Rachel Kramer Bussel's Blog, page 134
December 25, 2011
21 bondage erotica excerpts from Best Bondage Erotica 2012
Best Bondage Erotica 2012 makes a great gift for the kinky person in your life! This book also features bondage expert Midori's foreword! For that matter, so does
Best Bondage Erotica 2011
. Here's excerpts from all 21 stories in the book; maybe I'll read "The Weight" to you if I get a chance. One of my 2012 goals is to finally put the voice recorder I bought last year into action. If you like these excerpts, please pass on this link and click "like" on Amazon and spread the word. Thank you!
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2012 from:
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Melting Ice Shoshanna Evers
Taking the bowl containing the single ice cube into the living room, she sat on the couch and watched the ice. It hadn't even begun to melt. How long would it take? Just the idea that it would be a while turned her on.
Because tonight, she was going to be handcuffed, unable to free herself, until the cube with the key in it melted. Her pussy clenched in anticipation.
While she waited for the handcuff key to freeze in the tray, she took the second key upstairs with the cuffs to practice.
She was so turned on that just walking made her clit rub against the seam in her pants, and she had to stop and take a deep, shaky breath. Save it for later, she told herself.
A Night at the Opera Elizabeth Coldwell
"Remember I said I'd make sure you couldn't misbehave tonight?" I asked. "Well, these beautiful gloves are designed to help me do just that. Hands behind your back."
"I don't want to," Jonathan murmured, in a tone indicating the exact opposite.
"Now!" I snapped, the word perfectly in time with a dramatic burst from the brass section. Jonathan pulled his hands away from his cock, so rigid and enticing it took all my willpower not to forget the game and simply order him to fuck me.
The lack of resistance as I guided first one arm, then the other, into the gloves told me how much Jonathan was enjoying being placed in this bizarre predicament. Some submissives fight against the process of being tied up every step of the way, their pleading and struggles all part of the game. Others complain their bonds are too tight, too loose, too inexpertly tied, whining and goading until the only response is to gag them and silence their irritating attempts to top from below. The easiest to deal with are those who embrace their restraint wholeheartedly, permitting themselves to give up all responsibility and handing the administration of their pleasure to their partner. Jonathan falls into that latter camp, letting me mold and twist him into whatever position I desire without complaint.
Darlene's Dilemma Andrea Dale
Darlene had surreptitiously squirmed her way through breakfast, trying to no avail to find a comfortable position on the chair. She was stubborn enough to not want to admit there was no comfortable way of sitting in public when there was a butt plug buried in your ass.
Of course, the wriggling around made it worse, made her more aware of the silicone toy inside her. It wasn't terribly big⎯she wasn't into harming delicate tissue⎯but it was there, and it brought a flush to her face anytime Jaden or Sienna lubed it up and told her to bend over.
They allowed her to wear panties to breakfast, because they had a respect for the hotel's antique chairs and didn't want her staining the cushion.
Sienna was wearing a plug, too, but somehow she managed to look completely unconcerned and entirely comfortable. She didn't find it as deliciously humiliating as Darlene did.
Snow White A. R. Shannon
"Snow white, just the way I like it," he said, caressing my bare buttocks. "Like a blank slate."
I didn't understand.
If he liked it blank and white as snow, what was I doing tied to this chair?
"I like the first mark best," he said. "I like to make that first mark, and then I like to watch as you change colors under my hand."
I could feel him reach down and pick up the leather glove he'd brought with him. He held it dangling by the hem and let the empty fingers drag over my flesh, tickling me. I squirmed a little over the back of the chair and he chuckled.
Trophy Boyfriend Lucy Felthouse
Finally, the penny dropped. Understanding the new game at last, Ethan dropped his arrogant behavior and removed the rest of his clothes speedily. As the last garment landed on his pile of discarded clothinges, I spoke again.
"Get the chair. Put it in the middle of the floor, facing me. Then sit on it."
This time Ethan didn't need telling twice. I had no idea what he thought about this new dominant persona of mine, but it was clearly turning him on. His cock jutted proudly out of his pubic hair, pre-come already beading at its tip.
He sat on the chair and looked at me expectantly, awaiting my next move. I walked to where I'd placed my overnight bag and began rummaging inside. When I pulled my hand out with a pair of handcuffs dangling from my fingertip, Ethan grinned from ear to ear. Walking over to him, I made short work of cuffing him to the chair. I smiled as he pointlessly rattled his restraints. He wasn't going anywhere. Not without the chair, anyway.
The Spider and the Fly Salome Wilde
He made his way into the private club, paid for a one-night membership and found his way to a little table in the back of the darkened main room with little fuss and eyes kept mostly to himself. Only when he was sipping a complimentary Coke (it was BYOB and he'd not remembered that, and he definitely could have used a stiff shot) did he begin to peek out at the crowd. There was a whole herd's worth of leather, he noted, from jackets and miniskirts to chaps and bustiers. There were corsets and schoolgirl outfits and Lycra and more spike-heeled shoes and boots than he'd ever seen in one place. The men were far less decorative, on the whole, most going for leather and T-shirts or prim black suits with narrow ties. The majority paraded their submissive girlfriends or wives behind them or on ostentatious leashes. He could pick out the very few gay and lesbian couples easily enough, though there wasn't a lot of difference in presentation. Both gender and role were on proud display. The few submissive men with their dominant women interested him most.
He stared at one young-looking guy in nothing but a cock cage, head down, sitting at his mistress's feet. She was heavily made up, trussed into a corset and long black skirt, and was stroking his shaggy head with long, red nails. A "hetfemdom" poster couple, Nick concluded. Mostly, he found himself wishing he were at home with Paolina, naked and exposed to her desires and demands. Too much here was for show, and that wasn't what kink was about for him. How much did Paolina really get into this, he wondered, and would it prove too great a wedge between them?
Tied Down Elise Hepner
"It's over, Lexie," Marley purrs.
It doesn't matter that it's the most expensive restaurant in town. Marley's got a scowl on her puss that could piss off a mime. Those gorgeous cheekbones could cut me if I get too close and her light blue eyes burn with an intensity that makes me squint. But her model looks won't detract from the problem, a slight bump in our road that has my stomach twisted in panic, even as my pussy gets wet and eager from her taunt.
There's a pile of her "relationship notes" sitting in between us and, where her water spilled, purple ink stains the white tablecloth. All the reasons we shouldn't be together, just there⎯as if we're sitting at a business meeting. Maybe I can still work this exchange to my advantage. She's always had a sticky sweet soft spot for my kind of lovin', even from the beginning.
But it's okay⎯she's biting her lower lip. That means there's hope. Even if it isn't laid out on the pros and cons list next to my lobster that I ordered to be spiteful⎯across from the water Marley just spilled in her nervousness. Her nervousness is beautiful; it's an emotion that rarely pushes through to the surface of her domineering and perfectionist tendencies. It's a tiny chink in her armor, but I'll take it. This is the most serious I've ever seen her. My chest tightens reflexively as I nibble on the inside of my cheek. Underneath her hard exterior there's something gentle in her gaze as she considers me across the table. Could those three rapid blinks mean this is another sexy game?
The Cupboard Under the Stairs Kay Jaybee
The moment she heard the sharp click of the key turning in the padlock, her pulse drummed faster and her mouth dried.
Kristi slowly lowered the book she'd been reading to her lap. Mark was standing right behind her. She continued to look the other way as she spoke. "I didn't hear you come in."The minutes before it started were precious. Kristi took silent deep breaths, aware that her pussy was already twitching and her chest was swelling beneath her black satin bra. Perspiration dotted her palms.
As her long russet hair was gathered into a sleek ponytail by strong male hands, Kristi closed her eyes, and goose pimples covered the flesh beneath her shirt, as her husband's fingers traced the length of her hairline. Her husband tugged her hair sharply, craning her neck backwards, making Kristi's throat constrict with longing.
Speaking calmly, as if he was simply offering to take her to the movies, Mark said, "I know how much you've missed our special sessions while I've been working away, so I've arranged a surprise." Without relaxing his grip, he began to knead Kristi's left breast with his free hand, squeezing it roughly through her top. "I see you're more than ready for the challenge that lies ahead, my dear."
Suffer for Me Teresa Noelle Roberts
Martin said, "I want to suffer for you."
I smiled. I tried to make it an aloof, catlike one, but my heart ached with a combination of tenderness and lust and I'm sure it showed on my face. "You're such a good boy," I said, continuing to stroke his long, brown hair. "And so beautiful. Why would I want to make you suffer?"
He was sitting at my feet, his head in my lap. He looked up at me, his eyes huge and lost, almost tragic. "Please...I want to be worthy of you, Mma'am. I want to suffer for you."Martin was younger than me and new to revealing his own submissive nature. The admission had released a streak of dark romanticism, abetted by much erotica read with too little grounding in reality. I could chuckle about it, remembering my own early, fantasy-fueled explorations ten years ago, and yet his leather- and hemp- scented romantic fancies, his yearning devotion, had swept me off my feet just as much as my firm but sensual control had swept him off his. Now we were trying to figure out where to go from here. I was the experienced one, and I had definite ideas where I wanted things to go with my beautiful, biddable Martin, but a responsible Ddomme finds a balance between her own needs and those of her sub. This was especially important at Martin's delicate exploratory stage, where a wrong move could sour his fascination not just with me, but with kink.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, tugging cruelly. "If you weren't worthy of me, you wouldn't be here," I said, dropping my voice to a low, ominous register. "Do you question my judgment, or my taste?"
Dry Rub Giselle Renarde
The chair jerked twice, and she realized Terry was trying to raise his hands to grab her before remembering they were tied to the sides of the chair. She still had a grip on his hair, and his face looked so pitiful in her hands that she almost wanted to laugh. He was desperate, poor boy, and she wouldn't give in. Tonight he was a tool of her pleasure, nothing more. She stroked her pussy harder against his cock as he struggled to free himself from the pretty peach napkins. Her mother had bought them as a gift for special occasions. They'd never used them until now.
