Drenched: It’ll Make You Wet!




I love my job for so many reasons – but one of the really great ones is that I get to sit and read erotica all day long and it’s work. I’m not slacking, I’m actually working hard. Turning the pages as fast as I can to reach the really dirty bits… After all, somebody’s got to do it.

And this week, I’ve had the exquisite pleasure of reading Drenched, a new anthology of wild and wet erotica from Sweetmeats Press, compiled by Kojo Black. I’d heard of Sweetmeats Press quite some time ago and I knew that they produced illustrated erotica, but this was the first time I’d actually read any of their output. And, boy, will I be reading some more!

Drenched isn’t illustrated but the five water-themed stories are completely capable of conjuring up a series of delectable images in your mind – from Janine Ashbless’s seductive “Melusine” to Justine Elyot’s adventurous “Naiad”, from Primula Bond’s riotous “Pool Party” to Lisette Ashton’s wicked executive in “Hard to Swallow” and Vina Green’s vicar’s-wife-with-a-secret in “A Divine Solution”. The quality of the writing is excellent throughout and, although sticking to the central theme, there is plenty of variety in the stories Black presents. Droughts are foiled, office politics are played and parties explode with a bang and all through it, the erotic power of water runs with an insistent throbbing that sweeps you from one story to the next. But be careful of the undercurrent – you could be in danger of being sucked under!

I have to say that my favorite story was Justine Elyot’s “Naiad”, so here’s an excerpt from it:

I arrived in the shade of the lime tree and sat down, shivering a little. It wasn’t cold, but the shade gave me a tiny sensation of chill, goose-pimpling my skin. Or perhaps that was nerves. I wrapped my arms around my knees and hugged them against my breasts, squashing my stiff nipples. They were beginning to ache from being so swollen for so long. He had touched them, pressed them, they were his now.

What would it be like to be his, in reality? To live here in his lakeside house, subject to his will? I drifted into a fantasy life, imagining us sitting in a boat at sunset while he fed me strawberries, talking about what he would do to me when he got me home to bed. I’d like to hear him talk like that, hear him say those words.

He’d keep me in a shallow pool, chained to the side because naiads were notoriously slippery creatures who could not be trusted. He’d unchain me when he wanted to take me out of my element and use me. He’d use me a lot …

I was shaken out of my increasingly lurid imaginings by his voice, making me jump.

“I thought I told you to lie down.”

It was light, pleasantly-spoken, but I knew at once that I should do as he said. Only somebody completely deaf to nuance could have failed the recognize the steel beneath the smile.

He was carrying things. Not just condoms. A cool box of the kind you’d use for a picnic, and a watering can. How strange.

But I didn’t question it. I straightened my spine down among the daisies and felt the cool tickle of the grass between my thighs. Above me, the sun glinted and hid through a tangle of branch and leaf. I could fall asleep like this, if only it weren’t for the face, looking down at me from a height, sweeping my prostrate form with hungry but pitiless eyes.

“How do you feel, Naiad?” he asked.

He had put down his burden and tightened the belt of his silk robe around him. He hadn’t offered one of those to me. I could do with one. The breeze was becoming more evident, especially around my nipples.

“I feel vulnerable,” I said, pressing my thighs together and curling my toes.

“Vulnerable, yes, good. But are you comfortable?”

“I think so.”

“Not too dry? Poor little naiad is used to the water, isn’t she?”

“I suppose so.” The residual drops from the jacuzzi had all slid off my skin now.

He knelt down by my side and passed his hands over my upper torso, rubbing and stroking over my breasts and collarbone and down over my stomach.

“Yes, I think so,” he said, bending to kiss my navel. “Very dry. This must not be comfortable for you?”

“It’s …”

But before I could continue, I let out a sharp cry.

He had reached into his picnic box and brought something out, which he placed square on my belly. It was a goddamn ice cube!

“Oh my god, that’s freezing!”

I tried to turn so it would slide off, but he tutted and held it in place with the tip of a finger.

“No, no, no,” he said. “This is good for you.”

I wriggled and shivered and whimpered while he sent the cube on a little journey, leaving cold wet tracks across my skin. He let it glide between my breasts, then climb their slopes, circling—but never quite coming into contact with—my nipples, until the damn thing melted.

I was gasping with the cold, but he showed mercy by kissing all the places the cube had chilled, warming them back up with his fulsome lips and tongue.

I wondered if he could tell that I was ready for him now … more than ready. My clit felt ready to burst with need for his attention and I didn’t need any ice cube to get me wet down there. Could he scent it? Something told me that he could.

But it didn’t mean he was going to go easy on me.

Another bullet of ice materialized on my nipple, making me arch my spine and howl. He was amused by this, holding my poor throbbing bud between finger and thumb and keeping the ice cube where he wanted it. He kept it there, not moving, just until my nipple went beyond pain and into numbness, then he transferred it to the other. The expression of satisfaction on his face told me how he enjoyed watching me writhe. I didn’t find it frightening. I found it intensely arousing. He was using me the way he wanted and I was willing to comply, even if it did mean purple nipples.

“I know it’s cold,” he whispered. “But you’ll warm it up, won’t you? Because you aren’t cold. You’re on fire.”

He put his free hand between my thighs and rubbed the juicy swollen clit he found there. Yes, there was his proof. I couldn’t deny what I was, what I craved.

The ice shrunk and disappeared, its existence only evidenced by the rivulets trickling down my breasts into the furrow between them.

Eberhardt put his face there and lapped up the crystal droplets, then flicked the tip of his tongue over my recovering nipples. The warmth buzzed them back into painful life. I wriggled my bottom into the buttercups as he opened his lips and sucked.

He alternated between nipples, dipping lazy fingers between my pussy lips and into my cunt at the same time. I was so close to coming from the double stimulation of being fingered and sucked simultaneously that I began to squirm. Instantly, he stopped what he was doing and smiled down at me. The sun had gone in. The leaves rustled against a stronger breath of wind.

