How sweet, he says.
But no…

I am claws and teeth and sharp, aching need
Howls and snarls
Desire, made manifest.

Wet and panting and wanting, wanting, wanting.
No sweet kitten
No purring pet.

Panties in the corner
Legs spread wide
Fingers deep in my wet, wet cunt.

His words on the screen
a voice in my head
A growl
A demand
Teeth sharp against a bared throat.

A whispered word
A gentling hand
Breath caught and held
Command given and taken.

Guided back to quiesence once more.

30 Days of Kink – Day 21: Literary Influences

Day 21: Favorite BDSM related book (fiction or non-fiction.)

I actually misread this when I started writing it (my bad for not putting the question at the top of the post immediately.)  So I answered this as if the question was what BDSM-related book has most influenced me. It took too long to write the first time, so sorry about that, but my answer is going to have to stay. I will answer the initial question briefly though. I don’t read a lot of kink, except blogs, but the one series that stands out in my mind is the Kushiel series.  Smart, literary, complex and with the kink as an integral part of the world, not just added “spice.” If you haven’t read them, go and do so. You’ll be happy you did. Anyway, on to my initial (wrong) answer…

I read my first kink book at a very young age. I think I was 13 or 14 when I found my older sister’s sex book stash, which included The Hite Report and one of the Sleeping Beauty books written by Anne Rice, writing then as Anne Roquelaure. I think it was the first book, The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty.  The Hite Report was actually probably more important, because I learned to masturbate by reading it, but the Beauty book was the first time I had run across a story with (fictionalized) BDSM in it. I didn’t know what BDSM was at the time, and of course I couldn’t know exactly HOW incorrectly it portrayed what the body is physically capable of, but that didn’t matter.  It made me hot as hell (and worried because it did, since I had no idea why, and I was fairly certain that getting turned on by it was a BAD THING and made me a FREAK OF NATURE.)

That didn’t make me stop reading though.

But even so, it wasn’t actually the book that had the greatest impact on my sexuality.  That would belong to a mainstream, historical romance.  What we term a “bodice ripper.”  The first time I encountered love, sex and passion that made me hot, made me wriggle, made me uncomfortable, was in an historical romance called Sweet Savage Love by Rosemary Rogers. I had read many romance books up to that point (I think I was about 12. I was a young and voracious reader.) But this wasn’t mainstream, vanilla sex. This was rape and plunder and kidnapping; dashing heroes and damsels in distress, heaving busoms and yes, ripped bodices – violent sex at its very best, very scariest, most non-consensual and its very hottest. And I LOVED it. I wanted sex just like that: violent and lusty and a little bit scary, with a hero that controls and dominates and OWNS me, that compels my submission and my passion.

I know (and heard and read) what the feminists of the time said about allowing young women to read such “trash.” That reading it was causing us to desire sex and love that was unhealthy.  In looking back I am convinced that this was just not so. I read DOZENS of sweet, gentle romances, with lovers that were passionate but respectful, where the lines between sex and violence were never blurred, in which lovemaking was just that: making sweet love to each other.

And they just didn’t do it for me.  It wasn’t that reading the likes of Kathleen Woodiwiss and Rosemary Rogers made me look for violent sex in my reading and made me crave that in real life, it was that I was already wired that way and I just found someone else that “got” it when I found their books. Of course then I didn’t know all that.  It is only now that I can look back and see that those books/the kind of sex that was depicted in them wasn’t really an “influence”…reading them was more a homecoming and a revelation: a peek into what makes me, me.

Cheeky Spanking Stories Blog Tour!

Today my blog is on the Cheeky Spanking Stories Blog Tour! Cheeky Spankings Stories, edited by Rachel Bussel Kramer, is one of several books published by Cleis Press that my writings have appeared in.

I was amazed to realize that this year I had six short stories accepted – a prodigious amount of writing for me, besides what I write here in my blog.

Rather than do a review of the anthology – because if Rachel is editing it, you can be sure the stories within are top quality, hot, sexy, reads! – I thought I’d tell you the “story behind the story” that she accepted for this anthology.

My story, “Lessons Learned,” was a bit of a departure for me. As I have said and written about many times, I write from personal experience. Almost every one of my stories is pulled directly from episodes in my own life, sexual experiences I have had, which are then fictionalized into a narrative. You can find the actual events that became many of my short stories right here in this blog. “Lessons Learned” is no exception, although I don’t recall if I ever blogged about the event.

