I posted my excerpt from Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and am now happy to share with you the full lineup. More purchasing links TK closer to the pub date. I'm extremely honored that this book will have a foreword by Midori and will share my introduction once it's through copyediting. I'm also very honored to be publishing a few of these authors for the first time in one of my anthologies! Irresistible is shaping up heavy on the new authors too. Always a thrill for me.
Which reminds me: if you're submitting to my books, just submit the story. Don't tell me your life story or have your friends write to me to tell me you sent a story. If you get my acknowledgment, it means I will consider your story, on its merits, the same way I consider every story that is sent to me. Should be obvious but it needed to be said.
Professionalism gets points with me, as in, read my guidelines and follow them. Especially when I'm down to the wire, as I was recently, the more time it takes me to reformat and play around with things that have nothing to do with the words, the more frustrated I get. And remember that I and most likely every editor always receives more stories than they could use even if they were madly in love with all of them, so a rejected story is a chance to submit it elsewhere.
My July 1st deadline for the hotel erotica anthology will not be extended, so if you're going to submit, get your story in by then. I'll be tackling that anthology as soon as I'm back from London. Looking forward!
I don't know why it wound up so female dom heavy but I like that it's a little different from last year's in that sense and there are some other twists and turns and plotlines that wowed me in every sense of the word, which, considering that this is my 41st anthology (I'm weird and keep count), that says a lot. The knife-throwing story I dictated to myself never quite materialized but I do hope to write it at some point, inspired by a friend who was a knife-thrower's target. Congratulations to all the authors. Please support this series so I can keep on editing it!
Best Bondage Erotica 2012 table of contents
Use This Book for Your Kink Life Midori
Tying Men Up: Dominant Women Storm The Pages Rachel Kramer Bussel
Melting Ice Shoshanna Evers
A Night at the Opera Elizabeth Coldwell
Darlene’s Dilemma Andrea Dale
Snow White A.R. Shannon
Trophy Boyfriend Lucy Felthouse
The Spider and the Fly Salome Wilde
Tied Down Elise Hepner
The Cupboard Under the Stairs Kay Jaybee
Suffer for Me Teresa Noelle Roberts
Dry Rub Giselle Renarde
Worth Redemption Craig J. Sorensen
Laced Elizabeth Silver
Pawns Elska Tas
Cumaná Helen Sedgwick
Good British Steel Lana Fox
Parting Ways Tenille Brown
Knot Alone Kathleen Tudor
Insurrection Valerie Alexander
The Tipping Point Lolita Lopez
As Long As You Don’t Wake Me Neil Gavriel
The Weight Rachel Kramer Bussel
Showing posts with label bondage erotica. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bondage erotica. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
"The Weight" to be published in Best Bondage Erotica 2012
Lately I am trying to be lighter, physically and mentally. I'm working on getting to my goal weight and fitting (better) into this slinky tight tan dress I bought that's basically the same dress I have in gray but is tighter for whatever reason. Mentally, well, it's tough. Yesterday was a day of such highs and lows. I waved like a fool on the Staten Island Ferry looking for my friend, watched two little kids instantly bond over drawing, laughed over nothing with friends old and new, and went to my friend Cheryl's wake. I was okay...as long as I didn't walk by the big box with my friend's body inside it. I could admire the gigantic, bigger-than-I've-ever-seen flower displays. I even took a prayer card even though my thoughts on prayer are a bit muddled.
I'm working on purging both belongings and negative, unhelpful thoughts, along with the extra pounds, and talking to my friends and seeing how they each deal with their grief was telling. I don't think there's a right way or wrong way, and I teeter between being so outraged for Cheryl, that her life was cut short, and recognizing that my outage isn't going to bring her back. I can't feel light about her death, in any sense of the word, but I am honored to have known her and heartened to keep on seeing such an outpouring of support and love for her.
I will probably be working on this lightening that my whole life. So the fact that I wrote this story is both interesting and fitting. I'd say curious but to me it represents the way I think of BDSM when it works perfectly, which is like this yin and yang, people who have different urges, but urges that contrast perfectly in their extremity. Or what I think of as extremity; obviously that word means different things to different people. There are definitely things I've done I never thought I'd do and things I have and do think about that I'm not sure I'll ever do, and a lot of that comes out in fiction. "Foot and Mouth" you'll have to wait until next year for, but "The Weight" is going to be in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and the part that is curious but also complimentary is that desire for weight on someone else, for the force of a body as a weapon.
I, like my protagonist, am much more partial to the human body as a tool than I am anything else when it comes to kinky play, and by "body" I mean both body parts but even more so the mind. In this excerpt you'll see that it's both this character, Damian, the narrator is so attuned to, but also the phrase his knee, the look on his face, his eyes. It's all of those body parts working in concert with both her and all that has come before. For me it's the kind of story I long to write, and am proud of, but couldn't do every day, just like I couldn't do anything like that every day. It's part of, maybe, my recovery process, my getting over someone who is seemingly ubiquitous, inescapable. Or maybe it's something else I'm not even aware of. But I'm looking forward to sharing this story with the world. It will close out my book, which should be in stores by Thanksgiving. I'm working on more food stories, lighter ones, ones that dance around their kinks, rather than dropping them on the reader so, well, heavily. I'm writing a story named after a Cyndi Lauper song now. But I also think that "lighter" is relative. We all have light and darkness inside us and for me lightness is a goal not at the expense of mental or emotional weight, but as a coping mechanism. Anyway, here is an excerpt from "The Weight." More bondage erotica excerpts closer to pub date! Much of the book, and my introduction explores this, features women tying up men, because that was what the majority of the submissions included, so I hope you femdom types will buy it. I think there is a wonderful mix of types of bondage and motivations for it, and I hope I'll get to keep on editing more bondage erotica because it's always an interesting process.