“Oh,” was all I could whisper.7743750_s

“Not yet,” he teased. “Naiads are very sensual little creatures, aren’t they? I had no idea. I think more ice …”

“Oh no,” I moaned, but he was quick and deft and before I could clamp my legs together he was holding a cube to my clit. I kicked my legs against the acuteness of the sensation, but he rubbed slowly, up and down, then in slow circles, using his free hand to stroke and brush and pinch my nipples. I cried out and he popped a finger in my mouth, silencing me, making me suck on it. Now all I could do was hump my bottom up and down in a useless quest to free myself from my freezing invader.

Buy it here:

Amazon UK

Barnes & Nobel

Sweetmeats Press

A Princess Bound – Fairy Tales Have Come of Age!


Who doesn’t love a fairy tale, with it’s ‘Once upon a time…’ and ‘…happily ever after’? (Yes, obviously there are some people that don’t – but actually that was a rhetorical question.) These age-old stories seem to stick in the collective consciousness, filling us all with fond memories of hiding under the covers as we suffered Little Red Riding Hood being eaten by the wolf and Snow White being poisoned by the apple. Many of them are terribly dark and a lot of them carry a deep sexual subtext. Even if we were too young to understand it, I think we somehow knew that the wolf wanted to ravage Little Red and that in Snow White, Rapunzel and Sleeping Beauty everything hinged on an older woman’s jealousy of her younger competitor’s ripe and ready beauty.

So it makes sense, doesn’t it, to rewrite them for grown ups? To make explicit the dark sexual undercurrents that we all know are lurking there? Kristina Wright’s beautiful new anthology, A Princess Bound, does this and more – exploring the ‘Once upon a time…’ of BDSM. Enter a fairy kingdom in which princesses beg to be bound and princes demand complete submission. What could be more thrilling than an encounter in the blackberry patch with the Thorn King? In Jane Gilbert’s story of the same name, the sharp barbs bring both pain and pleasure. In Kristina’s own tale, The Last Duchess, Esmerelda begs to be bound, tied and held down… While in Rose de Fer’s Out of the Waves, the Little Mermaid is bound and whipped as she experiences pleasures she could never have imagined.

It is indeed a very grown-up collection of fairy tales – and I thoroughly enjoyed it!


Why is it that Goldilocks climbed into so many beds? Face it, fairy tales have always been kinky—from beautiful queens tied up in knots to the wolf that makes Red Riding Hood blush. In this distinctive collection of racy romances, Kristina Wright seduces us with tales that are playful, supernaturally sensual and very, very naughty. The beauty in “The Seven Ravens,” by Ariel Graham, uses a series of magic keys to finally unlock the door to her secret wish. A lonely maiden sneaks into the Winter Ball in Valerie Alexander’s “Mine Until Dawn,” and binds her new love in a devastatingly erotic story of dominance. A brawny beast of a man sweeps an aristocrat off her feet and right into his bed in “Black of Knight,” by Victoria Blisse. Submit to the spell of A Princess Bound.


From “Your Wish” by L. C. Spoering

“Maybe I’ve been doing it wrong.” I can’t decide if he’s talking to me, or musing to himself, and so I stand still, measuring my breaths, the hair on the back of my neck stiff and sensitive.

“Maybe it’s time to let you go.” That is the feared answer, another thing I don’t understand. I’ve been released before, over and over, but it’s not in the way that is imagined. It’s back in the bottle and off to the next, to bend to his will and serve, for many eternities.

I bite my lip and drag my gaze from his hands, wide and powerful. “And if I don’t want to go?”

He looks surprised. He has dark, thick eyebrows, and they raise along his forehead, creating great furrows and deep lines between his eyes. “Why would you want to stay?”

That, I can answer, and I find myself smiling before I can stop the expression. “You.” It’s as simple as that, and his face grows more baffled, and, like it’s a joke, he looks down at himself, as though the answer is in his sloppy morning dress, his bare feet, the slight paunch of his belly.

“Me,” he says, looking up at me, doubtful. Surely he’s thinking of the women he’s brought home, the one from the night before who said please over and over until it stopped sounding like a real word.

I nod. “That’s enough, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t reply, but his eyes go to the bottle on the mantle, long-necked and worn smooth, brass and shining silver, the handle seemingly delicate enough to snap. I follow his gaze, and we stand there for a long, silent moment.

“There’s one wish left,” he points out, and I shrug.

“That one’s always the undoing,” I say, gently. “Fairy tales get that one right.”

He laughs, just a little, and I glow. He puts aside his coffee cup and crosses to the bottle, lifts it from the surface; the motion makes me feel seasick, and the taste of blood invades the back of my throat as he turns it in his hands.

“What if I make a wish for you, instead of me,” he muses, and I shake my head. He expects that and gives me a heartbreaking smile.

“All right. What if I wish, for me, you.”

I feel a tingle at the back of my neck, down my spine, along my sex. “Then that would be your command,” I say, though, truly, I can never quite predict what might come of a wish. Like most, he wished for success first, and a company bore fruit around him. He wished for riches, and found himself waking in a vast apartment, driving down the canyon to his office in a luxury car. There was nothing unexpected, but, of course, isn’t that when the guard is let down?

His thumb moves rings on the warm curved surface, and I press the crest of my thighs together in longing.

“Maybe I wish for you to stay forever.”

I consider this and shrug delicately once more. “Then I’d have to stay.” Would I be freed of my duties? Would the bottle shatter?

He sets it back down and my stomach clenches. “Or maybe I just never make that wish at all,” he says, and holds out his hand.

“I could make you,” I point out, but already I’m moving, already I’m smiling.

“You wouldn’t,” he predicts, and I shake my head, and mymouth opens easily under the warm pressure of his.

What is different about him that makes me cling to him now, fingers curling at his shoulders, toes clenching at the wool rug on the floor? I’ve been had by most of them, these men, but rarely have they had me. Truly, who can have an idea, a wish—who can possess a desire?