What makes it different is that for this story, I turned the tables on my bottom-y self, and deliberately tried to write from a Top perspective. Well, a “toppish” perspective. I don’t think I could ever fully enter into Top space in real life, as such.  I just don’t live there, and even visiting is a stretch.

But it was precisely that stretch that I sought out in writing this story.

This is one of two published stories that came out of the Erotic Authors Association Conference that I attended last year. (The other is Voyeur Eyes Only – Sex in Sin City.) I was thrilled when I heard that Rachel Kramer Bussel, the editor of one of the anthologies I had been published in, was going to be at the conference. (I admit to having a bit of a long-distance crush on her as well.) I was also excited to meet, in real life, the person that had impacted my positive feelings about being a writer – and writing about what I know and love – so significantly. So when I got the chance to talk to her for a few minutes after one of the sessions, and she mentioned needing more stories from a “Top” perspective for this anthology, my mind started churning.

Could I write something from the opposite POV? Would it come across realistically? Would it be HOT?

If ya’ll know me, you know I was not exaggerating when I recently told someone who asked about my BDSM orientation that I am “Very bottom.”  However…it just so happened that I did have an experience – albeit an itty bitty one – that I could possibly draw on. If I could use my imagination to fill in the rest.

If I could write fiction.

It was a lovely challenge, and I jumped at it with gusto. “Lessons Learned” was the result of meeting that challenge. In it, a submissive woman gets to turn the tables and Top someone, for the pleasure of her own Top. In doing so, she discovers a part of her sexuality that she had never known existed.

In the real life version, my “Topping” was only momentary, and mostly to tease W (and to maybe show him an example of how I’d like to be spanked.) W is not always a…fan…of the warm-up. His typical mode of play can be harsh at times, even brutal, right out of the gate. The rope tying is kind of my “warm-up,” and usually it serves as such fairly well, at least from an emotional standpoint.  The physical part of it though…getting my body gradually prepared for heavier and deeper impact, warming up my skin and tissues until they are ready for more intensity – well, that usually comes after the initial brutality.  He’ll pull back and ease into lighter play at some point after the first burst of energy and sadism, and then ramp it back up again just when I am getting lulled into thinking he’s gonna be nice like that for awhile. I’m not complaining, mind you: in the four+ years we have been together, we have learned this dance that we do in play quite well. We’d be the #1 pair in that Dancing with the Stars show if BDSM was the featured dance. ;-) He knows when to push and when to hold back, and he knows that the rush of physical duress right from the start is just that: a rush that throws me deeply into that bottom space that I crave.

But this is not typically what I want from a spanking. A spanking is an entirely different animal.  To my mind, spanking is about me.  Because I have to actively ask for it, it’s about what I want. It isn’t about submission. It’s a little…greedy.  For this reason I don’t ask for it often.

And it is perhaps for this reason that W always claims he isn’t good at it. Perhaps he feels if he says that, he won’t have to try to be good at it – good meaning giving me what I want the way I want it. Perhaps that is him asserting that he’s the Top, and if he doesn’t feel like learning how to give me a “pleasurable” spanking, he damn well doesn’t have to. Maybe he’d rather send me off to someone else to have them service me that way, or maybe he just doesn’t enjoy giving the kind of spanking that I like.

In any case, what happened was that I had had a friend ask for some “lessons” in Topping, and I had talked to W, who said to bring him over. Now I had always seen this person more as a Toppish type person. But when we all got to talking, it became clear that he was fairly switch. So when he asked about spanking, and W started in the way he always does – hard and fast and brutal, taking my breath away – I came up with the bright idea of showing my friend another way it could be done. (Hoping that W was taking notes. LOL)  I gave him a “lesson” in spanking by spanking him!  And that lesson was the impetus for this story.

Our lesson ended up with me in the corner on my knees sucking off my friend – learning a different kind of lesson, I think, as W put me firmly back in my place. ;-) You’ll have to read my story in the anthology to find out how our heroine learned her lesson though.


I’m a Guest!

Blogger, that is. Over on the Oh Get a Grip blog, where erotica authors Lisabet SaraiC. Sanchez-GarciaCharlotte Stein, Kathleen Bradean, Kristina Wright, and Jean Roberta talk about the thing we love to do best: writing.