This is fiction, for sure, but the kind of fiction I sometimes think is more truthful than any essay I write could ever be.
From "The Weight" by me:
I don’t gulp in greedy deep breaths of air; that would be too obvious. I take the smallest breaths I can, savoring them, making do with what I can get, while I can. He rises just enough to turn me over, settling down again with his knee planted firmly against my pussy, so firmly it hurts a little. He’s not trying to make me wet, or make me like it. I know that much by now. He’s trying to simply tell me that even his knee owns me, that even his knee can make me do anything he demands.
It’s the look on his face that makes me shudder as surely as if someone zapped me. I can breathe a little now, but I can’t move, not really. He has me pinned, strapped in as surely as the fanciest of handcuffs. The shudder rises from my red-painted toenails on up. I tremble against him where his knee is greeting me, and he shifts so the pressure lands at my wrists, where he’s raised them above my head. At any moment he might shift both wrists into one meaty palm and tickle me, threatening my bladder, threatening my control.
I’m tempted to bite my lip, but I don’t. He’d only force them apart, force my mouth, like the rest of me, open, shove something, probably his fingers, many of them, inside. I’m not sure if I miss his weight yet, because I love how strong he is, how his strength brought to bear full bore demands an equal showing of strength from me. I look up at him, not sure which Damian I will see. Sometimes his hazel eyes are dark and stormy, and he’ll lean down and bite my lip, digging his teeth in, clamping down until I mewl to get away, and then giving me a few extra seconds of pain before rising and spitting into my mouth. Sometimes he’ll raise his hand so suddenly I hardly have time to be aware of what’s about to happen, then strike my cheek so hard my ears ring. Sometimes he shackles my arms above my head, to the cuffs secured to the headboard, and pinches my nose and mouth shut, holding them tighter and tighter until I start to truly thrash, and then he’ll let go of one hand, keeping the other in place. Like I said, I’m not into all the accoutrements of bondage, but I gladly give him my arms, and savor the tightness of a cuff or the sweetly deceptive smoothness of a silk scarf, even though he is my favorite sex toy of all.
I'm working on purging both belongings and negative, unhelpful thoughts, along with the extra pounds, and talking to my friends and seeing how they each deal with their grief was telling. I don't think there's a right way or wrong way, and I teeter between being so outraged for Cheryl, that her life was cut short, and recognizing that my outage isn't going to bring her back. I can't feel light about her death, in any sense of the word, but I am honored to have known her and heartened to keep on seeing such an outpouring of support and love for her.
I will probably be working on this lightening that my whole life. So the fact that I wrote this story is both interesting and fitting. I'd say curious but to me it represents the way I think of BDSM when it works perfectly, which is like this yin and yang, people who have different urges, but urges that contrast perfectly in their extremity. Or what I think of as extremity; obviously that word means different things to different people. There are definitely things I've done I never thought I'd do and things I have and do think about that I'm not sure I'll ever do, and a lot of that comes out in fiction. "Foot and Mouth" you'll have to wait until next year for, but "The Weight" is going to be in Best Bondage Erotica 2012 and the part that is curious but also complimentary is that desire for weight on someone else, for the force of a body as a weapon.
I, like my protagonist, am much more partial to the human body as a tool than I am anything else when it comes to kinky play, and by "body" I mean both body parts but even more so the mind. In this excerpt you'll see that it's both this character, Damian, the narrator is so attuned to, but also the phrase his knee, the look on his face, his eyes. It's all of those body parts working in concert with both her and all that has come before. For me it's the kind of story I long to write, and am proud of, but couldn't do every day, just like I couldn't do anything like that every day. It's part of, maybe, my recovery process, my getting over someone who is seemingly ubiquitous, inescapable. Or maybe it's something else I'm not even aware of. But I'm looking forward to sharing this story with the world. It will close out my book, which should be in stores by Thanksgiving. I'm working on more food stories, lighter ones, ones that dance around their kinks, rather than dropping them on the reader so, well, heavily. I'm writing a story named after a Cyndi Lauper song now. But I also think that "lighter" is relative. We all have light and darkness inside us and for me lightness is a goal not at the expense of mental or emotional weight, but as a coping mechanism. Anyway, here is an excerpt from "The Weight." More bondage erotica excerpts closer to pub date! Much of the book, and my introduction explores this, features women tying up men, because that was what the majority of the submissions included, so I hope you femdom types will buy it. I think there is a wonderful mix of types of bondage and motivations for it, and I hope I'll get to keep on editing more bondage erotica because it's always an interesting process.
This is fiction, for sure, but the kind of fiction I sometimes think is more truthful than any essay I write could ever be.
From "The Weight" by me:
I don’t gulp in greedy deep breaths of air; that would be too obvious. I take the smallest breaths I can, savoring them, making do with what I can get, while I can. He rises just enough to turn me over, settling down again with his knee planted firmly against my pussy, so firmly it hurts a little. He’s not trying to make me wet, or make me like it. I know that much by now. He’s trying to simply tell me that even his knee owns me, that even his knee can make me do anything he demands.
It’s the look on his face that makes me shudder as surely as if someone zapped me. I can breathe a little now, but I can’t move, not really. He has me pinned, strapped in as surely as the fanciest of handcuffs. The shudder rises from my red-painted toenails on up. I tremble against him where his knee is greeting me, and he shifts so the pressure lands at my wrists, where he’s raised them above my head. At any moment he might shift both wrists into one meaty palm and tickle me, threatening my bladder, threatening my control.
