Rachel Kramer Bussel's Blog, page 81
December 12, 2013
Read Jonathan Lethem, Carol Queen, Patrick Califia & more for only $1.99 in Kindle edition of Best Sex Wrting 2013
Best Sex Writing 2013
was my last year editing the series (though I am still editing the Best Bondage Erotica series and plenty of erotica!), and you can find Jon Pressick's call for Best Bondage Erotica 2015 here. Through the end of December, the Kindle edition of Best Sex Writing 2013 is on sale for $1.99 - it's a smart, wonderful read I'm proud of, and I'd love to have my editing of the series go out with a bang, so if you're looking for a sex nerd holiday gift for yourself or others, give this one a try.
Purchase Best Sex Writing 2013 from:
Amazon
Kindle (ebook)
Bn.com
Nook (ebook)
Books a Million
Indiebound (independent bookstores)
iBooks
Google Play
Audible audiobook
Cleis Press
About the book (aka, why I'm so giddy about it and want you to read it):
Foreword Carol Queen
Introduction: A Different Kind of Sexual Education
Live Nude Models Jonathan Lethem
Can a Better Vibrator Inspire an Age of Great American Sex? Andy Isaacson
Sex by Numbers Rachel Swan
Very Legal: Sex and Love in Retirement Alex Morris
Notes from a Unicorn Seth Fischer
Rest Stop Confidential Conner Habib
When on Fire Island… A Polyamorous Disaster Nicholas Garnett
Cherry Picking Julia Serano
Holy Fuck: The Fourth-and-Long Virgin Jon Pressick
Baby Talk Rachel Kramer Bussel
Dear John Lori Selke
Sex by Any Other Name Insiya Ansari
Enhancing Masochism Patrick Califia
Submissive: A Personal Manifesto Madison Young
Ghosts: All My Men Are Dead Carol Queen
Happy Hookers Melissa Gira Grant
Christian Conservatives vs. Sex: The Long War Over Reproductive Freedom Rob Boston
Porn Defends the Money Shot Dennis Romero
Lost Boys Kristen Hinman
The Original Blonde Neal Gabler
Introduction: A Different Kind of Sexual Education
As editor of the Best Sex Writing series, and a writer about sex in both fiction and nonfiction forms, I’m privileged to hear from lots of people about sexuality, whether asking for advice or wanting to talk about the big issues of the day, whether that means attacks on birth control or Fifty Shades of Grey. The biggest thing I’ve learned, though, is pretty basic: we are all always learning. You can indeed get a PhD in sexology, like foreword author and contributor Carol Queen did, but that doesn’t mean you simply give up and assume you know everything about the wide world of sexuality and sexual variation. You can’t; it’s impossible.
Part of why sex writing is so vital is because we all have things to learn—about ourselves, and about others. While this book will not teach you how to have sex, you will learn about what motivates others in their sexual desires, whether to engage in multiple relationships, perform sex work, come out as bisexual, build increasingly advanced vibrators, or more.
I think it’s safe to say that whether this is the first book about sex you’ve ever read or the thousandth, you will learn something about what makes people tick, about sexual desire and sexual community. The latter is as important to me as the former, because it’s within the community of sex writers, educators and activists that I’ve carved out a place for myself as a bisexual, feminist, kinky sex writer. Lori Selke writes in her open letter, “Dear John,” about feeling disillusioned by the judgments being passed around her local leather community. “See, my kinky leather identity grew firmly out of my queerness and my feminism. All three of those elements are important and in some ways inseparable. It’s important to me to pursue the sort of social justice that ensures that our consensual relationships are someday entered into from a place of roughly equal societal power. Without that aim, we’re simply perpetuating oppression.” I suspect many people aren’t aware of just how committed to their ideals those in the kink and leather communities are. To assume it’s all about whips, chains, bondage and spanking is to miss the point—of course it’s about those things, but it’s also about much more.
The educational lessons here are often much more personal. When Conner Habib opens his essay “Rest Stop Confidential” with, “I was fifteen the first time I found out that men have sex in public,” I must admit that, at thirty-seven, I have only seen men having sex in public at parties specifically designed for sex. The first of many firsts Julia Serano details in “Cherry Picking” begins, “The first time I learned about sex was in fifth grade.” We are all both capable of learning more, and impacted by what we did—or didn’t—learn about sex at a young age.
Some of what you’re about to read is sad or scary or disheartening; I cannot promise you a book of shiny happy sex bouncing off every page, because that is not the world we live in. There are laws to fight against, AIDS plaguing the gay community, internalized oppression, questions that may have no answers, or multiple answers. I didn’t select these essays and articles because they purport to have all the answers.
Last year’s guest judge, the noted sexual commentator Susie Bright, when asked about The Guardian’s Bad Sex award, responded, “There is no art without sex.” I think the same could be said for the news; sex is not a topic squirreled away on the back page of the paper; it’s on the front page, in the sports section, the business section, the editorials. It’s covered in fashion magazines and newsweeklies. In Best Sex Writing 2013, hot topics include New York Jets quarterback Tim Tebow’s virginity and the laws governing condom use in porn.
Sex education remains at the forefront of the news and continues to be “controversial,” though, like birth control, another political battleground of late in the United States, I would think it would be a no-brainer. Yet I can still read articles like one in Time about the Mississippi county, Tunica, with the highest teen pregnancy that is only recently getting on board with sex ed, via a law mandating it do so. “During the four years Ashley McKay attended Rosa Fort High School in Tunica, Miss., her sex education consisted mainly of an instructor listing different sexually transmitted diseases. ‘There was no curriculum,’ she says. ‘The teacher, an older gentleman who was also the football coach, would tell us, “If you get AIDS, you’re gonna die. Pick out your casket, because you’re gonna die.”’”
We should not be reading articles like this any longer, but we are, and it’s not just youths who are in dire need of sex education. Just today, I received an email from an acquaintance asking if I could chat because, “I have found a wonderful woman with whom i have begun to explore areas of my sexuality i really have never followed through on or even verbally fantasized about.” He has questions. So do many people, but they don’t know where to turn.
This book doesn’t purport to have all the answers, and is likely to raise many discussions and propose multiple answers to questions about open relationships, prostitution, sexual orientation and other topics. It cannot take the place of talking about sex—with your lovers, friends, parents, children, neighbors and coworkers. Those shouldn’t be the same conversations, but they can exist, and by making sex a topic we don’t shy away from, we start to educate ourselves about what others are thinking, feeling and doing. So I hope that you won’t read this book and keep it tucked away on your bookshelf (or e-reader); while you are more than welcome to do so, I hope you will introduce some part of what you’ve read into a conversation, take it off the page and into real life. You will very likely learn something, and that is a process that can easily snowball; there’s never an end, because it’s a lifelong process, one that I look forward to every day.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
Purchase Best Sex Writing 2013 from:
Amazon
Kindle (ebook)
Bn.com
Nook (ebook)
Books a Million
Indiebound (independent bookstores)
iBooks
Google Play
Audible audiobook
Cleis Press
About the book (aka, why I'm so giddy about it and want you to read it):
Foreword Carol Queen
Introduction: A Different Kind of Sexual Education
Live Nude Models Jonathan Lethem
Can a Better Vibrator Inspire an Age of Great American Sex? Andy Isaacson
Sex by Numbers Rachel Swan
Very Legal: Sex and Love in Retirement Alex Morris
Notes from a Unicorn Seth Fischer
Rest Stop Confidential Conner Habib
When on Fire Island… A Polyamorous Disaster Nicholas Garnett
Cherry Picking Julia Serano
Holy Fuck: The Fourth-and-Long Virgin Jon Pressick
Baby Talk Rachel Kramer Bussel
Dear John Lori Selke
Sex by Any Other Name Insiya Ansari
Enhancing Masochism Patrick Califia
Submissive: A Personal Manifesto Madison Young
Ghosts: All My Men Are Dead Carol Queen
Happy Hookers Melissa Gira Grant
Christian Conservatives vs. Sex: The Long War Over Reproductive Freedom Rob Boston
Porn Defends the Money Shot Dennis Romero
Lost Boys Kristen Hinman
The Original Blonde Neal Gabler
Introduction: A Different Kind of Sexual Education
As editor of the Best Sex Writing series, and a writer about sex in both fiction and nonfiction forms, I’m privileged to hear from lots of people about sexuality, whether asking for advice or wanting to talk about the big issues of the day, whether that means attacks on birth control or Fifty Shades of Grey. The biggest thing I’ve learned, though, is pretty basic: we are all always learning. You can indeed get a PhD in sexology, like foreword author and contributor Carol Queen did, but that doesn’t mean you simply give up and assume you know everything about the wide world of sexuality and sexual variation. You can’t; it’s impossible.
