New Titles: Icon + The Black Box
- Hamlin
- Jun 13
- 13 min read
Well, thanks for letting me have my fun with Jessie's fan page. I really wanted something a bit more relaxed before the summer, and I sincerely appreciate everyone who joined me for Jessie's tale. Now that Jessie's in the past, however, it's time to get back to the mean stuff. Black Room members, this story became available for you to download yesterday. Enjoy!
If you've been following the series of Black Room posts, you know that I've been producing a substantial volume of content, including novellas, shorts, and longer pieces. More on that further down this post. In that pipeline are three novels that are all dark and dirty stuff. I'm kicking summer off with something I've been wanting to put down for a long time. Bratty Brit.
Being such an iconic (no pun intended) character in nearly every story, I put some extra polish on this one. I wanted this to be the kind of story that makes you want a shower when you put it down. It is, therefore, filled with a host of despicable characters who have no qualms about using Brittany for their benefit.
Brittany's manager, Ronald, I believe, is one of the most awful characters I've written. Worse in some ways than any of the men in Playing with Toys. Anyway, I will not ramble on. It's big, it's filthy, it's mean, and I do hope you'll enjoy Brittany's exploitation and transformation. This story is included in Volume One of The Black Box. Read more below. Scroll to the bottom for the preview chapter.
Chapters: 20
Length: 74.5K words
Chapter Headings
1.The Offer
2.The Contract
4.Difficult Bitch
5.Throat it Like a Blonde
6.Assignment One
7.Just Like the Song
8.Assignment Two
11.Assignment Three
12.Inspiration
13.Assignment Four
15.Melons
16.Daddy's Little Blowup Doll
17.Three-Hole Sex Doll
18.Your New Look
20.The Product
The Black Box: Volume One
We're a few months into The Black Room, and I'm so grateful for all the members that have chosen to be a part of this experience. Today, I'm releasing the first of many "Black Boxes" which contain some of the content that Black Room members have been able to access. For those that are members, this box is available for download in The Black Room now.
Volume One of The Black Box contains a wealth of content, including complete novellas, shorts, image sets, and video. It does not include the entirety of what Black Room members have access to, but it a curated mixture of content from April, 2025. It's a big download at 2.5 GB. Here's what's inside.
Icon (Full Novel) 74k words - The origin story of Bratty Brit
Grandpa's New Hole (Complete novella) 31K words - Janey moves in with her grandfather during the summer before college. When she discovers his unique retirement job, she's pulled into a world of hardcore training, bondage, and enslavement as her grandpa's new hole.
Trisha's Fixation (Complete novella) 21K words - Hot wife Trisha becomes enamored with her young neighbor's big cock, leading to cheating and cuckolding her husband. This story was previously included in the collection Wayward Wives, written with Lisa X Lopez.
Wholesome County (Complete novella) 26K words - The small town of Wholesome County hides a dark secret. The townsfolk are in the grip of a strange woman, Lola, who drifted into town over a decade ago. Following a slew of unbelievable deaths, Henry and Monica fled town to start over. Now they're back, determined to solve the mystery of Wholesome County. What they find, however, is darker than they could ever imagine.
The Programmer (Complete story) 9.8K words - Government efficiency leads to the downsizing of Barbie's research job. Barbie, however, is not your average programmer. She programs people. After 'convincing' her superiors to allow her to leave the department with her research and a sizeable pension, she sets up shop at home. Catering to wealthy clients in need of bimbofied sex slaves, she reprogams a sweet college couple.
Helping Mom Get Over It (Complete story) 9.6K words - Ethan's mother is down after a divorce. To help her get over it, Ethan turns to a new hypnotic relaxion app, TranceMaster. What he doesn't expect is the amount of control the app gives him over his mother.
DEI Hire: 2.7K words - A miscommunication about a new job posting leads college graduate Karen into a position of humiliation and objectification. (This story was also included in the collection Slutty Shorts: Volume Three)
Bri's Butthole: 6.6K words - Cut off by her wealthy father, Bri turns to the SideChick app for money. Her dates, however, are only interested in one thing. (This story was also included in the collection Slutty Shorts: Volume Three)
Helping Leah: 2.5K words - Tommy has been raping his older sister for a few years. At first, Tanya wasn't that into being raped by her brother, but she's grown to be quite the submissive pervert. Now that their younger sister, Leah, is 18, it's time for Tanya to help Tommy help Leah to learn what a good family raping is all about.