He does, he does, and the shackles he cannot see but I can feel, there around my wrists and ankles, they dissolve as he paces me back from the bottle, back from the room. I am feeling my way in expectation, heels lifted for the slick board that divides the doorway of his room from the hall, but he steers me, instead, past the long kitchen counter, out the open door.

The patio wraps around the house and, there, in the morning, the hills look parched and sparkling, as though the stars landed there for their daytime slumber. I can open my eyes and see the traffic stuck along the snaking roads, but he catches my chin before I can, thumb and forefinger, before his pinky rests at my windpipe. I’m held suspended in that position, and each breath pushes my throat against his finger, against that tiny pain, and I shiver, focusing my eyes on him.

“Say it,” he commands, and my mouth parts again, the skin around my lips now burning from the roughness of his stubble.

“Say it,” he repeats, and whatever sweet nothing might have been in his voice before is gone with the second demand; I feel weak, shaken, and my thighs slip against each other of their own accord.

“I’m yours,” I say, without drawing my breath; it makes my chest hurt, a sort of dying exhalation—I wonder if that is what this might be, release from one world into another.

“Say it again.” His hand moves from my chin, down my throat and over my bare chest. He parts the delicate buttons of my shift, and the fabric slides off me without protest.

“I’m yours.” My head feels like, a balloon bobbing in the hot breeze. I can feel the same stir in the air at my ass and cunt, just before his hands, sliding over my hips and thighs to part my legs, spread my cheeks wide.

His finger toys with my asshole, and I let out a whimper.


“I’m yours.” My voice is high and strained, and I must lean against him in order to keep myself upright.

Available from Cleis Press and


Slave Girls – Craving To Submit…




Ahhh… Sorry just had to get that out of my system – this cover is so spectacular that I couldn’t make you wait till later in the post. I just had to go for it straight off – and truth be told I’m half tempted to leave it at that. What more persuasion would you need to buy this glorious book?

But I wouldn’t be playing fair if I didn’t tell you a little more about it…

Have you ever felt the urge to submit? To pledge your body and mind to a master? To give a stranger complete control over your pain and pleasure? Intense pain, shattering orgasms, souls laid bare and skin burned with belts and canes…you’ll find it all between these covers in a collection of stories that are deliciously intense and divinely decadent. The stories D L King has curated in Slave Girls are hot and dirty – and if you’ve been harboring a secret desire to submit, somewhere deep down inside your soul, this is a book that will make you tremble…



Forever in an electric dance of give and take, pleasure and power are inextricably linked. In Slave Girls, award-winning eroticist D. L. King pulls back the velvet curtain to reveal a world where every sexual fantasy is realized, a world driven by women devoted to their own desires and their dominants. These Slave Girls want nothing more than to willingly relinquish control to the capable hands of the right Master. Trained and tested to suit every sexual taste, these women learn the ropes—literally. A hassle-filled day turns on a dime when a strong Dom takes charge in Victoria Behn’s “Hell-Bent for Leather.” In Giselle Renarde’s “Postcards from Paris,” one good girl lives for her daily dose of discipline and tough love. The thrill of being in service to a stranger compels the lust-filled sub in Rachel Kramer Bussel’s “Out of Sight.” Your own desires may surprise you after finishing the submissive exploits of Slave Girls.


From “Savoring Little One” by Graydancer


         Slow. Savor.

Her thighs came into view, the seam going up to be lost in the dark lace that bound each leg. I swallowed. There must be some atavistic trigger that makes the sight of a garter fastened to the top of a stocking rouse a primitive hunting instinct. It’s like a crosshairs laid over a particularly delectable prey. Almost irresistible.

The straps of each garter climbed the curves of her ass, one on each side, neatly framing the beautiful cleft between two graceful hemispheres. Her skin shone silvery pale, and again I flexed my fingers. Then I saw the dark fishtail shape of a lace thong flowing from the top of her ass over each hip and disappearing under the garter belt.

I frowned.

“Little One, was I mistaken in the purpose of your invitation?”

She turned her head over her shoulder, eyes surprised. This wasn’t how the script in her head was written. “Um…what?” she murmured, and then caught herself, maintaining her demeanor. “What do you mean, Sir?” She looked confused, a little lost, and my heart beat a little faster at the adorably sweet expression.

I stepped closer behind her, deliberately, keeping my face stern as I met her eyes. “I asked”—my hand went to her neck, caressing the smooth skin there—“if I was mistaken”—fingers curled up into her hair—“as to why”—tightened, her breath hissing as my fist clenched, tilting her head up and toward me—“you invited me here.”

My face was centimeters from hers, and I could feel the warm skin of her ass pressed against my trousers, her skirt still held up in tight shaking fists. She knew I wasn’t actually upset—the swell of my cock pressing through my trousers against her buttocks was evidence of that. However, arousal did not translate into kindness in our particular dynamic. In fact, it often resulted in the opposite. She knew that. I felt her tense with fearful anticipation and grind her ass against me in spite of it. Because of it.

“You asked me to come here and take you,” I growled, my eyes locked on hers. “You were quite specific about your desire for fucking and sucking and beating and kneeling and having me, for lack of a more convenient term”—I tightened my grip slightly—“fuck your shit up.” Her pupils dilated slightly with the added rush of endorphins.

“Yes, Sir…” she breathed out, an eager, trembling sound.

“And I, in turn, was quite specific as to the manner in which you were to present yourself.”

“I thought…that is, I mean, I did, Sir, I thought…” I could see her mind racing, comparing the inventory of what she was wearing with the emails and chats we’d exchanged, the many flirtations that had led to this evening. I knew she would go over and over them in her mind, looking for something she’d missed or added, round and round in her head, and I let her wheels spin.

The fact was that she was perfect. She was wearing exactly what I’d requested, from the long skirt to the thin white cotton blouse. Heels to hair and everything in between, lovely and luscious and a feast for my eyes to savor.

But beauty is only part of this kind of play. The spice comes from the fear and the sweet dissonance of conflicting desires, to please and to be punished.