Part of why sex writing is so vital is because we all have things to learn—about ourselves, and about others. While this book will not teach you how to have sex, you will learn about what motivates others in their sexual desires, whether to engage in multiple relationships, perform sex work, come out as bisexual, build increasingly advanced vibrators, or more.
I think it’s safe to say that whether this is the first book about sex you’ve ever read or the thousandth, you will learn something about what makes people tick, about sexual desire and sexual community. The latter is as important to me as the former, because it’s within the community of sex writers, educators and activists that I’ve carved out a place for myself as a bisexual, feminist, kinky sex writer. Lori Selke writes in her open letter, “Dear John,” about feeling disillusioned by the judgments being passed around her local leather community. “See, my kinky leather identity grew firmly out of my queerness and my feminism. All three of those elements are important and in some ways inseparable. It’s important to me to pursue the sort of social justice that ensures that our consensual relationships are someday entered into from a place of roughly equal societal power. Without that aim, we’re simply perpetuating oppression.” I suspect many people aren’t aware of just how committed to their ideals those in the kink and leather communities are. To assume it’s all about whips, chains, bondage and spanking is to miss the point—of course it’s about those things, but it’s also about much more.
The educational lessons here are often much more personal. When Conner Habib opens his essay “Rest Stop Confidential” with, “I was fifteen the first time I found out that men have sex in public,” I must admit that, at thirty-seven, I have only seen men having sex in public at parties specifically designed for sex. The first of many firsts Julia Serano details in “Cherry Picking” begins, “The first time I learned about sex was in fifth grade.” We are all both capable of learning more, and impacted by what we did—or didn’t—learn about sex at a young age.
Some of what you’re about to read is sad or scary or disheartening; I cannot promise you a book of shiny happy sex bouncing off every page, because that is not the world we live in. There are laws to fight against, AIDS plaguing the gay community, internalized oppression, questions that may have no answers, or multiple answers. I didn’t select these essays and articles because they purport to have all the answers.
Last year’s guest judge, the noted sexual commentator Susie Bright, when asked about The Guardian’s Bad Sex award, responded, “There is no art without sex.” I think the same could be said for the news; sex is not a topic squirreled away on the back page of the paper; it’s on the front page, in the sports section, the business section, the editorials. It’s covered in fashion magazines and newsweeklies. In Best Sex Writing 2013, hot topics include New York Jets quarterback Tim Tebow’s virginity and the laws governing condom use in porn.
Sex education remains at the forefront of the news and continues to be “controversial,” though, like birth control, another political battleground of late in the United States, I would think it would be a no-brainer. Yet I can still read articles like one in Time about the Mississippi county, Tunica, with the highest teen pregnancy that is only recently getting on board with sex ed, via a law mandating it do so. “During the four years Ashley McKay attended Rosa Fort High School in Tunica, Miss., her sex education consisted mainly of an instructor listing different sexually transmitted diseases. ‘There was no curriculum,’ she says. ‘The teacher, an older gentleman who was also the football coach, would tell us, “If you get AIDS, you’re gonna die. Pick out your casket, because you’re gonna die.”’”
We should not be reading articles like this any longer, but we are, and it’s not just youths who are in dire need of sex education. Just today, I received an email from an acquaintance asking if I could chat because, “I have found a wonderful woman with whom i have begun to explore areas of my sexuality i really have never followed through on or even verbally fantasized about.” He has questions. So do many people, but they don’t know where to turn.
This book doesn’t purport to have all the answers, and is likely to raise many discussions and propose multiple answers to questions about open relationships, prostitution, sexual orientation and other topics. It cannot take the place of talking about sex—with your lovers, friends, parents, children, neighbors and coworkers. Those shouldn’t be the same conversations, but they can exist, and by making sex a topic we don’t shy away from, we start to educate ourselves about what others are thinking, feeling and doing. So I hope that you won’t read this book and keep it tucked away on your bookshelf (or e-reader); while you are more than welcome to do so, I hope you will introduce some part of what you’ve read into a conversation, take it off the page and into real life. You will very likely learn something, and that is a process that can easily snowball; there’s never an end, because it’s a lifelong process, one that I look forward to every day.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
December 11, 2013
Tonight: make a gingerbread house in NYC!
Today I wrote about a gingerbread house making class in New York at Taste Buds Kitchen. Check it out and keep sending me your New York events to 8dayweek at observer.com for this section.
December 10, 2013
My sexy gift guide includes sex toys, candles, dual purpose jewelry and a hot erotic novel
Check out my top 5 sexy gift picks at TueNight, where you can also find all sorts of other gift guides, including music, pet gifts and more.
December 9, 2013
20 sexy BDSM stories for you in Best Bondage Erotica 2014
My latest annual bondage collection,
Best Bondage Erotica 2014
, is almost here, and I'm so thrilled! One thing I love about editing multiple anthologies on the same topic, be it spanking, submission, dominance or bondage, is that I truly get to see the creativity and variety inherent in the topic. You might think after you've published over 60 stories on a kink or fetish or activity it might get old, but the beauty of erotica, and why the genre is thriving and new writers want in on it, is because there's always room for new twists. There may not be any new sex acts under the sun, but there are always new ways to describe them, just as there are new ways of telling any story. So without further ado, 20 teasers from each of the stories in the book, which should be in brick and mortar and virtual stores by the end of the year! Ebook and audiobook links will be forthcoming once those are released; I expect Kindle and Nook editions by February, but am not sure about the Audible version date just yet.
Buy Best Bondage Erotica 2015 from:
Amazon
All rights reserved; do not repost without authors' permission. Story titles are in bold, and yes, we've got a great foreword by renowned author Laura Antoniou, of The Marketplace series fame.
Best Bondage Erotica 2014 edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, published by Cleis Press
Foreword: No Bondage Please, I’m Kinky by Laura Antoniou
Introduction: Cruel to Be Kind, and Vice Versa
Rope Dancer by Kathleen Tudor
“So, do you like all kinds of ropes, or just the kind you can hang from?”
That caught her attention. She looked startled as her eyes snapped back to me. “Pardon?”
“I was just wondering if you like the feel of ropes on your skin when you’re not the one in control.” I suddenly felt like a world-class idiot. She looked me up and down, buying herself time, I thought. I straightened, feeling foolish and wanting to gather my pride around me, but something in her eyes had changed.
“Maybe you should show me what you mean,” she said.
I laughed. “Have a drink. Decide if you even like me first. Are you from around here?”
Behind the Door by Kay Jaybee
Nina, her eyes closed, safe in the knowledge that Laura would be out for at least another forty minutes, pictured the white van driver. His face was grave as Louisa read out her displeasure, tapping her black pen on top of her notebook as if to punctuate every word of her annoyance. He had failed to make her climax the day before, so today his own satisfaction would be hampered by the presence of handcuffs. After swift and unflinching orders, his ginger counterpart did his mistress’s bidding, and snapped a pair of cold metal handcuffs around white-van man’s wrists, yanking his arms roughly behind his back while he knelt, cowering on the dusty wooden floor.
The moment his companion was shackled, the ginger man retook his position in the queue of three before Louisa, as she walked up and down before them. In her silence, the gloom of the unlit room enveloped the dominatrix like warm fog, out of which she shone like an enticing beacon of temptation.
Louisa inclined her head toward the men, as if giving them a signal to begin. They rose together, the tethered man clumsy but still forthcoming, as their mistress lay back on the only item of furniture in the discarded shop, a faded red- velvet chaise lounge, which Nina remembered perching on as she flicked through various books.
My Own Device by Raziel Moore
I pushed her gently forward, so that her upper thighs fit in the wooden channels. Anna had to move her feet just about shoulder width apart on the floor to fit right, her loose skirt easily letting her. That skirt came down to just above her knees, showing me stockinged calves. As she put her weight against the wood, it gave a low creaking sound and rocked a bit.
