Rachel Kramer Bussel's Blog, page 103

Orgasm denial, public nudity and art in "Shining in the Dark" by Bex vanKoot

This excerpt from "Shining in the Dark" by Bex vanKoot is just the start of a story I'm sure you're going to want to read; just the excerpt has bondage, public nudity and orgasm denial! Read the whole story in Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission , out very soon from Cleis Press.



Previous excerpts: "The Breaking Point" by Cole Riley, "Pinky by Kissa Starling, "I Always Do" by Kiki DeLovely, "The Golden Ruler" by Giselle Renarde, "Safe, Sane and Consensual" by Ariel Graham, "Run, Baby, Run" by Vida Bailey, "The Letter" by Tiffany Reisz part 1 and part 2, "Under Direction" by Teresa Noelle Roberts, "Chattel" by Errica Liekos, "The Coffee Break" by Kristina Wright, "What You Deserve" by Lori Selke and "Subbing" by me.

From "Shining in the Dark" by Bex vanKoot

She laid the wide canvas out onto the floor of the small play space very carefully, her freshly scrubbed feet tiptoeing daintily from one corner to the next; she tacked it down all along the floorboards, leaving only a small track between the edge and the wall for a safe entry and exit. Her deft moves made it clear how many times she had done this before, and just thinking about all those incredible sessions started Adam’s cock stiffening, pushing to free itself from the long, thin robe as he watched her from the hallway.

She moved in silence, gorgeous and graceful as always, even with her ankles hobbled by the rope cuffs that forced her to take tiny careful steps, naked but for the thick leather panties that locked tight at her hips. Light, nervous chitchat filtered in from the living room where the other four contributing artists sat in matching robes and waited to be invited into the studio. It had been months of planning, testing and boundary setting to bring this all together, and weeks of hard work. Tonight would be their final night together and everyone was on edge.

Adam stood back and admired their work thus far. Last month, Lily had gone through the same painstaking routine with this same canvas and after she had taken her place, laid out like a gorgeous star in the center, they had gone to work painting her beautiful body. The men had taken turns with their paint and his wife in the center of the room while the rest watched, masturbated and made colorful messes of their own bodies in preparation. Yellow, red, black and blue paints were rubbed, brushed and caressed into her skin and when she was covered in color, when each corner of the canvas was painted in one hue of handprints and footprints and butt prints from one of the four men, they had finished her off with a film of hot come and left her there to dry. Adam had waited until she was able to stand again and carried her very carefully through the maze of wet paint to the shower so she could rinse off, leaving a gorgeous white void behind like a blazing shadow.

After he had gently washed her and rubbed her skin with a soft towel, he had given her the good news. The look on her face had been priceless.

“A whole month?” she had asked with that tragically beautiful edge of self-doubt.

He had smiled at her, taken her cheek in his hand and kissed her lips. “Yes. Will you sacrifice your orgasms for an entire month? Can you do that for me? For your art?”

You can preorder Serving Him from Amazon and Bn.com. The Kindle ebook edition will be out on February 18th. THANK YOU!

69 erotica stories on audiobook you can try for free with Audible

Yay! Gotta Have It: 69 Stories of Sudden Sex is now available from Audible.com as an audiobook narrated by the fabulous Rose Caraway! Buy it from Amazon or Audible and here's a free audiobook offer from Audible. THANK YOU for supporting my audiobooks. I so appreciate finding this new audience and if you do like it, please leave a brief review on Audible. It helps a lot! Here's links to all my audiobooks.



To refresh your memory, some more info, including the book trailer (with lots of author participation, which I think makes it my favorite of my book trailers), and the table of contents, is at gottahaveitbook.com/about, and in September my next 69-story book will be published. More on that soon! And through April 1st, I'm accepting submissions (the book is currently wide open, and I would love to once again publish as many new authors as possible!) for my next 69-story anthology of BDSM submission erotica).

