Tag Archive | cleis press

Pow! It’s Shibari Girl!


If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, or even here, you can’t have missed the recent release of The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica, edited by Rose Caraway for Cleis Press. This jumbo anthology contains my story Pow! It’s Shibari Girl! and I think it’s one of the most fun stories I’ve written to date.

When I first read the Sexy Librarian’s call for submissions I was thrilled! Rose wanted fun, super-hot genre erotica – with a sprinkling of kink, bondage and role play thrown in. I knew instantly I needed a super heroine that would stand out from the crowd – so I created Shibari Girl! Unassuming college co-ed Mallory by day, rope-slinging supergirl by night, she’s an irresistible package with the potential for good-versus-evil tied up in some hot shibari scenes.

Shibari Girl! patrols the city by night with her trusty shibari ropes and ties up any villains she comes across. She fights for justice, on the side of good, dedicated to serving the citizens. But one day she’ll meet her match! When the notorious diamond thief Crabman takes a side swipe at Jimmy Jack’s Jewel Warehouse, the scene is set for the ultimate confrontation between good and bad – and there’s far more at stake for Shibari Girl! than twenty-two-and-a-half million dollars’ worth of rough diamonds…

19566715_sHere’s an excerpt:

“We had some good times, Mallory,” he says, and suddenly his mouth is on mine.

For a second I’m caught unawares by how good his kiss tastes, but then the superhero in me takes over. As I work my tongue into his mouth, I push back against him and hook one of my legs behind his knee. He goes down onto his back with a grunt, pulling me with him, but I’m sitting astride him now and I still hold the advantage.

“They were good times, Tobi, but you got greedy.”

I peel his Peachy Club T-shirt up his chest and he wriggles out of it. It’s evident he’s been putting in the hours in the gym and if circumstances were different… I lick my lips.

“I’ll split the diamonds with you, Mallory. We could get away somewhere secluded, just the two of us. Things could be like they were before.”

Am I tempted by his offer? Not until I flip him over and see the small tattoo of Shibari Girl! on the back of his shoulder. It looks fresh.

“You became Crabman to attract my attention?” I say.

“It was the only way. You usually look right through me. But now…”

He smells so good but then I remember the looks on Commissioner Thomas’ and the store manager’s faces.

“Tobi, you broke the law and you’re going down.”

I grab his arms and though he struggles I’m too quick for him. In six simple knots I have him trussed and naked in a classic Shibari tie. His wrists are bound to his ankles and a corset of rope work holds him in a fixed kneeling position. He grunts and struggles as I work on him but as my fingers run up and down his back and across his chest, the grunts turn to moans and I can’t help but notice his burgeoning erection.

“God, I’ve missed this,” he whispers.

The memories flood back: Tobi swinging in a rope cradle with my mouth on his cock or the two of us, bound hip to hip in pneumatic motion. I’m not supposed to be getting turned on but I am. My breath hitches and his cock twitches in response. I clip a D-ring into the nest of knots at the small of his back and winch him up off the floor.

“Come on, Mallory,” he moans. “For old time’s sake before you turn me in?”

I look at how the red ropes bite his tanned skin, knowing the marks will remain for days and suddenly I know I’ve got to have him. Commissioner Thomas and his denizens can wait. Tobi won’t be getting anything like this for a long time where he’s going and, for the sake of a shared past, I can lend him a couple of hours. I secure the main rope to an iron ring set in the wall and then I take half a dozen more ropes and work up a cradle around him. The result is that now Tobi is swinging gently, several feet above the floor, in an armchair position. He watches me intently as I work, but he doesn’t speak.

“Where are the diamonds?” I demand roughly, not wanting him to guess what’s coming his way.


Buy it here:

Cleis Press
Barnes & Noble
Google Play 


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:

Lost in The Big Book of Submission!



Looking for some super spicy reading as you soak up the last of the summer sun? Then can I suggest The Big Book of Submission: 69 Kinky Tales, edited by sexy story supremo Rachel Kramer Bussel and published by Cleis Press? Page after sizzling page of slinky subs and hot doms, pushing each other’s buttons and playing power games… Just be careful you don’t overheat!

Superotica is the latest stop on The Big Book of Submission blog tour so now it’s my turn to tell you about my story in this pantechnicon of kinky delights. “The Lost Suitcase” is a little tale of everybody’s holiday nightmare-that moment when you discover that your suitcase has gone to Miami while you’ve arrived in Los Angeles. But the loss of this particular suitcase didn’t mean the owner had to go out and purchase a new toothbrush and swimsuit. This was the case with the toys in it-and given you know which book this is in, you’ll know what sort of toys I’m talking about!