I’m tempted to bite my lip, but I don’t. He’d only force them apart, force my mouth, like the rest of me, open, shove something, probably his fingers, many of them, inside. I’m not sure if I miss his weight yet, because I love how strong he is, how his strength brought to bear full bore demands an equal showing of strength from me. I look up at him, not sure which Damian I will see. Sometimes his hazel eyes are dark and stormy, and he’ll lean down and bite my lip, digging his teeth in, clamping down until I mewl to get away, and then giving me a few extra seconds of pain before rising and spitting into my mouth. Sometimes he’ll raise his hand so suddenly I hardly have time to be aware of what’s about to happen, then strike my cheek so hard my ears ring. Sometimes he shackles my arms above my head, to the cuffs secured to the headboard, and pinches my nose and mouth shut, holding them tighter and tighter until I start to truly thrash, and then he’ll let go of one hand, keeping the other in place. Like I said, I’m not into all the accoutrements of bondage, but I gladly give him my arms, and savor the tightness of a cuff or the sweetly deceptive smoothness of a silk scarf, even though he is my favorite sex toy of all.
Friday, May 27, 2011
My December book hotness: Women in Lust and Best Bondage Erotica 2012
These are my two December book covers – I have zero information on their contents because they are still being finalized, but I promise you they’ll be hot, and that Best Bondage Erotica 2012 is heavy on the female domination but, not to worry, those who like to read about women being tied up and teased and spanked and all sorts of fun things like that, there is plenty of that too. I’m so excited about these, even though the actual process of finishing the books makes me feel like I’ve never done this before and never want to again. Maybe that means something. Very soon I should have the table of contents for Women in Lust. Official pub date on Amazon is November 8th, 2 days before my birthday, so that means I should have it in my hands by mid-October. Follow me @raquelita on Twitter to find out how to get your free copy to review on Amazon.com - flaky people, don't even bother, really. I usually send out those Tweets a few weeks in advance, so in June will be asking for reviewers for my summer release, Obsessed (click for cover and details) - stay tuned for Obsessed book party info, but short version is, August 25th at Fontana's in NYC (Lower East Side).
So, if you are at all inclined to buy these, pre-ordering helps the books by letting Amazon or whoever you pre-order from know there’s a market for them. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if the sales don’t pan out, the series won’t continue, and that would be a damn shame. I’ll have more about them later and if you are some brilliant marketing whiz and have an idea of where I should be buying ad space or what I should be doing, save for getting naked in a book trailer (dying laughing on that one since Amazon rejected my Passion trailer, with all its HOT SEXY KISSING as too risque), do let me know. Right now, I will be a happy editor if I actually get them filed and out of my way so I can move on to projects that maybe are a smidge easier to deal with.
Anyway, even if you don't read them, you can appreciate the hotness - I'm SO thankful to be working with Cleis Press where they come up with dazzling covers and give me a say. If you saw the horror show that was my book Glamour Girls you'll know how the opposite of glamour it was, which is why no one bought it...well, I wouldn't really know cause Haworth went under, but that was a bad experience. I had one day to approve it and couldn't really say no. Sometimes indie publishing sucks, and sometimes it's awesome. Glad I'm on team awesome!
Click on covers below to pre-order from Amazon. Other links TK when the time comes.
So, if you are at all inclined to buy these, pre-ordering helps the books by letting Amazon or whoever you pre-order from know there’s a market for them. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if the sales don’t pan out, the series won’t continue, and that would be a damn shame. I’ll have more about them later and if you are some brilliant marketing whiz and have an idea of where I should be buying ad space or what I should be doing, save for getting naked in a book trailer (dying laughing on that one since Amazon rejected my Passion trailer, with all its HOT SEXY KISSING as too risque), do let me know. Right now, I will be a happy editor if I actually get them filed and out of my way so I can move on to projects that maybe are a smidge easier to deal with.
Anyway, even if you don't read them, you can appreciate the hotness - I'm SO thankful to be working with Cleis Press where they come up with dazzling covers and give me a say. If you saw the horror show that was my book Glamour Girls you'll know how the opposite of glamour it was, which is why no one bought it...well, I wouldn't really know cause Haworth went under, but that was a bad experience. I had one day to approve it and couldn't really say no. Sometimes indie publishing sucks, and sometimes it's awesome. Glad I'm on team awesome!
Click on covers below to pre-order from Amazon. Other links TK when the time comes.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
From the bondage erotica trenches
I have a giant pile of pending and overdue writing, fiction and nonfiction, as well as reading and editing for anthologies, awaiting me. Sometimes the to do lists get so big and scary that I feel instantly paralyzed. Writing even one word feels hopeless, and yet that's what I have to do, and that's what always makes me feel better. I've seen the results of not writing, both the money I didn't make but even worse, the lack it causes inside me, faced with the book I hold in my hands without my essay and photo, or that space on the bookstore shelves where I know my book could've been, if only. It's why I'm such a devotee of Justine Musk's blog Tribal Writer and why I just ordered Steven Pressfield's book Do The Work. Sometimes I need a kick in the ass or, ahem, slap in the face, to force me out of my worst thoughts about myself and into the writing. Money, sadly, is not a motivator. By now, failure looming should be, but it isn't.
I've realized that I like to set goals where I give something up. I'm hoping I can go this year without drinking a drop of alcohol, both because I think it's healthier for me, and simply didn't live up to that goal the last few years. I just decided not to do any more readings, save for Seattle and London, until I finish the YA novel draft I'm working on. That felt like a proactive, good decision, in that being surrounded by people who have, in fact, written a book, only serves to remind me of my lack, and it feels wasteful to me, of both time and money. But that is only half the equation. Giving up doing certain activities will only aid me if I take Pressfield's advice and spend 2 hours a day writing. Or more. I rarely do.
