Yes, she’s back! Erotica’s most prolific writer – Alison Tyler (who else?) – has skipped on over with her latest title from Cleis Press, Never Say Never. But this one is a little different… Part sex guide, part erotic anthology, totally super hot – this is a book that every couple needs to keep things alive and sizzling in the bedroom. Or for that matter, in the kitchen, on the stairs, in the garden or somewhere else where you shouldn’t be doing it!
Okay, so here’s the formal blurb:
Never Say Never
Tips, Tricks and Erotic Inspiration for Lovers
Inspiration for Lovers
Monogamy does not have to equal monotony! Bestselling author Alison Tyler has made it her life’s mission to demonstrate that uninhibited, exciting and highly imaginative sex goes down best with lovers who just happen to be long-term couples, too. Half of a very happily married duo, Tyler explains how couples can build a level of trust that makes experimentation possible.
Never Say Never is a blissful blend of Tyler’s wisdom, expert advice and scintillating erotic scenarios guaranteed to liven up your bedroom. Finding the true object of your lust is only the beginning. The sizzling stories and helpful tips in Never Say Never will help you discover exactly what sets your pulse racing for a lifetime of satisfying sex.
And what’s not love about that? I’ve been dipping in and out of Never… for the last few days and not only have I been learning some new tricks (What? Did you think erotica writers knew everything about sex?), I’ve also been enjoying the superb stories from truly excellent writers – Kristina Lloyd, Sommer Marsden, Justine Elyot, Thomas S Roche, Janine Ashbless, Angell Brooks, Georgia E Jones, Charlotte Stein, Teresa Noelle Roberts, N T Morley, Shanna Germain, Sophie Valenti, Donna George Storey, Ashley Lister, Dante Davidson and of course, Tyler herself.
As my favourite editrix writes in her introduction… That’s what Never Say Never is all about: the endless array of possibilities that await when you place a handcuff key on your key ring, when you dig in the closet for four silk ties, when you cue up the camcorder to make a “home movie” you won’t be playing for the Mahjong Club. In this guide/erotic collection, I’ve gathered sixteen stories to set the mood, to spark ideas, to spank your inhibitions – and I’ve added tawdry tidbits from my own explicit experiences, as well as more than fifty filthy clips from more than forty well-known writers in the erotica industry.
(Oh, and I’m proud to say that I number among those forty! Find my clips if you can…)
Meanwhile, here’s a fabulously filthy excerpt from Sommer Marsden’s story, Beneath the Surface.
“I think you need to let me put it in you for a minute.” He says this to me with a wry grin and I want to appear affronted. Offended. Shocked.
I’m not. My body betrays me by sending out a rush of arousal. Nipples spike, stomach dips, pussy grows wet. I swear I can feel my eyes dilating and my pulse jumping like a cornered rabbit in my throat. My fingers are clutching cut up vegetables, my mind is on measurements and the final headcount. I’m frustrated, anxious and frazzled. I stare.
“I know you’re busy, though, so just for a moment.”
“I’m not…ready,” I lie. Why do I always do this to myself when he surprises me this way? Why do I never just say, Yes, dear fucking all that is holy yes! Fuck me now. I’m ready. No preamble is fine. Why do I always insist on the build up?
Derrick reaches out to capture my hard nipple through my worn out UCLA tee. He pinches hard enough that my tongue roams over my lips to lick away the dryness. Pleasure and pain tangle, grapple, fight to the death and on that final bit of pressure pleasure wins. My pussy goes from wet to soaked, my need to have him now has become overwhelming. That fast. That easy. I drop my clutched vegetables on a pretty crystal plate because my hands are shaking.
What he just did to me—so simply and so expertly—is why. I want the dance of warring emotions. I want the teasing and the torture. I want the blips of pain that slither beneath my skin, dark needs swimming in vibrant want. Like eels beneath the surface of a sunny pond.
“Just a moment,” I gasp. “But I’m not wet—”
“If you say you’re not wet enough Fiona, I’ll have to spank you. Because it isn’t just a lie. It’s whatever lies beyond a lie.”
Something twists deep inside of me, rippling waves of fear and excitement radiate out from my center. My body seems to be humming with electricity. I chew my lip as if considering and then blurt. “But, I’m not wet enough.”
“Lie,” he reminds me, smiling.
He is absolutely right. We both know it. It is a big. Fat. Lie. But one I need to tell.
“See,” Derrick whispers pushing his big hand slowly past the meager barrier of my ratty old sweat pants. I’m catering an event. I’m up to my eyeballs in batter and flour and small delicate cheese twists and fruit and that ever loving fucking veggie platter. I am dressed like a castoff or a college student. My dark hair is twisted up like a mad woman’s. But I can feel my pulse slamming in my temples and my cheeks blushing a hot, slatternly red.
I watch his hand disappear inch by inch until he’s turned his palm to me, cupping my mound, long thick finger nudging between my nether lips to brush rudely over my clit. Too short, that touch was too damn short. But then he’s plunging a finger into me and my eyes are sliding shut. I’m so wet I can hear him sink a second finger into my willing cunt.
“Feels pretty wet to me,” he says. His free hand yanks my sweats down around my knees and I gasp. It’s always a surprise when taunting turns to rough. And when rough turns to welcome it’s even better.