Daddy/girl roleplay in "I Always Do" by Kiki DeLovely

I wrote my first Daddy/girl roleplay in my story "Subbing" in Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission , but whereas mine is a small snippet of a larger story about a professional submissive, Kiki DeLovely has written "I Always Do" an entire story about Daddy/girl roleplay. Here's the first four paragraphs, and without giving too much away, I will say that I love the turnabout that happens in the story, the way that whatever you might be expecting of a dom, you get that subverted in a wonderful way. We see that getting what you want, demanding what you want, comes with plenty of nuance, even in an intense power dynamic relationship. This is a vivid, riveting, gripping story of kink and desire and love, and I treasure how it offers up the unexpected. That's what I look for in an erotica story, and this one stands out to my mind, in part because I've only published a handful of Daddy/girl stories, and in part because these characters have distinct needs and desires and they get played out masterfully (yes, double entendre intended) here. So while I'm posting the beginning of the story here, trust me, it gets much, much better, and I hope you will check out the full story in Serving Him, whether this is your kink or not. This is also a lesson in defying readers' expectations and drawing them in so they must keep reading.

Previous excerpts: "The Golden Ruler" by Giselle Renarde, "Safe, Sane and Consensual" by Ariel Graham, "Run, Baby, Run" by Vida Bailey, "The Letter" by Tiffany Reisz part 1 and part 2, "Under Direction" by Teresa Noelle Roberts, "Chattel" by Errica Liekos, "The Coffee Break" by Kristina Wright, "What You Deserve" by Lori Selke and "Subbing" by me.

From "I Always Do" by Kiki DeLovely

My Daddy calls me a word architect. So I pick up my pencil and start drawing up the blueprints to thank him. I make painstakingly precise calculations, planning out every last detail, figuring out how to write him into my life and make the design structurally sound, but it inevitably seems to wobble. Perhaps the most beautiful compositions must.

I’ve had plenty of Daddies in my day. They’ve come and gone, dropping in on my life, some having greater impact than others. No matter how many times I’ve tried to deviate and experiment with other forms of submission, it’s always the archetype of Daddy I find myself kneeling at the feet of, time and time again. Daddy/babygirl play just does it for me. It’s what gets me going, what gets me off, what gets me there.

This particular Daddy, however, makes me bow my head in an all-new way—I look up at him through thick lashes in awe, batting them just slightly. From the first time I saw him, it was as if he was walking into my life again. He’s always felt familiar; we’ve had a certain amount of ease and comfort between us. After the first weekend we spent together, I knew this was…different. This was it.

If I hadn’t believed in past lives before, his inexplicable presence in my life surely would’ve sold me on the concept. How could someone—someone who’s hardly known me—know me so well? And I him? There’s a certain vibration we feel in each other’s cells, and the hum of it can be sensed across great distances. It’s this unspoken connection that magnifies his dominance over me. And still, amidst the depth between us exists a level of playfulness in the ways we spark off of each other. Before we even got together, he was already my Daddy. And the very first time we played, it started off innocently enough.

If you liked this excerpt, please do like Serving Him on Amazon, where you can also pre-order it. You can also pre-order it from Bn.com. Kindle and Nook editions coming soon. THANK YOU!

Vyvanse coveting and moving boxes

My world has narrowed way, way down to the immediacy of packing or purging every last one of my belongings as I get ready to move from New York to New Jersey. It's not happening immediately, but it feels immediate with all the things I have to do between now and then. I packed one box, and it felt like a victory. Yesterday, I wrote most of a short story, and that felt like a victory. Lately, it's not that I can barely get out of bed, but more that when I do, I'm a blank, a blob, brainless. I have these lists I make endlessly, of work that needs to be done nownownow, but then every past fuckup enters my head the moment I sit down and I think to myself, You'll never finish, so why bother starting? Your query sucked, so don't bother with the next one. Which is funny because one of the projects involves rereading some old work, and as I'm doing so, I remembered how much I loved that particular job and what it brought me and what I brought to it. I want to be that person again, even though the only way I can think of to do so at this moment is getting a prescription for Vyvanse, which has been the catalyst for a lot of the most proactive decisions I've made in the recent past. I only took it for four days, but those were four powerful days.

That malaise makes it hard to envision that in three short months I will be living in a real, adult home, one I might even be proud to show off. It makes it hard to get excited about going to England or Toronto or anywhere else, even as I take a travel writing class and start to dream about what it might be possible to accomplish, about starting, if not over, something new and exciting and different. It even affects me when I pick up a new book, which only occasionally will grab my interest, more often my eyes glazing over and giving me that sinking feeling of, Why aren't you writing?