This week’s topic, Dangerous Truths:

Have you ever written something strictly autobiographical? Have you considered it? If you’ve written a slice of life (including the other people who were there), have you had to deal with unpleasant reactions? What is your policy on writing about actual experience?

So head on over and check out my take on Fictionalizing My Truth.

50 Shades of…Jade?

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about Fifty Shades of Grey lately. Not because I’m going to read and review it – I haven’t, at least not completely – and I won’t do a review even if I finish it, because that’s all been done, ad nauseum.  But, in preparation for my interview with TBK on Friday, she and I are both trying to get through it, as it is part of what we’ll be talking about: the “reality” of a Fifty Shades of Grey relationship. Or, as she put it, she’s interviewing a woman (me) that lives the lifestyle so many women are fantasizing about when they read Fifty Shades.

Actually from the little I have been able to get through in the book, my life, and what we do, looks as much like the heroine’s in the story as Princess Diana’s looked like Cinderella’s: exactly nothing. But that’s okay.  I happen to like what my particular fifty shades look like so much more.

Though all right, I admit, if W and Ad were multi-billionaire’s, that’d be nice too! ;-)

Something that Kendra asked me, though, and that many people have been asking, is “Why are so many women buying this book? What is it about this story that has touched (and turned on) so many women?”

In thinking about an answer to that, and in talking with W and Ad about it, I realized that my own sexual history could provide at least one pretty clear answer.

We live in a society that has placed monogamy as the “norm;” a society that has dictated that people must be monogamous, or be ostracized.  That means that, unless you practice serial monogamy (the only acceptable way to have more than one partner in your life)  you could (should) be facing fifty years (or more!) of sex with one person.  Sex with the same person for the rest of your life.

No wonder women (and men) are looking for something to spice up their sex lives.

The reasons of course go much deeper than that…and there are an infinite number of them, I am sure.  But really, if I look at my own sex life with the Ex, it certainly rings true to me.

I was married for 15 years. We had been together for about a year and a half before we married, and after we split up we didn’t get divorced for another two years. Two years that, even though he had a new lover, we continued to have sexual relations – of the sort he had only ever had with me, and could only ever have with me.

BDSM sex.

But we didn’t start out kinky. For 10 years we had a very ordinary marriage and sex life. By that I mean that after the initial rush of sex every day, we had settled into a Saturday night or Sunday morning routine – and boy was it routine. I knew there had to be more…I’d felt more with other partners…but I had made the choice to be with him for reasons other than sexual compatibility or even attraction. I knew sex with him wasn’t really great for me, but he liked it, and I wanted to be all the things he liked…so we did what we did.


(Now before I go on, I know that BDSM sex isn’t the only hot sex.  That vanilla sex and all its permutations can be just as hot – for some people. Not for me, though. I really am wired this way…I just didn’t know it. If I’d known, maybe I would have made different choices.  But that’s what I am talking about – for me, learning about BDSM was finding a missing part of myself. For my Ex, it wasn’t so much a part of him, as it was kinky fun – a way to spice things up. To this day he says that it wasn’t really him, it was just something he was doing with me and for me. And that’s okay too. It did exactly what it was supposed to do: gave us our sex lives back. Spiced things up.)

So how’d that happen?  It was simple, really: one day I read something online that changed my life forever. It was about BDSM, and it turned me on. Wildly. I knew that here was something I wanted, something I needed.  I recognized something in myself in the descriptions of other submissives, of what they felt, what turned them on, and I wanted to experience that for myself.

I also wanted to be happy in my marriage, and to like sex again, because even by that time I knew myself well enough to know I wouldn’t stay long – or stay faithful – in a marriage in which I wasn’t sexually fulfilled.  So I wrote a D/s story for my Ex, and he read it, and we talked about sex – good sex, and what that meant to each of us – for maybe the first time in our marriage.

And we started having good sex.

BDSM gave us a whole new sex life. It was incredible. For five years we had the hottest sex of anyone I knew, and that I had ever had. If I hadn’t been introduced to it via an internet site, I probably would have figured it out eventually – or maybe not. I don’t know and can’t say.  All I know is that that site opened up my mind and my world.

