Tag Archive | Alison Tyler

Alison Tyler: Phone Sex Masterclass!


I’ve never made a secret of the fact how much I admire Alison Tyler – she’s a first class writer and a superb editor of all things erotic – and damn charming along with it. So naturally, I’m thrilled once more to be a stop on one of her brilliant blog tours – this time it’s for the third title in her autobiographical series: Wrapped Around Your Finger, published by Cleis Press. However, if you’re looking for an unbiased review, you might as well stop reading now. I’m totally bias – I love her work.


Here are just a few examples of random sentences from Wrapped Around Your Finger. You can quite literally open the book at any page and come across a scattering of pearls…

On Sam’s needs:

But what I did with him, what I was willing to do, the pain I yearned for, the level of humiliation I could accept, all of that matched his need to inflict the pain, to push down the shame, to take me to the highs and lows that I craved.


When he stopped, the rewards began.

On Jack’s needs:

For Jack…for Jack I think sex was a tool. Sometimes a weapon of torture, sometimes an instrument of almost unbelievable pleasure, but mostly a tool to slide inside the heads of his lovers.


There was no talk of safewords here.

And so damn sexy:

I could hardly breathe, locking eyes with Jack, as Alex plunged into me, my most recent climax still sending sparks throughout my body.

Have I whet your appetite for what Wrapped Around Your Finger has to offer? You want to read more? So here’s a longer excerpt and it’s an absolute masterclass in how to write phone sex. Alison Tyler – she’s got me wrapped around her finger for sure!






In the early afternoon, Jack called me from his office.
“You writing, Sam?”
“No,” I said honestly. There was no reason for me to lie and tell him I had been productive. He’d have seen through the fib even over the phone. What if he asked me to read him what I’d created? Where would I be then?
“Packing?” he queried next, and there was humor in his voice.
“Sliding those naughty fingers of yours between your nether lips and touching yourself?”
“Yes, Jack.”
“And thinking of what?”
“You know.” As soon as I spoke the words, I realized that had not been the correct answer.
“You’re already getting one spanking tonight,” Jack said somberly. “Are you trying to go for two?”
“No, Jack,” I stood up straighter, even though he couldn’t see my improved posture, and I forced myself to pay more careful attention to Jack’s questions and my own responses.
“So tell me,” my man continued, “what are you thinking of?”
“You spanking me.” It was fact. Total fact. And yet, as always, the words were difficult to say. You ought to see me at public readings. How pink my cheeks get when I reach the dirty parts of a story. Yes, I am the shy pornographer. I always have a tough time with the X-rated words. Not writing them, as you can see. I can write cock and pussy and asshole like the best of them. But there are certain terms and phrases that give me pause every time I have to put a voice behind the words.
“So tell me,” Jack repeated. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I pressed my legs together. Jack’s request was so damn sexy, and yet what he was asking me to do was so damn hard. And he knew it. All I wanted was for him to drive home right then and take care of this need of mine. Yet I dreaded that moment just the same. It’s what makes wanting a spanking so conflicting. Never changes. At least, this sensation has never changed for me, even after all these years in subspace. I approach every spanking the same fucking way. With embarrassment. With excitement. With lust. And with some variation of heart-pounding fear.
“What am I using on you in your dirty little fantasies?”
Jack prompted me, and I guessed he had his hand on his cock.
“Your belt,” I said immediately. “The one you wore today. You don’t even have the time to search for something else. You come right through the door and you bend me over and I listen to the sound of the buckle and then the hiss of the leather pulling through your loops.” I was touching myself now. This was my porn. “You start on top of my clothes.”
“What are you wearing?”
I actually had to look down at myself; I was in such a daze. What was I wearing? Faded 501s, black mules, vintage Rolling Stones-concert T-shirt, so old there were holes throughout the near-translucent fabric.
“Jeans,” I told him.
“I start on your jeans?”
“Yeah, for the first few licks, and then you reach around my waist and unbutton the fly and slide down my pants.”
“You’ve got on panties?”
“Yes,” I told him. “Tuesday panties.” I remembered that. I’d changed after my second bath of the day. God, he would hardly have to touch me I’d already come so many times. I was more than primed. I was practically putty.
“And I use the belt on you through your panties?”
Clearly, his office door was shut if he felt so confident talking to me like this. Boldly. We rarely had phone sex.
Jack was focused when on the job. But I supposed that his decision to establish a seven-day punishment had created the same effect in him the plan had in me. Longing. Overwhelming desire. When those Dom/sub pieces fit together, the result is a beautiful thing.
“Yes, Jack,” I said, “but then you pull them down.”
“I don’t make you do it?”
“No, Sir. You pull them down.” Christ, the thought alone of his hands on the waistband of my panties had me touching myself again, fingers thrust down my jeans, wishing he were here. Now. Surprised when he said, “I’ve got to run, Kid.” And disconnected the line.