“That sounds… sturdy,” she said, sarcastically.
I grinned. “I wanted it to make sounds.” I reached to a side of the device and pulled a lever, resulting in a deep, wooden thunking sound. Anna’s expression told me she felt it against her legs. The slight rocking of the shape stopped as it locked.
“Let me guess,” she said, turning her head to give me a crooked smile as she leaned forward over the contoured top of the thing. My eyes followed her body as she settled. The curves I’d sculpted into the wood from memory of body and hands were as good as I could have hoped for. Anna’s belly, chest, shoulders fit as if cradled, and her hands reached forward for the two polished grips.
She knew what she was doing, moving slowly, languidly, seductively for me. And the curve of the thing raised her ass just so…
The Neckcloth by Annabel Joseph
“We have been through this enough times.” He tilted his chin so she could slide her fingers inside his collar. “You should be an expert at neckcloth removal by now.”
She hissed as the end of the pin pricked her finger.
“Let me see,” he said.
She held up the injured digit. He kissed it and slipped the pearl-tipped pin into a pocket. “You’ll live. Proceed.”
She blinked and pouted and went back to her task. From time to time, her knuckles brushed against the fair stubble on his cheeks. He was tall and blond, haughty and handsome. Posey knew that other ladies talked about her husband behind their fans. They whispered that he was sinfully pleasant to look at, a fine figure of a man.
They didn’t know what he was like behind closed doors.
“The longer you take, the more time I have to hone my jealous outrage.”
Anyway Sommer Marsden
I was stuck.
I wiggled my arms and tried not to panic. It wasn’t a big deal. Not really. Mason was just in the next room brushing his teeth. But still, I’d have to admit I was stuck. Take the teasing…
I struggled some more.
I was just starting to sweat when I heard that dark chuckle, felt my skin rise up in a revolt of goose flesh at his warm velvet voice. “Having some trouble there, Robin?”
I glanced up, gave him a fake laugh. “No. It’s fine. I’m just…” He watched as I pushed my arms against the wall. How could I be this solidly stuck in the arms of a jacket? Even worse, how could I be in the position to have to admit it and ask for help?
Eel by Annabeth Leong
An idea sparked in my chest, mingled with desire I’d never admitted before. “You want to get tied up, right? You don’t need Ethan for that.”
She groaned. “No one wants to tie me anymore. They’re all afraid of being embarrassed.”
Alicia spat the last word out, and I gave her a look. “For good reason.”
“Whatever. It’s still true. Nobody wants to play with an eel. At least, not an eel they can’t beat.”
A little warning voice spoke up in the back of my head. I’d decided long ago not to play with Alicia, pretty as she was. I liked being her friend, and I honestly didn’t know how well I’d handle her ego challenges myself.
I told that warning voice to go to hell.
No Strings Attached by James McArthur
I grasp the ends of the rope, nylon weave squeaking against my sweating fingertips. My shoulders ache and the coffee table is hard beneath my spine. My cock is throbbing inside my tight briefs. So many nights’ fantasies are at play in my mind, I almost don’t realize Graham is talking to me.
He grips my chin and makes me meet his gaze, shaking the images from my mind. “Nick, are you with me?” He told me not to speak without permission. Does asking a direct question confer permission? I don’t know. I don’t know the rules. But I want to learn them. I want Graham to teach me them. I stay quiet. “Good boy,” he says. “I want you to keep a tight hold of that rope. It’s only looped around your wrists loosely, but I’ve made it short enough to give you some tension. How do you feel?”
Do I speak? My answer would be too big for my mouth. I feel fuzzy in the head, weak at the knees, short of breath, hot and cold. I don’t even know if Graham appreciates every little subtlety of the situation that’s got me like this. Helpless against my body’s craving. The fact that I’ve got my coveralls rolled right down to my hips and no top on and he’s openly assessing my chest and abs, while he is still fully clothed. The fact that he’s looming over me, his fingers still pressed into my jaw while I lie here completely immobilized. Not by the rope, which is more symbolic than effective, but by my lust and the fact that Graham is promising to make my long-held but unfulfilled fantasies real.
Roping the Cowboy by Teresa Noelle Roberts
“Have you ever tied up a cowboy, ma’am? Because I’m available if you’d like to.”
I turned to the man who’d just propositioned me, ready to snarl at him.
Instead, I smiled.
I live in a city with the unofficial motto “Keep Austin Weird,” so I’m inured to oddity. And since I’m a pretty woman with flame-patterned hair and a fondness for wearing Docs with fishnets and very short skirts, I sometimes get hit on in fairly outrageous ways.
Which is fine if the outrageous come-on is also polite. Hell, if the polite outrageous line is being delivered by someone hot, I’m not above considering it. And the guy asking the provocative question was a tall, handsome, dark-haired example of one- hundred- percent- genuine cowboy.
Meeting by L. C. Spoering
“You came all this way to get fucked?”
It was not much of a question at that point. She stood stripped to the panties she’d taken more than a little care to procure—red, lace, bow, the works—and shivered a little in the artificial cool of the air conditioner on full blast. Certainly it seemed as though she’d come there to get fucked.
The hotel was one of the more anonymous places this could happen—the bed covered in a muted flower pattern, the carpet under her feet an inoffensive dusty pink—and there was a certain kind of shame in that. Even the art on the walls seemed fashioned to be as unobtrusive as possible: flowers in a pot, a table in the sun. It was intended to leave the boarders suspended in place, neither here nor there, the semi-opaque curtains on the windows blocking out the view of the street, making it any room in any city, the traffic sounds seemingly miles away, muted by double-paned glass.
Still, she nodded, feeling the hard lump in her throat move up and down as though she’d swallowed a golf ball. Goose bumps ran up each bare arm and leg, and the fine hairs at the small of her back prickled over the ill-conceived tramp stamp she’d gotten there, back in college—a rose, faded this many years later, but marking the area just above the crack of her ass like a sign, a target.
The Snake by Jacqueline Brocker
The act of tying wasn’t, for Sybil, the best part. If she could have put Adam into a machine and he’d appeared at the other end fully bound, exactly to her specifications, she’d have been content. Or a quick, single one-two of clamping his wrists and ankles down or to the bedposts; that she did enjoy, the grip of his straining limbs under hers. The binding, the elaborate act of it—that was for Adam. That was what he loved.
For her, foreplay was listening to him breathe—the gasps, the sharp intakes of breath, a whistling kettle, puppy-pantings—as his mobility grew more restricted. He’d fight at her hands and the rope—not a token gesture, but not a true push-back—and with each of her victories, his face would fall, his lips parting, eyelashes fluttering.
All the time, his cock, which she usually left free, was growing harder, and harder.
Clipped by Lucy Felthouse
“Why, what are you going to do? Clip me to the chair?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He held each end of the row and stretched it out to its full length. “Wow, you were bored, weren’t you, babe? Just as well, too, because I’m definitely going to put this to good use. Hold on to the arms of the chair, please.”
Nancy frowned, then reluctantly did as Gerard said. Immediately he looped the chain around one of her wrists, fiddling and manipulating to create a makeshift handcuff, then did the same with her other arm. So now she was pinned to the chair with sort-of handcuffs, and the handcuffs were connected by a row of paper clips. It looked bizarre; it was bizarre, but somehow, the situation took the arousal inflicted by Gerard’s kiss and multiplied it. The warmth between her legs grew hotter, and as her husband leaned down to capture her lips with his once more, blood rushed to her crotch, and her labia and clit began to swell.
Tart Cherry by Kathleen Delaney-Adams
The rope smelled damp, like earth and dirt, a scent that made her pussy swell. She inhaled deeply, inviting her hunger to enter her holes, to chafe her insides, stoking a burning need that bound her to him. Eyes downcast as she had been ordered, she relied on other senses to guide and arouse her. Her nostrils were full of hemp, the thickness of its odor, and the sweaty scent of him, a whiff of his cologne, and the musk of her own sex wafting up faintly to tease her. Her ears strained to catch a hint of him—his mood, his movements, his breath. She ached to anticipate what he might have desired of her, what might come next, listening intently for a whisper of his own dark longings.