Today had been its own sort of foreplay. Shaving her pussy and squeezing into this school uniform had made her pussy pulse hot beneath her skirt. Now, with the pressure of Terry's dick and the smooth heat of the leather, her clit was throbbing like it had its own heartbeat. It wouldn't take long to come. In fact, she could feel her orgasm sitting like a trembling itch at the base of her pelvis. She knew just what would get her there.
Releasing her grasp on Terry's hair, she quickly unbuttoned her top. As she shoved her tits against his face, his mouth moved like a magnet to the nearest nipple. When he sucked it into his hot mouth, she felt that velvet sensation of tongue on flesh all the way down to her clit. Bolts of energy passed through her, setting off sparks in her cunt as she writhed against his cock. She felt hazy now, like her body was something separate from herself.
Worth Redemption Craig J. Sorensen
"I've forgiven you, William; you've forgiven me. You have to forgive yourself." You touched my chin to lift it. My eyes remained fixed downcast. My resistance was cracking. So tempting, but so strange. So similar, but so far from our usual. You must have known I was giving in. Silently, swiftly, you took me by the hand and led me home. You stripped so suddenly, so certainly. Strange how meek and small you looked, which is not you, not even in submission, Dana. You took the cross from your neck and suspended it from the center headboard finial. You pulled the covers from the bed like a matador and fell in the middle of the nude bottom sheet. Your body opened wide like grand double doors to a temple.
You seemed so supple as I put your left hand in the first steel bracelet. Your right hand balled into a fist, your arm twitched. A fish nibbles at bait, the pole slightly bends; resisting, but hooked, just a small fish. The fist relaxed into the second bracelet and I closed it. You scissored your legs after I cuffed the left foot, and it took a hearty tug to spread the right, but I know how strong your dancer's legs are. I felt you relax your grip. I paused. You didn't say a word. It was the point of no return. I pulled my hands away. The foot stayed in the cuff. I locked it. You gave a tiny nod.
We'd done this sort of thing so many times before, I knew all your boundaries. This was different. I lifted two meticulously folded silk scarves you had placed on the nightstand, and wadded the first.
You opened your mouth. I stood motionless.
Laced Elizabeth Silver
The pull on my arms eases just enough so I can straighten, and I gulp for breath, even though I have nowhere to put the air. Stefan keeps my wrists pinned in one of his hands, holding me close, petting my stomach with his other as he kisses my neck, kisses my collar.
He doesn't ask me if I'm good, but I really am when he stops petting me and starts wrapping my wrists in the tail ends of the corset laces. Jesus fuck, I think, and flex my fingers as he binds me to my clothing, my arms behind my back. Now there's no getting out of this without him, no quick release of the corset unless Stefan decides it's time. I am completely at his mercy.
It should scare the hell out of me, and it does, but at the same time, it feels so goddamn good to let go of it all. Every last responsibility is his now, and all I have to do is just fucking enjoy it. And I really am; my body feels like it's been plugged into a live current, and if I had enough room in my lungs, I'd say I feel like singing. I want to tell Stefan all this, but how do you say that you feel the most free you've ever felt in your life by being tied up, and please, please, don't fucking stop?
Instead, I twist in both his and the corset's grips, and offer him my mouth. He kisses me back, a warm and wet invasion that takes what little breath I have away, and we're both panting when he pulls away and yanks on my arms, forcing me to face front again. He's just as flushed as I am, grinning as he rubs his cock against my ass; I'm pretty sure he got my message loud and clear.
Pawns Billey Thorunn
He went to give her their usual hug but froze when he saw what she was wearing. Or rather, wasn't. He glanced at her bare collarbones, eyes moving down her cleavage before skipping shyly to the floor. Instead of relief, there they found shiny red heels. A dancer turned yoga teacher, Kate was calm as she watched Chris's eyes move up her sculpted legs. When they reached the midthigh hem of her apron they jumped back to the floor.
"It's okay, man, look all you want. We went over this—that's what the day's all about." Gabriel came up and clapped Chris on the shoulder. "Come out to the balcony, I've got the chessboard set up."
Chris gave a small laugh and relaxed a little. "You're crazy, Gabe." He looked at Kate, who had returned to the kitchen and was pulling glasses down from a shelf. The apron didn't reach around her back and her teddy barely covered the curve of her buttocks.
"You're both crazy."
Cumaná Helen Sedgwick
First he lifted my left hand. I felt rope tighten against my skin. He pulled my arm up to the top corner of the bed, securing it somehow. I held out my other hand obediently, and he guided it towards the other corner, fastening more of the rope around my wrist. I lay there, waiting, tensing against the knots that secured my hands above my head. One by one he took my ankles and pointed my feet to the corners of the bed, spreading my legs wide open. Moving slowly, deliberately, he tied them down. I strained against the rope, but it was tight. He made no sounds, no more movements. My heart was racing. I could still hear the music from outside and voices chattering; I was glad I wasn't down there. Something in me shifted; my eyes stopped straining to see through the satin, my limbs relaxed, my skin stopped shivering, my breathing slowed. I felt my mind slide to a place it didn't usually go, and I started holding my breath. He turned on the air- conditioning, and I felt a cold rush of air over my skin. My nipples hardened instantly, a shiver moving up and down my body.
"Don't move," he said.
His fingers stroked my skin from my elbows to my armpits, the sensation making me conscious of the soft exposed underside of my arms.
Good British Steel Lana Fox
At the window, the curtain was only half closed and the moonlight spilled across the Roman statue, a bust of a boy in an ivy crown with vacant eyes. I burned as I remembered Rupe's sword slicing through the darkness, and I dreamed of the steel pressed onto my sex as I rubbed against it, wet.
At last the door opened again, and Rupe walked toward me, after closing the door behind him. "How's my little captive?"
I shivered with longing. Then came the swish and glint of metal as he unsheathed the weapon with a flourish. Wielding it in front of him with the tip pointing upward, he took a step toward me. "Spread your knees."
Slowly, I did as he said.
He moved closer, the sword still held between us, close enough that I could smell his scent. With a glare, he told me, "Lick it."
Parting Ways Tenille Brown
Maggie stood there, stunned and mesmerized all at the same time, watching through a crack in the door, her feet seemingly glued to their spot.
Derek was sitting in a chair, naked. There was wide gray tape over his mouth and binding his wrists as well as his ankles to the chair.
Almost as tall as Derek, the woman stood over him, smiling deviously. And she was naked, too, except for the black patent leather stiletto heels and bangle bracelets.
Glancing just behind her, Maggie saw the woman hadn't always been naked. She had shown up in a red shirt and gray slacks; a long white lab coat thrown over the sofa bore the name FELICE.
In the chair, Derek was hard, hard in that tantalizingly solid way that drove Maggie wild. His cock rose up, bounced forward and back.
Maggie struggled to identify the emotion that coursed through her body as she watched the scene that was unfolding before her eyes.
Knot Alone Kathleen Tudor
I keep a full-length mirror in my walk-in closet. It's a freestanding antique, made of dark, polished wood that seems to catch the shine of the lights as I dress in front of it every day. Today is special.
I carry the heavy mirror out of my closet and set it up in my bedroom where it shows off my body in the best possible light. Today isn't about hiding in closets or being secretive; today is about celebrating me.
I've met a few so-called Doms in the scene. They're punks and jackasses or dirty old men. I'm sure there are exceptions out there, but the good ones, the kind of men I dream about, they've already got their girls, and they don't seem to bother with the dirty little bondage clubs downtown.
What I dream of is a man who can drop me to my knees with a glance or turn my cunt liquid with one steamy gaze. I want a man who earns his control over me—a man who can make me beg him to control me. He'll be nothing like those boys at the clubs who try to order me around and hope I'm in the mood to obey. No, he'll expect me to listen, and he'll command me with no doubt or hesitation in his voice, and when he does…
The Insurrection Valerie Alexander
Our gazes locked. Then I looked around for the rope that had to be there. Different lengths of what looked like six-millimeter hemp were coiled under the coffee table.
I held one up. "Try me."
He smirked and held out his wrists like a prisoner. "Okay, cowgirl."
That was the wrong thing to say. I pushed him facedown on the sofa, bringing his arms behind his back. "You're not that fast," he said, turning his face to the side so he could talk. Jackson always talked during sex, could never stop lecturing and pontificating and educating. "I could still get away at this point."
"I'll keep that in mind for my next abduction." I skipped all the fancy knot work and went straight for incapacitation. I toyed briefly with the idea of hog-tying him, but decided it would limit his uses too much.
He jerked experimentally against the rope. "Not bad."
Neither of us said anything, and he forced a laugh. "You going to leave me like this, compadre?"
"You sound nervous." I ran a fingernail down his long brown back. "Afraid I'm going to violate your maidenhood right here on the sofa?"
"Impossible. I'm inviolable."
The Tipping Point Lolita Lopez
Mia shivered as Cal brushed the looped end of the braided rope against her collarbone. The silky rope followed the curve of her naked breast, teasing the stiff peak begging for attention, before sliding even lower along the sloped plane of her bare belly. Cal playfully swatted the tender lips of her sex with the looped braid. Mia hissed at the sting and pressed back against the stone wall. The shock of the cold masonry on her hot skin forced her ramrod straight.
Cal's fingers tangled in her black hair. He claimed her mouth with a possessive kiss, his tongue darting between her lips and swiping her own. A hint of peppermint licked at her taste buds. She gave a little mewling sigh and shoved her aching breasts against his chest. The pearlescent buttons lining the front of his crisp cotton shirt lightly scratched her flesh. Cal abandoned her lips and nipped the edge of her jaw. His teasing bites moved ever lower, sliding along her throat to the swell of her breasts. He sucked on one nipple and then the other. With his tongue and teeth, he teased her erect nipples until they were glistening and ruddy.