Sometimes we’re all faced with the need to improvise and that’s what happens here. After a trip to Target, this enterprising Dom has restocked his arsenal (no pun intended!) and is ready for action!

TF1Here’s an excerpt:

“Bend over the bed.”

I knew the position he meant. I knelt beside the bed and leaned forward until my ass was bent over the edge.  I loved this moment-and I hated it.  He knew it and he made me wait until the anticipation of what might be coming next had me squirming.  I wanted it and I didn’t want it in equal measures.

A sharp shock of pain, a lingering after burn.

“There were so many things on the shelves at Target to choose from,” he said.  “I could have bought a leather belt.  Electric cables.  A table tennis paddle. A canoe paddle.  A wooden spoon.  A ruler.  Let me count the ways I could mark your skin.”

All the while he continued striking my ass, first one side, then the other, building up the intensity slowly.  It was his special skill.  I couldn’t begin to guess the object slapping hard and flat against my flesh and after a while I couldn’t even process his words.  I lost myself in the physical sensation, living and breathing only for the moment when he would transform the pain into pleasure with a slick of lube and the work of a finger or two.

Finally he tossed his implement aside, and I heard a metallic clash on the tiled floor.

“What?” I gasped.

“A skillet,” he said.  “They had it on special and we could do with a new one.”


Want to follow the rest of the tour? Here’s the schedule.

You can buy The Big Book of Submission: 69 Kinky Tales at:


Amazon UK

Cleis Press

I’ll have what she’s having! Stories of O


I’m very excited today as my lovely friends at Cleis Press have given me the opportunity to join the Stories of O blog tour. Which means I have been, quite literally, one of the first people to lay hands on this fabulous new anthology edited by Alex Algren. Actually, I’ve just checked on Amazon and it’s already available – so you could have all read it before me. But for the sake of this post, I’ll pretend you haven’t!

So what can I tell you about this delectable little collection? Algren has gathered in orgasmic stories from six incredibly talented writers – Saskia Walker, Kristina Wright, A.D.R. Forte, Sinclair Sexsmith, Donna George Storey and Thomas S. Roche. And, boy, are they hot!

Here’s the blurb:

intimate young couple during foreplay in bedThink back to the first time you came so hard you cried out. The first time you surrendered fully and spiraled into euphoria, every inch of your body consumed by pleasure. You didn’t care who heard your gasping, open-mouthed cries of passion—all you could focus on was the ecstasy. That’s what you’ll find in this collection—tale after tale of characters lost in the bliss of orgasmic perfection your mind (and especially your body) won’t soon forget.

Warm up with Saskia Walker’s steamy “Communal,” a story about a college girl who seduces other students in shower stalls. Next, a couple discovers a devious use for their spatula while cooking breakfast in Kristina Wright’s “(S)pan(k)cakes.” In A. D. R. Forte’s “Endymion,” two models with statuesque bodies succumb to their mutual lust inside an artist’s studio. A woman uses Kegel exercises to send her lover into sexual nirvana in Donna George Storey’s “The Big O.” In “Not Without Permission” by Sinclair Sexsmith, a dom considers allowing her submissive to orgasm, but not before she’s had some fun with her strap-on first. And finally, in Thomas Roche’s “Butterfly’s Kiss,” an inexperienced dom visits an underground sex club and discovers a new bag of tricks.


Add to that the fact that you get a free pancake recipe with Kristina Wright’s “(S)pan(k)cakes” – and you should be satisfied in more ways than one! And that’s the point of these stories – orgasms are hunted down and rounded up using water jets, spatulas and strap-ons, in an artist’s studio, with a Sexercise prescription and in a down-and-dirty sex club where the suction is fierce! Which one was my favorite? In truth, I loved them all, from the sweet to the spicy – and so, I think, will you!

And to tempt you a little further? Cleis Press is running a special offer – send your digital receipt for Stories of O to them and they’ll send you a Cleis print book absolutely free. How can you resist?

Stories of O exclusive excerpt

from “Not Without Permission” by Sinclair Sexsmith


“All right, up,” I say, then tug on her elbow when it takes her a moment to register. She scrambles to her feet. I shove her, hard, quickly, to the bare patch of wall next to the closet and pin her there with my body, one hand on the side of her face to press her cheek into the plaster. I hold her there a second and we both breathe.

“Ready?” I ask, at her ear again. She nods. “Hands on the wall.”

She reaches as I unbuckle my belt and whip it from the loops of my jeans. She tries to say, “Oh, God,” but it comes out as a whimper through the gag. I can hear the syllables, the vowels.

I let my arm be loose, let the leather be soft and supple as I warm up her ass and thighs and back. She gets supple too, her body relaxing and releasing already, muscles easing up their tight grip on her bones. She leans into the wall for support.