So one of the things I'm working on, that should be no big deal considering how many erotica stories I've already written in the last ten or so years, is for Best Bondage Erotica 2012. I will release the table of contents once it's finalized in a few months, but I can tell you that for the first time for a kinky anthology of mine that wasn't specifically about the topic, the majority of the stories I received, and that are currently in my manuscript, feature male bottoms/submissives/bondees. Which I think is a wonderful and welcome change, but means my story needs to fill the other side of the equation. I am working on two, actually, and one is the kind of story I often write. Playful, cute, fun, kinky. There's feathers and tickling and sadism. And that's great. I like writing those kinds of stories but they feel "light" to me in a sense that the other one I'm working on doesn't. I won't say frivolous, because I think the point of erotica is to arouse and entertain and I think my story will do that.
But the other type of story, the one I am trying to write more of because it makes me feel more "like a writer" is the deeper, darker kind, the ones like "The End" or "Espionage" or the upcoming "Punching Bag," which will be published in Tristan Taormino's anthology Take Me There: Trans and Genderqueer Erotica. They're intense, dark, heavy, which is perhaps ironic, or perhaps fitting, since the story I'm working on is called "The Weight." It taps into what I love about writing erotica, which is figuring out certain aspects of my kinks in fictional form and articulating them. But no matter how open-minded I try to be, and considering I have a tattoo with the word "open" I'd say I strive for that as much as I can, it's still daunting and unnerving to go there. The lighter, breezier, more playful stories, like "Monica and Me" or "Doing the Dishes," the ones that will get laughs at a reading, are easier on some level because they don't push my buttons. They don't make me uneasy. They don't ever make me wonder, in the deepest recesses of my mind, "What is wrong with me? Why would I fantasize about that?" And one is not better than the other, but I will admit that I'm prejudiced, when it comes to my own writing, toward the darker kind of story. It's where I'm trying to go in my nonfiction too; does this make me look flawed, imperfect, foolish...because I am, and I'm human? Then yes, put it in.
I know that, and I know that's what I gravitate to in pieces I read, the people who, at least, on the page, are unafraid to go there, even if they too have to fake it til they make it. So that's where I'm at this weekend on that one teeny tiny piece. Maybe I'll scrap it, save it for another time, go back to the long, lighter, funnier piece for the Major Media Company that wants my fiction rather than my mini memoir. But I hope I will push myself and try to forget about all the what-ifs, the who-might-read-this-and-think-x, the what-does-this-say-about-me, and instead just bottom to the story and give it all of myself, as openly and guilelessly and freely as I'm capable of.
I've realized that I like to set goals where I give something up. I'm hoping I can go this year without drinking a drop of alcohol, both because I think it's healthier for me, and simply didn't live up to that goal the last few years. I just decided not to do any more readings, save for Seattle and London, until I finish the YA novel draft I'm working on. That felt like a proactive, good decision, in that being surrounded by people who have, in fact, written a book, only serves to remind me of my lack, and it feels wasteful to me, of both time and money. But that is only half the equation. Giving up doing certain activities will only aid me if I take Pressfield's advice and spend 2 hours a day writing. Or more. I rarely do.
So one of the things I'm working on, that should be no big deal considering how many erotica stories I've already written in the last ten or so years, is for Best Bondage Erotica 2012. I will release the table of contents once it's finalized in a few months, but I can tell you that for the first time for a kinky anthology of mine that wasn't specifically about the topic, the majority of the stories I received, and that are currently in my manuscript, feature male bottoms/submissives/bondees. Which I think is a wonderful and welcome change, but means my story needs to fill the other side of the equation. I am working on two, actually, and one is the kind of story I often write. Playful, cute, fun, kinky. There's feathers and tickling and sadism. And that's great. I like writing those kinds of stories but they feel "light" to me in a sense that the other one I'm working on doesn't. I won't say frivolous, because I think the point of erotica is to arouse and entertain and I think my story will do that.
But the other type of story, the one I am trying to write more of because it makes me feel more "like a writer" is the deeper, darker kind, the ones like "The End" or "Espionage" or the upcoming "Punching Bag," which will be published in Tristan Taormino's anthology Take Me There: Trans and Genderqueer Erotica. They're intense, dark, heavy, which is perhaps ironic, or perhaps fitting, since the story I'm working on is called "The Weight." It taps into what I love about writing erotica, which is figuring out certain aspects of my kinks in fictional form and articulating them. But no matter how open-minded I try to be, and considering I have a tattoo with the word "open" I'd say I strive for that as much as I can, it's still daunting and unnerving to go there. The lighter, breezier, more playful stories, like "Monica and Me" or "Doing the Dishes," the ones that will get laughs at a reading, are easier on some level because they don't push my buttons. They don't make me uneasy. They don't ever make me wonder, in the deepest recesses of my mind, "What is wrong with me? Why would I fantasize about that?" And one is not better than the other, but I will admit that I'm prejudiced, when it comes to my own writing, toward the darker kind of story. It's where I'm trying to go in my nonfiction too; does this make me look flawed, imperfect, foolish...because I am, and I'm human? Then yes, put it in.