Mia breathed heavily as arousal blossomed in her chest. Her pussy ached with need and seeped its slick juices. Already she could feel the sticky wetness pooling between her thighs. She squeezed her knees together in a desperate attempt to calm the overwhelming urge to open wide and beg Cal for his cock. A deliciously dirty image filled her mind: Cal taking her up against the wall as she clutched at his shoulders and sucked on his earlobe. She bit her lower lip at the phantom sensations of Cal pounding into her.
The looped end of the rope caressed her cheek. Cal fixed her with a searching gaze. She swallowed hard and gave a little nod.
As Long As You Don't Wake Me Neil Gavriel
She climbed on my face and ordered me to use my tongue. "And use it well, or there will be consequences."
She'd never been this imperious with me before, and I found that I was slowly sliding into a deeply submissive version of myself that I barely recognizedknew. I had a sudden sense of myself when I was young, and I'd first been exposed to bondage, playing "Han Solo frozen in carbonite" by wrapping myself tightly in an afghan and lying on themy couch, not moving for hours at a time. It was almost meditative, my current predicament, and I had only the sensations of my tongue inside her wet, slick pussy, and my cock vibrating slightly from the rubber ring around it.
It snapped me out of my reverie when she came again, this time even harder, and she ground her face against my mouth and nose until I was gasping for breath. I felt used; I was merely a tool to provide her orgasms. I was always, I felt, a selfless lover, but at that moment I felt barely necessary or regarded, and it was an immense turn-on for me."How's this little thing doing?" she asked, flicking my cock.
I didn't answer, for fear of reprisals. She slapped me.
"I asked a question, cock," she said.
The Weight Rachel Kramer Bussel
I settle into my favorite position: naked, facedown on the bed, arms by my sides, legs slightly spread. I'm not moving, but inside I'm twitching with excitement. I wait, like this, for Damian. He's in the kitchen but he knows I'm in our bed, eager, hungry. He knows he is the only one who can give me what I need. Now he does, anyway. I'm pretty sure when we first got together all those years ago, he thought it was just my kink or fetish: get on top of me, hold me down, provide that rote set of actions that get me off.
I didn't know how to tell him for a long time it wasn't that at all; it was him. He was my fetish, he was my everything, which made it easy to give so much of myself right back to him. It didn't even feel like a choice. Better for him to think I was just a kinky girl, rather than kinky for him. He already held so much power over me after that first time, another bit of it might set me permanently in the cage he'd placed me in, the one whose invisible bars I met everywhere I turned, with every thought that passed through my mind. He'd invaded me inside and out, to the point where he didn't need to do or say anything to keep me in place. He had me, every inch of me. I was only twenty-two, but I knew exactly what I wanted and, once he sank his claws into me, what I needed.
"No," I told him, looking up at him and blushing as I felt the tears rushing to give me away. "Just you. All of you." He'd looked at me for a long time. I could sense the smile along his lips even though he didn't dare show it to me. He likes to look stern even though I can read him just as well as he can read me and I know that while it's not an act, there is a heart as tender as mine beating beneath the layers of menace he slips into when we are together. He manages to make the transitions seamless, though, so I never know which Damian I will get, how rough he will be, how deliciously far he will push me.That first night was a lot like tonight, but no matter how many times I prepare myself for Damian, I'm never truly prepared. I couldn't be, even if I could peer into the future with some kind of kinky crystal ball. Some things you have to live through moment by agonizing, dazzling moment. He steamrolls over my anticipation, crushing it like he crushes me, until I am a blank slate. Oh, he likes my dirty mind well enough, the fantasies I cook up and spin for him, but he wants me to know they'll never come true, not exactly, not the way I conceive of them, anyway. His fantasies will, and do, and he will make them mine whether I like it or not, even though I always wind up liking it, even when I'm literally kicking and screaming.
Sometimes my fantasies morph into his, or maybe it's that they merge. Maybe it's that what I think I want is never actually what I really do, or that when the fantasy comes alive, like now, it's more intense, more scary and far more arousing than I ever could have predicted. Damian takes away my predictability the same way he takes away my mobility, my breath, my agency; they're there, and in a flash, they're gone. I could protest, but he knows me too well for that. I like offering those elemental facets of my being to him, only him. I like the way he looks when he knows I've stripped away even the flimsiest of barriers between us. Too many of my exes thought stripping was about the skin, about getting naked, and that was all it took to see all of me, to capture me. How little did they know. I'm the queen of the invisible cover-up, but Damian can induce fear and lust and a scarily possessive passion all with a look, even with my clothes on. So now, when I'm bare in every sense of the word, is when the real magic happens, when I truly come alive, and so does he. I can almost see the power shift animate him, light him up like a rocket about to shoot into space, only it's my space he's about to barrel through; the spaces inside me, the ones I'm not even aware I'm clinging to, he's about to invade.
There's nothing showy about this. If you were watching us, you'd see a large white man lying on top of a smaller white woman, if you could see her at all save for her brown hair splayed across the sheets. There are no pillows beneath me; he is pillow enough for both of us, even above me, his heavy softness cushioning, momentarily, what he is about to do. I'm aware we could be on the floor, we could even be on the sidewalk; he could get me to do that, I'm pretty sure, my cheek pressed to the filthy concrete, drool leaking out of my mouth. So any lack of amenities simply makes me more conscious of what I do have in this moment: him, his body, every last ounce. I don't know how many there are, ounces or pounds, but I know there are a lot. I know he can easily scoop me up into his arms. I know the guards size him up when we get on a plane. I know he is not just big, but huge, so when he is on top of me, I am small, able to be crushed, flattened, compressed.
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2012 from:
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Kindle (only $8.99!)
Barnes & Noble
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Powell's
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Books-a-Million
Cleis Press
Melting Ice Shoshanna Evers
Taking the bowl containing the single ice cube into the living room, she sat on the couch and watched the ice. It hadn't even begun to melt. How long would it take? Just the idea that it would be a while turned her on.
Because tonight, she was going to be handcuffed, unable to free herself, until the cube with the key in it melted. Her pussy clenched in anticipation.
While she waited for the handcuff key to freeze in the tray, she took the second key upstairs with the cuffs to practice.
She was so turned on that just walking made her clit rub against the seam in her pants, and she had to stop and take a deep, shaky breath. Save it for later, she told herself.
A Night at the Opera Elizabeth Coldwell
"Remember I said I'd make sure you couldn't misbehave tonight?" I asked. "Well, these beautiful gloves are designed to help me do just that. Hands behind your back."
"I don't want to," Jonathan murmured, in a tone indicating the exact opposite.
"Now!" I snapped, the word perfectly in time with a dramatic burst from the brass section. Jonathan pulled his hands away from his cock, so rigid and enticing it took all my willpower not to forget the game and simply order him to fuck me.
The lack of resistance as I guided first one arm, then the other, into the gloves told me how much Jonathan was enjoying being placed in this bizarre predicament. Some submissives fight against the process of being tied up every step of the way, their pleading and struggles all part of the game. Others complain their bonds are too tight, too loose, too inexpertly tied, whining and goading until the only response is to gag them and silence their irritating attempts to top from below. The easiest to deal with are those who embrace their restraint wholeheartedly, permitting themselves to give up all responsibility and handing the administration of their pleasure to their partner. Jonathan falls into that latter camp, letting me mold and twist him into whatever position I desire without complaint.
Darlene's Dilemma Andrea Dale
Darlene had surreptitiously squirmed her way through breakfast, trying to no avail to find a comfortable position on the chair. She was stubborn enough to not want to admit there was no comfortable way of sitting in public when there was a butt plug buried in your ass.
Of course, the wriggling around made it worse, made her more aware of the silicone toy inside her. It wasn't terribly big⎯she wasn't into harming delicate tissue⎯but it was there, and it brought a flush to her face anytime Jaden or Sienna lubed it up and told her to bend over.
They allowed her to wear panties to breakfast, because they had a respect for the hotel's antique chairs and didn't want her staining the cushion.
Sienna was wearing a plug, too, but somehow she managed to look completely unconcerned and entirely comfortable. She didn't find it as deliciously humiliating as Darlene did.
Snow White A. R. Shannon
"Snow white, just the way I like it," he said, caressing my bare buttocks. "Like a blank slate."
I didn't understand.
If he liked it blank and white as snow, what was I doing tied to this chair?
"I like the first mark best," he said. "I like to make that first mark, and then I like to watch as you change colors under my hand."
I could feel him reach down and pick up the leather glove he'd brought with him. He held it dangling by the hem and let the empty fingers drag over my flesh, tickling me. I squirmed a little over the back of the chair and he chuckled.
Trophy Boyfriend Lucy Felthouse
Finally, the penny dropped. Understanding the new game at last, Ethan dropped his arrogant behavior and removed the rest of his clothes speedily. As the last garment landed on his pile of discarded clothinges, I spoke again.
"Get the chair. Put it in the middle of the floor, facing me. Then sit on it."
This time Ethan didn't need telling twice. I had no idea what he thought about this new dominant persona of mine, but it was clearly turning him on. His cock jutted proudly out of his pubic hair, pre-come already beading at its tip.
He sat on the chair and looked at me expectantly, awaiting my next move. I walked to where I'd placed my overnight bag and began rummaging inside. When I pulled my hand out with a pair of handcuffs dangling from my fingertip, Ethan grinned from ear to ear. Walking over to him, I made short work of cuffing him to the chair. I smiled as he pointlessly rattled his restraints. He wasn't going anywhere. Not without the chair, anyway.
