Warning: This book is big. Really big. Big enough for a small-waisted, big-busted, long-legged, overheated bitch in a fur-trimmed black negligee and stiletto heels to use as a weapon; that is, if a scrub brush, vacuum cleaner hose, riding crop, belt, rug beater, gun, two-by-four, whip or golf club isn't handy. (Or if another prevalent form of punishment in Eric Stanton's world—suffocation by crotch—is deemed too good for the miserable cur.) “A woman has to be strong,” says Stanton, “The bigger the better.”
Stanton got his start in the early ’50s when Irving Klaw published his first comic book. These early works had women serving equal time as bondage subjects (“Girls' Figure Training Academy”) and Amazons (“Dawn's Fighting Adventures”). He went on to share a studio with Spiderman's Steve Ditko, and to produce compelling covers for erotic magazines and novels in his masterful pulp style. He continues to run a thriving mail-order business, which consists of picture stories he customises to the client's request. (One such collaboration is reproduced in its multiple stages in this book.) Stanton's lengthy career is a tribute to his and his viewership's polymorphous perversity: Just leafing through this book—even with both hands—can leave the impressionable reader in a state of near-exhaustion.
Hardback: 400 pages