I know that there's no way I'll, say, undo thirteen years of object accumulation in a weekend, or even a week, but that pernicious all or nothing thinking is hard, if not impossible to shake. It's not that I want an easy out with a prescription, I just want a small escape route, a few hours of relief from that heavy, oppressive knowledge that nothing I do will ever be good enough. Yesterday, I somehow tricked myself into that route, working on a story in the second person, and etching the first few sentences of another one, tangentially inspired by One Direction. Buoyed by all the exercises we did in my writing workshop, I remembered what I loved about erotica when I first discovered it, what I still love about that moment when a story idea pops into my head. There is an escape, but one where I can practically feel the synapses firing, drawing lines from one moment to the next, where I'm envisioning the action and doing my best to let my fingers, with their bitten up cuticles and pink nail polish, translate it. It's been so rare lately that I think I've convinced myself I can't do it, despite wanting to keep doing it more than I want anything else. So that's what I'm up to, packing moving boxes and carting books all over the place and unearthing dresses and random objects and hoping each morning that I have something to be proud of when I fall asleep at night.

Begging to be spanked in "The Golden Ruler" by Giselle Renarde

I love the story excerpted here, "The Golden Ruler," by Giselle Renarde, because it highlights what happens when one half of a couple wants something and is trying--urgently, desperately--to convey it to the other. Sometimes directly asking is not an option, either because the person is nervous about the response, or because part of their fantasy if of the other person to see and feel their desire, especially if what they want is for that person to take over, to take control. Sometimes people and characters can eroticize the asking, and that is dramatized here. It's fertile ground for erotic writing because it's so real and common and human, that desire to have someone else see you for who you are, who you believe yourself to be on an extremely fundamental level. This story is about a woman's interior monologue, and it's riveting. Author Giselle Renarde makes us feel her impatience, her need, her yearning, and the push/pull of wanting what she wants rightnow and, somewhere inside, knowing that being made to wait is part of the power play.

I hope you'll read the entire story in Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission , out later this month, and if you like this excerpt, please like Serving Him on Amazon (yes, we got to 100, but I'd love to keep going). Previous excerpts: "Safe, Sane and Consensual" by Ariel Graham, "Run, Baby, Run" by Vida Bailey, "The Letter" by Tiffany Reisz part 1 and part 2, "Under Direction" by Teresa Noelle Roberts, "Chattel" by Errica Liekos, "The Coffee Break" by Kristina Wright, "What You Deserve" by Lori Selke and "Subbing" by me.

From "The Golden Ruler" by Giselle Renarde

Hit me, Lowell. Oh, god, I need to feel the sting of your palm on my ass. I need it; I need it; I need it. Are you listening, Lowell? Can you hear me? I need a spanking. Now.

Meghan’s face burned as she inched across the carpet. He was sitting on the couch, scotch in hand, acting like she didn’t exist. There she was, buck naked, wrists bound behind her back, ankles tied together, and he was pretending she wasn’t there. If she had to crawl across the living room like a caterpillar, so be it. Anything to get closer to him.

And he just sat on that leather couch, cool as a cucumber. She wasn’t even on his radar, was she?

Look at me, Lowell. I’m down here, laid out at your feet. Can’t you see me? Can’t you see how much I want you? How much I need you? God, Lowell, just spank me now!

Of course, she couldn’t say anything—not with her own cotton panties stuffed in her mouth. Meghan looked up at him pleadingly, but he still wasn’t paying attention. He had that jazz station on the radio, and he just sat there with one leg crossed over the other, listening intently. Meghan couldn’t see past his knees, but she was pretty sure his eyes were open. His eyes were open, he just wasn’t looking at her.

Lowell? Lowell, you know what I need. You’re the only man in the world who knows. Why can’t you just give it to me? Why can’t you look down here at the woman on the carpet and bloody well spank me already?

If you liked this excerpt, please do like Serving Him on Amazon, where you can also pre-order it. You can also pre-order it from Bn.com. Kindle and Nook editions coming soon. THANK YOU!