The Spider and the Fly Salome Wilde
He made his way into the private club, paid for a one-night membership and found his way to a little table in the back of the darkened main room with little fuss and eyes kept mostly to himself. Only when he was sipping a complimentary Coke (it was BYOB and he'd not remembered that, and he definitely could have used a stiff shot) did he begin to peek out at the crowd. There was a whole herd's worth of leather, he noted, from jackets and miniskirts to chaps and bustiers. There were corsets and schoolgirl outfits and Lycra and more spike-heeled shoes and boots than he'd ever seen in one place. The men were far less decorative, on the whole, most going for leather and T-shirts or prim black suits with narrow ties. The majority paraded their submissive girlfriends or wives behind them or on ostentatious leashes. He could pick out the very few gay and lesbian couples easily enough, though there wasn't a lot of difference in presentation. Both gender and role were on proud display. The few submissive men with their dominant women interested him most.
He stared at one young-looking guy in nothing but a cock cage, head down, sitting at his mistress's feet. She was heavily made up, trussed into a corset and long black skirt, and was stroking his shaggy head with long, red nails. A "hetfemdom" poster couple, Nick concluded. Mostly, he found himself wishing he were at home with Paolina, naked and exposed to her desires and demands. Too much here was for show, and that wasn't what kink was about for him. How much did Paolina really get into this, he wondered, and would it prove too great a wedge between them?
Tied Down Elise Hepner
"It's over, Lexie," Marley purrs.
It doesn't matter that it's the most expensive restaurant in town. Marley's got a scowl on her puss that could piss off a mime. Those gorgeous cheekbones could cut me if I get too close and her light blue eyes burn with an intensity that makes me squint. But her model looks won't detract from the problem, a slight bump in our road that has my stomach twisted in panic, even as my pussy gets wet and eager from her taunt.
There's a pile of her "relationship notes" sitting in between us and, where her water spilled, purple ink stains the white tablecloth. All the reasons we shouldn't be together, just there⎯as if we're sitting at a business meeting. Maybe I can still work this exchange to my advantage. She's always had a sticky sweet soft spot for my kind of lovin', even from the beginning.
But it's okay⎯she's biting her lower lip. That means there's hope. Even if it isn't laid out on the pros and cons list next to my lobster that I ordered to be spiteful⎯across from the water Marley just spilled in her nervousness. Her nervousness is beautiful; it's an emotion that rarely pushes through to the surface of her domineering and perfectionist tendencies. It's a tiny chink in her armor, but I'll take it. This is the most serious I've ever seen her. My chest tightens reflexively as I nibble on the inside of my cheek. Underneath her hard exterior there's something gentle in her gaze as she considers me across the table. Could those three rapid blinks mean this is another sexy game?
The Cupboard Under the Stairs Kay Jaybee
The moment she heard the sharp click of the key turning in the padlock, her pulse drummed faster and her mouth dried.
Kristi slowly lowered the book she'd been reading to her lap. Mark was standing right behind her. She continued to look the other way as she spoke. "I didn't hear you come in."The minutes before it started were precious. Kristi took silent deep breaths, aware that her pussy was already twitching and her chest was swelling beneath her black satin bra. Perspiration dotted her palms.
As her long russet hair was gathered into a sleek ponytail by strong male hands, Kristi closed her eyes, and goose pimples covered the flesh beneath her shirt, as her husband's fingers traced the length of her hairline. Her husband tugged her hair sharply, craning her neck backwards, making Kristi's throat constrict with longing.
Speaking calmly, as if he was simply offering to take her to the movies, Mark said, "I know how much you've missed our special sessions while I've been working away, so I've arranged a surprise." Without relaxing his grip, he began to knead Kristi's left breast with his free hand, squeezing it roughly through her top. "I see you're more than ready for the challenge that lies ahead, my dear."
Suffer for Me Teresa Noelle Roberts
Martin said, "I want to suffer for you."
I smiled. I tried to make it an aloof, catlike one, but my heart ached with a combination of tenderness and lust and I'm sure it showed on my face. "You're such a good boy," I said, continuing to stroke his long, brown hair. "And so beautiful. Why would I want to make you suffer?"
He was sitting at my feet, his head in my lap. He looked up at me, his eyes huge and lost, almost tragic. "Please...I want to be worthy of you, Mma'am. I want to suffer for you."Martin was younger than me and new to revealing his own submissive nature. The admission had released a streak of dark romanticism, abetted by much erotica read with too little grounding in reality. I could chuckle about it, remembering my own early, fantasy-fueled explorations ten years ago, and yet his leather- and hemp- scented romantic fancies, his yearning devotion, had swept me off my feet just as much as my firm but sensual control had swept him off his. Now we were trying to figure out where to go from here. I was the experienced one, and I had definite ideas where I wanted things to go with my beautiful, biddable Martin, but a responsible Ddomme finds a balance between her own needs and those of her sub. This was especially important at Martin's delicate exploratory stage, where a wrong move could sour his fascination not just with me, but with kink.
I tangled my fingers in his hair, tugging cruelly. "If you weren't worthy of me, you wouldn't be here," I said, dropping my voice to a low, ominous register. "Do you question my judgment, or my taste?"
Dry Rub Giselle Renarde
The chair jerked twice, and she realized Terry was trying to raise his hands to grab her before remembering they were tied to the sides of the chair. She still had a grip on his hair, and his face looked so pitiful in her hands that she almost wanted to laugh. He was desperate, poor boy, and she wouldn't give in. Tonight he was a tool of her pleasure, nothing more. She stroked her pussy harder against his cock as he struggled to free himself from the pretty peach napkins. Her mother had bought them as a gift for special occasions. They'd never used them until now.
Today had been its own sort of foreplay. Shaving her pussy and squeezing into this school uniform had made her pussy pulse hot beneath her skirt. Now, with the pressure of Terry's dick and the smooth heat of the leather, her clit was throbbing like it had its own heartbeat. It wouldn't take long to come. In fact, she could feel her orgasm sitting like a trembling itch at the base of her pelvis. She knew just what would get her there.
Releasing her grasp on Terry's hair, she quickly unbuttoned her top. As she shoved her tits against his face, his mouth moved like a magnet to the nearest nipple. When he sucked it into his hot mouth, she felt that velvet sensation of tongue on flesh all the way down to her clit. Bolts of energy passed through her, setting off sparks in her cunt as she writhed against his cock. She felt hazy now, like her body was something separate from herself.
Worth Redemption Craig J. Sorensen
"I've forgiven you, William; you've forgiven me. You have to forgive yourself." You touched my chin to lift it. My eyes remained fixed downcast. My resistance was cracking. So tempting, but so strange. So similar, but so far from our usual. You must have known I was giving in. Silently, swiftly, you took me by the hand and led me home. You stripped so suddenly, so certainly. Strange how meek and small you looked, which is not you, not even in submission, Dana. You took the cross from your neck and suspended it from the center headboard finial. You pulled the covers from the bed like a matador and fell in the middle of the nude bottom sheet. Your body opened wide like grand double doors to a temple.
You seemed so supple as I put your left hand in the first steel bracelet. Your right hand balled into a fist, your arm twitched. A fish nibbles at bait, the pole slightly bends; resisting, but hooked, just a small fish. The fist relaxed into the second bracelet and I closed it. You scissored your legs after I cuffed the left foot, and it took a hearty tug to spread the right, but I know how strong your dancer's legs are. I felt you relax your grip. I paused. You didn't say a word. It was the point of no return. I pulled my hands away. The foot stayed in the cuff. I locked it. You gave a tiny nod.
We'd done this sort of thing so many times before, I knew all your boundaries. This was different. I lifted two meticulously folded silk scarves you had placed on the nightstand, and wadded the first.
You opened your mouth. I stood motionless.
Laced Elizabeth Silver
The pull on my arms eases just enough so I can straighten, and I gulp for breath, even though I have nowhere to put the air. Stefan keeps my wrists pinned in one of his hands, holding me close, petting my stomach with his other as he kisses my neck, kisses my collar.
He doesn't ask me if I'm good, but I really am when he stops petting me and starts wrapping my wrists in the tail ends of the corset laces. Jesus fuck, I think, and flex my fingers as he binds me to my clothing, my arms behind my back. Now there's no getting out of this without him, no quick release of the corset unless Stefan decides it's time. I am completely at his mercy.
It should scare the hell out of me, and it does, but at the same time, it feels so goddamn good to let go of it all. Every last responsibility is his now, and all I have to do is just fucking enjoy it. And I really am; my body feels like it's been plugged into a live current, and if I had enough room in my lungs, I'd say I feel like singing. I want to tell Stefan all this, but how do you say that you feel the most free you've ever felt in your life by being tied up, and please, please, don't fucking stop?
Instead, I twist in both his and the corset's grips, and offer him my mouth. He kisses me back, a warm and wet invasion that takes what little breath I have away, and we're both panting when he pulls away and yanks on my arms, forcing me to face front again. He's just as flushed as I am, grinning as he rubs his cock against my ass; I'm pretty sure he got my message loud and clear.
Pawns Billey Thorunn
He went to give her their usual hug but froze when he saw what she was wearing. Or rather, wasn't. He glanced at her bare collarbones, eyes moving down her cleavage before skipping shyly to the floor. Instead of relief, there they found shiny red heels. A dancer turned yoga teacher, Kate was calm as she watched Chris's eyes move up her sculpted legs. When they reached the midthigh hem of her apron they jumped back to the floor.
"It's okay, man, look all you want. We went over this—that's what the day's all about." Gabriel came up and clapped Chris on the shoulder. "Come out to the balcony, I've got the chessboard set up."
Chris gave a small laugh and relaxed a little. "You're crazy, Gabe." He looked at Kate, who had returned to the kitchen and was pulling glasses down from a shelf. The apron didn't reach around her back and her teddy barely covered the curve of her buttocks.
"You're both crazy."
Cumaná Helen Sedgwick
First he lifted my left hand. I felt rope tighten against my skin. He pulled my arm up to the top corner of the bed, securing it somehow. I held out my other hand obediently, and he guided it towards the other corner, fastening more of the rope around my wrist. I lay there, waiting, tensing against the knots that secured my hands above my head. One by one he took my ankles and pointed my feet to the corners of the bed, spreading my legs wide open. Moving slowly, deliberately, he tied them down. I strained against the rope, but it was tight. He made no sounds, no more movements. My heart was racing. I could still hear the music from outside and voices chattering; I was glad I wasn't down there. Something in me shifted; my eyes stopped straining to see through the satin, my limbs relaxed, my skin stopped shivering, my breathing slowed. I felt my mind slide to a place it didn't usually go, and I started holding my breath. He turned on the air- conditioning, and I felt a cold rush of air over my skin. My nipples hardened instantly, a shiver moving up and down my body.