Samantha’s attraction to her Dom, Jack, grows as they indulge in a sultry, Story of O-style affair. He promises her a trip to Paris, and in anticipation, creates a series of sexual rewards inspired by the seven deadly sins—one for every day of the week. As Samantha dives deeper into his imagination, she discovers new edges to her own sensuality.

Hailed by everyone from Publishers Weekly to Penthouse Variations as the pinnacle of BDSM fiction, this coming-of-age tale pulses off the page. Wrapped Around Your Finger is, at the core, a great love story—and one that could only happen in our time. Inspired by Alison Tyler’s own sex diaries, this lusciously authentic novel is a romance so intensely written you’ll feel every hard-earned caress.

Available from:

There was this time in Amsterdam… #TeamRem


There’s nothing I love more than watching a red hot rock star strutting his stuff on stage. And perhaps, in another lifetime, I would have loved to have been a groupie. It’s my fantasy and it doesn’t matter to me that the reality of it probably wouldn’t live up to the fantasy because…my life as a groupie? It’s all in my head!

6156297_sBut today, I have a guest on Supeortica who I think I would have ‘groupied’ (is that a verb? To groupie?) for big time! I have an exclusive interview with Alison Tyler‘s irresistible creation – rock god and Sandy-sub, Rem, from her latest release from Go Deeper Press, Those Boys! And, that time in Amsterdam he refers to later in the interview? In my little fantasy land, that could have been me!

T: Welcome to Superotica, Rem! First off, a question that I think a lot of people will be interested in knowing the answer to. Tell me about your name, Rem – it’s one I’ve never come across, so is it a nickname or short for something else perhaps?

R: Rem is short for “Remington.” It’s a family name. Well, that’s what I like to say. Actually, I’m named for a gun oil that my RemOilgrandfather used.

T: I’m starting gently with you, so bear with me. Your stage clothes are amazing. Where did you get your sense of style and how do you use it to express your personality?

R: I strive for a mix of Johnny Cash and Dean Martin. Elegant cowboy? Western Rat Pack. Class with a little edge.

T: I’ve seen you on stage – and you rock! Your stage persona is definitely in charge – you have the audience eating out of the palm of your hand. But when you’re off stage, you’re a sub. How does that work? Do you assume a different character when you perform?

R: The music takes me where I need to go. I wouldn’t say I’m truly a Dom on stage, though. I would say the beat is my master. I’m sub to the music. Or maybe I’m a conduit—the music flows through me, through every kinky permutation.

T: And this is the question I always have to ask musicians – tell us about the groupies.

R: Shhh. That’s one for the memoir. There was this time in Amsterdam…

T: Oh, yeah… (drifts off for a moment…) Sorry! I think I mentioned this earlier – in your private life, you’re a 24/7 submissive to everybody’s favorite Dom, Sandy. We know how you met but tell us what went through your mind the first time you saw him.