BDSM erotica excerpt: "Safe, Sane and Consensual" by Ariel Graham

I love that the title of this story, "Safe, Sane and Consensual" by Ariel Graham, takes a hallmark of the BDSM community and uses it for erotic purposes, and to illuminate and expand on what that concept means. Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission will be here very soon, and I can't wait! Also, postcards are coming soon; I'm taking some to London for Eroticon and to Catalyst, and will be sending them out to anyone who wants one (in the U.S.). If you like this excerpt (or just want to help out my book), please like Serving Him on Amazon (yes, we got to 100, but I'd love to keep going). Previous excerpts: "Tackling Jessica" by Maxine Marsh, "Run, Baby, Run" by Vida Bailey, "The Letter" by Tiffany Reisz part 1 and part 2, "Under Direction" by Teresa Noelle Roberts, "Chattel" by Errica Liekos, "The Coffee Break" by Kristina Wright, "What You Deserve" by Lori Selke and "Subbing" by me.

From "Safe, Sane and Consensual" by Ariel Graham

The evening ended eventually. They always do. It only feels as if they don’t.

“Now,” I said to Annie the minute the door closed behind them. She didn’t even glance at the unlocked door or the carelessly drawn curtains over the living room windows. She removed her shirt, her bra and her watch and laid them on the end table beside the door, then knelt at my feet.

“You may,” I said, and admired the way the lamplight picked out the gold highlights in her hair and the silver tints on the collar I’d locked around her throat on our honeymoon. She wears charms on it, and polite society pretends it’s a necklace.

She paused long enough to give me a dazzling grin that said everything she needed to say about the evening being over, then unzipped my trousers and found me naked under them, rock hard and beaded with want. She pulled my cock out and leaned forward, her tongue out to catch the drops of precome at the head.

“No,” I said and put both hands on either side of her head, pulling her roughly to me. Her mouth hollowed, making room in the instant before I slammed into her, fucking her mouth, making her head bob. She made little grunts and moans, her eyes fluttering open and closed, and when she was deep and as lost as I was, I ordered her to stand, her arms clasped behind her, breasts thrust out at me. I took her strawberry nipples between thumbs and forefingers and began to pinch.

Annie has the most exquisitely sensitive nipples I’ve ever played with. There are times I’ve almost made her come by playing with them. When she’s on top and I’m slapping them, biting them, pinching them, it all takes her over the edge time after time.

If you liked this excerpt, please do like Serving Him on Amazon, where you can also pre-order it. You can also pre-order it from Bn.com. Kindle and Nook editions coming soon. THANK YOU!

Thank you, Kelly Writers House!

I'm in the midst of so many projects my to do lists have to do lists, but this week I got to teach an incredible erotic writing workshop at Kelly Writers House at the University of Pennsylvania, and I was so impressed with the students. It reinvigorated my love of writing erotica and made me remember when I was a fumbling, misplaced NYU law student discovering the world of sex-positive feminism and arranged for Lisa Palac to come to campus. I get so angry with myself so often for not writing, for having the idea and maybe getting a thousand or two or three words into a story and then putting it down, for not following my dreams, for assuming there is always something better/smarter/more competent out there, rather than going for broke, and if ever there was a time to just go for it, now is it. So I'm very grateful for these students for reminding me that I have something to say and that my mind is still full of ideas, as long as I sit down, for hours or days or weeks or months or years, tuning everything else out, and Do The Work. I hope I will soon have a book of short stories to share with you! But I also know that "hope" is probably the dumbest word to ever pair with writing. I will or I won't. I'll post here either way.

My fellow authors and editors, let's have a likefest!

I'm on a quest to get to 100 likes on Amazon for my new book Twice the Pleasure: Bisexual Women's Erotica and I'm sure many of you could use a boost on Amazon too. You don't have to be an author or editor, of course, but if you are, please leave your Amazon URL in the comments and I promise to like your book too (likely even download it since I'm in a book devouring mood lately). I'm fully aware that maybe this is the dumbest idea in the history of book promotion, but I hate sitting by feeling helpless, like if I don't do that little extra bit, I'm doing a disservice to my books, so I feel like anything I have the ability to do is worth trying. Postcards and bookmarks are coming soon too. Sorry if this seems tedious and stupid. I teeter on the border of tedious and stupid and inspired and excited quite often, trust me. But Serving Him and Twice the Pleasure are books I think have a bit broader appeal than some of my other ones, and I'm hoping someone out there who's been all, "I wonder where I should start when it comes to erotica" will pick them up, but they can only do that if they know where to find them, hence, my maniacal quest for 100 likes. I also only get updates on sales 4 times a year in the form of royalty checks, but Amazon likes I can check any time I want, so it feels a teensy bit more within my control, unlike just about everything else when it comes to putting books out into the world. Just wanted to let you know, I know it's crazy, but I'm crazy. I would never deny that, and maybe, just maybe, my madness will help sell books. A girl can dream. Here's a sneak peek at my story.