"Don't move," he said.
His fingers stroked my skin from my elbows to my armpits, the sensation making me conscious of the soft exposed underside of my arms.
Good British Steel Lana Fox
At the window, the curtain was only half closed and the moonlight spilled across the Roman statue, a bust of a boy in an ivy crown with vacant eyes. I burned as I remembered Rupe's sword slicing through the darkness, and I dreamed of the steel pressed onto my sex as I rubbed against it, wet.
At last the door opened again, and Rupe walked toward me, after closing the door behind him. "How's my little captive?"
I shivered with longing. Then came the swish and glint of metal as he unsheathed the weapon with a flourish. Wielding it in front of him with the tip pointing upward, he took a step toward me. "Spread your knees."
Slowly, I did as he said.
He moved closer, the sword still held between us, close enough that I could smell his scent. With a glare, he told me, "Lick it."
Parting Ways Tenille Brown
Maggie stood there, stunned and mesmerized all at the same time, watching through a crack in the door, her feet seemingly glued to their spot.
Derek was sitting in a chair, naked. There was wide gray tape over his mouth and binding his wrists as well as his ankles to the chair.
Almost as tall as Derek, the woman stood over him, smiling deviously. And she was naked, too, except for the black patent leather stiletto heels and bangle bracelets.
Glancing just behind her, Maggie saw the woman hadn't always been naked. She had shown up in a red shirt and gray slacks; a long white lab coat thrown over the sofa bore the name FELICE.
In the chair, Derek was hard, hard in that tantalizingly solid way that drove Maggie wild. His cock rose up, bounced forward and back.
Maggie struggled to identify the emotion that coursed through her body as she watched the scene that was unfolding before her eyes.
Knot Alone Kathleen Tudor
I keep a full-length mirror in my walk-in closet. It's a freestanding antique, made of dark, polished wood that seems to catch the shine of the lights as I dress in front of it every day. Today is special.
I carry the heavy mirror out of my closet and set it up in my bedroom where it shows off my body in the best possible light. Today isn't about hiding in closets or being secretive; today is about celebrating me.
I've met a few so-called Doms in the scene. They're punks and jackasses or dirty old men. I'm sure there are exceptions out there, but the good ones, the kind of men I dream about, they've already got their girls, and they don't seem to bother with the dirty little bondage clubs downtown.
What I dream of is a man who can drop me to my knees with a glance or turn my cunt liquid with one steamy gaze. I want a man who earns his control over me—a man who can make me beg him to control me. He'll be nothing like those boys at the clubs who try to order me around and hope I'm in the mood to obey. No, he'll expect me to listen, and he'll command me with no doubt or hesitation in his voice, and when he does…
The Insurrection Valerie Alexander
Our gazes locked. Then I looked around for the rope that had to be there. Different lengths of what looked like six-millimeter hemp were coiled under the coffee table.
I held one up. "Try me."
He smirked and held out his wrists like a prisoner. "Okay, cowgirl."
That was the wrong thing to say. I pushed him facedown on the sofa, bringing his arms behind his back. "You're not that fast," he said, turning his face to the side so he could talk. Jackson always talked during sex, could never stop lecturing and pontificating and educating. "I could still get away at this point."
"I'll keep that in mind for my next abduction." I skipped all the fancy knot work and went straight for incapacitation. I toyed briefly with the idea of hog-tying him, but decided it would limit his uses too much.
He jerked experimentally against the rope. "Not bad."
Neither of us said anything, and he forced a laugh. "You going to leave me like this, compadre?"
"You sound nervous." I ran a fingernail down his long brown back. "Afraid I'm going to violate your maidenhood right here on the sofa?"
"Impossible. I'm inviolable."
The Tipping Point Lolita Lopez
Mia shivered as Cal brushed the looped end of the braided rope against her collarbone. The silky rope followed the curve of her naked breast, teasing the stiff peak begging for attention, before sliding even lower along the sloped plane of her bare belly. Cal playfully swatted the tender lips of her sex with the looped braid. Mia hissed at the sting and pressed back against the stone wall. The shock of the cold masonry on her hot skin forced her ramrod straight.
Cal's fingers tangled in her black hair. He claimed her mouth with a possessive kiss, his tongue darting between her lips and swiping her own. A hint of peppermint licked at her taste buds. She gave a little mewling sigh and shoved her aching breasts against his chest. The pearlescent buttons lining the front of his crisp cotton shirt lightly scratched her flesh. Cal abandoned her lips and nipped the edge of her jaw. His teasing bites moved ever lower, sliding along her throat to the swell of her breasts. He sucked on one nipple and then the other. With his tongue and teeth, he teased her erect nipples until they were glistening and ruddy.
Mia breathed heavily as arousal blossomed in her chest. Her pussy ached with need and seeped its slick juices. Already she could feel the sticky wetness pooling between her thighs. She squeezed her knees together in a desperate attempt to calm the overwhelming urge to open wide and beg Cal for his cock. A deliciously dirty image filled her mind: Cal taking her up against the wall as she clutched at his shoulders and sucked on his earlobe. She bit her lower lip at the phantom sensations of Cal pounding into her.
The looped end of the rope caressed her cheek. Cal fixed her with a searching gaze. She swallowed hard and gave a little nod.
As Long As You Don't Wake Me Neil Gavriel
She climbed on my face and ordered me to use my tongue. "And use it well, or there will be consequences."
She'd never been this imperious with me before, and I found that I was slowly sliding into a deeply submissive version of myself that I barely recognizedknew. I had a sudden sense of myself when I was young, and I'd first been exposed to bondage, playing "Han Solo frozen in carbonite" by wrapping myself tightly in an afghan and lying on themy couch, not moving for hours at a time. It was almost meditative, my current predicament, and I had only the sensations of my tongue inside her wet, slick pussy, and my cock vibrating slightly from the rubber ring around it.
It snapped me out of my reverie when she came again, this time even harder, and she ground her face against my mouth and nose until I was gasping for breath. I felt used; I was merely a tool to provide her orgasms. I was always, I felt, a selfless lover, but at that moment I felt barely necessary or regarded, and it was an immense turn-on for me."How's this little thing doing?" she asked, flicking my cock.
I didn't answer, for fear of reprisals. She slapped me.
"I asked a question, cock," she said.
The Weight Rachel Kramer Bussel
I settle into my favorite position: naked, facedown on the bed, arms by my sides, legs slightly spread. I'm not moving, but inside I'm twitching with excitement. I wait, like this, for Damian. He's in the kitchen but he knows I'm in our bed, eager, hungry. He knows he is the only one who can give me what I need. Now he does, anyway. I'm pretty sure when we first got together all those years ago, he thought it was just my kink or fetish: get on top of me, hold me down, provide that rote set of actions that get me off.
I didn't know how to tell him for a long time it wasn't that at all; it was him. He was my fetish, he was my everything, which made it easy to give so much of myself right back to him. It didn't even feel like a choice. Better for him to think I was just a kinky girl, rather than kinky for him. He already held so much power over me after that first time, another bit of it might set me permanently in the cage he'd placed me in, the one whose invisible bars I met everywhere I turned, with every thought that passed through my mind. He'd invaded me inside and out, to the point where he didn't need to do or say anything to keep me in place. He had me, every inch of me. I was only twenty-two, but I knew exactly what I wanted and, once he sank his claws into me, what I needed.
"No," I told him, looking up at him and blushing as I felt the tears rushing to give me away. "Just you. All of you." He'd looked at me for a long time. I could sense the smile along his lips even though he didn't dare show it to me. He likes to look stern even though I can read him just as well as he can read me and I know that while it's not an act, there is a heart as tender as mine beating beneath the layers of menace he slips into when we are together. He manages to make the transitions seamless, though, so I never know which Damian I will get, how rough he will be, how deliciously far he will push me.That first night was a lot like tonight, but no matter how many times I prepare myself for Damian, I'm never truly prepared. I couldn't be, even if I could peer into the future with some kind of kinky crystal ball. Some things you have to live through moment by agonizing, dazzling moment. He steamrolls over my anticipation, crushing it like he crushes me, until I am a blank slate. Oh, he likes my dirty mind well enough, the fantasies I cook up and spin for him, but he wants me to know they'll never come true, not exactly, not the way I conceive of them, anyway. His fantasies will, and do, and he will make them mine whether I like it or not, even though I always wind up liking it, even when I'm literally kicking and screaming.
Sometimes my fantasies morph into his, or maybe it's that they merge. Maybe it's that what I think I want is never actually what I really do, or that when the fantasy comes alive, like now, it's more intense, more scary and far more arousing than I ever could have predicted. Damian takes away my predictability the same way he takes away my mobility, my breath, my agency; they're there, and in a flash, they're gone. I could protest, but he knows me too well for that. I like offering those elemental facets of my being to him, only him. I like the way he looks when he knows I've stripped away even the flimsiest of barriers between us. Too many of my exes thought stripping was about the skin, about getting naked, and that was all it took to see all of me, to capture me. How little did they know. I'm the queen of the invisible cover-up, but Damian can induce fear and lust and a scarily possessive passion all with a look, even with my clothes on. So now, when I'm bare in every sense of the word, is when the real magic happens, when I truly come alive, and so does he. I can almost see the power shift animate him, light him up like a rocket about to shoot into space, only it's my space he's about to barrel through; the spaces inside me, the ones I'm not even aware I'm clinging to, he's about to invade.
