Hunter Fox (if that is your real name) is a genius

The titles do say it all:

A Billionaire Dinosaur Forced Me Gay
Gay Blob Monster
Forced Gay By A Merman and His Friends...and on and on and on.

Whereas the typical erotica reader might find these novels (around 17 pages, actually, so "novel" is a loose term) absurd, mystifying, unintelligent, and, hardly, sexy.  

Perhaps they aren't sexy, but they are definitely brilliant.  Strangely, I don't have to read them to know they're brilliant.  The level of the writing skill needn't be great, and if it is terrible, all the better: it'll just make them funnier.

Because funny is the point.  They're funny and creative and ironic up the ass, pun happily intended.  They're grotesque conglomerations of myth and beasts as a send up of kink, fetishes and pop culture.  What is sexy gets glopped together into a festive, colorful, slick stew of lube and various bodily goos.  The titles themselves betray the author's ironic intentions, as Billionaire dinosaurs "forced me" gay.  

In a world where dinosaur erotica exists and people, seriously, can successfully masturbate to cartoon ponies, there's no reason to believe that a reader can whack off to irony.