An hour ago, she had wandered the dank rooms of the basement as if bored, pausing now and again briefly if a scene caught her eye, dismissing most. She was hard to impress—she prided herself on it, imagining herself a femme of vast experience, a heavy player among heavy players, and who the hell could top that? No one here tonight, surely.
It was rare to find herself without a play partner, yet tonight she couldn’t quite bring her interest to a peak, preferring to stay on the sidelines of the Dykes at Play party. Truth be told, and you didn’t hear it from her, the last few months had felt like yawners, and she feared her pussy stank of desperation and loneliness. How damn unattractive. She was shaking her head in self-disgust when she turned and found him watching her.
He exuded butch confidence—reeked of it—leaning casually against the wall, hands loose at his sides, salt-and-pepper hair, gray-blue eyes perusing the room, packing bulge beneath his jeans. Yum.
Ring of Fire by Michelle Augello-Page
Lights flickered in the distance, even though I could barely see the house through the thick canopy of trees. I bit my lip, trying to contain my excitement, as my master drove slowly along the narrow gravel road. He had made reservations months ago as a special gift to me, for our anniversary. The trip didn’t take as long as we had expected, and we were early. He parked the car and shut off the ignition, then reached over the gear shaft and pulled the seat belt tight across my chest.
“Open your legs.”
I opened my legs, wide, and my already short dress rose even higher, exposing my shaved pussy. Holding the seat belt with one hand, he smacked my pussy with the other. Each slap released a deep moan from inside me, as waves of pleasure-pain washed over me, revealing my excitement in the moist wetness between my thighs. He felt my arousal with his hand, pressing his palm against my heat, then slid his fingers inside me.
Belted In by Roxanna Cross
The leather of my chastity belt bites into my tender flesh. I squeeze my thighs together at the flood of need that moves through me. My eyes remain glued to the cargo cart rolling out onto the tarmac. They lovingly caress the bright yellow straps and knots holding the luggage in place.
Subconsciously, I tug on my sleeves until they cover my thumbs. I can’t help but wonder if the other travelers see through my power suit. If they notice the puckered, criss-crossed diamond shapes marring my aboriginal golden skin. Would they be appalled by the red welts circling my wrists and ankles?
Strong hands unhinge the yellow mesh and my mouth waters. I squeeze my thighs together. Once again I feel the bite of leather. I know I need to get myself under control before the plane takes off. I close my eyes and go through my breathing exercise.
Pegged by Emily Bingham
“Do you trust me?” I ask, straddling his lap.
He looks at me from the dark pools of his eyes over the rim of his thick glasses, the hint of a shy grin on his lips. Slowly, he nods, almost as if it pains him to admit it. I take his curly head in my hands and lean in to kiss him. The boy is talented with his tongue, his mouth so inviting that at times it’s easy to get lost in. Part of me wants to be greedy,; roll over and let him have his way—, splay me open and worship the folds between my legs as long as he likes.
I resist the urge, wanting tonight to be about him and taking him where he wants to go. It’s his turn to be small and defenseless for an evening. I want to be so kind to him that it becomes cruel. This game of taking control over such a sweet man, a gentle giant who dwarfs me in every way, amuses me each time we play it. Who am I to tell him what to do? His hand is big enough to engulf half my chest;, with just the strength of
one arm he could—and regularly does—toss me aside and take what he wants. We both know he could turn the tables at any time.
Tight-Rope Walker by Tilly Hunter
“It was your idea, remember,” Jake said as we puffed up the hill with all the other Sunday afternoon ramblers.
“I know, but I didn’t quite realize how walking in it would make me feel.”
“Too late to change your mind now. Even if I was inclined to take it off, which I’m not, there’s nowhere secluded to do it.”
He was right. It had been my idea to climb the 1,335 feet of Wrekin, one of the most popular family strolls in England’s West Midlands while wearing a karada, a rope body harness. And there was indeed nowhere secluded where Jake could take it off me. We’d come out of the trees half a mile back and now the terrain was just bare stones and scrubby grass.
Jake had practiced the various harness possibilities several times since getting into the more intricate shibari bondage. But never before had I strode out for miles uphill while wearing it under my clothes, and I’d had no idea of how it would feel. No idea of the tantalizing but unsatisfying friction against my clit, the rawness as it rubbed the tender membranes of my pussy and ass, the difficulty taking the deep inhalations I needed against the rope around my chest and belly. It was deep discomfort of the kind I liked best.
An Appreciation for Beautiful Things by Giselle Renarde
She held out her finger and pressed it against his lips. “Hurts like hell.”
He kissed it better, then kissed her lips. “You obviously can’t be trusted to keep your body in check.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dell untied the thick ribbon that held the bedroom curtains open. “It means that you need a little help.”
The black satin looked like a million bucks against Genevieve’s pinkish skin. He wrapped it around her wrists, securing her hands above her head. There. Now she couldn’t swat at the brush while he whacked her. She looked good facedown on the white duvet with a long black ribbon tied around her wrists.
“That’s better,” he said, rubbing his erection across her hands. He leaned over and kissed her hair while her fingers struggled to grasp his dick. “Now back to work.”
Mind Fuck by Kissa Starling
Quinton stands at the foot of the bed, gazing. She wears nothing, as instructed. Plumped- up pillows prop her arms on each side. More padding lifts her calves and feet, thighs parted, displaying her luscious center. Her chestnut hair cascades behind her head, curling on the ends close to her shoulder.
He steps over to her, opening his fingers wide above her wrists. Two small pieces of packing tape and a ball gag liea in his hand. He touches his warm lips to hers, mimicking the insertion of the gag. Cool air passes where their lips part. The gag sits beneath her chin as a reminder.
“I hereby secure you, Cari;, my fingers weave bindings across your forearm.” He bends to kiss the inside of her wrist; his tongue trails to the crook in her elbow. “Your wrists and arms are immobile. The tape secures you to the bed.” His fingers pause at her breasts. The tiny amount of adhesive bonds to her delicate skin.
“Your pink rosy nipples will be scarlet red when I finish with them.” His palms push her large breasts together until the nipples touch. He covers them with his mouth, raking down with his front teeth over the peaks. She gasps beneath him. Her shoulders press into the sheets and her pelvis tilts. Her breathing quickens. His tongue lathers thin marks left behind. Cari shakes her chest and whimpers when the bindings limit her reach.
Wearing Purple by Elizabeth Coldwell
Standing with his back to the whipping post, naked but for a length of ribbon tied in a neat bow around his semi-erect penis and his wrists tethered behind him with the bright purple pashmina, he couldn’t help but reflect that his wife certainly knew how to bear a grudge.
She must have been planning her revenge from the moment he pressed the hastily bought, even more hastily wrapped present into her hands on his return from his business trip to Belgium. For Ramona, Belgium meant one thing, and that was chocolate. Her only weakness, a box of it was never far from her plump, creamy fingers, ready for her to dip into. While she often grumbled about the extra pounds that had gathered on her hips and thighs as the years passed, he loved the look and feel of her abundant flesh, the weight of her body on his as they fucked.
When he told her he’d bring her back something she’d love, she’d dropped heavy hints about a master chocolatier she’d seen interviewed in one of the Sunday supplements. His exquisite handmade pralines, it was claimed, were those by which all others would be measured and found wanting. Nothing less would do for her, so how he ever thought she’d be satisfied with a pashmina instead, he still didn’t know. His excuses that his business meeting had overrun and he hadn’t had time to hunt for the chocolate shop had been greeted with cold-faced silence.
“I’ll make it up to you, darling,” he’d promised.
“Oh, I know you will,” had been her reply. She’d all but thrown the length of fine cashmere material at him. “I mean, purple, of all colors. In all the years we’ve been married, when have you ever seen me wearing purple?”
Dual Mastery by Rachel Kramer Bussel
In some ways, my two submissive, sexy sluts are a study in contrasts. Tanya is short and curvy, with natural red hair and freckles, while Wendy is almost as tall as I am (six feet), pale with jet-black hair. Next to them I tend to look rather middle of the road, but I don’t mind; it just attracts more curiosity and attention once people realize that both women belong to me. I like to make people wonder what it is I’ve done to garner such female devotion; those who truly want to know are welcome to find out.