In all, story content totals 185K words. But, wait! There's more!
Image and video content:
The Hamlin Twins Black & White Lingerie set
Jessie Red Rose Lingerie Set
Kayla Sterns Hotel Lingerie Set
Sara Cheer Uniform Set
Ellen Red Bikini Set
Sophie Pink Bikini Set
Sophie Reluctant Suckslut Explicit Set
Video/Multimedia Content:
Relief Aid- Illustrated edition + Video edition
Lisa X Lopez - My Religious Stepmom Worships Cock (Video)
Lisa X Lopez - My Religious Stepmom is a Blowjob Slut (Video)
Lisa X Lopez - Corporate Takeover (Image set + PDF visual story)
Lisa X Lopez - Pet Bimbo (Image set + PDF anime comic)
Lisa's Mommy Captions set
Icon Preview:
Chapter One: The Offer
Brittany’s UStream backdrop was a perfect lie of pastel lights, a Bible verse written on butcher paper, and a cheap ring light reflecting off the glass of her window like a guardian angel. In reality, her bedroom was barely large enough for a full-size mattress and her battered acoustic guitar. Every time she broadcast, her right foot went numb from kneeling on the old hardwoods, and the noise from her dad’s “home office” (really the living room) vibrated through the floorboards and into her bones.
Tonight’s setlist was nothing but covers, mostly devotional but with enough pop lilt to keep her steady trickle of viewers from defecting to the bigger, slicker folk girls. She wore her most innocent look, a blush-pink prairie dress, white eyelet collar, gold cross hung so low the chain got tangled in her cleavage, if she slouched, and made extra sure her hair hung just right. Red, long, shiny, but not in a “come fuck me” way, she hoped.
Brittany drew a careful breath and ran her fingers down the fretboard, like a nun blessing herself with a rosary. She hated her hands, the stubby chewed nails, the veins standing out blue against skin that never, ever tanned. The chat window spun up its usual dust devil of early arrivals—Hi Brit! / ily ur voice / she looks so pretty tonite!—and the numbers at the top ticked up and up, steady as Sunday morning.
She started the stream with a giggle, like a hiccup she couldn’t hold in, then dropped her head and prayed, “Lord, let your message come through me tonight.” A few loyal followers typed AMEN. Brittany smiled at the screen, half grateful and half self-conscious, and waited for her cue.
It was like being underwater, singing for an invisible congregation that worshiped with emojis and bits. Her voice shook at first, then settled into its usual honeyed groove, sweet and pure even when she missed the high notes. A thousand little anxieties ran in the background: Was her dress riding up? Could they see the bruise on her shin? Did she sound like a tryhard? Would anyone notice if she snuck a Taylor Swift song into the setlist?
The cross behind her loomed, a silent chaperone. Sometimes Brittany forgot it was there until she caught a flicker of it in her own feed. Then she’d sit up straighter, rearrange her dress, and try to look like someone who’d never thought an impure thought in her entire 18 years.
The set passed in a blur of G chords and chat scrawl. Brittany loved the comments more than the music itself: Beautiful as always, Britty! / Ur my angel
***
Dinner had been Salisbury steak, instant mashed potatoes, and canned green beans. It was the holy trinity of lazy dad cuisine. Bill ate with one hand and scrolled his phone with the other, barely glancing up as Brittany cleared her plate and rinsed it in the sink. The living room was, as always, a shrine to Bill’s two passions: college football and self-help audiobooks. There were three empty beer cans on the coffee table and a fourth wedged between his thighs, already sweating through the crotch of his sweatpants.
Brittany hovered in the doorway, working up the courage to interrupt. Her stomach was still in knots from the email, and the house felt ten degrees hotter than usual. She ran her thumb over her purity ring, a nervous tic she couldn’t break. It was her last line of defense. God, then jewelry, then nothing.
“Dad?” she said, quiet.
He didn’t look up. “Hmm?”
“I got an email today,” she began, then paused. “It’s about my music. A company wants to sign me.” She couldn’t bring herself to say the name, not yet.
Bill’s eyes snapped to her like she’d announced she was pregnant. “Sign? You mean, like, money?”
Brittany nodded, moving closer. “Yeah. For an album.”
He set his phone down, interest ratcheting up in his voice. “How much?”
She swallowed. “It’s… a lot. Fifty thousand for a signing bonus. And… royalties for all the sales.”