From "A Little Fun" by Rachel Kramer Bussel

“Can I buy you a drink?”

He can’t be serious, Dee thinks, willing herself not to roll her eyes. Yes, she’d entered a straight bar, wanting a beer or three and some quiet, to watch the game, maybe, to be alone, but in public. Did she look like the kind of woman who wanted a man to buy her a drink? Her fashion sense since she’d turned fifteen had been all about not looking that way. She didn’t want to be the kind of girl who men thought they owned, simply because she existed. That wasn’t why she was gay, but it was at least part of why she was butch, along with the fact that it felt natural, right, the way all the ads in Hannah’s magazines and on TV always said a “real woman” should feel. Well, damn it, Dee was a real woman, she just wasn’t a girlie one.

Fuck. She was here to think about anything but Hannah, who had lit out of New York the week before, insisting she needed to go to L.A. to pursue her acting dreams. Dee said she would make plans to move out there with her if that’s what Hannah truly needed to be her best self, but Hannah had pressed her delicate, hot pink-painted fingernail against her lips and looked deep into her girlfriend of five years’ eyes, and Dee knew. They were over, whether Dee liked it or not. She’d had to hold back her tears, determined not to let Hannah know how much she ached. That was also part of her butchness; she wasn’t sure why, exactly, that’s just how it was and had always been for her. The femmes cried on her shoulder; if Dee had to cry, it happened in private. That had been six weeks ago, and she was sick of crying. “Sure. A Guinness. Or whatever,” she said, trying not to sound quite so morose. As the guy leaned over the counter, she looked at him. He didn’t look gay—of course, as a good queer, she knew you could never really know for sure until you asked, and sometimes not even then, but everyone has tells, even the militantly straight men who secretly wanted to suck cock. There was usually something. This guy just seemed, well, friendly. He had on worn jeans, cowboy boots, a red, orange and white faded flannel shirt over a white T-shirt.

“Here you go,” he said, and then he grinned.

“Are you trying to flirt with me?” The words burst out of Dee’s mouth before she realized quite how harsh they sounded. They weren’t a girl/woman’s words; there was no uptick at the end of the question, no accompanying flirtatious smile or toss of long, glossy hair—Dee didn’t have any of the latter, but if she did, it would be worn down her back in one long braid, like she had in junior high, when her mother insisted she keep it well past her shoulders.

“So what if I am?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. He wasn’t laughing at her—he was challenging her. Dee’s face flushed—she had her tells, as well—and she was annoyed that she was, somewhere, somehow, getting just a little turned on. Had a male stranger who wasn’t overtly gay ever flirted with her like this? She’d have to ponder that one later. She was so used to being the one to make the first move, flirting with women, mostly femmes, the occasional androgynous type, a few trans guys who always made Dee feel old. She looked every bit of her forty years, and she didn’t mind; her body was strong and she’d packed a lot into her life so far.

“Look, I really appreciate this”—Dee held up the cold, frosty glass—“but I’m gay. Into girls. Women. Queer. In case you couldn’t tell.” She gestured down at her outfit and willed herself not to blush when she saw that her nipples were hard beneath her white tank top and T-shirt. It was summer, and she hated wearing a bra and tried to avoid it whenever she could.

Show your support for Twice the Pleasure: Bisexual Women's Erotica by liking it on Amazon and a reminder, if you pre-order it in February, you get a free ebook or autographed paperback.

A free bisexual erotica story: "The Secret to a Happy Marriage"

Bisexuality often plays a role in my stories, whether the word itself is used or not, whether the characters identify as "bisexual" or not, in part because I'm bisexual, and in part because I think it's a way to complicate and enhance a short story. Below is my story "The Secret to a Happy Marriage," and in return for this free story, I'd love it if you'd like my book Twice the Pleasure: Bisexual Women's Erotica on Amazon and help me get to 100 likes. I'll be posting excerpts from that book and more about bisexual erotica generally, and I am hoping this book does well enough to allow me to publish more bi books. Thank you!