My part was, in effect, to season the experience. To taste.

“It’s not the ‘what,’ Little One. It’s the ‘how.’ Do you recall my views on the proper deportment of thong and garter belt?”

“Yes, Sir…you prefer the thong over the garter belt.”

“Yes, Little One, that’s what I said. And you responded with a very particular statement, one that I never forgot.” I turned her head slightly so that my warm breath tickled her sensitive ear. “You said you’d never had occasion to dress in such a slutty way.”

She didn’t reply, but I felt her body react to the words.

“So I’m forced to wonder if perhaps I was misled as to the nature of this occasion. Perhaps you don’t want to be on your knees. To feel my cock fill your throat till you gasp but still want it deeper. That sopping cunt of yours slam-fucked till you can barely walk, forced to cum for me till you’re hoarse and still beg for more.” I made the words guttural, growling, letting the monosyllables strike her desire with physical force. She was grinding against me harder now, and it took every bit of resolve I had not to push back.

But no, I was a rock of will upon which her growing lust crashed, and I continued. “That’s how I remember our conversation. That’s what I thought you invited me for.” I hissed angrily in her ear. “Was I wrong?”

She whimpered softly. “No…”

“Then say it. Tell me what you want.”

“I…I want you, Sir.”

“That’s all? Simple enough. I’m here.” I tightened my fingers again, eliciting another soft, high moan. “Your ass says you want more. Tell me what you want, Little One.”

She made another keening sound, and I shook her slightly. “Tell me!”

“I…I want you to…to fuck me, Sir.” Suddenly the barrier was broken, and the words poured out in a rush. “I want to taste you…I…I want to suck you hard and cum on your hard…c—” She paused for a moment, and I thought I might have to pull the word out of her, but then she swallowed, licked her lips, and forced it out. “Your…c-cock over and over and feel your hand on me, in me, taking me, I want you to take me, Sir, use me…” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips again, and one more word whispered out. “Hard.”

Available from Cleis Press and Amazon.

All About the Boys


One of the advantages of having been published by an amazing house like Go Deeper Press, is that from time to time they send me advance reading copies of their latest titles – so I get to feast for free on awesome erotica before the paying public can snap it up! That’s what happened this week – thanks, Go Deeper girls – and now I get to treat you to a sneak peek at Benji Bright’s latest title Boys Stories, which goes on general release on 30th June.


This is such a great little collection – I quite literally loved from the very first page. And what’s not to like? 15 exemplary bites of red hot, super sexy flash fiction. And as the title suggests, it’s all about the boys. 15 stories in 22 pages and an awful lot of fucking! All of it written in Benji’s inimitable and frankly charming style.

One of the limitations of flash fiction is, I believe, also one of it’s greatest strengths – there’s no space and no place for back story. In this collection we meet a cast of characters in a whole range of situations – from a voyeur in the closet to an errant husband to the end of the world – and the author’s skill it to give us just enough color and character that we can create the back stories in our own minds, in an instant. The stories might be short but you won’t feel short-changed – the worlds are rich and textured and multiple. It’s quite some achievement.

GDP011-BoyStories_Cover300Here’s an excerpt:

The air conditioner made a sound like a cough, then departed for the other world. Since then, Jim and Nick had taken cold showers, exhausted their ice cube trays, eaten their weight in ice cream, and put their pillowcases in the freezer.
On day five, Jim came out of the shower, shirtless and already sweating. His hair dripped onto the carpet. Nick watched him from the couch, trying in vain to get through a book, but forgetting each page after he’d read it. Anyway, Jim was the more interesting
story. Nick got off the couch, leaving behind his sweaty imprint, and approached Jim, whose expression was one they’d termed “heat defeat.”
Nick put his hands on Jim’s shoulder and made eye contact with his exhausted boyfriend.
“Let’s fuck,” Nick said.
Jim rolled his eyes. “It’s a million degrees, Nicky.”
“All the better. Fight fire with fire!”
“I don’t think that’s how that expression works,” Jim countered. But he didn’t protest much further when Nick went down to his knees, slid his boxers down, and put the head of Jim’s flaccid cock into his mouth.
Still, Jim had to be convinced, so Nick stroked his balls and pressed a knuckle into his perineum. He was rewarded with a grunt and a significant stiffening of Jim’s dick in his mouth. Nick licked and sucked at the head, but let Jim decide the tempo of the blowjob, and soon enough, Jim was rocking back and forth, working most of the length of his dick into his boyfriend’s mouth.
“Still a dumb idea,” Jim grumbled. But he was fully hard now, and his complaints held little weight when he put a hand behind Nick’s head in order to face fuck him a little harder and a little faster.
Jim started to slow down and then stopped altogether. Nick pulled away, confused, and looked up. Jim wasn’t exhausted anymore.
“Let’s fuck,” Jim said.


Find your new favorite fantasy in Boy Stories: 15 Quick and Dirty Gay Tales. The flash fiction in this collection is what you’d expect from erotic writer Benji Bright (Candid and The Flavor Triptych)—sexy, ardent, and graphic. Some stories feature characters that are open and warm, while others cast a different, darker light on the lives of queer men. Whether they’re bartalk buddies, sex cult members, best bros, or futuristic rebels, there are guys in Boy Stories who will win your heart and turn you on. Sure, your time with them is short, but there’s good news here: there’s another waiting for you just a page away.


About Benji Bright

Benji Bright writes smut of various stripes (fiction, games, the occasional poem). He’s grateful to have been published in quite a few places, including book length works: Candid (Queer Young Cowboys, 2013) and Chevalier: The Mercenary Archives (JMS-Books, 2013). His relationship with Go Deeper Press consists of two previous anthologies, the fantastic Huddle and the incredibly varied Dirty Little Numbers, as well as his forthcoming flash fiction collection, Boy Stories. He can be found at his online home The Erotic Ledger ( 

Get it from Go Deeper Press from June 30th.