There's nothing showy about this. If you were watching us, you'd see a large white man lying on top of a smaller white woman, if you could see her at all save for her brown hair splayed across the sheets. There are no pillows beneath me; he is pillow enough for both of us, even above me, his heavy softness cushioning, momentarily, what he is about to do. I'm aware we could be on the floor, we could even be on the sidewalk; he could get me to do that, I'm pretty sure, my cheek pressed to the filthy concrete, drool leaking out of my mouth. So any lack of amenities simply makes me more conscious of what I do have in this moment: him, his body, every last ounce. I don't know how many there are, ounces or pounds, but I know there are a lot. I know he can easily scoop me up into his arms. I know the guards size him up when we get on a plane. I know he is not just big, but huge, so when he is on top of me, I am small, able to be crushed, flattened, compressed.
Sinfully awesome tights!
I love these tights! They're my friend Denise's tights (and legs!) and she got them on Etsy.
December 24, 2011
Email reminders
I rarely print out emails. It seems redundant and wasteful. I can access them at the press of a button, because I never delete them. But once in a rare while I do print out an email. It's something that I don't just want to read on the screen; its words look different in stark black on crisp white, rather than the glow of a computer screen. I had printed one such email, copying and pasting the words from gmail into Word, then printing the 8.5 by 11 page and folding it in half. I tucked it into one of several books I used this year as a wallet. I didn't forget that email—that would be impossible—but its precise details had eluded me.
I woke up this morning and needed a piece of scrap paper; I keep daily lists in my phone but often crave the feel and look of my pen on actual paper, the liquid imprecision of the ink oozing onto the page, making letters fatter or thinner, perfectly imprecise, personal, mine. And I saw this one email I'd printed. For the first ten to fifteen minutes that I'm awake, my mind is foggy. I usually first fumble for the light, unless I first pause and assess what day it is, what time it is, what was the last thing I did or thought before I went to sleep. So it took a sentence to realize that this was the prequel to the other email I found on a folded-in-half piece of paper in my living room the other day.
I should know them by heart. They are twin bookcases to something that started and ended so fast yet seems to have lasted forever. A smarter girl might burn them, or, okay, a very smart girl might recycle them, but I don't. I put each back where I found it and resist tracing my fingers over those words, thinking them might akin to my tattoo, slightly raised, somehow alive. Reading them in succession, no matter the order, is not something I do easily, because they are stark reminders of the best and worst of my 2011.
Right before I found this one I was reading the new book The Moment, a collection of "wild, poignant, life-changing stories." Perhaps it's audacious to call the moment after I first read that first email "life-changing," but it was for me. It was a moment when I saw something in myself that I hadn't seen before. I let this space inside me shift, crack open, make room. I let it reveal itself to new possibilities, a new way of remaking a relationship that was dying, and taking me with it. That space was one I knew required a gigantic leap of faith but I took it, right then. It wasn't even a question, really, a weighing of what would happen if I jumped right in, or if it was, my heart had already jumped for me and I was simply catching up.
That space inside me was one I had to make for myself; certainly nobody was going to make it for me. Certainly it's not one our culture readily embraces and no matter how much you push yourself to live outside that culture, if you live in it's part of you, embedded, so even stepping outside of it means walking through it to get to that outer circle, and for me it's like always having some small part of me touching it, getting shocked by it but unable to fully separate.
And that's where I was in that moment, not quite fully shocked by what I'm supposed to want, and not quite all the way into what I did want, but somewhere in between. I've spent a lot of time, probably more than is healthy, since pondering that space, its beauty and its imperfections. As precarious as that space was, it was somewhere I felt at home, at peace.
Recently, I thought about making a list like a friend of mine did of everything she wanted in a partner, down to the most minute detail, and before that idea got way too overwhelming one of the first things I came up with was someone who would accept me for me and not judge me. I felt so comfortable in that space that feels dreamlike looking back because there wasn't that judgment that I feel so much of the time, or at least, I didn't sense it. It's a rare thing, to be nonjudgmental, to be open, to take people where they are rather than where you want them to be. I struggle with that every single day. Maybe it's a very human impulse to want to see others in what we think is the best light possible, so human that we forget that "best light" is subjective.
So anyway, these five months later, I saw those words and I didn't rip them up or burn them or try to erase them. I could, and I might sometime, but that's the thing about words—they never truly go away, especially once you write them down. Maybe you add to them, or disagree with them, disavow them, but there they are, still being reckoned with, still powerful.
I have so many things I want to do differently in 2012, which I'm trying to think of in a positive way rather than, "Look at all the things I fucked up in 2011," cause that's way too depressing, and much as the moments after that moment were dark, shall we say, which is a grand understatement, one of the things I most want for 2012, what I managed to squeeze into five letters on my arm, four on my back, is not to reject those moments when something shifts inside me, when a space opens and leads me to a new way of being myself. It would be incredibly easy to override those impulses, train myself out of being the kind of person who has them, to brace myself inside and out when anything or anyone threatens to get that close, dares to wade past all my armor and even foresee a space like that existing in someone like me. But like one of my muses this year, the character Musa, who I saw sitting in the innermost circle of seats during Musa and Sheri in the Free World this year, I don't want easy, at least, not at the expense of...I don't even know how to end that sentence, actually. Sorry. I'm not saying I want its opposite either, I want to be clear about that (hi, universe), but easy simply for the sake of ease, no. I want everything that email that's tucked back inside its bookish home promised, as crazy and audacious and ridiculous as that might be, as much as my realistic side knows I might never get that. I don't want to be someone who stops wanting.
I woke up this morning and needed a piece of scrap paper; I keep daily lists in my phone but often crave the feel and look of my pen on actual paper, the liquid imprecision of the ink oozing onto the page, making letters fatter or thinner, perfectly imprecise, personal, mine. And I saw this one email I'd printed. For the first ten to fifteen minutes that I'm awake, my mind is foggy. I usually first fumble for the light, unless I first pause and assess what day it is, what time it is, what was the last thing I did or thought before I went to sleep. So it took a sentence to realize that this was the prequel to the other email I found on a folded-in-half piece of paper in my living room the other day.
I should know them by heart. They are twin bookcases to something that started and ended so fast yet seems to have lasted forever. A smarter girl might burn them, or, okay, a very smart girl might recycle them, but I don't. I put each back where I found it and resist tracing my fingers over those words, thinking them might akin to my tattoo, slightly raised, somehow alive. Reading them in succession, no matter the order, is not something I do easily, because they are stark reminders of the best and worst of my 2011.
Right before I found this one I was reading the new book The Moment, a collection of "wild, poignant, life-changing stories." Perhaps it's audacious to call the moment after I first read that first email "life-changing," but it was for me. It was a moment when I saw something in myself that I hadn't seen before. I let this space inside me shift, crack open, make room. I let it reveal itself to new possibilities, a new way of remaking a relationship that was dying, and taking me with it. That space was one I knew required a gigantic leap of faith but I took it, right then. It wasn't even a question, really, a weighing of what would happen if I jumped right in, or if it was, my heart had already jumped for me and I was simply catching up.
That space inside me was one I had to make for myself; certainly nobody was going to make it for me. Certainly it's not one our culture readily embraces and no matter how much you push yourself to live outside that culture, if you live in it's part of you, embedded, so even stepping outside of it means walking through it to get to that outer circle, and for me it's like always having some small part of me touching it, getting shocked by it but unable to fully separate.
And that's where I was in that moment, not quite fully shocked by what I'm supposed to want, and not quite all the way into what I did want, but somewhere in between. I've spent a lot of time, probably more than is healthy, since pondering that space, its beauty and its imperfections. As precarious as that space was, it was somewhere I felt at home, at peace.
Recently, I thought about making a list like a friend of mine did of everything she wanted in a partner, down to the most minute detail, and before that idea got way too overwhelming one of the first things I came up with was someone who would accept me for me and not judge me. I felt so comfortable in that space that feels dreamlike looking back because there wasn't that judgment that I feel so much of the time, or at least, I didn't sense it. It's a rare thing, to be nonjudgmental, to be open, to take people where they are rather than where you want them to be. I struggle with that every single day. Maybe it's a very human impulse to want to see others in what we think is the best light possible, so human that we forget that "best light" is subjective.
So anyway, these five months later, I saw those words and I didn't rip them up or burn them or try to erase them. I could, and I might sometime, but that's the thing about words—they never truly go away, especially once you write them down. Maybe you add to them, or disagree with them, disavow them, but there they are, still being reckoned with, still powerful.
I have so many things I want to do differently in 2012, which I'm trying to think of in a positive way rather than, "Look at all the things I fucked up in 2011," cause that's way too depressing, and much as the moments after that moment were dark, shall we say, which is a grand understatement, one of the things I most want for 2012, what I managed to squeeze into five letters on my arm, four on my back, is not to reject those moments when something shifts inside me, when a space opens and leads me to a new way of being myself. It would be incredibly easy to override those impulses, train myself out of being the kind of person who has them, to brace myself inside and out when anything or anyone threatens to get that close, dares to wade past all my armor and even foresee a space like that existing in someone like me. But like one of my muses this year, the character Musa, who I saw sitting in the innermost circle of seats during Musa and Sheri in the Free World this year, I don't want easy, at least, not at the expense of...I don't even know how to end that sentence, actually. Sorry. I'm not saying I want its opposite either, I want to be clear about that (hi, universe), but easy simply for the sake of ease, no. I want everything that email that's tucked back inside its bookish home promised, as crazy and audacious and ridiculous as that might be, as much as my realistic side knows I might never get that. I don't want to be someone who stops wanting.
December 23, 2011
Erotica audiobooks: Listen to me now at Audible!
Cleis Press and Audible.com have paired up to bring you audio erotica! Several of my anthologies, as well as some anthologies featuring my stories, are now available for your listening pleasure. Below are links to Amazon, and you can also buy directly from Audible. I haven't heard them yet but think this is a very cool new way of getting erotica out there. If there are more, I'll link to them.