I know that, and I know that's what I gravitate to in pieces I read, the people who, at least, on the page, are unafraid to go there, even if they too have to fake it til they make it. So that's where I'm at this weekend on that one teeny tiny piece. Maybe I'll scrap it, save it for another time, go back to the long, lighter, funnier piece for the Major Media Company that wants my fiction rather than my mini memoir. But I hope I will push myself and try to forget about all the what-ifs, the who-might-read-this-and-think-x, the what-does-this-say-about-me, and instead just bottom to the story and give it all of myself, as openly and guilelessly and freely as I'm capable of.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Buy Best Bondage Erotica 2011, enter to win 5 free books from me
I’m trying to drum up some business for what I think is one of my hottest books, certainly one with the hottest cover: Best Bondage Erotica 2011. As I write up some catalog copy and get ready to turn my manuscript draft over to Midori to write her foreword, I can tell you that Best Bondage Erotica 2012 is going to be just as, if not hotter, and it’ll be out in time for Thanksgiving! As soon as I'm allowed to share that hot cover, I will. So...if you buy Best Bondage Erotica 2011 between today, April 12 and April 30, and send the receipt to me (either an online purchase or photo of your receipt) to bestbondage2011 at gmail.com with “Contest” in the subject line, you’ll be entered to win your pick of 5, yes FIVE, of my Cleis Press anthologies (except for Crossdressing cause it’s all sold out!!).
You can choose from: Best Sex Writing 2008, Best Sex Writing 2009, Best Sex Writing 2010, Bottoms Up, Caught Looking, Do Not Disturb, Fast Girls, Gotta Have It, He’s on Top, Hide & Seek, The Mile High Club, Orgasmic, Passion, Peep Show, Please, Ma’am, Please, Sir, Rubber Sex, She’s on Top, Smooth, Spanked, Tasting Her, Tasting Him, Yes, Ma’am or Yes, Sir. Click here to see all these covers. If you already have the book, THANK YOU, and maybe consider buying one for a friend or lover. The winner will be notified and, if they're okay with it, announced the first week of May.
I posted my story "Vegas Treat" in December, but here it is again, in case you missed it.
Vegas Treat
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
I fingered the metal clamps, my body already seizing up in reaction to them. “You want me to wear…all of them?” I asked softly. I’d been the one to volunteer for the bondage photo shoot, it was true. I’d never done anything quite like that before, but when he’d seen me strolling around Las Vegas while on vacation with the boyfriend I was pretty sure I wanted to break up with, Tyler had picked me out and approached me. I felt like a modern-day Lana Turner, but instead of a drugstore counter, I’d been approached at a slot machine where I was well on my way to losing many quarters.
I guess I’d looked the part of bad girl gone wrong: bright red hair, freshly dyed; eyeliner galore; black rubber bracelets circa Madonna 1984; dark, tight jeans and a white tank top with a flimsy black bra; hot pink platform sandals and an I-could-care-less look. Well, the look wasn’t just an affectation; I wasn’t really into the whole Vegas mystique, but Eric had offered to pay to get us out of Michigan for the weekend, flush from a win at Internet poker and eager to try his hand at the real thing. When I told him a stranger wanted to photograph me, maybe nude, he merely grunted and asked me to get him another soda from down the hall. I stalked off to get his soda and run some ice over my neck. The room was air-conditioned, but I was bored. So I pulled out my phone and hit DIAL after letting my finger hover over Tyler’s number. We should’ve been celebrating my twenty-first birthday three months before, but Eric’s not the type to notice anything like that; I’d been drinking with him for the last two years and had the fake ID to prove it. I didn’t want a surprise party, but a little attention would’ve been nice. The slot machines were kind of fun, but not enough to make up for feeling like I was so undesirable my boyfriend was more interested in money than me.
And that’s how I wound up topless, wearing just my skimpy white panties with pink flowers on them, one of the most girly items I owned, while Tyler dangled a pair of nipple clamps in front of me. Actually, it wasn’t a pair, it was a trio, because there was a clamp to go on my clit. I wasn’t a virgin or anything, obviously, but maybe I’d been meeting the wrong men because none had ever proposed so much as a threesome, let alone bondage and sex toys.
Here was Tyler, barefoot, in a ripped black Violet Femmes T-shirt and holey jeans,, assessing me like I was a piece of meatæa very sexy, tender, juicy, delicious, lucky piece of meat. And just then, I wanted to be the rarest cut of all, the one whose taste lingers not just on your tongue but all through your insides long after it’s been swallowed and discarded. I didn’t want to fall in love with Tyler and live happily ever after, but I wanted to make my mark, wanted him to remember me not just as some random girl who spread her legs for his lens. I was sick of guys looking right through me, or seeing only what part of me they could grab, use and walk away from.
Tyler seemed to be hungry for a part of me that he couldn’t get just by fucking me, As if he wanted something deeper and, full of youthful bravado, I wanted to give it to him. “Now, Rina, you know this is going to hurt, right? It’s going to hurt a lot…maybe not at first, but when I take them off, the blood’s going to rush back to your nipples and clit. It’s going to look so hot; trust me,” he said, then flashed me the grin that had made me talk to him in the first place. “And I have a feeling you’re going to like it. You have something about you that tells me you need a little pain to rile you up. Not to tame you, because nothing could do that, but to somehow give you back all the energy you bring to your life.” That was deeper than I was expecting from a twenty-five-year-old UNLV dropout, but I liked it. I was sick of people treating me like a baby, assuming that I had nothing going for me simply because of my age or how I dressed. Even if Tyler was just bullshitting me, it made me feel good, like maybe this photo would catapult me out of my small-town, dead-end life and going-nowhere relationship.
“How’d you know I’d never done this before?” I asked. I could’ve been referring to the modeling or the clamps, but he went right ahead and answered.
“I just know. Girls who’ve done this before just roll right with it. They don’t look at the clamps the way you are.” Did I look scared? Was I scared? I was so used to being bored that scared never even entered into it. Maybe I looked scared and that was a good thing; maybe he wanted me to look scared, to make a better image. I didn’t think about it too much; after all, he hadn’t asked me to act, but to model. I wasn’t sure if he was paying me, but I didn’t really care. I was doing something I was sure no girls back home were doing.