R: Even though I’ve written songs about love at first sight, I don’t think I believed in the concept. Not fully. But when Sandy spoke, I went weak kneed. I’d never felt someone’s strength like that—reach out and touch me without having him lay a finger on my skin. I had to know who he was. I couldn’t not follow him.

T: Have you always been a sub?

R: Kink has always interested me. I haven’t ever shied away from a new sensation. But with women, I was almost always in charge. I tended to draw to me the ones who wanted me to tie them up. To do things to them. Sandy flipped my switch.

T: Now, I have to ask this. Is there really a little part of you that’s a switch? You played hard to get with Sandy, teased him a bit when you first hooked up. Would you secretly like to dominate him?

R: Honestly, I wouldn’t want to try. Sandy has his own demons, his own secret fantasies—I’m sure. But me being in charge of him? No, Ma’am. No, thank you.

T: Sandy is, to my mind, a benevolent Dom. He works hard to give you and Vanessa what you need as subs and he obviously cares for you both. But is there ever a time when you’re just a little bit afraid of him?

R: Well, yes. He is fierce. When he’s in motion, he can seem dangerous. I’m never afraid he will harm me—but I have trembled at the power he possesses. He has no fear of playing with pleasure and pain. His fearlessness is intense.

T: Tell us, what would be your dream scene with Sandy and Vanessa?

R: Some sort of competition. With constantly shifting rules and a finish line nobody ever reaches. Alice in Wonderland’s game of croquet, I suppose. But with sex.

T: And finally, where do you see yourself in five years’ time? What does the future hold for you, Rem?

R: When I close my eyes, I see myself with Sandy and Vanessa. Five years. Ten years. Fifteen. Twenty. From now until the end. I couldn’t go back to the life I had before. I’m not his or hers. I’m theirs.

T: Wow! Thank you so much for the interview, Rem.

So if this sexy stud has got you a little hot under the collar, you can get a glimpse into his world with Sandy and Vanessa in Alison Tyler’s brilliant Those Boys.

Buy it at:

Go Deeper Press


Amazon UK


Summer Loving: Summer in December


Here in the UK we’re having a heatwave and I gather it’s getting pretty hot in other places to! So it’s perfect timing for the release of an amazing new anthology, Summer LovingThat’s right – here in erotica land we’re all about Sommer-loving at the moment – and, no, that’s not a typo. Because this anthology has been brilliantly put together by erotica-uber-editor Alison Tyler to lend support to one of our own. Erotica writer Sommer Marsden’s family has been broadsided by cancer during the past 12 months; all the profits from Sommer Loving will go towards Sommer and her family. So please, please make sure you buy a copy and then spread the word to your family and friends so they can buy a copy, too.

So what’s it about? Here’s the blurb:

Summer speaks of balmy days, white-sand beaches, itsy-bitsy bikinis and romantic flings. The 20 sublime stories in this collection celebrate those decadent days and naughty nights with lots of sizzling summertime sex.

Erotic luminaries Donna George Storey, Sophia Valenti, Lucy Felthouse, Emerald, Jodie Griffin, May Deva, Teresa Noelle Roberts, A.M. Hartnett, Primula Bond, Sammi Lou Thorne, Elise Hepner, Tenille Brown, Tamsin Flowers, Kathleen Delaney-Adams, Thomas S. Roche, Cheyenne Blue, Delilah Night, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Justine Elyot, Angell Brooks, and Alison Tyler spin their sultriest stories ever.

Summer might only come once a year. But with this red-hot collection, you’re guaranteed to come all year round!


Alison Tyler did all the hard work collating and editing the stories, Willsin Rowe did the amazing cover that blasts us right back to the Summer of Love, and the ever-generous Selena Kitt handled the formatting and publishing jiggery-pokery! So a massive thank you to them, all the writers who so generously donated stories (including those who didn’t make it to the final cut) and anyone else who’s been involved… And a huge thank you to everyone who’s bought a copy so far.

