through the tables toward the exit. The portapotties — I need to find the portapotties. With every step I take, it’s like my bladder gets fuller. I start getting that tingly feeling that starts in my crotch and spreads to my core — my body’s telling me that if I don’t get to a portapotty quick, I’m gonna fucking piss my pants.

I start to feel panicked. I’m close to bursting, but I can’t even see the heads from where I am. I break into a wobbly trot that turns into a clumsy run as I try to get to the blue plastic stalls as fast as my twink ass can get there. As I round a bend, I’m sure I feel a little bit leaking out, soaking the jockstrap I’m wearing beneath my skintight jeans.

Hoping to stave off another leak, I grind the heel of my hand against my dick, trying to hold everything in place. Finally! I see a line of tall, blue boxes past a crowd of people. My clumsy run turns into a full-on sprint across the stretch of field between me and the heads.

I slow down, just slightly, as I approach the crowd of people. Is this a line? A fucking line? I need to get in the portapotty in the next two seconds or it’s all over for me.

“Excuse me,” I mutter as I bump past someone. “Pardon me. Sorry. Sorry. Excuse me. Excuse me. Pardon me.” I finally push past the last person between me and relief — a muscular leather bear — and finally my drunken footsteps give out and I tumble to the ground in front of this masculine man.

And that moment of sweet release hits — right when I so desperately don’t want it. It’s too late, I can’t stop it — and now that it’s started and I’ve already ruined my day, I wouldn’t even stop it if I could. My bladder empties out, my piss coming in a torrent inside my jockstrap and jeans.

My hot, wet piss soaks through the denim and spreads, making my whole lap steaming. I let out a moan of intense pleasure as I continue to empty out. Pissing never felt as good as it does right now.

Finally ... finally ... my flow turns into a dribble and then it ends. It’s like awareness returns to me in bits and pieces. The last several seconds — minutes? — were so all-consumed by the relief of pissing myself that I had forgotten for the moment where I was and the predicament I’m now in.

The first thing I hear is laughter. It isn’t the laughter of responding to a joke — no, this is much more mocking. This is the laughter of shame. Fuck. I open my eyes and find dozens of people staring at me. Pointing. Laughing. Fuck — a couple guys have their phones out and are filming me. The leather bear looms over me with a smirk on his face.

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Pissing My Diaper (Gay Piss Play #4)

Needing a little stress release amidst university exam season, Logan meets up with Mike, his much older friend with benefits. Mike gives Logan exactly what he needs to ease the stress of school — dad/son role play, complete with diapers. When Logan disobeys his “daddy”, he receives his punishment, but that soon morphs to amazing (and wet) pleasures.

5,200-word short story

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“Hold it,” he commands.

I like to call him my daddy, given our thirty year age difference, and he likes to call me his son. It adds a taboo edge to our kinky play that heightens the heat of the moment.

“Yes, daddy,” I say.

If my frat brothers could see me know, they’d kill themselves laughing. Or they might beat me up for being a fag, then laugh when I’ve got a broken nose. But they have their kinks and I have mine — even though mine are, well, a little weirder.

Daddy walks in a circle around me again. He’s wearing a suit and tie that fit him snugly, accentuating his bulging muscles and gargantuan basket. After circling me, he walks over to the counter that divides the kitchen from the living room and grabs another bottle of water, bringing it over to me.

“Drink” he says, handing me the bottle.

I take it from him, put it to my lips, and tilt my head back, guzzling down the whole bottle in ten seconds flat. I let out a little burp, then hand him the empty bottle. That’s the sixth one I’ve downed in the last ten minutes. He has six more sitting on the counter.

He takes the bottle and puts it next to the other empties, but before grabbing the next full one, he comes over to me. He places his hand on my bare stomach, rubbing smooth circles over my abs.

“How are you doing, son?” he asks, his voice a mix of tenderness and domination.

“I’m okay, daddy, but I’m gonna have to piss soon.”