I’ve told them they’re allowed to dress in jeans and sneakers when we travel, but they both have enough fashionista and exhibitionist in them to want to dress to the nines while in the air. “After all, if you’re gonna go, don’t you want to look fabulous while doing it?” Tanya once joked, masking what I knew was a true fear of death by plane crash. That’s another thing I love about her: she is relentlessly optimistic, and forces that optimism to override her fears, something she’s applied to our BDSM play as well as all areas of her life. She teaches me just as much as I’ve taught her, and now that Wendy is a part of our lives, I see Tanya teaching Wendy what it truly means to submit, while I oversee their erotic education.
I’ve learned so much about women from living with two of them, seeing how they are different and how they are alike, how they behave similarly when surrendering to me, and differently. Yes, Wendy is our slave, but she’s as much a part of our family as anyone else; both Tanya and I would take a bullet for her. Her slave status is not a trapping; rather, it’s a way of life, a way of relating that makes life richer for all of us. They are both extremely eager to please, to provide, to obey, but each does so in slightly different ways. I know exactly how hard each of them can be pushed, what kinds of spankings they can take, how much they like to struggle, what naughty words push them to the edge of orgasm. It’s this ongoing process of learning, of plotting what will thrill each of them, that makes being their master a joy and, at times, a challenge, one I willingly take on, with pride.
Buy Best Bondage Erotica 2015 from:
Amazon
Amazon UK
Bn.com
Books-a-Million
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press
All rights reserved; do not repost without authors' permission. Story titles are in bold, and yes, we've got a great foreword by renowned author Laura Antoniou, of The Marketplace series fame.
Best Bondage Erotica 2014 edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, published by Cleis Press
Foreword: No Bondage Please, I’m Kinky by Laura Antoniou
Introduction: Cruel to Be Kind, and Vice Versa
Rope Dancer by Kathleen Tudor
“So, do you like all kinds of ropes, or just the kind you can hang from?”
That caught her attention. She looked startled as her eyes snapped back to me. “Pardon?”
“I was just wondering if you like the feel of ropes on your skin when you’re not the one in control.” I suddenly felt like a world-class idiot. She looked me up and down, buying herself time, I thought. I straightened, feeling foolish and wanting to gather my pride around me, but something in her eyes had changed.
“Maybe you should show me what you mean,” she said.
I laughed. “Have a drink. Decide if you even like me first. Are you from around here?”
Behind the Door by Kay Jaybee
Nina, her eyes closed, safe in the knowledge that Laura would be out for at least another forty minutes, pictured the white van driver. His face was grave as Louisa read out her displeasure, tapping her black pen on top of her notebook as if to punctuate every word of her annoyance. He had failed to make her climax the day before, so today his own satisfaction would be hampered by the presence of handcuffs. After swift and unflinching orders, his ginger counterpart did his mistress’s bidding, and snapped a pair of cold metal handcuffs around white-van man’s wrists, yanking his arms roughly behind his back while he knelt, cowering on the dusty wooden floor.
The moment his companion was shackled, the ginger man retook his position in the queue of three before Louisa, as she walked up and down before them. In her silence, the gloom of the unlit room enveloped the dominatrix like warm fog, out of which she shone like an enticing beacon of temptation.
Louisa inclined her head toward the men, as if giving them a signal to begin. They rose together, the tethered man clumsy but still forthcoming, as their mistress lay back on the only item of furniture in the discarded shop, a faded red- velvet chaise lounge, which Nina remembered perching on as she flicked through various books.
My Own Device by Raziel Moore
I pushed her gently forward, so that her upper thighs fit in the wooden channels. Anna had to move her feet just about shoulder width apart on the floor to fit right, her loose skirt easily letting her. That skirt came down to just above her knees, showing me stockinged calves. As she put her weight against the wood, it gave a low creaking sound and rocked a bit.
“That sounds… sturdy,” she said, sarcastically.
I grinned. “I wanted it to make sounds.” I reached to a side of the device and pulled a lever, resulting in a deep, wooden thunking sound. Anna’s expression told me she felt it against her legs. The slight rocking of the shape stopped as it locked.
“Let me guess,” she said, turning her head to give me a crooked smile as she leaned forward over the contoured top of the thing. My eyes followed her body as she settled. The curves I’d sculpted into the wood from memory of body and hands were as good as I could have hoped for. Anna’s belly, chest, shoulders fit as if cradled, and her hands reached forward for the two polished grips.
She knew what she was doing, moving slowly, languidly, seductively for me. And the curve of the thing raised her ass just so…
The Neckcloth by Annabel Joseph
“We have been through this enough times.” He tilted his chin so she could slide her fingers inside his collar. “You should be an expert at neckcloth removal by now.”
She hissed as the end of the pin pricked her finger.
“Let me see,” he said.
She held up the injured digit. He kissed it and slipped the pearl-tipped pin into a pocket. “You’ll live. Proceed.”
She blinked and pouted and went back to her task. From time to time, her knuckles brushed against the fair stubble on his cheeks. He was tall and blond, haughty and handsome. Posey knew that other ladies talked about her husband behind their fans. They whispered that he was sinfully pleasant to look at, a fine figure of a man.
They didn’t know what he was like behind closed doors.
“The longer you take, the more time I have to hone my jealous outrage.”
Anyway Sommer Marsden
I was stuck.
I wiggled my arms and tried not to panic. It wasn’t a big deal. Not really. Mason was just in the next room brushing his teeth. But still, I’d have to admit I was stuck. Take the teasing…
I struggled some more.
I was just starting to sweat when I heard that dark chuckle, felt my skin rise up in a revolt of goose flesh at his warm velvet voice. “Having some trouble there, Robin?”
I glanced up, gave him a fake laugh. “No. It’s fine. I’m just…” He watched as I pushed my arms against the wall. How could I be this solidly stuck in the arms of a jacket? Even worse, how could I be in the position to have to admit it and ask for help?
Eel by Annabeth Leong
An idea sparked in my chest, mingled with desire I’d never admitted before. “You want to get tied up, right? You don’t need Ethan for that.”
She groaned. “No one wants to tie me anymore. They’re all afraid of being embarrassed.”
Alicia spat the last word out, and I gave her a look. “For good reason.”
“Whatever. It’s still true. Nobody wants to play with an eel. At least, not an eel they can’t beat.”
A little warning voice spoke up in the back of my head. I’d decided long ago not to play with Alicia, pretty as she was. I liked being her friend, and I honestly didn’t know how well I’d handle her ego challenges myself.
I told that warning voice to go to hell.
No Strings Attached by James McArthur
I grasp the ends of the rope, nylon weave squeaking against my sweating fingertips. My shoulders ache and the coffee table is hard beneath my spine. My cock is throbbing inside my tight briefs. So many nights’ fantasies are at play in my mind, I almost don’t realize Graham is talking to me.
He grips my chin and makes me meet his gaze, shaking the images from my mind. “Nick, are you with me?” He told me not to speak without permission. Does asking a direct question confer permission? I don’t know. I don’t know the rules. But I want to learn them. I want Graham to teach me them. I stay quiet. “Good boy,” he says. “I want you to keep a tight hold of that rope. It’s only looped around your wrists loosely, but I’ve made it short enough to give you some tension. How do you feel?”
Do I speak? My answer would be too big for my mouth. I feel fuzzy in the head, weak at the knees, short of breath, hot and cold. I don’t even know if Graham appreciates every little subtlety of the situation that’s got me like this. Helpless against my body’s craving. The fact that I’ve got my coveralls rolled right down to my hips and no top on and he’s openly assessing my chest and abs, while he is still fully clothed. The fact that he’s looming over me, his fingers still pressed into my jaw while I lie here completely immobilized. Not by the rope, which is more symbolic than effective, but by my lust and the fact that Graham is promising to make my long-held but unfulfilled fantasies real.
Roping the Cowboy by Teresa Noelle Roberts
“Have you ever tied up a cowboy, ma’am? Because I’m available if you’d like to.”
I turned to the man who’d just propositioned me, ready to snarl at him.
Instead, I smiled.
I live in a city with the unofficial motto “Keep Austin Weird,” so I’m inured to oddity. And since I’m a pretty woman with flame-patterned hair and a fondness for wearing Docs with fishnets and very short skirts, I sometimes get hit on in fairly outrageous ways.