I don’t know if every single woman that reads Fifty Shades will see themselves in Ana (or in Christian Grey.) (And I now it’s not only women that are reading it.) And I don’t know that every woman will experience something life altering by reading it. But that’s not the point, nor is it necessary. All that’s necessary is that it brings something to her relationship(s): a way to open up about needs, wants, desires. A path to communicating with her significant other about things that – like me, in my marriage – she may not have been able to before.  And maybe, yes, there will be that one, or two, or hundred, women that do want to experience those things in real life, or that realize something about themselves, maybe even a deep need in themselves, whose lives will be altered, like mine was.

I couldn’t care less about the reality or not of the book. Hell, it’s a novel. It’s fiction, for chrissakes. I think we’re all smart enough to know the difference between reality and fiction. (And if not, well, reality will take a nice healthy bite of your ass eventually.) This isn’t rocket science, and people have been doing this stuff since long before the internet codified “BDSM” and made up a bunch of rules about it and started insisting that we had to go to seminars taught by “experts” to learn about it. Hell, it’s been around since way before folks got turned on by “Story of O” and I imagine people will be doing it long after the Shades phenomena is forgotten. But the more I think about it, the happier I am – for all those women who are just discovering something about themselves by reading it.

Everyone deserves a good sex life. I hope that Fifty Shades is a conduit to that.

For more on my interview with Kendra of The Beautiful Kind, and info about how you can listen in or join the conversation, click here.

It’s Official! Cheeky Spanking Stories is (almost) here!

It’s officially out in October, but you can go pre-order on Amazon today! (Or, if you like to do reviews, message me at piecesofjade at gmail dot com.)

My story, “Lessons Learned” is in it. Click on the cover to be taken to Amazon, or read the introduction here: http://cheekyanthology.wordpress.com/about/

Check out all these fabulous sexy authors I am nestled in this book with!

Table of Contents

The Perfect Dom Lucy Felthouse
Birthday Boy Cecilia Duvalle
Unwrapping Craig J. Sorensen
The Assignment Donna George Storey
A Game of Numbers Kiki DeLovely
Mermaid Teresa Noelle Roberts
Butch Girls Don’t Cry Giselle Renarde
Echo J. Sinclaire
Bitch Elizabeth Silver
The Price of Experience Kate Dominic
The Spanking Salon Elizabeth Coldwell
The Impact of Change Maggie Morton
Writer’s Block Evan Mora
Lessons Learned Jade Melisande
Invitation to a Spanking Andrea Dale
A Timely Correction Dorothy Freed
Spanking the Monkey Cynthia Rayne
Shine Shanna Germain
Papers to Grade Thomas S. Roche
Lean on Me Adele Haze
Proxy Lucy Hughes
Bad Boy Isabelle Gray
Marks Rachel Kramer Bussel

Caught in the Act

Caught in the Act – Erotica (for Erotic Meet – Rabbit in the Headlights)

Sara settled herself in her chair, ready for another interminable meeting with the heads of her organization’s departments. At least this one had two things going for it: 1. it was a video conference, so she would be able to watch it from home, wearing her favorite silk nightie and no make-up; and 2. her boss was giving the bulk of the presentation, which meant she didn’t have to pay too close attention. As his executive assistant she would have to take good notes when the other department heads gave their presentations, but she had prepared her boss’ herself, so there was no need to take notes while he was speaking.

She leaned forward and logged into the video conferencing software. They’d only started using the program recently, and she was still unfamiliar with it, so when the window opened to a view not only of her boss’ home office, but also, in the lower right hand corner, to a view of herself, she was surprised but not alarmed. Her boyfriend Lance had used it the other day to chat with a friend of his, so perhaps he had made it so that he could see himself at the same time.

Shrugging, she amused herself while she waited for her boss to start the meeting, making faces in the little window.  Thank goodness this thing is on mute, she thought, as she burst into a fit of giggles.

A moment later her boss came into view, and, going to the dry erase board at the front of his office, started the meeting.

Fifteen minutes later Sara was yawning and fidgeting in her seat. Maybe being there in person would be better. At least she’d be forced to pay attention.  She glanced down at her notes. He still had fifteen more minutes…  She saw the computer image of herself grimace.

An idea suddenly came to her.  A bad idea, certainly, but…it would make an amusing story for Lance, she thought. And give her a diversion while she waited for the others to give their presentations.