“Relax,” he said and touched my arm, sending sparks the likes of which I’d never felt before shooting along my skin. I hated feeling young and naïve usually, and anyone who suggested I was either would get a scowl and the finger. But Tyler didn’t sound like he was laughing at my inexperience. He was more like a teacheræa very sexy teacher. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, and if you don’t like it, we’ll stop and do something else. But something tells me you’re going to like it, Rina,” he finished, then stood and stared at me, his face so close and bold and open, I had to look away after a few seconds. No one had ever looked in my eyes like that, not even Eric. They looked at my body or my face or my hair, they looked long enough to know, maybe, that my eyes were a murky hazel, that I could win a staring contest, that I was tough on the outside, but not enough to see beneath that brash surface. Tyler saw and asked for me to peel it away to give him something else, something deeper. Tyler seemed to want to know everything, even though this was supposed to be a work thing for him, and all of a sudden my nipples were standing at attention, getting ready for their journey. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to see all of me, but it turned me on that he wanted to, so I decided to go with it.
His voice was so sensual, so smoky and intense, the aural equivalent of rich Texas barbecue, that I melted into it the way barbecue melts on my tongue. “Now this is a cute little outfit,” he said, fingering my panties, “but I think we need to take these off. Maybe I can stuff them in your mouth later,” he said. His voice was deadpan but it still sent shivers along my skin. He was so close I could smell the smoke lingering on his breath and I whimpered. “Can I take your panties off, Rina? Or do you want to do it?”
I had to answer now. I swallowed, then braved a look at him. “You can take them off.” He didn’t just pull them down the sides of my legs. He reached inside and felt that I was wet, felt that my juices had soaked the panties, before he singlehandedly pull them slowly down my legs, making me aware of the sensation of the cotton tugging against my skin, exposing me. He dropped them on the bed and then I was just naked, bright red hair, big eyes, erect nipples. “Come over here for a minute,” he said, then he showed me the biggest collection of handcuffs I’ve ever seen, even now, years later, and I’ve seen a lot. There must’ve been three dozen sets, from metal ones to padded leather to silk to fur-lined. Some had pink hearts, some had shiny black bows, some had Velcro. One pair said BRAT across them. I didn’t even know that handcuffs came in such assortments; I’d truly never given it any thought. I’d barely had anyone even hold me down. I shivered.
“You like what you see, Rina?”
“Yes,” I said softly. Already, he’d taken me down a notch; I wasn’t vulnerable because I was naked, but because this was so new, and I suddenly wanted it so much. Seeing all those cuffs let me know that plenty of other people did these kinds of things too, otherwise there wouldn’t be such an array; manufacturers wouldn’t bother. Silently, that drawer full of restraints spoke to me and calmed my fears. “We’re here for you,” they said. “We want you, we welcome you. We’ll take care of you, even when if feels like we’re not. We need you.” Maybe that was melodramatic, but I’d always felt more kinship with things than people, with the clothing I used to adorn myself, the books I lovingly read and reread, the bike I used to zip as far and fast down the street as I could. But these belongings came with an owner, a man who was quickly making me melt. He was the real force behind what I was experiencing.
I lifted a pair of black leather cuffs, admiring their heft. He reached for them and dangled them before me. “These are ankle cuffs,” he said, “in case I really want to immobilize you. Let’s stick with your wrists for now. I want you to spread those pretty legs wide for me.” His words could’ve sounded dumb or cheesy, but they didn’t. They made me wet.
I reached for a pair of purple padded cuffs; it’s always been my favorite color. They were soft to the touch, nothing menacing about them…nothing except the look on Tyler’s face, like he could read my every pervy thought. Was I that easy? Was every girl’s first time like this? I’d prided myself on being so different for so long, but now, I wasn’t so sure. My heart was pounding as I handed the cuffs over to Tyler.
“Good choice,” he said, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. He paused and just watched me, and I got the impression there was no right answer, but that each action of mine would trigger one of his, would let him know what I was up foræor thought I was up for. His trusting patience, his interest, his sexy eyes watching me, more than anything else, made me relax, even as I became more and more excited. My body was primed for almost anything, but my heart was calm. Tyler would take care of me. I pawed through his offerings, adding to the pile like we were shopping. Pink bondage tape, the cuffs, the clamps…
“What’s this?” I asked, holding up a metal contraption with a wheel full of spikes attached to a silver handle.
“It’s called a Wartenburg wheel. I’ll show you,” he said, then he took it and lightly ran the metal spikes along my arm. It didn’t hurt, and he did it so lightly at first that I didn’t think it could, but then he did it again, a little harder, before turning my arm over and tickling the underside of my wrist with it. “This can be used anywhere.” He let the possibilities dangle in the air.
“I’ll help you get ready.” He hummed as if to himself as he bound my arms behind my back with the cuffs. The first thing I did was tug on them to make sure they were tight enough. He noticed but just stood there, waiting. My breath came heavily as I realized that there was no turning back now. I stood upright, at attention, proudly looking back at him as I offered him my breasts, the nipples now harder than ever. Tyler took the clamps and fastened them one on each nipple. He knelt down before my clit and just stared for a moment, then spread the hood so it popped out. “Are you ready, Rina?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered as he pressed the padded edges of the clamp against my clit, prodding it, teasing it. If such a thing was possible, I was ready. I breathed through my nose, tears aching to surface.
“Don’t breathe through the pain, breathe into it,” he told me.
“Can I tape your mouth?” he asked, holding up the bondage tape.