Which is fine if the outrageous come-on is also polite. Hell, if the polite outrageous line is being delivered by someone hot, I’m not above considering it. And the guy asking the provocative question was a tall, handsome, dark-haired example of one- hundred- percent- genuine cowboy.
Meeting by L. C. Spoering
“You came all this way to get fucked?”
It was not much of a question at that point. She stood stripped to the panties she’d taken more than a little care to procure—red, lace, bow, the works—and shivered a little in the artificial cool of the air conditioner on full blast. Certainly it seemed as though she’d come there to get fucked.
The hotel was one of the more anonymous places this could happen—the bed covered in a muted flower pattern, the carpet under her feet an inoffensive dusty pink—and there was a certain kind of shame in that. Even the art on the walls seemed fashioned to be as unobtrusive as possible: flowers in a pot, a table in the sun. It was intended to leave the boarders suspended in place, neither here nor there, the semi-opaque curtains on the windows blocking out the view of the street, making it any room in any city, the traffic sounds seemingly miles away, muted by double-paned glass.
Still, she nodded, feeling the hard lump in her throat move up and down as though she’d swallowed a golf ball. Goose bumps ran up each bare arm and leg, and the fine hairs at the small of her back prickled over the ill-conceived tramp stamp she’d gotten there, back in college—a rose, faded this many years later, but marking the area just above the crack of her ass like a sign, a target.
The Snake by Jacqueline Brocker
The act of tying wasn’t, for Sybil, the best part. If she could have put Adam into a machine and he’d appeared at the other end fully bound, exactly to her specifications, she’d have been content. Or a quick, single one-two of clamping his wrists and ankles down or to the bedposts; that she did enjoy, the grip of his straining limbs under hers. The binding, the elaborate act of it—that was for Adam. That was what he loved.
For her, foreplay was listening to him breathe—the gasps, the sharp intakes of breath, a whistling kettle, puppy-pantings—as his mobility grew more restricted. He’d fight at her hands and the rope—not a token gesture, but not a true push-back—and with each of her victories, his face would fall, his lips parting, eyelashes fluttering.
All the time, his cock, which she usually left free, was growing harder, and harder.
Clipped by Lucy Felthouse
“Why, what are you going to do? Clip me to the chair?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” He held each end of the row and stretched it out to its full length. “Wow, you were bored, weren’t you, babe? Just as well, too, because I’m definitely going to put this to good use. Hold on to the arms of the chair, please.”
Nancy frowned, then reluctantly did as Gerard said. Immediately he looped the chain around one of her wrists, fiddling and manipulating to create a makeshift handcuff, then did the same with her other arm. So now she was pinned to the chair with sort-of handcuffs, and the handcuffs were connected by a row of paper clips. It looked bizarre; it was bizarre, but somehow, the situation took the arousal inflicted by Gerard’s kiss and multiplied it. The warmth between her legs grew hotter, and as her husband leaned down to capture her lips with his once more, blood rushed to her crotch, and her labia and clit began to swell.
Tart Cherry by Kathleen Delaney-Adams
The rope smelled damp, like earth and dirt, a scent that made her pussy swell. She inhaled deeply, inviting her hunger to enter her holes, to chafe her insides, stoking a burning need that bound her to him. Eyes downcast as she had been ordered, she relied on other senses to guide and arouse her. Her nostrils were full of hemp, the thickness of its odor, and the sweaty scent of him, a whiff of his cologne, and the musk of her own sex wafting up faintly to tease her. Her ears strained to catch a hint of him—his mood, his movements, his breath. She ached to anticipate what he might have desired of her, what might come next, listening intently for a whisper of his own dark longings.
An hour ago, she had wandered the dank rooms of the basement as if bored, pausing now and again briefly if a scene caught her eye, dismissing most. She was hard to impress—she prided herself on it, imagining herself a femme of vast experience, a heavy player among heavy players, and who the hell could top that? No one here tonight, surely.
It was rare to find herself without a play partner, yet tonight she couldn’t quite bring her interest to a peak, preferring to stay on the sidelines of the Dykes at Play party. Truth be told, and you didn’t hear it from her, the last few months had felt like yawners, and she feared her pussy stank of desperation and loneliness. How damn unattractive. She was shaking her head in self-disgust when she turned and found him watching her.
He exuded butch confidence—reeked of it—leaning casually against the wall, hands loose at his sides, salt-and-pepper hair, gray-blue eyes perusing the room, packing bulge beneath his jeans. Yum.
Ring of Fire by Michelle Augello-Page
Lights flickered in the distance, even though I could barely see the house through the thick canopy of trees. I bit my lip, trying to contain my excitement, as my master drove slowly along the narrow gravel road. He had made reservations months ago as a special gift to me, for our anniversary. The trip didn’t take as long as we had expected, and we were early. He parked the car and shut off the ignition, then reached over the gear shaft and pulled the seat belt tight across my chest.
“Open your legs.”
I opened my legs, wide, and my already short dress rose even higher, exposing my shaved pussy. Holding the seat belt with one hand, he smacked my pussy with the other. Each slap released a deep moan from inside me, as waves of pleasure-pain washed over me, revealing my excitement in the moist wetness between my thighs. He felt my arousal with his hand, pressing his palm against my heat, then slid his fingers inside me.
Belted In by Roxanna Cross
The leather of my chastity belt bites into my tender flesh. I squeeze my thighs together at the flood of need that moves through me. My eyes remain glued to the cargo cart rolling out onto the tarmac. They lovingly caress the bright yellow straps and knots holding the luggage in place.
Subconsciously, I tug on my sleeves until they cover my thumbs. I can’t help but wonder if the other travelers see through my power suit. If they notice the puckered, criss-crossed diamond shapes marring my aboriginal golden skin. Would they be appalled by the red welts circling my wrists and ankles?
Strong hands unhinge the yellow mesh and my mouth waters. I squeeze my thighs together. Once again I feel the bite of leather. I know I need to get myself under control before the plane takes off. I close my eyes and go through my breathing exercise.
Pegged by Emily Bingham
“Do you trust me?” I ask, straddling his lap.
He looks at me from the dark pools of his eyes over the rim of his thick glasses, the hint of a shy grin on his lips. Slowly, he nods, almost as if it pains him to admit it. I take his curly head in my hands and lean in to kiss him. The boy is talented with his tongue, his mouth so inviting that at times it’s easy to get lost in. Part of me wants to be greedy,; roll over and let him have his way—, splay me open and worship the folds between my legs as long as he likes.
I resist the urge, wanting tonight to be about him and taking him where he wants to go. It’s his turn to be small and defenseless for an evening. I want to be so kind to him that it becomes cruel. This game of taking control over such a sweet man, a gentle giant who dwarfs me in every way, amuses me each time we play it. Who am I to tell him what to do? His hand is big enough to engulf half my chest;, with just the strength of
one arm he could—and regularly does—toss me aside and take what he wants. We both know he could turn the tables at any time.
Tight-Rope Walker by Tilly Hunter
“It was your idea, remember,” Jake said as we puffed up the hill with all the other Sunday afternoon ramblers.
“I know, but I didn’t quite realize how walking in it would make me feel.”
“Too late to change your mind now. Even if I was inclined to take it off, which I’m not, there’s nowhere secluded to do it.”
He was right. It had been my idea to climb the 1,335 feet of Wrekin, one of the most popular family strolls in England’s West Midlands while wearing a karada, a rope body harness. And there was indeed nowhere secluded where Jake could take it off me. We’d come out of the trees half a mile back and now the terrain was just bare stones and scrubby grass.
Jake had practiced the various harness possibilities several times since getting into the more intricate shibari bondage. But never before had I strode out for miles uphill while wearing it under my clothes, and I’d had no idea of how it would feel. No idea of the tantalizing but unsatisfying friction against my clit, the rawness as it rubbed the tender membranes of my pussy and ass, the difficulty taking the deep inhalations I needed against the rope around my chest and belly. It was deep discomfort of the kind I liked best.
An Appreciation for Beautiful Things by Giselle Renarde
She held out her finger and pressed it against his lips. “Hurts like hell.”
He kissed it better, then kissed her lips. “You obviously can’t be trusted to keep your body in check.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dell untied the thick ribbon that held the bedroom curtains open. “It means that you need a little help.”