Watching herself in the little window, Sara slid her chair back until she could view her entire body.  She admired the red nightgown she was wearing, and ran her hands over the smooth silk, watching as her hands did the same in the computer.  Fascinated, she watched herself cup her breasts through the material.  Her breath caught on a sigh as she pinched her own nipples, and saw them grow into hard points beneath her nightie on the screen.  Eyes riveted to her own image, she slid her hands down her sides to where the nightgown just brushed her thighs.

She loved to touch herself through the silky material, and did so often when Lance wasn’t around to do it for her – and sometimes even when he was. Was she brave enough to do it now? While her boss was going over the sales figures for the past quarter? She glanced at the mute button on the video conference software. It was definitely on, so even if she made noise…

Her hand slid down over her pubic mound and down, between her legs, which were now spread wide on the chair. She couldn’t help the moan that escaped her lips as she began stroking herself through the cloth. It felt heavenly, the silk slippery and cool, sliding sensuously between her fingers and pussy.  She stroked her lips for a while, teasing herself, holding herself back from stroking the place she wanted to most, but soon she couldn’t resist any longer, and she allowed her fingers to dance, ever so lightly, over her clit.

She bit her lip to silence a moan, and was amused to see her image do the same: she knew she did it frequently, unconsciously, but she’d never seen herself do it before.  She rubbed the cloth harder over her clit, watching herself the entire time. It was like watching someone else masturbate, and while she had never been attracted to women before, this, well, this was hot.  She tipped her hips forward and put her feet up on the edge of the table, spreading her legs wider, giving herself better access.  The cloth beneath her fingers was no longer cool, but hot now, warmed by her body heat and moist from her excitement.  She pushed her fingers at the opening of her cunt, pushing the material just inside as she did so, loving the idea of being stuffed with silk.  Her other hand reached up and squeezed one nipple through her top as her fingers rubbed furiously against her clit.

And all the while she watched her own hands, her own face, in the computer window.

And then, suddenly, she was there, teetering on the edge of the orgasm.  Her hips bucked up against her hand, her fingers twisted her nipple painfully, and her teeth bit down on her lip as she strained upward into it before finally, finally, she crested, the orgasm rolling over her.

She sat completely still for a moment, breathing hard, her body still throbbing with pleasure.  As she came back down to earth she was disappointed to realize that she’d clenched her eyes shut in the throes of her orgasm and had missed seeing what she looked like when she came.  Next time, she thought, already excited by the thought.

Suddenly aware again of her surroundings, she glanced over at the computer to see her boss just finishing up his presentation.  Shakily, she pushed herself forward and found her pen and paper, getting ready to take notes.  Just as the video clicked off in his office, and clicked over to the head of marketing for her presentation, her phone rang.

Absently she picked up the phone, smelling her own arousal on her fingertips as she lifted the receiver to her face.

“Sara Clark,” she said automatically.

“Sara, this is Mike,” her boss’ voice said.

“Hey Mike. Um, good presentation,” she said, hoping he wasn’t going to ask her for any specifics.

“Thanks,” he said. “I could say the same to you.”

She frowned, puzzled. “Excuse me?”

“Next time you don’t feel like paying attention to the meeting, you should probably turn off your webcam,” he said.


I don’t usually enter writing contests, but well, this one is for a rabbit vibrator!  I have been wanting one for awhile (and have just been too lazy to actually do the research to get one.) So what better way to get one than to win a writing contest!  Of course, I have to win it first…and that takes votes. So, um, when voting opens on May 1st, if you’ve enjoyed the story, will you vote for me?

Voting ends at midnight GMT on May 2nd.

“Voyeur Eyes Only” is Out!

And available for the Kindle on Amazon.  (Audible to come soon.)

From Amazon:

An erotic collection of shorts stories by best-selling authors with a central theme of voyeurism in Las Vegas.
What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas? Not anymore…

High above the Las Vegas strip, at the top of Skylane Tower, the rooms come with one special amenity; a high powered telescope. When a group of erotica writers descend on Sin City for their annual conference, the voyeurs witness first hand, that some authors live by the adage, ‘write what you know’.

A woman’s curiosity is piqued as she observes a beautiful stranger being bound in silky red rope. A man scouting for new sex slaves, watches as an elegant woman gets more than her hands dirty. A prostitute pulls a switch – sending her lover out on a call. A simple slip of the hand, causes a case of mistaken room identity and a linen closet at a nearby hotel, sees more action than all of them combined. And that is just the beginning…

They say perception is reality. Is what the Voyeur sees through their spyglass just a fantasy; on which side of the lens would you like to be?