And one last thing. I noticed that Superotica had been running a little low on home-grown Flowers recently – so here’s an excerpt from my story in Summer Loving, ‘Winter in December’. It’s all about midsummer’s day down in the Antarctic!

Winter in December

Call me a stickler for tradition but when it’s summer on the calendar, I like hot, and when it says winter, I want snow.  Which is just one of the reasons why I should never have taken a job as second chef at an Antarctic research station.  Yes, sure, there was snow in winter.  But it wasn’t hot in summer, it was cold, and it wasn’t summer in July, it was summer in December.  And when it should have been summer it was winter and even colder.  Doing your head in?  I live here and I can’t get my head around it.

And the other reason why I shouldn’t have taken the job?  Al, the delectable head chef and my boss, who sees me as nothing more than the girl who peels, chops and mashes the potatoes.  But then I didn’t know about Al when I took the job.

Between the two of us, we prep three meals a day for the thirty-five scientists that work at the research station, seven days a week, in two month rotations.  If you’ve ever worked a kitchen, you’ll know how hot and intense things get.  But if you work a kitchen with a guy who you can’t get out of you mind at the end of the shift, who you want to fuck senseless on the steel countertops and suck off in the walk-in cold store?  It’s a whole lot hotter and a whole lot more intense.

But Al doesn’t see me that way.  So I have to go into the cold store on my own to pour water on the flames.  I do that by working out how many potatoes I will have peeled by my next home leave.

Apart from Al and myself, the scientists are all Australian, so they get the summer in December thing.  But being weirded out by the seasons, that’s the one thing Al and I have in common.  Like today: it’s December twenty-first, the summer solstice.  It won’t even get dark but it’s still as cold as fuck.  The scientists have all gone on a two-day expedition, so it’s only me and Al, having an easy day, just quietly preparing things for the week ahead.  I know this is my one chance, so when Al suggests taking the evening off…

“What’s this?” says Al, when I put a glass down beside his computer, where he’s still working.

“Pina colada.  It’s midsummer, so we’re going to the beach.”

He gives me the sort of look generally reserved for pesky younger sisters.

“Taste it,” I say.

Two words irresistible to a chef.

Down on the beach, we kick snow into the water and Al suggests building a snowman rather than a sandcastle.  I know he’s humoring me now, wondering how long he has to stay here before going back to his work.  I watch him running along the edge of the water.  So hot with his dark jeans carelessly crumpled at the top of his snow boots, his narrow hips looking even narrower below the bulk of his down jacket.  The wind ruffles his black hair, his cheeks so rosy with cold that I want to lick them warm.  I desperately need him to notice me as something more than a potato processing drone.

It’s now or never.

“I’m going for a dip,” I yell, when he’s at the other end of the small, curved cove above which the research station sits.14767176_s

If this doesn’t make him sit up and notice, nothing will.

I shed my parka, kick off my boots and slide out of my pants.  I didn’t bring a bikini, so I’m wearing my most presentable matching underwear.  I know it’s going to hurt like hell when I take the plunge, so I can’t afford to pussyfoot at the edge.

I take a low, horizontal dive into the water.

Holy fuck!


My skin is burning.  My fingers and toes are pain like nothing on this earth.  My teeth chatter like a pneumatic drill’s going off in my skull.  Someone’s rubbing warm hands up and down one of my calves, massaging my foot.  Someone’s talking to me.

“Can you hear me now?  Andi, can you hear me?”

I think I nod but I can’t really feel my body.

“What the fuck were you thinking?  You nearly killed yourself.”

I’ve never heard Al this angry, even when I ruined a whole day’s work by putting the oven on extra high instead of low.

“I’m okay,” I say but all I hear is chattering teeth and spluttering noises.

I’m wrapped in fleecy blanket and I look around.  We’re in a bedroom and it isn’t mine.  It must be Al’s.  Underneath the blanket, I realize I’m naked.  I see my underwear in a pool of water on the floor.

My whole body’s trembling and shaking.  Any deliberate movement is completely beyond my control.

