Tag Archive | Wrapped Around Your Finger

Alison Tyler: Phone Sex Masterclass!

Hi,

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.

Why?

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.

Anticipation:

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.

Thrilling:

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!

Enjoy!

Tamsin

xxx

 

Excerpt

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.
“Uh-uh.”
“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.
Blurb

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.

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