The Secret to a Happy Marriage
by Rachel Kramer Bussel

If people ask me why I always seem to have a smile on my face, glowing skin, and a spring in my step, I simply wink and toss off something about a healthy diet and plenty of exercise. Rarely do I divulge the real secret to my rosy cheeks and bouncy personality, and even more rarely do I let on why my husband Larry and I have had such a long and happy marriage. Somehow, for a mother of two who lives in the suburbs, who’s part of her neighborhood watch and bakes cookies every weekend, it just wouldn’t be seemly to let everyone know that the extra-special ingredient to my recipe for long-term bliss is to mix things up in the bedroom. And by that I don’t just mean adding a sex toy here or pair of crotchless panties there, though we get up to plenty of naughty play behind closed doors.

No, what I mean is that once a month, like clockwork, Larry and I visit our local swingers’ club. There, we let loose, living out every fantasy we’ve ever had⎯and some that only occur to us on the spot. There, I’ve been spanked, flogged, bound and gagged. I’ve eaten pussy, shared cocksucking duty, been filmed doing fire play, gotten double-teamed while my wrists were tied behind my back, and come so hard I’ve screamed out loud⎯all while my husband watches. Our only rule is that when we go there, we don’t fuck or play with each other. We share enough adventures together at home, so what makes it fun is for us to seek out new partners, or sometimes old ones who really turn us on. I love watching him with his mouth buried between another woman’s legs, lost in the exquisite ecstasy of tasting her juices. Sometimes another woman sucks his dick while he does so, but most of the time, I only catch the tail end, because I’m so busy having my own fun.

Last weekend was particularly memorable. One of the most popular couples who frequent the club are Beth and Katie. Yes, they’re two women, one blonde (Katie), one brunette (Beth), both bi and beautiful and bouncy. In their early twenties, they’d turn heads even if they weren’t a couple, but when they’re walking around naked or simply wearing skimpy g-strings, stopping every few seconds to make out, you can imagine they make countless dicks hard and pussies wet pretty much spontaneously. They know just what effect they have on everyone who enters the club, and they lap it right up. They’re complete exhibitionists and always wind up going above and beyond the call of naked duty. They won’t just tie each other up and fuck; they’ll use gorgeous, expensive silky red rope, with Beth, the more dominant of the pair, running it between Katie’s pussy lips and making her breasts pop out. When Beth sucks on Katie’s nipples, she makes sure to grab one between her teeth and tug, or twist a nub between her fingers and twirl it around and around so anyone looking on can get the full effect. One time they set up a little corner “booth” where they took turns bending over for anyone who chose to spank them with their choice of implements. They bring a huge toy bag that sometimes has a video camera, and they’ve been known to get someone to tape them fucking, then gift the cameraman or woman with the tape, like a naughty goodie bag prize.

Sometimes they come and are incredible teases, choosing only to entwine their bodies against each other while everyone else looks on lustfully. Even the women who swear up and down they only love cock get horny when they see Beth and Katie. There’s just something infectious about their youth and beauty and openness about sex. They’re also truly tender to each other even amidst the wildest sex acts. One time, Beth kissed Katie passionately while she was sandwiched between two guys, one’s cock in her pussy, one in her ass. Beth tends to prefer girls but Katie’s more of the wild child, and neither seems to ever get jealous.

Larry’s told me that he’s jerked off to the idea of the two of them having their way with him, tying him up and gagging him, then taking turns sitting on his cock for mere moments, enough to keep him rock-hard, but unable to get off as they played musical chairs in front of him. We’ve certainly fantasized about the girls countless times in bed. I’ve always said that I wanted to lick both their pussies at once. I’ve watched them get head and heard their cries from clear across the room, salivating with envy over the lucky tongue that got to be slammed inside those delicious lips. The main thing to know about Beth and Katie is that they never accepted come-ons; they always had to be the aggressors, the ones inviting others into their private erotic dance.

All of a sudden, here was my chance, The girls were particularly impressed with my new nipple rings, twin silver ovals with little beads on the ends that Larry had gotten me for our anniversary. I’d been letting them heal, and last time had kept my top on, creating an air of mystery. Some had thought I’d gotten my boobs done, while others picked sunburn as the cause for my sudden bashfulness. I just kept them guessing, and at home savored Larry’s teeth tugging on the hoops when I was finally allowed to utilize them to full effect. Now, they were making their public debut, to much applause and public speculation. My nipples had never been as sensitive, and when Katie giggled and said she wanted to taste my new toys for herself, I smiled and said, “Be my guest.” Really I was her guest, a visitor to her glorious lesbian playground as Beth stood behind me, letting me lean my head back onto her shoulder while she kissed the nape of my neck and whispered in my ear about what a dirty girl I was. Her words themselves weren’t anything special, but coming from her lips, with her bare breasts pressed against my back, they almost made my knees buckle.