I get a little harder and see a thin line of drool start to fall from her mouth and chin. She tries to wipe it with her shoulder but keeps forgetting about it when my belt reconnects and snaps her into the sensation. She breathes deep. I widen my stance. Her back is striped with lines, her ass and thighs red and splotchy. I take a few full-winged swings with my legs spread, back spiraling, pulling up as I feel my cock’s extra weight pulling down between my legs. She gasps as it hits, once, then a pause, then twice, then again as I wind up and throw. She collapses a little into the wall on the third and I know she’s almost done. I press my body against her sensitive backside and she gasps, arches her spine like a cat, lolls her head back on her neck to rest against me.

She leaves her hands on the wall, never moving them. She must really want to come tonight.


Buy Stories of O at:


Amazon UK

Cleis Press

Ahoy! She Speaks! Rose Caraway interviews Tamsin Flowers


Great news! Yesterday afternoon I was a virgin. Now I’m not!!! (And you know, don’t you, I’m not talking about sex!) In fact, the particular cherry I popped yesterday was being interviewed. The gorgeous Sexy Librarian Rose Caraway, and I spent an hour together, separated only by the Atlantic Ocean and an entire continent, having some frisky, frolicsome chatter about zombies, erotica, slapping noises, dentists and “POW! It’s Shibari Girl!” – my latest story in her new anthology from Cleis PressThe Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica.  And not only did I get interviewed, I got my very own card in Rose’s special Library of Erotica filing system! (See above.)

Want to hear what we both had to say? Head right over to The Sexy Librarian Podcast to hear it in full.

And I’ll be bringing you an excerpt from “POW! It’s Shibari Girl!” very soon!




I Can’t Get Enough of Tenille Brown!


July has been something of a whirlwind month for me – not only did I celebrate the release of the second installment of The Vampire Bond trilogy, The Scarlet Bond, I also had stories in three – yes, get that, three! – extraordinary anthologies from Cleis Press – Can’t Get Enough  edited by Tenille Brown, Bound for Trouble edited by Alison Tyler, and The Big Book of Submission: 69 Kinky Tales edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. And then of course, the incandescent Summer Loving antho, edited by Alison Tyler, came out to support Sommer Marsden and her family. If you haven’t bought a copy yet, please, please do – this one is important!

But today it’s all about one of the anthos, one which I, personally, can’t get enough of! The height of summer seems to have been the perfect time for the release of Tenille Brown’s fun-filled, super-steamy Can’t Get Enough. It’s perfect beach reading and an excellent primer for those hot summer nights when you simply feel…you can’t get enough. And I’m going to warm you up with an excerpt from my own story in the antho, ‘Those Damned Cobbles’. Enjoy!




Toward the end of the afternoon, you send me a text. I’m in the office and as I surreptitiously check my cell beneath the cover of my desk, your words set the heat rising within me.

Home already, waiting for you. But I can’t wait…

I know what that means. You’ve come home early; you’re lying on our bed, with your cock in your hand, your clothes strewn around the room, hurriedly discarded. For me, now the race is on. I’ve got to get back to you in time. Sometimes you can hold off long enough, but sometimes I’m simply too late. It’s a game we play and if I get home fast enough, sex is my reward.

I text you back.

I’ll be there.

I glance up at the clock; I’m contracted to sit in this chair for another fifteen minutes. I save the document I’m working on and power down my computer. Hoping no one will notice what I’m doing, I change my high heels for flats and get my bag ready to leave. My boss walks by my desk so I pretend to have my head down, reading an important paper. Thankfully he doesn’t stop to talk to me.

As soon as the minute hand reaches the vertical, I’m out of my chair and pulling on my jacket.

“Night all,” I call, as I hurry through the open-plan office toward the door.

Down in the parking garage I fumble with the combination lock on my bicycle. More haste, less speed—twice I get the numbers in the wrong order. But then the lock’s off and I strap my bag to the rack on the back. If only I had decided to bring the car this morning, I would have had a better chance of getting to you in time. Now I’m faced with a twenty-minute cycle ride, and I don’t want to be too exhausted at the other end for what you have planned.

I have to stand on the pedals to make it up the steep slope out of the office garage. I duck around the end of the barrier, waving at the security guard in his little box. Once I’m out on the street, it’s a downward slope and I’m able to settle back on the saddle to catch my breath. I love this old bike, but it’s hardly a racer. Several times you’ve offered to buy me something more aerodynamic, with a comfortable gel saddle and god knows how many gears, but I’m not interested. When I’d had this bike for a while, I christened it Barry. I’ve ridden miles sitting on Barry’s shiny leather saddle, which has been polished to a chestnut patina by the pumping action of my buttocks. And when I’m thinking of you as I ride, the hard, slippery saddle pushing up between my legs only adds to my anticipation.