“Jesus, I’ve gotta get you warmed up fast,” says Al.

I’m naked on his bed.  I have ideas about getting warm.  At least my brain does; I’m not sure my body is quite there.

“Sh-sh-sh-shared b-b-body heat,” I manage through my teeth.

It’s true – it works.  It’s what they tell you to do in the safety manuals.  It was simply a sensible suggestion that could save my life.  It had nothing to do with the thought of Al having to get naked too and press his hot body against the length of my cold one.

His look says that he knows exactly what I’m playing at.

Silently, he strips off his clothes and joins me on the bed, pulling the fleecy blanket around us and the rest of the bed covers up as far as our shoulders.  He smells good in the confined space.  Yes, a little sweaty.  After all, he did have to pick me up and carry me up the shore and into the station, him fully dressed in a 750 fill power down jacket.  But spicy and masculine in a way that makes me want suck the air around him and drink it up.

I press myself against him and this, I think, is when I finally breach his defenses.  He lets out a long, low moan and wraps his arms tight around me.  His body feels red hot in comparison to mine and, hell, I want to stay just pressed against him like this forever…


Buy it now! Buy it here:

All Romance—you can buy the e-book for the very special price of 69 cents!
Amazon US—Kindle
Amazon US—paperback
Amazon UK



Pillow Talk Secrets 2 – inside the mind of a hot dom!


Guess what? It’s Pillow Talk day! If you haven’t already come across the Pillow Talk website that I share with the ravishing Jade A Waters and gorgeous Malin James, then skedaddle across there now for a new edition of our ‘Secrets‘ – erotica writers talking dirty. Today we’re reviewing Alison Tyler‘s newest title (blink and she’ll have another one out – talk about prolific!) – Those Boys from Go Deeper Press. Then the discussion moves on to what we look for in a hot fictional dom – and what we don’t…

Here’s a little taster to get you started…

Pillow Talk Secrets 2

Malin: Hello ladies!

Tamsin: Hello Malin, hello Jade!

Jade: And hello to both of you!

M: So, I don’t know about you two, but I’m dying to talk to you both about Those Boys. Should we start there?

T: Absolutely. But before we launch in, we should tell people who might not know this is the second book in Alison Tyler’s series that started with Those Girls – both published by Go Deeper Press.

J: Yes, and that we were fortunate enough to score ourselves an early copy of Those Boys – quite possibly because the Universe is just amazing – and wow are we happy about it!

The gorgeous cover for Those Boys, by Alison Tyler. Courtesy of Go Deeper Press.

The gorgeous cover for Those Boys, by Alison Tyler. Courtesy of Go Deeper Press.

M: It was a really lovely treat. There’s a lot of food for thought in both the first book, and now the second. For those readers who haven’t read the first book yet, let’s do a really quick run-down.

T: No spoilers!

M:  I would never! Okay. Summary not spoilers: it’s told from the POV of a Dom named Sandy. This man is the real deal – a Dom’s Dom. Basically, the novelette is about how he goes about initiating the lovely, slightly stand-offish Vanessa. How’s that?

J: Good – and I want to add this little piece I once read on Alison Tyler’s blog – I can’t remember her exact verbiage, but she said she originally thought Sandy was going to be a she, and then Sandy become this beautifully bisexual Dom. But the key, or the power of Sandy, was that it didn’t matter who he had control over – only that he had that control. The magic is being in his head, because he’s such the Dom’s Dom, as Malin said.

M: And there is magic in his head. You rarely see such a nuanced, authentic portrayal of a dominant in erotica, especially a male dominant, which is a shame.

T: But, I have to admit to a little disappointment with Those Girls, (shock! horror!).

J: What?!

T: Not because it wasn’t brilliant – it was! But it was too damn short! I wanted more. Straight away!

J: Oh well then, in that case…I totally agree.

T: I think Sandy’s character really came into its own, though, in Those Boys. I really got much more of a feel for him – this is a massive development on the first story and with the addition of a new character, Rem, we really get to understand how Sandy’s mind ticks.