The black satin looked like a million bucks against Genevieve’s pinkish skin. He wrapped it around her wrists, securing her hands above her head. There. Now she couldn’t swat at the brush while he whacked her. She looked good facedown on the white duvet with a long black ribbon tied around her wrists.
“That’s better,” he said, rubbing his erection across her hands. He leaned over and kissed her hair while her fingers struggled to grasp his dick. “Now back to work.”
Mind Fuck by Kissa Starling
Quinton stands at the foot of the bed, gazing. She wears nothing, as instructed. Plumped- up pillows prop her arms on each side. More padding lifts her calves and feet, thighs parted, displaying her luscious center. Her chestnut hair cascades behind her head, curling on the ends close to her shoulder.
He steps over to her, opening his fingers wide above her wrists. Two small pieces of packing tape and a ball gag liea in his hand. He touches his warm lips to hers, mimicking the insertion of the gag. Cool air passes where their lips part. The gag sits beneath her chin as a reminder.
“I hereby secure you, Cari;, my fingers weave bindings across your forearm.” He bends to kiss the inside of her wrist; his tongue trails to the crook in her elbow. “Your wrists and arms are immobile. The tape secures you to the bed.” His fingers pause at her breasts. The tiny amount of adhesive bonds to her delicate skin.
“Your pink rosy nipples will be scarlet red when I finish with them.” His palms push her large breasts together until the nipples touch. He covers them with his mouth, raking down with his front teeth over the peaks. She gasps beneath him. Her shoulders press into the sheets and her pelvis tilts. Her breathing quickens. His tongue lathers thin marks left behind. Cari shakes her chest and whimpers when the bindings limit her reach.
Wearing Purple by Elizabeth Coldwell
Standing with his back to the whipping post, naked but for a length of ribbon tied in a neat bow around his semi-erect penis and his wrists tethered behind him with the bright purple pashmina, he couldn’t help but reflect that his wife certainly knew how to bear a grudge.
She must have been planning her revenge from the moment he pressed the hastily bought, even more hastily wrapped present into her hands on his return from his business trip to Belgium. For Ramona, Belgium meant one thing, and that was chocolate. Her only weakness, a box of it was never far from her plump, creamy fingers, ready for her to dip into. While she often grumbled about the extra pounds that had gathered on her hips and thighs as the years passed, he loved the look and feel of her abundant flesh, the weight of her body on his as they fucked.
When he told her he’d bring her back something she’d love, she’d dropped heavy hints about a master chocolatier she’d seen interviewed in one of the Sunday supplements. His exquisite handmade pralines, it was claimed, were those by which all others would be measured and found wanting. Nothing less would do for her, so how he ever thought she’d be satisfied with a pashmina instead, he still didn’t know. His excuses that his business meeting had overrun and he hadn’t had time to hunt for the chocolate shop had been greeted with cold-faced silence.
“I’ll make it up to you, darling,” he’d promised.
“Oh, I know you will,” had been her reply. She’d all but thrown the length of fine cashmere material at him. “I mean, purple, of all colors. In all the years we’ve been married, when have you ever seen me wearing purple?”
Dual Mastery by Rachel Kramer Bussel
In some ways, my two submissive, sexy sluts are a study in contrasts. Tanya is short and curvy, with natural red hair and freckles, while Wendy is almost as tall as I am (six feet), pale with jet-black hair. Next to them I tend to look rather middle of the road, but I don’t mind; it just attracts more curiosity and attention once people realize that both women belong to me. I like to make people wonder what it is I’ve done to garner such female devotion; those who truly want to know are welcome to find out.
I’ve told them they’re allowed to dress in jeans and sneakers when we travel, but they both have enough fashionista and exhibitionist in them to want to dress to the nines while in the air. “After all, if you’re gonna go, don’t you want to look fabulous while doing it?” Tanya once joked, masking what I knew was a true fear of death by plane crash. That’s another thing I love about her: she is relentlessly optimistic, and forces that optimism to override her fears, something she’s applied to our BDSM play as well as all areas of her life. She teaches me just as much as I’ve taught her, and now that Wendy is a part of our lives, I see Tanya teaching Wendy what it truly means to submit, while I oversee their erotic education.
I’ve learned so much about women from living with two of them, seeing how they are different and how they are alike, how they behave similarly when surrendering to me, and differently. Yes, Wendy is our slave, but she’s as much a part of our family as anyone else; both Tanya and I would take a bullet for her. Her slave status is not a trapping; rather, it’s a way of life, a way of relating that makes life richer for all of us. They are both extremely eager to please, to provide, to obey, but each does so in slightly different ways. I know exactly how hard each of them can be pushed, what kinds of spankings they can take, how much they like to struggle, what naughty words push them to the edge of orgasm. It’s this ongoing process of learning, of plotting what will thrill each of them, that makes being their master a joy and, at times, a challenge, one I willingly take on, with pride.
Learn sex appeal secrets tonight in New York at FIAF
Today's New York Observer event is Secrets of Sex Appeal at FIAF (French Institute Alliance Française) featuring Ian Kerner, Dr. Helen Fisher and Liz Prosser. Click through for details and keep sending me event listings for December 18th onward to 8dayweek at observer.com - you can see the information I'd required (date/time/location/phone number/price/description) and get a feel for the types of events covered in the Eight-Day Week archives.
December 8, 2013
January in NYC: Erotica writing workshop at The Pleasure Chest UES
The January 3rd reading has been cancelled but I am still teaching an erotica writing workshop for New York Academy of Sex at the newly revamped Upper East Side Pleasure Chest! And I'm always open to doing workshops in new locations - email me at rachelkramerbussel at gmail.com about rates and dates.
January 17, 7:30 p.m. (doors at 7:15)
Writing Erotica for Pleasure & Money
The Pleasure Chest, 1150 2nd Avenue, NYC (nearest trains: Lexington Ave./59 St. (N, Q, R)/59 St. (4, 5, 6, 6X)/Lexington Ave./63 St. (F))
Whether you’re writing to that special someone, penning longtime fantasies, or want to earn cash for your dirty words, this workshop is for you. You are sure to find growth with the very prolific, award winning erotica author and editor Rachel Kramer Bussel. She will take you through the ins and outs of modern erotic writing. Learn how to get started, find your voice, and write against type. She will talk about incorporating everyday scenarios as well as outlandish fantasies into your writing. Rachel will teach you how to groom your writing to fit particular magazines and anthologies. And how to submit your work and keeping up with the thriving erotica market (including anthologies, ebooks, magazines and websites). Materials Nneeded: Please bring a laptop or paper and pen.
$25/person; space is limited. Register here.
January 17, 7:30 p.m. (doors at 7:15)
Writing Erotica for Pleasure & Money
The Pleasure Chest, 1150 2nd Avenue, NYC (nearest trains: Lexington Ave./59 St. (N, Q, R)/59 St. (4, 5, 6, 6X)/Lexington Ave./63 St. (F))
Whether you’re writing to that special someone, penning longtime fantasies, or want to earn cash for your dirty words, this workshop is for you. You are sure to find growth with the very prolific, award winning erotica author and editor Rachel Kramer Bussel. She will take you through the ins and outs of modern erotic writing. Learn how to get started, find your voice, and write against type. She will talk about incorporating everyday scenarios as well as outlandish fantasies into your writing. Rachel will teach you how to groom your writing to fit particular magazines and anthologies. And how to submit your work and keeping up with the thriving erotica market (including anthologies, ebooks, magazines and websites). Materials Nneeded: Please bring a laptop or paper and pen.
$25/person; space is limited. Register here.
January in NYC: The Big Book of Orgasms reading at Museum of Sex and Erotica 101 at The Pleasure Chest UES
I've been doing events all over the place so am excited to do some in my former home of New York City and to do my first reading ever at the famed Museum of Sex! Orgasms at The Museum of Sex for free? Who wouldn't love that? Here's the details about Between the Covers and I'll update it if there's more info. Since
The Big Book of Orgasms
is far and away my favorite anthology I've ever edited, I'm very excited to get to do a New York reading at such a wonderful location, with many authors I've never met before and most I haven't read with before either.