I surprised myself by moaning. Yes, it all hurt, but even more, it felt wonderful to have my wrists warm and snug in the leather, the heat coursing through all three points of contact with the clamps. It made me focus on the parts of me I could move—my tongue, my head, my toes, my hips—before darting back to that heat, that pain with pleasure edging up underneath. I nodded, then sealed my lips. “You can make noise through the tape, but that won’t be your safeword. Shake your head back and forth three times in a row if you want me to stop,” he said. “Do you understand?” Tyler looked directly into my eyes. I nodded.
I should’ve been nervous and scared, but I wasn’t. I was wet, remembering his promise to make me part my legs. The tape was almost gentle as it sealed my lips. I swallowed hard and without any warning he started shooting. I stared back at him, bold, direct, my green eyes fixed on him, hoping he liked what he saw. Tyler was so focused on whatever he saw through his lens I didn’t know if he even realized all the emotions I was going through. I was wet, turned on, unsure if it was from being bound or because of him or both.
“I’m gonna zoom in, Rina. Show me what you’re feeling. Show me everything.” He made it sound so easy. I didn’t focus too much on being a “good model” but rather thought about all the things the toys were making me feel, all the things my body had clearly been yearning for but would never experience with Eric. They made me want to cry and grin at the same time, to curl up into a ball and to roar like a lion (once the tape came off). Every time panic started to set in, I willed myself to be calm, knowing there was a great reward awaiting me at the end.
I became the brat who wanted to get her punishment, the girl whose body was blatantly exposed to not just Tyler, but the world. I thrust my chest out, pushing my bound wrists behind me and downward as best I could. I shook my hips, smiled, bit my lip. I stepped closer to the camera, wishing I could run my hands up and down my body, give Tyler a real show, but from the constant clicks, I knew he was getting what he needed.
That made me relax. He didn’t want to see me in distress, just to see me. Maybe he was a pervert, but maybe pervert wasn’t such a bad word. Tyler muttered things under his breath like, “Give it to me, Rina,” and “Struggle against those cuffs,” and “Snarl at me,” then other words that rumbled together into a kind of sexy song, like background music. I realized that though he had been the one to physically tie me up and put the clamps on, I was the one bringing the real show. Amidst so much fake glamour, this was real.
I twisted and turned as much as I could, spreading my legs while he zoomed in. While the pain had plateaued after the first rush of intensity, now it was back and I longed to bite my lip, my favorite coping mechanism, but of course I couldn’t. I focused on his mantra to breathe into the pain, and I did, every second of it. The tears came unbidden as I took deep breaths through my nose, walking close to Tyler’s camera until I could toss my hair back, feel it tickle my bound wrists, and expose my clamped nipples right to the eye of his camera. His clicks came fast and furious until they stopped, and he put the camera down and took me in his arms.
First he undid the tape. “I have to do this fast,” he said and tore it right off. My lips were a little numb, but I didn’t mind. He traced a finger over them and then let me rest my head on his shoulder. I could tell he was hard, but he wasn’t trying to simply screw me; our encounter had gone far beyond that. “Now I’m going to take off the clamps, but let’s have you sit down right here on the couch first,” he said softly. “You were amazing. I got so many good shots and I’m going to send them to some bondage and fetish magazines. They’re gonna love you.”
Now I bit my lip, because I knew something big was coming. First the clit clamp came off. I let out a cry as the blood came rushing back. “Good girl,” he said and lightly trailed his fingers over my wetness. I had barely realized it but I was very, very wet. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly, with no trace of the tough guy I’d glimpsed previously. Then the nipple clamps came off. I watched as he eased the lever down on what I now know are tweezer clamps and saw my flattened nubs come to life again.
He dropped the clamp on the floor and leaned down to suck one bud, lightly tracing his tongue against it. The wetness made me squirm, in a good way. His fingers again found my wetness, plunging deep inside. Now I could talk, but I didn’t have anything to say other than a series of insensible moans. There was too much to feel, and I was glad my wrists were still bound. Too much freedom all at once would’ve been a shock to my system.
I rocked against him as he gave me what I hadn’t known I’d been missing, his fingers going deep, his mouth switching from one tormented breast to the other. This was my initiation ritual, my belated birthday present, my kinky debutante ball featuring just the two of us. I gave myself to him as I’d done before and in return, Tyler gave me the best orgasm of my life, one that rocked me from the inside out, spiraling through my body like a tornado. I cried when I came, and he kissed my neck, then my lips, placing his over mine so he could take my breath from me too.
Tyler made me come I don’t know how many times, then he showed me some of the photos he’d taken. Only much later, after I’d had some water and fruit and cheese, after he’d removed the cuffs and shown me another pair, did he even show me his cock. Then it was my turn to select a pair of cuffs for him. I fumbled a little putting them on, but when I got them secured behind his back, I sank to my knees and toyed with his cock, savoring every second of his stern, stiff heat as I discovered that blow jobs could be a lot more fun when I was in charge.
Tyler gave me so many gifts on that first trip, and the photos were, indeed, a hit, necessitating many more trips back to Vegas. It was easier to get there once I moved to L.A. and started a new life, far from Eric and Michigan and the innocent girl I’d once been. Every time I slip into a cage or offer myself up to a lover to bind, there’s still a part of me that remembers the treat Tyler gave me, and what he saw in me before I could see it in myself. I hope every girl is lucky enough to have a Tyler in her life.
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You can choose from: Best Sex Writing 2008, Best Sex Writing 2009, Best Sex Writing 2010, Bottoms Up, Caught Looking, Do Not Disturb, Fast Girls, Gotta Have It, He’s on Top, Hide & Seek, The Mile High Club, Orgasmic, Passion, Peep Show, Please, Ma’am, Please, Sir, Rubber Sex, She’s on Top, Smooth, Spanked, Tasting Her, Tasting Him, Yes, Ma’am or Yes, Sir. Click here to see all these covers. If you already have the book, THANK YOU, and maybe consider buying one for a friend or lover. The winner will be notified and, if they're okay with it, announced the first week of May.