And Katie, who I’d gotten used to think of as mostly a bottom, pounced on my rings like they were candy. I reached behind me, gripping Beth’s hips as she bit into my neck while Katie stared up at me as she took one ring between her teeth and began tugging. “Oh yeah, I like that,” I said, staring back at Katie, hoping my husband was watching every second. My nipples were on fire, as were my cheeks, flaming bright red I was sure. I’d been watched before, but when I dared draw my gaze from Katie’s wicked mouth, I saw so many familiar faces glued on me, many of them with accompanying hands jerking on cocks or sliding along slick pussies.

“How’s Katie doing, Angela?” Beth asked, her fingers finding ways to pinch my back, my stomach, my ass.

Katie’s tongue slithered out to lick my hard pink flesh, flicking at the ring in the process. I watched her lap at one nipple while her other hand twisted my areola. “Very good, Beth. Perfect, actually,” I said, then sucked in air between my teeth as Beth’s fingers found the entrance to my sex. She stroked me there, so lightly I wanted to scream, playing with my wetness but not making any move to enter me. Katie’s mouth got more intense, her lips fastening around the ring and pulling upward while her other hand started lightly slapping at my other breast. I was panting by then, short, shallow, in and out breaths that pushed me closer to the edge of orgasm.

They kept me there at that high peak, but neither tried to push me over. Abruptly, Beth slithered out from behind me, forcing me to stand up straight, and pulled her girlfriend away. I saw them whispering, then looked down and saw my erect nipples with their adornments hanging perfectly off each end. I heard a laugh come from Katie’s lips and stood up straighter.

“We don’t think you’re quite ready to get fucked,” said Beth, reporting back. “Do you?”

It was a trick question if ever there was one, because I was so beyond ready to get fucked. “Your wish is my command,” I said to Beth, because it was the truth. Tonight, she knew what was best for me, more than I or Larry or anyone else in the horny room.

“Good. Then shut your eyes,” she said. The next thing I knew, a blindfold was placed over them. “Turn around and put your hands over your head.” I did as she said, feeling my pussy tighten as I followed her order. Then hands were pushing me hard against the wall. My pierced nipples met the hard, flat surface, the zing of pain racing through my body before settling into a dull thtrob.

“Spread your legs,” came Beth’s next order. I did, only to feel them spread further for me by her hands. Then someone was between my legs, pinching my labia. I’d never really thought of my pussy lips as sources of sexual pleasure; that was for my clit, and for inside. But soon something was being clamped to each lip, toward the top, near my clit. I heard a tinkling, like bells, then laughter. “Now if you move, your pussy’s going to jingle,” said Beth, raking her claw-like nails down the back of my neck. I shuddered, and sure enough, the bells hanging from my cunt gave off their own sound. “Those are really meant to go on a girl’s nipples, but yours are otherwise occupied,” said Beth.

“But that’s just the beginning.” Because of the blindfold, all my senses were focused on what I could hear and feel, along with the anticipation of what mysterious torture awaited me. I found out very soon, when the stroke of a flogger struck my upper back, hard. Normally, it wouldn’t have hurt so much as thudded, like an extra-strong backrub, but because of the heat emanating from my nipples, the pressure of the flogger pushed me further against the wall. Then, a pause, and something struck my ass. It was sharp and focused, and felt like a riding crop. I trembled, then whimpered. The crop made my pussy tingle.

Then came both the flogger and crop at once, one pounding deep into my upper back, one sizzling against my ass. I knew both women were lashing out at me, and was sure that anyone who hadn’t been watching before was doing so now. The blows against my back were loud, drowning out my whimpers as the heat in my chest suffused my body. The crop, along with the clamps on my labia, were what really pushed me over the edge. “Yes,” I cried out, loudly, as the instruments barreled against my skin. They kept striking me over and over until my whole body tingled like you do when you’ve just come into a warm room from a freezing outdoor day, only on the edge of orgasm.