He's on Top: Erotic Stories of Male Dominance and Female Submission
She's on Top: Erotic Stories of Female Dominance and Male Submission
Orgasmic: Erotica for Women
Passion: Erotic Romance for Women
Hide and Seek: Erotic Tales of Voyeurs and Exhibitionists
Best Sex Writing 2010
He's on Top: Erotic Stories of Male Dominance and Female Submission
She's on Top: Erotic Stories of Female Dominance and Male Submission
Orgasmic: Erotica for Women
Passion: Erotic Romance for Women
Hide and Seek: Erotic Tales of Voyeurs and Exhibitionists
Best Sex Writing 2010
"Do you like dick or vag?" and other negging pickup lines I heard in Vegas
Haven't had a chance to catch up on everything here, but my latest pieces (other places I post my links at Google+ and my Facebook fan page), for whatever reason posting everywhere else but Lusty Lady has been easiest for me) but here's a piece I wrote for The Frisky, "Let's Talk About Negging", about a guy I met in Vegas (of course it was in Vegas!) who told me my dress was ugly, my name was fake, and asked "Do you like dick or vag?" Really.
Read the whole thing
Instead, he asked me my name three times, each time demanding to know if it was my real name. I'm no expert on fake name etiquette but I'll go out on a limb and say that if a girl's going to make up a name, it's not gonna be as generic as "Rachel." The more he asked if my name is real, the more accusatory he sounded, and if he thought I was making up my name, surely anything else I said would probably sound just as ridiculous.
I didn't need to worry, though, since he wasn't big on small talk, and every question I asked him he managed to evade. "What do you do?" I asked, not in the New York one-upmanship kind of way, but out of genuine curiosity, considering I knew absolutely nothing about him. "You don't need to know," he told me, like I'd just asked him for a trade secret. True, but it seemed like a pretty basic question a guy trying to pick up girls might expect.
Instead, he pounced on the idea that he'd somehow managed to interrupt an incipient lesbian tryst with my friend simply with the power of possessing a cock. He asked me over and over, any time there was a lull in the meager conversation, whether I was "with" her, as in, on a date. I told him repeatedly that she was just a friend (if she was my date, why would I suddenly ditch her?), but he didn't believe me. Then he busted out with "Do you like dick or vag?" At first, I wasn't sure what he said, since no one has ever asked me whether I'm bi in quite that gross a way before. When it sunk in, I told him, truthfully, "Both." He acted like this was a more offensive answer than either of the others I'd come up with, including my "fake" name. Up unil then he had his arm around me, but he moved as far apart from me as he could while still be seated in the chair next to me.
Read the whole thing
December 17, 2011
Shame, Sex Addiction, Sleep and Food Porn
Haven't had a chance to update here lately (for that, read my Tumblr and @raquelita on Twitter) but here are some recent writings:
"Shame, Sex-Positivity and the Sensationalizing of Sex Addiction"
"30 Hours of Sleep, or, The Fantasy of Escape" (realized later could equally accurately be "and The Fantasy of Escape" but hey, whatevs, I write at Open Salon for the community and the sense of completion, both things I don't have much of these days)
"Why Nigella Lawson's Caramel-Covered Photo Shoot Was Food Porn"
"Shame, Sex-Positivity and the Sensationalizing of Sex Addiction"
"30 Hours of Sleep, or, The Fantasy of Escape" (realized later could equally accurately be "and The Fantasy of Escape" but hey, whatevs, I write at Open Salon for the community and the sense of completion, both things I don't have much of these days)
"Why Nigella Lawson's Caramel-Covered Photo Shoot Was Food Porn"
December 12, 2011
Kinky BDSM spanking sex diary this week!
I imagine this week's sex diary "The Kinky Blogger Who Gets 'Maintenance Spankings'" will be of interest to many of you (I'm the editor). Here's a snippet:
He pulls the "demerits" list off the fridge. I have accrued twenty demerits this week, each one punishable by a spanking, for offenses like being messy and teasing him. I bend over the bed, arching my bottom up in the air. He spanks my bare butt through open-bottomed fishnet panties.
Read the whole sex diary
If you're interested in writing a sex diary, make sure to read a few diaries then email me at sexdiaries at nymag.com and tell me why you'd make a good diarist. And if you know someone who'd be interested, do feel free to pass that info on. Thanks!
He pulls the "demerits" list off the fridge. I have accrued twenty demerits this week, each one punishable by a spanking, for offenses like being messy and teasing him. I bend over the bed, arching my bottom up in the air. He spanks my bare butt through open-bottomed fishnet panties.
Read the whole sex diary
If you're interested in writing a sex diary, make sure to read a few diaries then email me at sexdiaries at nymag.com and tell me why you'd make a good diarist. And if you know someone who'd be interested, do feel free to pass that info on. Thanks!
Blast from the erotic past: Dirty Girls: Erotica for Women
Dirty Girls: Erotica for Women
from Seal Press is my bestselling anthology. Crazy but true. Click here to read the introduction, which you know is ancient (okay, 3 years) because the first sentence references my MySpace page, an account whose password I no longer remember. I say "crazy" because it has no particular theme other than "dirty girls" and the nipple on the cover is pretty hidden and, well, I wasn't expecting that, but I love it. My friend Twanna Hines wrote about it over at Funky Brown Chick in "Who Wants to be a 'Dirty Girl:?'"
"I don't think my sexual interests make me any less of a well-rounded, kind-hearted intelligent person," writes my lusty friend Rachel in her anthology Dirty Girls: Erotica for Women. "I'm as likely to kiss a lover's forehead tenderly and offer to tuck them into bed as I am to throw them down on the floor and strip them naked." Yeah, Rachel's a dirty girl. But, here's the question: Is that necessarily a bad thing? "I'm realizing that everyone (or almost everyone) has a dirty and a sweet side," she cops. "All too often we denigrate the dirty girls — the ones who dare to publicly show their naughty sides — as incorrigible sluts, rather than realizing just how exciting it is to tap into our lustiest selves. Once you crack the surface of those who are seemingly prim and proper [...] you'll very likely find that the simplicity of the word 'dirty' doesn't go anywhere near far enough to describe the kinks that lurk within them."
December 10, 2011
Coming in January: Irresistible: Erotic Romance for Couples
This is going to be a very HOT Valentine's Day read! A heads up. Yes, postcards are coming; I determine whether to spring for postcards or not based on how hot the book cover is. I'll be in Milwaukee doing an event at The Tool Shed on February 9th (details coming soon) so will have postcards with me, and am looking forward to my first Milwaukee visit and signing this hot-off-the-press book. I'm excited about the entire book, of course, but especially getting to publish new-to-my-books authors Tiffany Reisz and Kris Adams and Alyssa Turner and Delilah Night and Karenna Colcroft and (I think) Kate Pearce. There's a lot of new territory for my books, both plot and location-wise, and I think this pushes the envelope a bit. And there's some familiar themes; it shouldn't surprise you that after my story "Our Own Private Champagne Room" in Kristina Wright's
Best Erotic Romance
, my story here, "Exposing Calvin," starts off: "'Let's go to a strip club,' I say, my eyes lit up." If this book sounds good to you, I'd love it if you'd click "like" on Amazon to show your support - thank you!
Coming in January: Irresistible: Erotic Romance for Couples, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, published by Cleis Press. If you are interested in reviewing Irresistible for a publication or blog, email Brenda Knight at bknight at cleispress.com with your mailing address and publication's URL.
This Irresistible read features loving couples turning their deepest fantasies into reality, resulting in uninhibited, imaginative sex they can only enjoy together. You'll delight in discovering all the exciting erotic possibilities, from serving tea naked to a very intimate massage to a reminder that sometimes best friends make the best lovers. Engage in a little sexting in A.M. Hartnett's sizzling "Safe for Work" office tryst, and follow a kinky candidate for public office—and his lusty wife—in "Hypocrites." Cole Riley's moving "Same As It Ever Was" shows that makeup sex can be worth fighting for. Dirty talk leads to lustful surprises and inspiration for the neighbors in "The Mitzvah" by Tiffany Reisz. As editor Rachel Kramer Bussel notes, the lovers in this daringly romantic anthology are "able to open up in the ways they do is precisely because they have another person to rely on, coax them, challenge them, tease them and seduce them into traveling down a new sexual path. Whether that means outdoor sex, kink, a trip to a strip club or a very sensual massage, we get to see how the layers of trust that have been built up get used to stoke the fire that burns between them."
Pre-order Irresistible: Erotic Romance for Couples:
Amazon
Kindle (coming soon)
BN.com
Nook (coming soon)
Powell's
Books-a-Million
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore
Cleis Press
Introduction (see below)
Twice Shy Heidi Champa
Safe for Work A. M. Hartnett
Repaint the Night Janine Ashbless
Same As It Ever Was Cole Riley
Out of Control Karenna Colcroft
Warrior Kate Pearce
Hypocrites Alyssa Turner
The Pact Elizabeth Coldwell
Exposing Calvin Rachel Kramer Bussel
Six Eyes, Two Ears Kris Adams
Renewal Delilah Night
The Netherlands Justine Elyot
Predatory Tree Craig J. Sorensen
The Mitzvah Tiffany Reisz
After The Massage Kay Jaybee
Pink Satin Purse Donna George Storey
Introduction
A lot of the erotica that comes across my desk focuses on the spark of attraction when strangers meet, the cataclysmic sensation of falling, hard, for someone new and exciting. That makes sense, because there's built-in drama and erotic tension when two people discover there's intense chemistry between them. With this anthology, though, I wanted to explore what happens after that, once those people have been together a while (even a short while). I wanted to see what sparks fictional couples could produce on the page, and the results are, well, scorching.
The couples in this book explore all sorts of exciting sexual possibilities, and one of the main reasons they're able to open up in the ways they do is precisely because they have another person to rely on, coax them, challenge them, tease them and seduce them into traveling down a new sexual path. Whether that means outdoor sex, kink, a trip to a strip club or a very sensual massage, we get to see the ways the layers of trust that have been built up get used to stoke the fire that burns between them.
