Tzratzk

Tzratzk is a Russian comic artist and illustrator. He illustrated my story Danger Girl's Heart Shaped Gambit for Ruthie's Club (an erotic art/writing website that is now defunct). Tzratzk's name recently emerged in the Desdmona's Fishtank forums as the illustrator for two of Big Ed Magussen's erotica books, which can be found here. Googling Tzratzk never used to come up with much, but he now has his own spot on the web at Deviant Art Portfolio. (The Portfolio looks great and is free, by the way, if you're looking for some classy portfolio hosting.) He's such a talented artist that I hope to see more from him. The image to the left is from my Danger Girl comic on Ruthies, but unfortunately that comic is no longer accessible, to the best of my knowledge. Click past the break, however, to read the 300-word text I wrote for it.


Danger Girl’s Heart-Shaped Gambit


Everything about my arch-nemesis oozed cliché-- her slick black catsuit, Betty Page bangs, grafted-on tentacles, and her lair in a dormant volcano.
Lame.
Doctor Octra was just another sexploited femme fatale like Poison Ivy and Catwoman. I couldn’t believe she’d affected me. My job was to bring her to justice, but I desperately wanted to fuck her.
I went solo to the location. I bypassed Octra’s guard-bots. She was working in her cryo-lab.
“Danger Girl!”
“Surprise! Happy Valentine’s Day. I brought chocolates.”
“I like.”
“I know. I find wrappers at your crime scenes.”
Octra eyed my utility belt. “Just handcuffs, darling? Where are your .44’s?”
“Valentine’s Day is for loving, not fighting.” My voice quavered. “Would you maybe--”
Octra pressed against me. I dropped the heart-shaped chocolate box. We kissed endlessly. Octra’s tongue went everywhere. So did her slippery tentacles.
My belt fell first, then everything else.
Octra wrapped my waist with one tentacle. She insinuated another between my naked legs. Her suckers massaged my clit, driving me crazy.
She slammed me. Jammed me. Jellyfished me.
I clawed like a kitten. I came like a puppy.
I went down on her. Octra was salty, like Dutch licorice. I got her off. She grinned.
“You’re a very bad superheroine, Danger. Do you love me, or are the chocolates drugged?”
“They were a diversion.”
“From what, darling?”
“Rohypnol lipstick. Sorry. It’s working on you. I’m super-immune.”
We wrestled. Octra was helpless against my strength. But I was distracted. I’d fallen madly in love with my own arch-nemesis. That was how, at the last second, she got the tentacle around my neck.

When I reawoke in Octra’s blurry world, my wrists were bolted to the volcanic rock with unbreakable adamantine manacles. My heart thumped. She had me, in more ways than one.

~End