You know what you want and you know who you want. Can’t Get Enough captures the intensity of those rapturous moments when passion takes over. Lauded eroticist Tenille Brown has curated a collection that captures the essence of irresistible desire in its many delightful forms. Girls (and boys!) just wanna have fun in Allison Wonderland’s joy-filled “Strip to My Lou.” Beatrix Ellroy’s “Before They Burn” shows just how memorably sexy an unexpected encounter in the middle of a work shift can be. A couple reveals sexual secrets that are both tender and a turn-on in Louise Blaydon’s “The End of Sensible.” An inspiring read, Can’t Get Enough is as good as it gets.

Buy links:

Cleis Press


Amazon UK

Barnes & Noble

Tenille Brown

Over the past ten years, Tenille Brown’s erotica has been featured online and in over 50 books, and her nonfiction writing was included in The Greenwood Encyclopedia of African American Writers. Her smut is featured online in various webzines and in over fifty print and ebook anthologies including Best Women’s Erotica, Chocolate Flava, 1 and 3, Curvy Girls, Going Down, Best Bondage Erotica, 2011 and 2012, Sapphic Planet, Suite Encounters, Open, Backdoor Pleasures and Best Lesbian Erotica 2013. The southern wife and mother writes for Mischief Books, drinks plenty of vodka, blogs at therealtenille.wordpress.com, and tweets @TheRealTenille.

I Hate Sex (and, yes, the moon is made of blue cheese!)


I really can’t tell you how stoked I was to get a DM a few days ago from Rose Caraway, the Sexy Librarian herself! In her private twitter message, she told me that she was going to feature my story, ‘I Hate Sex’, which appears in Violet Blue’s Best Women’s Erotica 2014, on the Kiss Me Quick’s Erotica Podcast today. I’m so thrilled by this. It’s read by the wonderful Lucy Malone who has narrated the  Best Women’s Erotica 2014 audiobook – I’ve just listened to it and I have to say she’s done a really brilliant job.

You want to hear it for yourself? Head over to The Sexy Librarian’s Podcast or click on the link below.

I 8646673_sHate Sex by Tamsin Flowers: Libsyn Player

And because I’m so delighted by this, I’m just going to indulge myself in a little fangirl moment or two! Writing is, as you probably all know, a solitary occupation. I spend long hours grinding out the words on the laptop or scratching them onto the pages of my notebook in the hope that some day, somewhere along the line, a few people will read or hear my words and get something out of them.
However, the getting the words to the people part of the endeavor is anything but solitary. In this case, three amazing people helped to put I Hate Sex on the page and into your ears, so to show my appreciation to them, I want to give them each a little shout out here. If you don’t know about them or the rest of their work, follow some of the links and get acquainted!
Violet Blue is the editor of Best Women’s Erotica 2014 – so a massive thank you to her for picking the story out of her slush pile in the first place. But Violet does so much more than simply edit erotica (and actually, there’s nothing simple about that!) I can’t begin to cover everything she does here, but here’s how she’s been variously described:
‘…one of the 40 bloggers who really count.’ The Times
‘One of the leading figures in tech writing in the world.’ The Guardian
Violet Blue is omnipresent on the web.’ Forbes
America’s leading (very) public intellectual sexologist.’ The Institute for Ethics and Emerging Technologies
You can find her at her blog Violet Blue :: Open Source Sex, on Facebook and Twitter.
Rose Caraway is the Sexy Librarian! Not only does she write, edit and narrate erotica, she creates and narrates the wildly popular Kiss Me Quick’s Erotica Podcast and the Sexy Librarian Blogcast. Rose’s dulcet tones have recruited an ever-growing army of fans – the Lurid Listeners, who are as devoted at they are loyal – and she’s recently celebrated a Number 1 bestselling erotica audio book with her narration of Rachel Kramer Bussel’s Big Book of Orgasms. In September, Rose sees the release of her first erotica anthology for Cleis Press, The Sexy Librarian’s Big Book of Erotica. I’m probably as excited about this as she is, because I have a story in the antho – and I know Rose is planning all sorts of fun for an explosive launch!
Lucy Malone is, for me, a new acquaintance. Lucy has narrated more than 50 erotica audio books, including Violet Blue’s Best Women’s Erotica 2014 from which ‘I Hate Sex’ is taken. I loved hearing her narrate my words and I’m looking forward to listening to a lot more of her work. She blogs at From Lucy’s Lips and you can find her audio books here. And of course, she’s on Facebook and Twitter.
So go check them out!

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!

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  Amazon.com


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.