In addition to enjoying naughty, wild adventures, the couples here also work out differences between one another and handle issues like infidelity in ways that ultimately strengthen, rather than destroy, their relationships' longevity. In Cole Riley's "Same As It Ever Was," Joanne suspects her husband of cheating, but with a little help from her best friend, manages to recapture the sensual spirit and passion that's been missing as both husband and wife make amends and move on, knowing what it was they almost lost. Rekindling a romance that's threatened to go stale is also the theme of "Renewal" by Delilah Night, where she writes, "That touch sent a long-missing ripple through my body. I hesitated, hoping he'd remember what I love."
In "The Pact" by Elizabeth Coldwell, a woman rediscovers a man she'd once passed over, only to find that the years they've spent apart have made him someone she's sorry she overlooked. How a couple deals with a death in the family, as well as religious tradition, is the subject of "The Mitzvah" by Tiffany Reisz, as Grace and Zachary find that embracing desire can be healing. Kris Adams takes us into an African village and some complicated relationship dynamics, along with a lot of voyeurism, in "Six Eyes, Two Ears." Kay Jaybee takes a common fantasy, that of a man watching two women make love, and breathes new life into it by showing both halves of a couple as they live out this dream.
Individual characters work through their own issues with the help of their partners, getting support, love and, of course, very hot sex. "Repaint the Night," by Janine Ashbless, is about public sex, but, even more, a woman who is conquering a fear of the dark after being mugged ten years before. The erotic power of that story is heightened by Leah's awe at being able to enjoy what she and Callum are sharing, as she recovers a part of herself she lost and deepens the level of trust between them.
For those who likes things a bit spicier, there's "The Netherlands" by Justine Elyot, in which a nude Loveday serves guests tea and takes orders, while fulfilling a longtime fantasy of being "used," with her true love there to watch.
Make no mistake: though these are stories about couples, they are not light or fluffy. They are full of joy, lust and kink, as well as realistic elements of mistrust, uncertainty and confusion, which the couples work through in ways that don't gloss over or ignore their differences.
These couples, however long they've been a team, push the envelope by pushing themselves to try something new, even when they're not sure where it will lead them. They go to those exotic, erotic places, to those recurring fantasies, because they know they have someone who will travel there with them. I hope this book will inspire nighttime reading--out loud--and erotic adventures, as well as conversations that have been bubbling under the surface, waiting to be exposed, just like the fantasies in the tales you're about to read.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
Coming in January: Irresistible: Erotic Romance for Couples, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, published by Cleis Press. If you are interested in reviewing Irresistible for a publication or blog, email Brenda Knight at bknight at cleispress.com with your mailing address and publication's URL.
This Irresistible read features loving couples turning their deepest fantasies into reality, resulting in uninhibited, imaginative sex they can only enjoy together. You'll delight in discovering all the exciting erotic possibilities, from serving tea naked to a very intimate massage to a reminder that sometimes best friends make the best lovers. Engage in a little sexting in A.M. Hartnett's sizzling "Safe for Work" office tryst, and follow a kinky candidate for public office—and his lusty wife—in "Hypocrites." Cole Riley's moving "Same As It Ever Was" shows that makeup sex can be worth fighting for. Dirty talk leads to lustful surprises and inspiration for the neighbors in "The Mitzvah" by Tiffany Reisz. As editor Rachel Kramer Bussel notes, the lovers in this daringly romantic anthology are "able to open up in the ways they do is precisely because they have another person to rely on, coax them, challenge them, tease them and seduce them into traveling down a new sexual path. Whether that means outdoor sex, kink, a trip to a strip club or a very sensual massage, we get to see how the layers of trust that have been built up get used to stoke the fire that burns between them."
Pre-order Irresistible: Erotic Romance for Couples:
Amazon
Kindle (coming soon)
BN.com
Nook (coming soon)
Powell's
Books-a-Million
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore
Cleis Press
Introduction (see below)
Twice Shy Heidi Champa
Safe for Work A. M. Hartnett
Repaint the Night Janine Ashbless
Same As It Ever Was Cole Riley
Out of Control Karenna Colcroft
Warrior Kate Pearce
Hypocrites Alyssa Turner
The Pact Elizabeth Coldwell
Exposing Calvin Rachel Kramer Bussel
Six Eyes, Two Ears Kris Adams
Renewal Delilah Night
The Netherlands Justine Elyot
Predatory Tree Craig J. Sorensen
The Mitzvah Tiffany Reisz
After The Massage Kay Jaybee
Pink Satin Purse Donna George Storey
Introduction
A lot of the erotica that comes across my desk focuses on the spark of attraction when strangers meet, the cataclysmic sensation of falling, hard, for someone new and exciting. That makes sense, because there's built-in drama and erotic tension when two people discover there's intense chemistry between them. With this anthology, though, I wanted to explore what happens after that, once those people have been together a while (even a short while). I wanted to see what sparks fictional couples could produce on the page, and the results are, well, scorching.
The couples in this book explore all sorts of exciting sexual possibilities, and one of the main reasons they're able to open up in the ways they do is precisely because they have another person to rely on, coax them, challenge them, tease them and seduce them into traveling down a new sexual path. Whether that means outdoor sex, kink, a trip to a strip club or a very sensual massage, we get to see the ways the layers of trust that have been built up get used to stoke the fire that burns between them.
In addition to enjoying naughty, wild adventures, the couples here also work out differences between one another and handle issues like infidelity in ways that ultimately strengthen, rather than destroy, their relationships' longevity. In Cole Riley's "Same As It Ever Was," Joanne suspects her husband of cheating, but with a little help from her best friend, manages to recapture the sensual spirit and passion that's been missing as both husband and wife make amends and move on, knowing what it was they almost lost. Rekindling a romance that's threatened to go stale is also the theme of "Renewal" by Delilah Night, where she writes, "That touch sent a long-missing ripple through my body. I hesitated, hoping he'd remember what I love."
In "The Pact" by Elizabeth Coldwell, a woman rediscovers a man she'd once passed over, only to find that the years they've spent apart have made him someone she's sorry she overlooked. How a couple deals with a death in the family, as well as religious tradition, is the subject of "The Mitzvah" by Tiffany Reisz, as Grace and Zachary find that embracing desire can be healing. Kris Adams takes us into an African village and some complicated relationship dynamics, along with a lot of voyeurism, in "Six Eyes, Two Ears." Kay Jaybee takes a common fantasy, that of a man watching two women make love, and breathes new life into it by showing both halves of a couple as they live out this dream.
Individual characters work through their own issues with the help of their partners, getting support, love and, of course, very hot sex. "Repaint the Night," by Janine Ashbless, is about public sex, but, even more, a woman who is conquering a fear of the dark after being mugged ten years before. The erotic power of that story is heightened by Leah's awe at being able to enjoy what she and Callum are sharing, as she recovers a part of herself she lost and deepens the level of trust between them.
For those who likes things a bit spicier, there's "The Netherlands" by Justine Elyot, in which a nude Loveday serves guests tea and takes orders, while fulfilling a longtime fantasy of being "used," with her true love there to watch.
Make no mistake: though these are stories about couples, they are not light or fluffy. They are full of joy, lust and kink, as well as realistic elements of mistrust, uncertainty and confusion, which the couples work through in ways that don't gloss over or ignore their differences.
These couples, however long they've been a team, push the envelope by pushing themselves to try something new, even when they're not sure where it will lead them. They go to those exotic, erotic places, to those recurring fantasies, because they know they have someone who will travel there with them. I hope this book will inspire nighttime reading--out loud--and erotic adventures, as well as conversations that have been bubbling under the surface, waiting to be exposed, just like the fantasies in the tales you're about to read.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
Seeing art in Chelsea reminds me why I live in New York
Lately when I visit or think about another place that I know is cheaper, quieter, less full of memories, I find myself thinking, Maybe I should move there. Of course in real life I couldn't afford to move, and it would take months to toss everything I'd need to toss, but it's a fantasy. But here's some things I saw recently, all in Chelsea save for the top photo, which I saw in the C/E subway station at 51st (?) and 8th. My friend Rachel Hills was in town from London and had Time Out New York with her and we started at the Matthew Marks Gallery for the excellent Nan Goldin exhibit. I realized that while being unemployed sucks bigtime, there is so much free art a subway stop away, and that is pretty awesome. All photos by me; more on Flickr.
A quick snapshot that in no way does justice to the art, but just to give you a sense of what she's doing; there was another piece all about hair, and a four-photo homage to the infamous L'Origine du monde by Gustave Courbet (the gallery has amazing light, and it was a sunny, beautiful day). From the Nan Goldin exhibit Scopophilia at Matthew Marks Gallery. She took photos at the Louvre (by special permission) and juxtaposed them alongside some of her 1970's photos. Amazing. Through December 23rd. Read more about it in The New York Times .
Both of the above images from the Sydney Chastain-Chapman exhibit, on through January 7th, at Kravets|Wehby.
I'd never been to Printed Matter before. I highly recommend it. So much to see and soak up. I got the Bread & Puppet calendar for my dad.
A quick snapshot that in no way does justice to the art, but just to give you a sense of what she's doing; there was another piece all about hair, and a four-photo homage to the infamous L'Origine du monde by Gustave Courbet (the gallery has amazing light, and it was a sunny, beautiful day). From the Nan Goldin exhibit Scopophilia at Matthew Marks Gallery. She took photos at the Louvre (by special permission) and juxtaposed them alongside some of her 1970's photos. Amazing. Through December 23rd. Read more about it in The New York Times .
Both of the above images from the Sydney Chastain-Chapman exhibit, on through January 7th, at Kravets|Wehby.
I'd never been to Printed Matter before. I highly recommend it. So much to see and soak up. I got the Bread & Puppet calendar for my dad.