Bill let out a low whistle. “Damn, princess. That’s some real cash.”
Brittany winced at the pet name, but Bill didn’t notice. He leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, and gave her a once-over she’d learned to dread. “So, what’s the catch?”
She took a slow breath, twisting the ring. “The company. Their other creators are… kind of, um, not what I do. It’s called Big Nuts Media. They sponsor girls who do, like, ‘provocative’ streams.”
Bill snorted, and for a moment Brittany thought he might laugh her out of the room. Instead, he fixed her with the same look he used when he was about to mansplain taxes or how to jumpstart a car. “Let me get this straight,” he said, voice low. “They want you to sing, like you always do, and they’ll pay you fifty grand for it. But you’re worried because the company has a dumb name?”
“It’s not just the name,” Brittany said, wishing she’d rehearsed this better. “Their other channels are all, you know, sex stuff. Girls who eat bananas and talk about, um, hookups and—” She stopped, cheeks burning.
Bill waved a dismissive hand. “So what? You’re not doing porn. You’re singing. Money is money, Brit. Don’t be stupid.”
He drained the rest of his beer and crushed the can, eyes never leaving hers. “You know how many people would kill for a deal like this? I spent years busting my ass for half that, and you get to sit pretty in your bedroom and sing. It’s a no-brainer.”
Brittany stared at her feet, trying to block out the memory of the homepage: all those girls in wet t-shirts and string bikinis, eating popsicles like they were auditioning for a toothpaste ad. She couldn’t shake the feeling that if she said yes, she’d never be able to look her pastor or her grandma in the eye again.
“I don’t know,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “It just feels wrong.”
Bill chuckled, not unkindly. “That’s the thing about life, princess. Sometimes you gotta do the wrong thing to get ahead.”
He patted the couch, inviting her to sit. She did, perching on the edge with both hands clamped over her knees. Bill reached out and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered a second too long, callused and heavy on her cheek.
“Look at me,” he said.
Brittany did, and instantly regretted it. There was a glint in his eyes she recognized from other late-night conversations, the ones where he got a little too honest about her looks or her “potential.” He ran his gaze down her neck to her collarbone, then back up, like he was appraising merchandise.
“You’re a star,” he said, voice dropping. “They see that. I see that. You’re not some dumb slut on TikThot, you’re the real deal. But you gotta be tough, okay? If you start letting little things like this get to you, you’ll never make it out there.”
Brittany nodded, hoping the conversation was over, but Bill wasn’t done. He leaned in, breath sour with beer and steak, and added, “You keep your head on straight, and someday you’ll be the one calling the shots. Who cares what some prudes at church think? You think Jesus would turn down fifty grand?”
She tried to laugh, but it came out more like a cough.
Bill squeezed her knee, thumb pressing into the fabric of her dress. “I know you, Brit. You’re a good girl. Good girls get eaten alive in this world unless they learn to play dirty. Take the deal.”
He let go, finally, and stood to fetch another beer. “You want one?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
Brittany shook her head.
Bill popped the tab and took a long swallow, then pointed it at her like a remote control. “If you don’t take it, you’ll regret it. End of story.”
He settled back onto the couch and resumed scrolling, conversation over. Brittany stayed frozen for a minute, staring at the TV without seeing it, her mind replaying the last five minutes on an endless loop.
It was always like this with Bill. He wore her down until resistance felt childish, then acted like it was her idea all along. She could feel the answer calcify in her chest, a heavy inevitability she’d been carrying for eighteen years. Brittany got up and walked to her room, feeling more like a ghost than a girl.
On her way down the hallway, she caught a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror. Same dress, same cross, same wholesome facade. She wondered if the girls on Big Nuts Media ever had doubts, or if they just woke up one day and decided not to care anymore.
Brittany closed the door to her bedroom, sat at her desk, and opened her laptop. The email was still there, the numbers staring back at her like a dare. She ran her finger over the purity ring one more time, then took it off and set it beside the keyboard.
Bill’s voice echoed from the living room, muffled but unmistakable. “This is just the beginning, princess. You sign with them, and bigger offers will come.”
Brittany typed out her reply with shaking hands. She wasn’t sure what she believed anymore, but she knew she didn’t have a choice.