Then the room was still, and it felt to me like everyone was holding their breath, waiting, like me, to see what would happen next. I’ll tell you⎯one of the women (my money was on Beth), took the crop and began tapping it against my sex. Lightly, at first, the leather hit my slit, sometimes striking the bells. Then it came harder, and I banged my fists against the wall, so horny I could scream. “Yeah,” I heard behind me, then there were fingers tangled in my hair, then fingers being shoved in my mouth, then who knows how many hands on me. I found out later it was the girls and my friend Carlos, all touching and stroking and hitting me at once. When someone finally got around to fucking me with a huge dildo that stretched my pussy deliciously, I shuddered, my body craving every last inch of it. As I got mauled, I melted into my tormenters, my lovers, myself. I gave everything I had to my scene, and got back in return an orgasm that seemed to last for hours. Not literally, but long after we left the club, my pussy pulsed with that special feeling only a rock-your-world climax can bring.

Beth and Katie took me into the bathroom and wiped me down, kissing and licking any sore spots and telling me that ours was the hottest scene they’d ever had at the club. I don’t know if they were telling the truth, but for me, they gave my weekend⎯okay, my year⎯something to truly remember. And that’s my secret, one I’m happy to share if it’ll help one lucky lady unlock her own erotic dreams, as naughty as they may be. We’ve all got them, those yearnings that don’t simply go away because you’ve got a ring on your finger. I prefer to indulge my indecent thoughts, and will continue to do so, with a smile on my face.

You'll find 22 varied stories in Twice the Pleasure: Bisexual Women's Erotica , out from Cleis Press in March 2013! Stay tuned for excerpts.

A sexy verson of tackling in "Tackling Jessica" by Maxime Marsh from Serving Him

I'm so excited that Serving Him: Sexy Stories of Submission will be in my hands in just over two weeks, and then mailed off to my amazing Amazon reviewers and off to the tables at Barnes & Noble. I've edited various submission themed anthologies (and right now am taking submissions for the very wide open book of 69 1,200 words or less stories!), and this one is especially dear to me, because I think it goes deeper and more intensely into some of the aspects of kink I most appreciate. If you like it, please like Serving Him on Amazon (yes, we got to 100, but I'd love to keep going). Previous excerpts: "Run, Baby, Run" by Vida Bailey, "The Letter" by Tiffany Reisz part 1 and part 2, "Under Direction" by Teresa Noelle Roberts, "Chattel" by Errica Liekos, "The Coffee Break" by Kristina Wright, "What You Deserve" by Lori Selke and "Subbing" by me.

"Tackling Jessica" by Maxine Marsh

“I want you to tackle me.”

I frowned, trying to make it seem like the idea sounded crazy to me. Truly, the thought turned me on. I’d gotten pretty warmed up rolling around on the floor with her. Holding back the bulk of my strength when we played left me on edge. The muscles in my arms and legs were antsy to get some more action. I was already planning to go and run a few miles after I left her place.

“I want to feel what you were talking about before. About the moment. I want to feel that.” She was earnest and direct, and it was sexy as hell.

“I could hurt you.”

“So what?”

I looked at her. She somehow seemed amused and serious, at the same time.

She gave a little. “Okay, let’s go in the bedroom. You can tackle me onto the bed.”

I followed her to the back of her apartment, into a dark room. The shades were drawn. A small table lamp lit the room dimly from the night table next to her big, unmade bed. Her room was simple: a big bed, made up with comfortable-looking white bedding, a large dark-hued headboard and a big dresser made from matching wood. I was surprised not to see anything particularly girly. The faint smell of orchids in the air was the only feminine aspect of the room.

She went and pulled the comforter off the mattress and threw it onto the floor at the foot of the bed.

I stood in the doorway, feeling like I was on the edge of her little, private world. She positioned herself by the side of the bed, bit her lip and then looked at me. “Okay, go.”

“Wait,” I said.

“What?”

“You’re serious about this?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Getting tackled isn’t like getting pushed over or something. It’s like getting hit. Really.”

She frowned at me. “I didn’t take you for such a pussy.”

If you liked this excerpt, please do like Serving Him on Amazon, where you can also pre-order it. You can also pre-order it from Bn.com. Kindle and Nook editions coming soon. THANK YOU!