50 Shades of Kink – Beginners’ BDSM


Do you know your top from your bottom? Your flogger from your quirt? Your Ben Wa from your butt plug? If you can answer yes to all three questions – woah, you’ve got it going on! But if you’re not so sure or you’re looking for a little expert guidance for your play, I’ve got the perfect book for you:



Tristan Taormino has written the perfect beginners guide to kink-so if 50 Shades of Grey made you feel a little more adventurous but also slightly nervous, let Tristan run a soothing hand down your back and tell you all you need to know about BDSM. In other words, submit yourself into the hands of an expert!

This is, frankly, a gorgeous little book! It really is a pocket guide that, should you want to, you could sneak into a coat pocket or purse for speedy reference. (Fabulous work, as usual, from Cleis Press!) But despite being dinky it’s packed with advice and information to take you on  a journey that your body desires, even if your hand’s a little shaky to start with. You can use it to explore your own newly awoken interests or give it to a partner who’s new to something you know and love. It’s the ultimate beginners’ guide to the world of kinky sex, BDSM, roleplay and a whole host more. From the basic techniques involved to inspired suggestions, you’ll learn about bondage and spanking, how to eroticize power and cultivate deeper connections. Tristan will teach you the language of kink as she lifts the veil on popular taboos and fabulous fantasies.

Inside, you’ll find chapters on:

  • Embrace Your Inner Kinkster: Myths, Truths, and Communication
  • BDSM Basics: Terms, Roles and Principles
  • Dominant/Submissive Role Play
  • Sexual Power Games: Pleasure and Orgasm Control
  • Sensory Deprivation: Blindfolds, Hoods, and Earplugs
  • Sensation Play: Massage Oil Candles, Nipple Clamps, and More
  • Bondage: Basics and DIY
  • More Bondage: Restraints, Bondage Tape, Gags, and Collars
  • Smack! Spanking, Paddles, and Crops
  • Smack Harder: Floggers and Canes
  • Rough Sex
  • Fifty Items for Your Toy Bag
  • Reading List

Here’s a delightful excerpt on sexual power games:

Sexual Power Games: Pleasure and Orgasm Control

One way to explore dominance and submission is through sexual power games. Sexual power games are role-playing scenarios that use sex as the central tool for control. They often revolve around giving or withholding certain types of stimulation and pleasure, ordering the submissive to perform sex on herself or you, and controlling the submissive’s orgasms. Remember that as with other kinky activities, consent is key; so when I use the terms control, order, force, or torture, I use them in the context of a scene where people have agreed to consensual dominance and submission.

Tease and Torment

Tease and torment is a fun game where the dominant is not only clearly in charge but uses that power to torment the submissive. The idea here is to get your submissive nice and turned on, squirming in pleasure, and then, back off. This is where you stop what you’re doing to him, and watch him squirm even more. Put your mouth just an inch away from her pussy and stay there. Turn the vibrator down or off suddenly and don’t let her have the controls. Stop fucking her. Hover over her lips just barely touching them. Then, tease. Don’t let her get close enough to your hand, mouth, cock, or body to have what she craves. You can combine this game with bondage to make it even more difficult for her to get what she wants. Teasing builds tension, anticipation, and arousal. It puts what your partner desires just out of reach. This can lead to someone asking, begging, pleading, or even bargaining (“I’ll give you the best blow job if you just fuck me afterward.”) Eventually, you will give in and let her have what she wants, and by then, she’ll be so beside herself, the payoff for both of you will be even bigger.

Forced Masturbation

This is a good one to play whether you’re in the same room, in separate places, or connecting long distance via phone, instant messenger, text, or Skype. It’s easy—the dominant orders the submissive to masturbate. This is a great way to exercise control over her pleasure: she gets to have it, but only when you say so. In fact, maybe she can only touch herself with your permission. Perhaps you give her instructions about exactly how she should do it, and she must follow your directions to the letter or risk punishment. Maybe she needs to describe to you in detail what she’s doing, what she’s fantasizing about, and what she wants you to do to her. Maybe she needs to get over her shyness and perform for you, give you a show. Maybe she must dedicate her orgasm to you or say your name when she comes, or ask your permission before she has an orgasm. Whatever way you design it, this once solitary activity which was her domain alone now belongs to you.

You can also direct your submissive to masturbate when you’re not around. Order her to do it with a specific toy or wearing a particular outfit. Tell her to write up a report of her activities and send it to you. Get creative with your requests; you’ll keep her on her toes and you on her mind whenever she masturbates. These can be great homework exercises for couples in long- distance relationships, and they help keep the D/s dynamic present even when you are not physically near each other.

Orgasm Control

Imagine if your ability to orgasm was decided by someone else. If you like being at someone’s mercy, handing over control of your pleasure, then this kind of surrender may really appeal to you as a submissive. For dominants, do you like to take charge of your partner’s body and use sex as a way to control her? Orgasm control can take several different forms, each of them a different kind of sexual power play.

One very popular element of dominance/submissive role play is when the dominant requires the submissive to first ask permission in order to have an orgasm. It’s a simple, yet deeply symbolic act that says, “I control you. Your orgasms belong to me.” Some people write it into their contracts. Basically, the submissive must always ask the dominant’s permission before having an orgasm. Usually, the rule means that as the submissive is right on the edge of coming, he has to pause, ask (or beg), and the dominant can decide to extend or deny permission for him to have an orgasm. Creative dominants can require a task first (“Lick my boots!”) or administer ten strokes of the paddle before permission is given. Orgasm control is a ritual that not only reinforces the dominant/submissive dynamic but is also such a fun power game to play!

Speaking of denying permission, orgasm denial is another form of control—one that’s a bit more devious (and, yes, even sadistic). When the submissive asks for permission, your answer is confident and resounding: “No.” You can do it as a correction, punishment, or just to see the look on her face. Denying orgasm makes a submissive squirm, squeal, beg, plead, all while getting more turned on in the process. It’s a great way to take someone to the edge of climax, then flip the switch. You get bonus points for incorporating sex toys into this game, like vibrators, Kegel balls (also called Ben Wa balls), dildos, or butt plugs—since they’ll make it even more difficult for her to not come. It’s another kind of tease and torment sure to drive her crazy, where the reward—a much- anticipated orgasm when you say so—is even sweeter. Or perhaps the reward is delayed, a few hours or a few days.