I want to read more…


I’m Bound for Trouble!


Seeing Alison Tyler’s post today in which she’s sharing the ToC of her forthcoming Cleis Press anthology, Bound for Trouble, reminded me that I hadn’t even given you a sneaky peek at its ravishing cover yet. I’ve got a story in this amazingly hot collection and I can’t begin to tell you how honored I feel that Alison chose to make it the opening story for the book! (Which means if , like me, you download samples of books onto your Kindle, you’ll get to read my story!) But don’t judge it simply on the basis of my story – take a look at the list of writers Alison’s rounded up and tied down for this bondage extravaganza. I think the whole book’s too hot to handle.

Anyway, here’s the cover and the ToC. Publication date is officially 15 July – but apparently it’s already available on Amazon. And I’ll be posting an excerpt from my story shortly when the blog tour gets underway!



Table of Contents

• Tea or Coffee? by Tamsin Flowers
• Simple Pleasures by Sophia Valenti
• Paper Chains by Annabeth Leong
• Ropenosis by Teresa Noelle Roberts
• I, Robot by Heidi Champa
• Magic Boots by Amy Dillon
• One Rope by Graydancer
• Discovering Her Wrists, Bound by Saskia Walker
• In Her Sights by Kiki DeLovely
• Deeper by Beatrix Ellroy
• Unwinding Alice by Benjamin Eliot
• My Pretty Pony by D.L. King
• Monthly by Vida Bailey
• Doing It By the Book by Tilly Hunter
• Sex Party Magic by Kristy Lin Billuni
• The Other Side of the Ropes by Kathleen Tudor
• Business Wear by K. Lynn
• The Kissing Party by Rachel Kramer Bussel
• That’s Nota  Scrunchie by Giselle Renarde
• Valles Marineris by Laila Blake
• What She Has by Sommer Marsden
• Through the Door by Andrea Dale
• Sitting Pretty by Alison Tyler

Available from Cleis Press, Amazon.com, Amazon UK and all the usual suppliers!

I Can Never Say Never to Alison Tyler!


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.

16748341_s“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.

Buy The eBook
Amazon Kindle
B&N Nook
Apple iBook
Google eBook

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!



My Writing Process – Chewing the Keyboard!

Okay – so every writer on the planet has by now been tagged and taken part in this infernal blog tour. I even turned two writers down – sorry, girls – before having my arm twisted by Alison Tyler, and you probably all know by now that I can’t say ‘no’ to Ms Tyler! Her writing process – approximately ten times more interesting than mine – is at Trollop With a Laptop. But you’re here to read about mine – so this it…

What am I working on?

9781783755851_FCHa! What am I not working on? I’m up to my eyes in edits on Her Boss and His Client, The Scarlet Bond and a an assortment of shorts that are due in by March 1. Furthermore, my list of submission calls for March 1 seems never ending, so I’m busy penning several more shorts for some really exciting sounding new anthologies. Editors – keep an eye on your inboxes – stuff’s coming your way! And, as if that weren’t enough, I’m also about to get down to business finishing my NaNoWriMo novel, Honeytrap, a super-hot sexspionage adventure… Plus I’m just starting my prep work for a six novel series, that could grow even longer. And… (for God’s sake, take a break, woman!)

How does my work differ from others of its genre?

It’s by me. That’s all I can say. Every writer’s work differs from every other’s. We all have a unique voice and our own world-view that gets reflected in our writing. That’s why, if you like one book by a writer, it’s a good bet that you’ll their other works – and, of course, vice versa. I just hope to hell you like the first book of mine you read…

Why do I write what I do?doingitforthecoach_800

Oh, certainly for fun! Writing about sex is almost as much fun as having it and it gives me a chance to explore all sorts of characters and situations that I might not come across in real life. I get to do things I couldn’t do for reasons of anatomy – see right!  And I get to boss the characters around, make them do what I want, playing God with their lives… (No, you wouldn’t want to be one of my characters, would you?)