Not least of all the good things that came out of my trip to the Erotic Authors Association Conference in Vegas last year was my publication in this anthology.  I’m thrilled to have my story appearing alongside so many other authors that I have read before and that I had the opportunity to meet at the conference.  There’s a (really cool!) audio promo for it too, with the authors talking about their work and the project, but I haven’t figured out how to download it yet. As soon as I do, I’ll post it.  Meanwhile, go get your copy for Kindle today!

Reality, Fantasy

“When you go to the massage therapist this afternoon, I want you to imagine…”

That’s how it started. Innocent words.

Okay not so innocent, since at the time I was straddling him, sliding his cock in and out of me as I listened to his words in my ear.

But anyway.

Four hours later I was face-down on a massage table, naked under a thin sheet, imagining exactly what W had told me to about my massage therapist.

Reality: He’s young. Like really young, with over-sized tortoise-shell glasses and the kind of facial hair that you aren’t sure is actually deliberate, or is maybe just an accident of shaving.  Also, he’s short. But that will come into play later.

Unbeknownst to W, I’d deliberately made this appointment on the evening of the day that he was leaving, knowing (hoping) that I would have been at his house, playing, the day before.  And I had been, and we had played–a lot–and so my plan to get a massage right after was a good one.  Most people would avoid an unknown massage therapist after having been beaten, whipped, strung up by their wrists and knocked around. But me?  Nawww…

W was leaving for a week. I wanted to feel every bruise, every whip-stripe, every mark and pinch and place that he’d thumped me with the big meaty thumper-stick or mauled me with his hands. I wanted to remember his hands in my hair and his growl in my ear and his fingers finding all my tender spots.

I wanted that boy to make me remember.

So I made that appointment deliberately, knowing that every time my little massage therapist found a sore place, every time I felt his hand wander over a welt or a bruise, I would remember W’s hands or tools there, and smile to myself in pleasure–even as I winced.

And I did.

Fantasy: “Imagine him getting hard as he touches your body. Imagine his hands rubbing a little too close, his fingers straying…”

The sheet is so thin. When he comes in, it lays across my skin so lightly, and I’ve tucked it in just snugly enough, that the landscape of my rings is visible beneath it, curious ripples and rises, dips and shapes between my legs, where none should be.

He looks away, but he can’t unsee the shapes, can’t unknow that something is there.

His cock twitches, a wholly unexpected (and unwanted) response.

I shift, hide my rings, make him question he ever saw them.

The massage begins.

As his hands press into those tender spots, into those bruises that W has brought to the surface so well, I moan and shift again, unable to help myself.

“Is that okay?” he asks.

“Oh yes,” I reply, my voice a sigh, muffled by the face cradle. “I…like it.”  I feel his momentary hesitation as he considers this response. Then I feel his fingers trace the line of a welt on my back, the work of the vicious little quirt. This is not a massage technique, this curious, questing stroke of the fingers.

Abruptly remembering himself, he digs in, denying the damage to my skin, to my body, erasing it with the heel of his hand.

I gasp.

“Breathe,” he says.

I do, and the scent of my arousal, and more, the smell of W’s and my sex, of W’s semen in me, of my own juices, wafts up to me.  Because this is something else that I have done: not washed our lovemaking from my body, knowing the odor – man, woman, sex, semen, girl-come and arousal – is pungent; unmistakable.  The massage therapist, this boy, must smell it too.

His hands push, pull, dig in. He is rough – perhaps rougher than he might be otherwise?  He adjusts the sheet lower on my back as he begins working in that area, and below. The sheet slides back, revealing the top of my misshapen tailbone. His hand brushes across my buttocks. A professional, clinical touch? I think not, by the sound of his quickening breath. As he leans far over me to reach all the way down my back with long, smooth, strokes, I feel the bend of his waist against my arm, my shoulder – and more. Is that a hardness I feel there? A bulge? The fact that he is short is to my advantage. I pretend to need to shift; rub my shoulder along that bulge.

Feel his sudden stillness.

Perhaps recalling himself to his professional capacity, he moves away abruptly once more.

His hands on my thigh now, lifting up one leg to slide the sheet under and around, exposing my thigh and one buttcheek.

A cheek freshly whipped and criss-crossed with the marks of that whipping.

There is no mistaking the sharply indrawn breath I hear. I can feel his intense interest now, the heat of his eyes on my skin, the questions in his mind.