On the other end of the spectrum is the forced orgasm. Let me start with a disclaimer: if your partner has trouble achieving orgasm, this is not the game to play. It could create tension, anxiety, shame, and fear, and that’s not what we’re after at all. But if your partner is reliably orgasmic, then this is another fun way to control her. Think of it as making your partner have an orgasm on demand. When you feel like she’s getting close (or she has told you she is, as instructed), you can demand that she come. Or you can put her in some nice bondage, then strap a vibrator to her clitoris, so she has no choice but to come. The dominant gets to call the shots, the submissive gets to follow the command and come: win- win!


Tristan Taormino is an award-winning author, sex educator, film maker and radio host. She is the author of more than seven books including The Secrets of Great G-Spot Orgasms and Female Ejaculation, The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women, and Opening Up: A Guide to Creating and Sustaining Open Relationships. She is the editor of more than 25 anthologies, as well as being the creator and series editor of the Best Lesbian Erotica anthology series. Her books have sold over 500,000 copies.

You can buy 50 Shades of Kink from:

Cleis Press





Want to join Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Mile High Club?


Buckle up, strap down and put your seat in the upright position – we’re about to take off for a flight of fancy! Rachel Kramer Bussel is inviting you to join the Mile High Club with her latest Cleis Press anthology, High Flying. Destination? Nowhere in particular – it’s just an exercise in revving up your engines!

FlyingHigh_hiresAs usual, Miss Kramer Bussel has gathered together some of the most talented erotica writers around and this time she’s tasked them writing sex on a plane. And, as there’s nothing I love more than a bad pun, I’m delighted to say they’ve reached new heights. More seriously, there’s a lot to like about this book. Firstly, the cover’s cute – though whenever I try to hang my feet out in the aisle, some trolly dolly threatens to mow them down with the drinks cart! Next, the table of contents is like a roll call for fabulous writing, featuring Alison Tyler, Rachel herself, Kristina Wright, Cheyenne Blue, Donna George Storey, Thomas S Roche, Elizabeth Caldwell, Sommer Marsden, Teresa Noelle Roberts, Bill Kte’pi, Zach Lindley, Desiree, Jeremy Edwards, Matt Conklin, Vanessa Vaughn, Craig J Sorensen, Stan Kent, Geneva King and Ryan Field. So now you know you’re in for some fun!

Despite the limitations of the theme, there’s plenty of variety between these covers. Craig J Sorensen finds a novel use for a banana, Jeremy Edwards invents a whole new flight class, Sommer Marsden finds new meaning in the term ‘scream queen’, while Kristina Wright revisits first love, or should I say, lust. All in all, the pilots, the passengers and the flight crew simply can’t keep their hands off each other once they reach 30,000 feet.

Here’s a teaser from Donna George Storey’s Nasty Little Habit to encourage you to book your ticket…I mean buy the book!


He begins to strum.

Each stroke of his finger sends sparks sizzling through my pussy. My cheeks burn and I’m trying so hard not to moan, my ribs ache. I squeeze Paul’s wrist to steady myself but – devilishly – he only quickens the pace. There’s no turning back now, because I’m a slave to that jiggling finger. I’m a horny slut who wants it so bad, she’ll let a stranger finger her twat on an airplane, yes, she’ll let him rub her wet, swollen pussy until she comes, which is just what I’m doing right now, yes, I’m coming all over Paul’s hand. I grit my teeth to hold back the scream rising from my belly, ricocheting through my body as my ass jerks rhythmically into the cushion.

Amazon US

Cleis Press

Welcome to the Mile High Club – I hope you’ve enjoyed your flight!



Here’s a Twisted teaser…


Regular readers will know that this week I’m celebrating the release of TwistedAlison Tyler‘s latest anthology for Cleis Press, in which I have a story. And last time I promised I’d have something more for you… I’ve also promised the lovely Ms Tyler that I would review a story by one of the other writers. So aren’t I lucky that I can kill two birds with one stone? (Surely as an erotica writer I can come up with something better than that – fuck two pussies with one… lick two nipples with one… Ah ha! Beat two buttocks with one cane – something Alison Tyler would definitely approve of!)12235975_s

So, now that your buttocks have stopped quivering… which story did I choose to review?

Be There With Bells On by Joan Defers.

(This one isn’t actually about buttocks or caning but I couldn’t resist this picture…)

So why did I choose this one? Well, one of the great thrills of getting my sticky paws on a bright, shiny new anthology is to run my eyes down the ToC and see how many of the other writers I know. It’s exciting to see my friends’ and colleagues’ names in print – and it’s just as exciting to see a raft of new writers named, whose work I’ve never read before. And when it came to Twisted, Joan Defers fell into the second camp. I’ve heard of Joan and I’ve come across her tweets on Twitter – and that’s been enough to whet my appetite and make me want to find out more.

And I wasn’t disappointed when I read Be There With Bells On. No, Sir, as the central character in this story might say. It’s a short piece – short and sweet – about a nameless, naughty sub who’s been set a torturous challenge by her Sir. Can she do it? What will happen if she fails? Does she even want to succeed?

Move along now – no spoilers here!

But I’ll give you a little teaser of Joan’s fabulous writing…

4488653_sShe kept her breath shallow, her movement fluid. Her hips swayed at half rate.

“A little faster,” he murmured. “We don’t have all day.” She tried to ignore the impatient tapping of the crop against his knee.

She glanced down at the clamps. He’d attached small weights to chains, and dainty silver bells dangled from the ends.

She glided with the posture of a debutante fresh from charm school. She channeled ballerina. She was grace, poetry in motion, the stillness at the depths of a bodhisattva.

She transcended.