The Big Book of Orgasms: 69 Sexy Stories reading
Between the Covers at Museum of Sex, 233 Fifth Avenue, NYC (nearest trains: 28 St. (N, R)/28 St. (4, 6, 6X)/23 St. (N, R))
Join The Big Book of Orgasms: 69 Sexy Stories editor Rachel Kramer Bussel and contributors Andreas Amsterdam, T. Fox Dunham, Jeremy Edwards, Drew Griffiths, Thea Landen, Annabeth Leong, Lula Lisbon, Lillian Ann Slugocki, Suleikha Snyder and possibly a few others.
Then I'm teaching an erotica writing workshop for New York Academy of Sex at the newly revamped Upper East Side Pleasure Chest!
January 17, 7:30 p.m. (doors at 7:15)
Writing Erotica for Pleasure & Money
The Pleasure Chest, 1150 2nd Avenue, NYC (nearest trains: Lexington Ave./59 St. (N, Q, R)/59 St. (4, 5, 6, 6X)/Lexington Ave./63 St. (F))
Whether you’re writing to that special someone, penning longtime fantasies, or want to earn cash for your dirty words, this workshop is for you. You are sure to find growth with the very prolific, award winning erotica author and editor Rachel Kramer Bussel. She will take you through the ins and outs of modern erotic writing. Learn how to get started, find your voice, and write against type. She will talk about incorporating everyday scenarios as well as outlandish fantasies into your writing. Rachel will teach you how to groom your writing to fit particular magazines and anthologies. And how to submit your work and keeping up with the thriving erotica market (including anthologies, ebooks, magazines and websites). Materials Nneeded: Please bring a laptop or paper and pen.
$25/person; space is limited. Register here.
The Big Book of Orgasms: 69 Sexy Stories reading
Between the Covers at Museum of Sex, 233 Fifth Avenue, NYC (nearest trains: 28 St. (N, R)/28 St. (4, 6, 6X)/23 St. (N, R))
Join The Big Book of Orgasms: 69 Sexy Stories editor Rachel Kramer Bussel and contributors Andreas Amsterdam, T. Fox Dunham, Jeremy Edwards, Drew Griffiths, Thea Landen, Annabeth Leong, Lula Lisbon, Lillian Ann Slugocki, Suleikha Snyder and possibly a few others.
Then I'm teaching an erotica writing workshop for New York Academy of Sex at the newly revamped Upper East Side Pleasure Chest!
January 17, 7:30 p.m. (doors at 7:15)
Writing Erotica for Pleasure & Money
The Pleasure Chest, 1150 2nd Avenue, NYC (nearest trains: Lexington Ave./59 St. (N, Q, R)/59 St. (4, 5, 6, 6X)/Lexington Ave./63 St. (F))
Whether you’re writing to that special someone, penning longtime fantasies, or want to earn cash for your dirty words, this workshop is for you. You are sure to find growth with the very prolific, award winning erotica author and editor Rachel Kramer Bussel. She will take you through the ins and outs of modern erotic writing. Learn how to get started, find your voice, and write against type. She will talk about incorporating everyday scenarios as well as outlandish fantasies into your writing. Rachel will teach you how to groom your writing to fit particular magazines and anthologies. And how to submit your work and keeping up with the thriving erotica market (including anthologies, ebooks, magazines and websites). Materials Nneeded: Please bring a laptop or paper and pen.
$25/person; space is limited. Register here.
December 7, 2013
Mystery, coffee and tech fans, your new fun read is Billionaire Blend by Cleo Coyle
Cleo Coyle's coffeehouse mystery series just might be my favorite series, and I read a lot of them! It's set in a New York coffeehouse and manages to stay relevant, timely, fun and fascinating. This latest one,
Billionaire Blend
, is special in that it's partly set in New York, and partly set all over the world. It's a great read and makes a great gift. My review is below. And the blue roses on the cover do play a role in the mystery! Find out more at get recipes (I'm making skillet lasagna from the book tomorrow!) at coffeehousemystery.com. And I link to Amazon, where you can also get the Kindle ebook edition, because I get a small kickback, but I encourage you to buy books from your favorite bookseller, and use your local library. Want to help your favorite authors? Request their books from your local bookstore. It shows them that there's demand.
Cleo Coyle has done it again with an intricate, page-turning mystery, romantic drama between Village Blend owner Clare Cosi and her now-living-in-DC cop boyfriend Mike Quinn as well as that between Clare's daughter Joy and her cop boyfriend, Emmanuel Franco, and techie drama galore. While billionaires seem to be a dime a dozen ever since Christian Grey rolled onto the scene (don't miss the great Fifty Shades joke embedded in Billionaire Blend), this one is different.
Eric Thorner is a tech whiz billionaire who wants the best, including the best coffee. He's used to getting his way, and he wants Clare's coffee expertise--as well as her body. When he almost dies in an explosion outside her coffee shop, he tries to sweep her off her feet and makes her an offer that neither she nor her ex-husband and current business partner Matteo (Matt) Allegro can refuse. Together the three travel the globe, which is a new twist for this series; usually we only hear about Matt's coffee sourcing exploits when he's returned. While one of the things I love best about this series is its New York-centered view and tidbits of history about the city, it was fascinating to see Clare get out of her familiar settings and to learn about how coffee affects people in various locations.
There's always been a nod to the old-fashioned way of doing things in this series, even though it's firmly set in modern times. From Matt's mother's elegance to the Village Blend's sense of artistic and Big Apple history, Clare's family and business have never been about doing things faster and speedier. So the fun technological prowess of Thorner and his company, from bathroom holograms to very smart phones to the seemingly omniscient Miss House, who gives Clare directions and seems to have eyes everywhere, is a treat.
This is one of the most tightly plotted series I've read. I do recommend reading them in order, though technically you don't have to. There are so many little clues and red herrings and references here that make this book both a page-turning mystery and simply a fun read. Even after you're done with the whodunnit, there are recipes galore, including skillet lasagna, which also give a bit of backstory to the characters and when/why they've made each recipe. Coyle adds depth to all the ongoing relationships in the series, romantic and familial--the sideline about Joy's restaurant job in France and the unexpected opportunity to cook for fancy billionaires is a delight--and lets Clare's smarts shine through while never making anything easy to guess. Enjoy this with your favorite cup of coffee, and be prepared to keep refilling it as you stay glued to the story.
December 6, 2013
My jigsaw puzzle erotic romance story in XOXO and Cleis Press 28% off all books sale
I often tell people you can write about anything--in my case, I've written about Monica Lewinsky, fire eating, ice, hot wax, lap dances, boxing, chess, bukkake, choking, spanking, an erotic concierge, a cage and so much more. Now I add a new twist, a jigsaw puzzle, with my story in hot off the press anthology
XOXO: Sweet and Sexy Romance
edited by Kristina Wright, which makes a great holiday or Valentine's Day gift. The Kindle edition will be out on December 16th. I've linked to Amazon above, but authors and editors benefit anywhere you purchase their books. Speaking of which, right now Cleis Press is offering 28% off all their books. Don't miss this excellent sale! Here's the first paragraph as a teaser: 
From "Puzzle Pieces" by Rachel Kramer Bussel:
I'm leaning across the dining room table, my elbows precariously placed in one of the few spots where the wood isn't covered by jigsaw puzzle pieces, straining to place a key piece of the Tropicana in its designated spot. We've been working on the two-thousand piece Las Vegas Strip puzzle, one I thought we'd finish in a weekend, for a month, so every match is a mini victory. I've just lined up the edges exactly and am ready to look for my next victim when I feel a slap on my ass that makes me gasp. I don't dare turn around to look at my boyfriend, Roger, but instead pause right where I am, drop my head, close my eyes and wait. His hand comes down again on my right cheek, and I whimper. When the third blow lands, this time on my left cheek, heat is racing through my lower half. I wiggle my ass a little, hoping he will lift up the hem of my dress and pull down my panties.
December 4, 2013
4 cookbook authors DISH tonight at Housing Works Bookstore in New York
Check out the following cookbook authors at DISH tonight at charity bookstore Housing Works, which is also a great place to find holiday gifts. See my
New York Observer
writeup for details and please keep sending me Eight-Day Week event listings to 8dayweek at observer.com - right now I'm considering events from December 11-January 8, and event organizers, add that email address to your update lists!