***
Brittany kneeled at her bedside, hands clasped so tightly her knuckles shone pale as moonstone. She’d slipped back into her “comfy” dress, a poly-blend, high-neck, the one that made her look like a homeschooler with aspirations toward the convent. She even remembered to pin her hair up before getting down to business. If God was going to send a lightning bolt, she wanted to look the part.
The room was dark except for her ring light, still plugged in from the evening’s stream. She left it on, the hum and static comforting, a reminder that somewhere out there, a few hundred souls still cared about her voice. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, rehearsing the prayer she’d started a thousand times tonight.
“God, I know you’re busy,” she whispered, “but if you could just give me a sign? Or maybe just a feeling. I’ll take anything, really.” Her breath trembled. “I want to do the right thing. I want to make you proud. But it’s so hard when everyone’s telling me to do the opposite.”
She sat back on her heels, waiting for a tingle, a thunderclap, even a text from Pastor Matt with some generic wisdom. Nothing. Brittany opened her Bible, flipping to the first dog-eared page she found, but the verses didn’t jump out or offer instant clarity. She tried again, closing her eyes, riffled the pages, pointed. The verse her finger landed on was Psalms, something about still waters and rod-and-staff comfort. Not exactly career advice.
“Cool,” Brittany muttered. “Thanks, King David.” She set the Bible aside, feeling more exposed than ever. She was so tired, and her brain felt like a jar of peanut butter left out in the sun. She let her hands fall to the bedspread and let herself sob, just a little. She didn’t cry often, but when she did, it always came out high-pitched and childish.
The knock on her door was almost a relief. She scrubbed at her cheeks and called, “Yeah?”
Bill didn’t wait for an answer. He let himself in, wearing the same sweatpants and an old team T-shirt. He looked tired, too, but in the way that made him seem larger, not smaller.
“You still up?” he asked, like he hadn’t just barged in on her prayer.
Brittany nodded, eyes fixed on her pillow.
Bill sat at the end of her bed, mattress sagging under his weight. He didn’t say anything right away, just picked at a loose thread on the comforter. Brittany could feel the seconds stretch out, each one another drop in the bucket of her dread.
Finally, he said, “You send the email yet?”
She shook her head. “I was going to, but then I thought I should pray about it first.”
Bill exhaled, long and loud. “Brit. We talked about this.”
“I know,” she said, voice small.
“I mean, I really thought we covered it. They want you, they’re paying you, and you don’t even have to do anything different. This is a good thing, kiddo.”
Brittany fiddled with the purity ring, remembering too late that she’d taken it off. Her finger felt weird without it, naked, almost.
“I just want to be sure it’s what I’m supposed to do,” she said, each word a lead weight.
Bill snorted. “God helps those who help themselves, Brittany. You ever hear that one?” He leaned in closer, his hand landing on her ankle, heavy and warm. “You’re not turning tricks, you’re singing hymns and making people happy. It’s what you always wanted.”
His grip on her ankle tightened, just a fraction. “You know what I see when I look at you? Potential. You’re special, Brit. You could have the whole world wrapped around your finger if you stopped being so scared.”
She tried to pull her leg back, but he didn’t let go.
“Don’t throw away your chance,” he said, voice low. “Not for some made-up guilt.”
He let go then, sitting back and spreading his hands like a man who’s just won an argument.
“Don’t you want to share your gift with more people?” Bill asked, softer this time. “Isn’t that what your faith is about?”
Brittany felt the last of her resistance collapse, like a sandcastle after high tide. She nodded, hating herself for how easy it was.
“Good girl,” Bill said, and his smile was both proud and predatory.
She got up, moving to her desk and firing up the laptop. Bill stood and came behind her, hands on her shoulders. The pressure of his palms was possessive, grounding her in the moment. Brittany stared at the blinking cursor and the open email, her mouth dry as cotton.
She typed a reply. Simple, polite, no exclamation points. She thanked them for the opportunity and said she was honored to accept. Bill read over her shoulder, breath hot on the back of her neck.
She hovered over “send,” wishing for a sign, a reprieve, anything. But Bill squeezed her shoulders, harder, and she clicked.
The laptop chimed as the message went out. Brittany slumped in the chair, suddenly exhausted.
Bill ruffled her hair, then bent down to whisper in her ear, “You did the right thing. I’m proud of you, kid.”
She didn’t look up as he left. She stared at the cross on her wall, still glowing faintly from the ring light, and wondered if it would ever feel like hers again.
Brittany slid the purity ring back onto her finger. It felt tight, like a shackle.
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