He wanted the glass dildo with blood-red and mint-green swirls, and he wanted her to retrieve it without producing even a single tinkle from those bells.

She took a few more steps. Why did the bathroom have to be so far away?

She bit her lip and blew out her tension slowly, relaxing her back muscles. Blood rushed to her pussy, and her thighs throbbed.

Oh, why did this have to affect her this way? Her nipples in the clamps, the cold chain draped between them. That’s all it took to get her going anymore. She was easy, anymore. He was arrogant with it.

Her ears burned.

If she failed, so what?

He’d take that crop to her. He’d tie her up.

get-attachmentYou can buy Twisted  at, Amazon UK and all good erotica retailers!

More torment from the delicious Miss Tyler


Regular readers of Superotica will already know that I am a great fan of Alison Tyler‘s work and there’s nothing that thrills me more than being able to feature a dirty little excerpt from whichever title she’s promoting.


But this time I really lucked out!


‘Why?’ you ask.


Because this is the first stop on Alison’s Delicious Torment blog tour. That means not only am I in the privileged position of introducing this extraordinary and wonderful book to you all but I also get to torment you with all the delicious puns on the book’s title.


So, was I tormented by this delicious read? Did Tyler’s tormenting prose taste…?


(Enough already with the puns! Tell the people about the book — Alison’s imaginary voice in my head.)


Okay. But I still have to say this book truly lives up to its name — it is a delicious torment reading once more about Alison’s alter ego, Sam, and her developing relationship with Jack, a dom who truly gives Christian Grey a run for his money. This is the second book from Cleis Press in Tyler’s series of semi-autobiographical novels which started in Dark Secret Love. At the opening of The Delicious Torment, Sam appears to have settled down this into her relationship with Jack. However, Jack is not of a mind to let things coast. He constantly needs to push Sam’s boundaries, dreaming up ever more ingenious scenarios and setting her fiendish challenges that she can’t hope to win. And when he starts including his rakishly handsome assistant Alex, a baby dom with a cruel streak, in their bedroom games, the torment Sam is subjected to becomes even more delicious (yes, I know, but I couldn’t resist it!)


But do you need to read the first book to enjoy the second? Before I answer ‘yes’ to this question, I should say first that the sex scenes in The Delicious Torment are scorching and on a sensory level you’ll get plenty of pleasure from reading this book even if you haven’t read Dark Secret Love. However, to really understand the dynamic between the two leading characters, you’ll definitely benefit from having read the first book. Sam often relates what she’s experiencing in her current relationship with what she has experienced in the past and so there is a very direct link between the two books. Having said that, though, I have no hesitation in urging you to read the first book if you haven’t already read it because both of them are extraordinarily fabulous.


So, if you’re going to read just one single erotica title in 2014, make it these two! Oh, and one or two of mine as well…





BTW I featured an amazing excerpt from The Delicious Torment in my recent Superotica advent calendar.

Buy links:

Cleis Press

Rubber obsession? Moi?

*…shifty glance around to check that no one else is listening*

I have a confession to make. Even though I’m a published erotica writer—which obviously means I’ve been there, done that and tried every possible permutation, position, flavor and denomination of sex that there is—I’ve never worn latex! It may sound extraordinary, even beyond belief, but it’s absolutely true. I’ve never slipped into a little black rubber dress or pulled on a pair of PVC panties.

But now, thanks to Rachel Kramer Bussel, I want to. Strike that. I’m desperate to—it’s becoming a whole new obsession with me. And when I do obsession, boy, do I obsess! Why? Well, it’s all because my wonderful friends at Cleis Press sent a shiny new copy of Rachel’s latest anthology, Lust in Latex. The sub-title of which is Rubber sex stories. Are they ever!

So let me share with you a little taste of what kick-started in me a latent desire for all things latex…6813717_s

  • ·         She loved latex almost as much as Jon did; the way it captured her skin, the odd combination of softness and strength. … And latex panties. All she had to do was step into a pair—crotchless, backless, a tiny black thong—and she’d be wet in a second. Shanna Germain
  • ·         When Carrie put the dress on, she felt like a different person. She was a different person. … In that shiny black PVC dress, she became Carrie the seductress. Carrie the bad girl. Carrie the slut. Kristina Wright
  • ·         …her moist hands sliding up and down the fire-engine red rubber underwear, now glistening with sweat, glowing under the fluorescent lights as if they were alive, an animal presence, glued to every inch of her body, pulsating. Lillian Ann Slugocki
  • ·         He felt incredible, like some kind of sexy alien coated in a supernatural skin. Rachel Kramer Bussel
  • ·         The intricate outlines of her shaved pudenda were of infinite fascination to me, as were the gradually more visible outlines of the blue-black Sanskrit characters tattooed above her sex, growing discernible as a thin film of sweat made the white latex translucent, then gradually transparent. Thomas S Roche
  • ·         …rubber crotches opening up to release steamy cocks… Jay Starre
  • ·         Slicked up rubber slipped and caught, slipped and caught, tugging on her folds, making the dildo twitch slightly. Pushing her, pushing her towards the edge. Teresa Noelle Roberts
  • ·         My own fingers, encased in that thinnest sheen of rubber, would probe and tickle my clit—rubber on wetness now—until the climax came and took me away. Alison Tyler

I would give you more—there is so much more in this stretch, sexy collection—but I have to get out to the shops. Somewhere, out there, there’s a small scrap of rubber with my name on it. And I need it now!

Lust in Latex is out now and is available from Cleiss Press and Amazon.

Dorian Gray – the Man We Love to Hate?

Dorian Gray… how can we be anything other than fascinated by Oscar Wilde’s seminal cad? And now, more than 120 years after he was first created, Mitzi Szereto has re-imagined his existence if, instead of dying, he’d lived on through the ages.

It’s an irresistible premise, and I can happily report it’s an irresistible book!