Or perhaps there are no questions, for when he resumes massaging me, it is with something close to ferocity, pressing and kneading the welts and bruises until I cry out.

“Breathe,” he says again, his voice quiet, but harsh, demanding.

I do. And I feel his hand moving ever closer to the vee between my thighs. Now it is me whose breath catches, waiting…waiting.

And then it happens. I feel the backs of his fingers brush against the sheet-covered rings. I feel them move, imagine the tiny clink of them striking together, feel the slide of my pussy lips against each other. Because I am wet, dammit.

He goes absolutely still. Takes a deep breath.

There is the tiniest chiming sound from somewhere.

“I…” he starts, then stops.

He swallows. I breathe. I feel him shake himself out of the trance-like space we have both fallen into. He reaches over and pulls the sheet carefully back up to cover my form. “I’m sorry, but our time is up,” he says.

A short time later, after I have dressed, and shaken his hand (him hardly able to meet my eyes) and used the restroom, I pass by the massage room on the way out the door. The door to the room is closed, but I hear the unmistakable sound of movement inside. I pause just outside, listening intently.

And hear a very soft expulsion of air and then a deep, drawn-out sigh. I smile. I have no doubt, were I to check those sheets we just used, that they would be sticky and wet – and not only with my juices.

Review – Best Bondage Erotica 2012

When I saw Rachel Kramer Bussel’s call for reviewers for her latest erotica anthology, Best Bondage Erotica 2012, I admit that I had an ulterior motive for wanting to review it. Well, two. One is that I just love her anthologies.  From the gorgeous covers to the sexy stories inside, I always find something unique in them, something to titillate, certainly, but even better, something to arouse my mind as well.

The second reason was that I had submitted a story for it, a story that I liked quite a bit, but which was rejected. After some (significant) tweaking, that story was picked up by Hazel Cushion over at Xcite, and printed in the anthology Power Play, and which story was then broken out (and made the title story) for a 4-story ebook edition. I wanted to see how my story stacked up against the ones that had made it – and possibly learn why mine hadn’t.  It was an educational endeavor, as well as a bit of a masochistic one.  I know, surprising, right?

What I found was both surprising–and not.

The twenty-one stories in this anthology fulfill what the title promises – hot, sexy, intelligent writing about one of my favorite topics: bondage. (Not surprising!) Also not surprising was the wide variety of voices and situations presented in the stories.  From the titillation of internet exhibitionism in “Snow White” to a woman who worries she may have bitten off more than she can chew in “Melting Ice,” from a diabolical revenge tale in “The Insurrection” to a deviously sexy chess match in “Pawns,” these stories are all so unique it seems that only the theme of bondage–however it is arrived at–ties them together.

But then that is as it should be. I don’t pick up an anthology looking for the same story over and over.  I was certainly not disappointed in this collection at all.

In fact, that may have been something that I was a little concerned about when I first glanced through it: quite a few of these stories are female domination stories, a couple are stories of switches, and two even deal with self-bondage–D/s perspectives that don’t normally arouse me.  The two self-bondage stories even end with the same conclusion: “Who needs a man to dominate me?”  As ya’ll know, I’m a fairly bottom-y girl, it is (primarily, although not exclusively) male domination that turns me on, and most, if not all, of my own real life experiences and fantasies are from that perspective.  Would these stories hold my interest, or better yet, turn me on?

The short answer is yes.

The fact that I enjoyed these stories as literature didn’t surprise me at all. I read Ms. Bussel’s anthologies because they consistently feature good stories and good writing, besides the “hot and sexy” thing. What did surprise me was that I also got turned on by several of the stories of women tying up men, and even one lovely M/M story having to do with a man being laced into a corset called (appropriately) “Laced.”

Now I’ve had some time to ponder this, and I don’t think it heralds any desire on my part to get switchy or start Topping men (although I have been known to get aggressive with women.) That still doesn’t do anything for me, intellectually or sexually. So what is it about those stories that aroused me?

It’s simple, really: control arouses me. One human being controlling another sexually, and the other giving in to that control, either willingly or unwillingly.  “The Tipping Point,” sums it up perfectly in both title and in the last line of the story: “I surrender.” It is that exact moment, the surrender, the loss of control, that turns me on.  That makes me hot.  And, in Best Bondage, I got a lot of that.