How does your writing process work?

I can only tell you that if you let me shoot you immediately afterwards…

Seriously, it’s not terribly exciting. I am the queen of anal… Woops! That’s Alison Tyler with her fab new book Happily Ever Anal. What I mean is that I’m pretty anal about the writing process. I plan. I plot. I scheme. I outline. I plan some more. And only when I know in my head practically all the words that need to go down on the page, do I sit down in front of the WP. Then I write and it’s different from the plan. I become enraged and chew the keyboard. I modify the plan to accommodate the new turn of events. I replot. I rescheme. I write the next bit. And so on.

Yes, it is bloody exhausting, now that you ask!

But I think I’d better be getting back to it, with all those March 1 deadlines!


Oh, was I supposed to pass the baton on? Damn, I seem to have dropped it.

Superotica Valentine – Day 5



Hello, and welcome to Day 5 – and a fabulous treat! Today I’m hosting, for the first time on Superotica, Molly Moore. Most of you will probably already know her from her amazing blog, Molly’s Daily Kiss – and if you don’t, I can’t recommend Molly or her blog enough. But Superotica’s all about fiction and here’s a wonderful excerpt from Molly’s story Love to Hate, taken from Alison Tyler‘s Twisted anthology.


The cuffs are tight on my wrists and ankles and when I pull on them I can hear the distinctive sound of chains. The room is silent but for that and I lay there behind the dark of the blindfold playing with my own bonds. Pulling and twisting, making them talk to me. Their voice fits perfectly into my darkness and despite knowing I’m here in this room my mind slips to dungeons, guards and an evil captivity.

I’m happy here in this place, naked, vulnerable and blind. I wait for you, knowing you will come for me. For now my mind draws pictures for me, of who you are, and why you have me here like this. I know I should be scared of the unknown and ashamed of my nakedness but then I have never been very good at what I should be, why should chains and darkness and an electric fear change that now?

My body aches. I am glad of the moments respite from your abuse and yet I miss you already. My playful toying with the chains soon turns to a restful impatience. I hate waiting, I hate being left. I hate not knowing. I hate being played with. I live for this hate and the way you make me face my darkness. I love my hate. It is a passion.

The sound of the whip still rings. My body twitches at memory of the split ends trailing their evil kisses across my breasts leaving bright red welts in their wake. I moan at the memory and I crave more. I know the heat between my thighs betrays my love of the hate.

You’re silent in your approach and I’m so lost in my own body and mind that it’s not until I feel the bed shift under your weight that I know you’re back. Without a thought to the consequences words of admonishment spit from my mouth…

“Don’t leave me like this. Just do what you want with….”

The rest is muffled by your hand, words of venom and anger lost into your grip and silenced completely by your soft gentle “shhhh”. My tongue flicks out, tasting your palm, tentative at first, then with increasing greed until I am suckling on the soft flesh at the base of your thumb. I feast on you, my mouth consuming anything that you’re willing to give.

When you move your hand away my mouth feels desolately empty, pleading noises fill the back of my throat and like a little bird in the nest or a hungry baby at the breast my mouth searches anxiously for you.

I hate you even more. You’re playing with me, like a cat plays with a wounded mouse until it’s so broken all it can do is give itself up to the monster that has captured it. The hate charges through my body sending pulses of electric desire into my cunt, making me throb with agonising need.

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

Superotica Valentine – Day 1



Welcome to Day 1 of the Superotica Valentine Countdown – 14 days of the hottest excerpts, sizzling pictures and some amazing guest appearances! I’m kicking off with an excerpt from my story, Sylvia’s Transgression, from Alison Tyler’s latest anthology, Twisted.