In Szereto’s version, Dorian Gray – blessed with eternal life, extraordinary beauty and no moral compass – sets sail on an ocean of desire, decadence and, gradually, depravity. He thinks nothing of the consequences of a single of his actions and cares not one jot for the feelings of those he interacts with. He sleeps with men and women, casting them aside when bored, moving on to the next challenge until enthusiasm palls into ennui. And how can it not, when you have all the time in the world and no conscience?

This, of course, is what explains our enduring fascination with what is, after all, a thoroughly unpleasant character. How would we behave in his extreme set of circumstances. It’s like the age old question, if there was no way your partner would ever find out, would you be unfaithful? Only this time, it’s magnified. If you were completely irresistible to men and women, and immortal, what would you get up to? Well, we all know we wouldn’t be like him, don’t we?

When The Picture of Dorian Gray was first published, Oscar Wilde had to be extremely circumspect about Gray’s activities. In those days, the hints at his sexual behavior alone were enough to get him both censured and censored. But even now that we are liberated from Victorian values and live in an age of comparative sexual liberation, why do we still love disapprove of Gray’s behavior? It’s easy – here is a man bereft of any sense of responsibility – to himself, to his partners or to society as a whole. He breaks hearts and breaks laws as if they were mere trifles. Nothing matters to him and that’s what we can’t stand. We want him to feel emotion, love, regret, remorse – but Szereto has him plowing on through decades of relentless carousing and fornication.

I can only imagine the fun she had in dreaming up this future for him and then writing it. It’s a ride, it’s a blast and I loved every minute of it, even as I disliked the stories central character. From Jazz-Age Paris to opium dens in Morocco, a monastery in Peru to modern-day New Orleans, we stumble in his wake, just willing him to find one ounce of human decency…

And bravo to Ms Szereto for a tale so brilliantly imagined and so eloquently told!


Dorian Gray awakens as if from the grave. A great weight presses down on him from above, but when he looks up to determine the cause, he realizes it’s his head, which feels so heavy upon the stem of his neck that he expects it to tumble off and land on the crumpled bedding beneath him. Even the air itself is heavy, as if he were trying to breathe through cotton wool.

He blinks several times to clear his vision, the effort of moving his eyelids far too strenuous an endeavor to undertake without discomfort; they feel as if cast-iron window weights have been attached to them. The bluish haze that blurs the objects in the lavishly appointed bedroom make him wonder if he has somehow developed shortsightedness. His puffy, burning eyes struggle to focus and make sense of his surroundings. He hears the sound of breaths being drawn in and then released in a steady rhythm that might have been soothing if not for his disorientation. Are they his or someone else’s?

Red velvet draperies cover the tall windows and move sluggishly in the breeze as if they too are affected by the overwhelming sense of heaviness that afflicts him. They remind Dorian of curtains in a theater; he expects them to swing open, revealing players on a stage. Instead they reveal irregular chinks of yellow light that insinuate themselves inside the room, informing him that it’s morning.

The clarity of his vision slowly returns, bringing with it more detail. Embroidered silk cushions lie scattered across the wooden floorboards, as do overturned glasses and random bits of gray ash. The bed upon which he finds himself appears to be a tangled heap of arms and legs, the more slender among them female. They crisscross in a haphazard pattern. Arms as white as the first winter snow. Arms as black as polished ebony. Some look as if they belong to the same body, though Dorian knows this to be physically impossible.

Lying amidst the jumble he detects the gentle curve of a woman’s breast and unless he’s mistaken, the graceless wedge of a man’s foot. That Dorian is inside a bedchamber becomes obvious to him. It might be his, though he can’t be certain.

He seems to recollect a small man with a pencil-thin moustache and a worn yellow tape around his neck measuring the window frames with extravagant meticulousness, then producing several swatches of fabric, one of which was red velvet. The memory’s returning to him in more clarity now. Monsieur Larouche, the curtain maker. His men finished hanging the red velvet draperies a few weeks ago.

8420909_sAs for the hours that have just gone past, they remain a confused jumble of images in Dorian’s mind, though the fragrant after-scents of smoked opium and female pleasure tease at the edges of his memory like a tickling finger, gradually bringing him back to consciousness. Painted scarlet lips pulling on the tip of an opium pipe, then later on the tip of his manhood. Secretive openings being filled by inquisitive fingers, as well as other objects not generally suited for the purpose. Yes, the mislaid hours of the night are finally being located!

At some point Dorian must have lost count of the number of times he spent himself, though he suspects it transpired at least once with each person present in the room and likewise with those who have already departed to seek out the familiarity of their own beds. He squeezes his eyes shut and reopens them, the burning less troublesome now. Despite the tiny veins of red marring the sclera, their blue is as pure as the sky on a perfect spring day. Yet the tableau laid out before him is anything but pure.

Is that a young man lying unconscious on a heap of silk cushions by the window, or a young woman with short-cropped hair? He’ll never grow accustomed to these young ladies who shear off their pretty locks in this masculine manner. He prefers men to look like men and women to look like women; at least then one can always tell who the players are. The figure on the cushions moves ever so perceptibly, yet it is enough. It offers Dorian a pleasing vista of two well-formed hind cheeks that remind him of hot-cross buns. The sight of them makes him hungry, though it isn’t a meal he hungers for. On the contrary, his is a hunger that never ceases—and it cannot be appeased with anything so mundane as food.

 Available from: Amazon and Cleis Press

About Mitzi Szereto

Mitzi Szereto ( is a bestselling multi-genre author and anthology editor, has her own blog “Errant Ramblings: Mitzi Szereto’s Weblog” (, and is the creator/presenter of the Web channel “Mitzi TV” (, which covers “quirky” London. Her books include Thrones of Desire: Erotic Tales of Swords, Mist and Fire; Pride and Prejudice: Hidden Lusts; Normal for Norfolk (The Thelonious T. Bear Chronicles); Red Velvet and Absinthe: Paranormal Erotic Romance; Getting Even: Revenge Stories; and In Sleeping Beauty’s Bed: Erotic Fairy Tales. Her anthology Erotic Travel Tales 2 is the first anthology of erotica to feature a Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. She divides her time between the UK and USA.