“Mmm,” he says, and moves his hand lower down, massaging my bulge through the adult diaper I’m wearing. The rest of me is naked and my skin is chilled. Daddy likes to keep the temperature low when I’m in my diaper, so that my nipples turn hard and the heat of a soon-to-be-wet diaper contrasts so much more. “Hold it until I say. Understood, boy?”

“Yes, daddy.”

Over the next ten minutes, daddy makes me drink the last six bottles of water. My stomach is so full it’s bulging, making sloshing noises with every movement I make. I can feel the water as it snakes through my gut and settles in my bladder. Like a water balloon, my bladder expands and expands, soon reaching the point where I start to worry it’s going to burst.

“Daddy?” I ask.

“Yes, son?”

“I really need to pee.”

“Hold it, boy. I told you to hold it.” Daddy sits down on the couch, the fabric of his pants stretching taut over his leg muscles and his thick bulge. I watch him as he gropes himself, wishing he would open his fly and let his cock hang out. I wish daddy would make me suck it and eat all the cum that he shoots out.

Fuck, my overwhelming need to piss interrupts my train of thought and overtakes me. I really need to go, to just let it all flood out. My bladder is so full it hurts. A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, feeling extra cold in this cool room, and I start shifting from foot to foot, simply unable to stand still.

I’m holding it for the mere fact that daddy told me to. If it weren’t for him, or if I was a bad boy, I would’ve pissed in my diaper by now.

“Please, daddy,” I beg. “Please, let me pee.”

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Trucker Piss (Gay Piss Play #3)

Wayne is a long-haul trucker in urgent need of a toilet. He pulls up at a quiet rest stop with only one other vehicle in the parking lot. Full to bursting, nearly wetting his pants, Wayne rushes into the building, only to find the washrooms out of order. Absolutely desperate, he hurries out to the woods surrounding the rest stop and unzips, determined to take a leak behind a tree. But just as he’s about to let it flow, a young man comes through the woods and falls to his knees in front of Wayne, with his mouth open. Wayne, a straight and married man, embarks on a wet and erotic adventure that will forever change him.

5,400-word short story

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I hurry out of the building and toward a thick stand of trees just a little ways off. Halfway there, I open my pants and let my cock hang out, but I hold off on pissing until I get behind the trees.

Right as I’m about to let loose and empty my bladder, I hear the shuffle of footsteps on gravel and dried leaves. I jerk my head toward the sound and spot a young man walking my way, wearing overalls. A plumber, I realize, the person who’s here to fix the washroom. But he’s walking toward me. I catch his gaze and he’s watching me with intensity.

I quickly pack my cock back into my boxers and zip up my jeans. I’m about to apologize to him, but then he stops several feet in front of me and falls to his knees. What’s this about? He opens his mouth, like he’s a baby bird, begging to be fed.

“What are you doing?” I ask. Sweat — from the urgency of my need to piss — pours down from my forehead, rolling down my face. If I don’t let loose any second now, my pants will be soaking and stinky.

He doesn’t answer — he just sits there, on his knees, with his mouth open.

“Are you some kind of fag?” I ask. I inwardly chastise myself for using such a word, as I think of my wife slapping my arm for it.

I look him up and down — he’s young, no older than twenty, skinny, and with dark hair. For all the gay men to hit on me, especially for something as disgusting as what I suspect he wants, at least he’s attractive. That thought freezes me for a moment — do I think he’s attractive? If so, what does that mean about me?

Before I can ponder that question further, I feel another drop of piss snake its way down my urethra and dribble into my boxers, growing the small wet spot. I have no time to think on this — I need to piss or I feel like I’m going to die.

Carefully and slowly, like I’m expecting him to call me perverted and pull out a cop badge or something, I unzip my jeans and nudge them down to the tops of my thighs, then do the same with my boxers. I lean back a few degrees, grab my cock, and angle so my piss stream should arc toward the young man’s face.

Almost reluctantly, I relax myself and let my piss stream out of me. It arcs through the air, looking both golden and magical as it catches the light as it dapples through the trees. With perfect aim, my piss strikes the guy in the face, square in his mouth. I watch as my piss puddles there. I’m entranced as he swallows it down, my piss splattering all over his face, and then he opens his mouth again for another drink.

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