I’d barely caught my breath when I heard his footfall on the stairs.  I closed my eyes, willing myself to calm down.  He couldn’t know that I’d only just made it up here ahead of him.  He liked me quiet and ready for him, waiting patiently in position with plenty of time to spare, not flustered and flushed.  That would come later.  I clamped my mouth tight shut and breathed slowly in and out through my nose as I counted his steps along the landing.

The door handle clicked and then I sensed he was in the room, but I didn’t dare look.  No minor misdemeanors until I’d worked out what sort of day he’d had, what sort of mood he was in.  God, I hoped it had been a good day so we could have some fun this evening.  I hated it when he came in cross because of problems at work and took out his anger and frustration on me.  The balance between pain and pleasure is a fine line and when he’s angry he takes me right to my very limits.

But today wasn’t going to be like that.  Please…

I waited, listening to him taking off his jacket and pulling off his tie.  He hadn’t said anything but he often liked to keep me guessing.  I pushed the front of my hips against the edge of the mattress to make my ass even rounder.  I knew he found it irresistible.  I could smell the day’s sweat on him, mingling faintly with this morning’s cologne.  A hot shimmer of desire tightened deep within me.

I felt him sit on the edge of the bed and then his hand slipped inside my panties to caress my ass.  His skin was warm against mine and his touch so soft… I pushed up against him but immediately regretted my action as his hand drew away.  I knew I had to be completely limp; any sign of a response to him would result in punishment later and I still hadn’t worked out what sort of mood he was in.

Suddenly he grabbed my right wrist and yanked my arm back hard.  I gasped as a muscle tore in my shoulder but that wasn’t the worst of it.  He sniffed my hand, my fingers; then he licked them.  The air went out of my lungs as fear extended an icy grip around my chest.

‘These fingers have been where they shouldn’t have been, haven’t they?’

I didn’t dare answer, pressing my face into the duvet.

His hand was in my hair, pulling my head up.  I winced.

‘Haven’t they?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He let my head go and smelt my fingers again.

‘It’s not even you, is it?  It’s Merta I can smell on you, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, sir.’  It was practically a sob.

If only I’d done it earlier in the day, so I had time to wash myself and get rid of the smell.  What had possessed me to mess around with Merta just minutes before he was due home from work?

His weight lifted from the bed.

‘I had a long day, Sylvia, and I’m tired.’  His voice sounded angry.  It had that clipped, bitter tone that I’d learned to fear.  ‘And now this, you thoughtless bitch.  Move up the bed and take off your underwear.’

I wriggled from where I was lying bent over the bottom of the bed up to the center, shimmying out of my panties and discarding my bra as I did.  I knew what he was going to do.  The cuffs jingled as he lifted them from each corner of the bed head and I held out my arms compliantly.  I didn’t want this; I didn’t want to be hurt when he was angry with me.  A moment later my ankles had been fitted with a spreader bar extended to its widest setting.  I gasped a little as he strapped it on and instantly felt the weight of his hand across the back of my thigh.  A sharp sting followed by a long, slow burn reminded me to keep my mouth shut.

I heard him leaving the room and wondered where he’d gone.  I didn’t have to wait long; two minutes later he came back in and there was a second set of steps with him.

‘Come in, Merta,’ he said, as they both entered the room.

Merta was our maid.  She was slim and pretty, and spoke little English, and sometimes I could resist touching her, especially if he’d left me feeling horny when he went out to work.  She didn’t seem to mind and never shied away from my exploring fingers.

I could sense them standing at the end of the bed.

‘Show me, Merta, what she did to you.  How she touched you.’

A second later I felt a soft, feminine hand running up my thigh.  I tried to stop my hips from moving in response to the dull ache that started up in my pussy.  Her fingers stroked and caressed my butt cheeks as I’d done to hers and then silently slid down between them to push gently between my swollen labia.  My breath was ragged and I clamped my jaws tightly together, even though I wanted to lift my head and groan out loud.  The sensation of her cool fingers delving into my hot cunt was exquisite and I knew that she would only have to slide them in and out a couple of times to bring me to the brink.  But that would never be allowed.

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