I posted my story "Vegas Treat" in December, but here it is again, in case you missed it.
Vegas Treat
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
I fingered the metal clamps, my body already seizing up in reaction to them. “You want me to wear…all of them?” I asked softly. I’d been the one to volunteer for the bondage photo shoot, it was true. I’d never done anything quite like that before, but when he’d seen me strolling around Las Vegas while on vacation with the boyfriend I was pretty sure I wanted to break up with, Tyler had picked me out and approached me. I felt like a modern-day Lana Turner, but instead of a drugstore counter, I’d been approached at a slot machine where I was well on my way to losing many quarters.
I guess I’d looked the part of bad girl gone wrong: bright red hair, freshly dyed; eyeliner galore; black rubber bracelets circa Madonna 1984; dark, tight jeans and a white tank top with a flimsy black bra; hot pink platform sandals and an I-could-care-less look. Well, the look wasn’t just an affectation; I wasn’t really into the whole Vegas mystique, but Eric had offered to pay to get us out of Michigan for the weekend, flush from a win at Internet poker and eager to try his hand at the real thing. When I told him a stranger wanted to photograph me, maybe nude, he merely grunted and asked me to get him another soda from down the hall. I stalked off to get his soda and run some ice over my neck. The room was air-conditioned, but I was bored. So I pulled out my phone and hit DIAL after letting my finger hover over Tyler’s number. We should’ve been celebrating my twenty-first birthday three months before, but Eric’s not the type to notice anything like that; I’d been drinking with him for the last two years and had the fake ID to prove it. I didn’t want a surprise party, but a little attention would’ve been nice. The slot machines were kind of fun, but not enough to make up for feeling like I was so undesirable my boyfriend was more interested in money than me.
And that’s how I wound up topless, wearing just my skimpy white panties with pink flowers on them, one of the most girly items I owned, while Tyler dangled a pair of nipple clamps in front of me. Actually, it wasn’t a pair, it was a trio, because there was a clamp to go on my clit. I wasn’t a virgin or anything, obviously, but maybe I’d been meeting the wrong men because none had ever proposed so much as a threesome, let alone bondage and sex toys.
Here was Tyler, barefoot, in a ripped black Violet Femmes T-shirt and holey jeans,, assessing me like I was a piece of meatæa very sexy, tender, juicy, delicious, lucky piece of meat. And just then, I wanted to be the rarest cut of all, the one whose taste lingers not just on your tongue but all through your insides long after it’s been swallowed and discarded. I didn’t want to fall in love with Tyler and live happily ever after, but I wanted to make my mark, wanted him to remember me not just as some random girl who spread her legs for his lens. I was sick of guys looking right through me, or seeing only what part of me they could grab, use and walk away from.
Tyler seemed to be hungry for a part of me that he couldn’t get just by fucking me, As if he wanted something deeper and, full of youthful bravado, I wanted to give it to him. “Now, Rina, you know this is going to hurt, right? It’s going to hurt a lot…maybe not at first, but when I take them off, the blood’s going to rush back to your nipples and clit. It’s going to look so hot; trust me,” he said, then flashed me the grin that had made me talk to him in the first place. “And I have a feeling you’re going to like it. You have something about you that tells me you need a little pain to rile you up. Not to tame you, because nothing could do that, but to somehow give you back all the energy you bring to your life.” That was deeper than I was expecting from a twenty-five-year-old UNLV dropout, but I liked it. I was sick of people treating me like a baby, assuming that I had nothing going for me simply because of my age or how I dressed. Even if Tyler was just bullshitting me, it made me feel good, like maybe this photo would catapult me out of my small-town, dead-end life and going-nowhere relationship.
“How’d you know I’d never done this before?” I asked. I could’ve been referring to the modeling or the clamps, but he went right ahead and answered.
“I just know. Girls who’ve done this before just roll right with it. They don’t look at the clamps the way you are.” Did I look scared? Was I scared? I was so used to being bored that scared never even entered into it. Maybe I looked scared and that was a good thing; maybe he wanted me to look scared, to make a better image. I didn’t think about it too much; after all, he hadn’t asked me to act, but to model. I wasn’t sure if he was paying me, but I didn’t really care. I was doing something I was sure no girls back home were doing.
“Relax,” he said and touched my arm, sending sparks the likes of which I’d never felt before shooting along my skin. I hated feeling young and naïve usually, and anyone who suggested I was either would get a scowl and the finger. But Tyler didn’t sound like he was laughing at my inexperience. He was more like a teacheræa very sexy teacher. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, and if you don’t like it, we’ll stop and do something else. But something tells me you’re going to like it, Rina,” he finished, then stood and stared at me, his face so close and bold and open, I had to look away after a few seconds. No one had ever looked in my eyes like that, not even Eric. They looked at my body or my face or my hair, they looked long enough to know, maybe, that my eyes were a murky hazel, that I could win a staring contest, that I was tough on the outside, but not enough to see beneath that brash surface. Tyler saw and asked for me to peel it away to give him something else, something deeper. Tyler seemed to want to know everything, even though this was supposed to be a work thing for him, and all of a sudden my nipples were standing at attention, getting ready for their journey. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to see all of me, but it turned me on that he wanted to, so I decided to go with it.
His voice was so sensual, so smoky and intense, the aural equivalent of rich Texas barbecue, that I melted into it the way barbecue melts on my tongue. “Now this is a cute little outfit,” he said, fingering my panties, “but I think we need to take these off. Maybe I can stuff them in your mouth later,” he said. His voice was deadpan but it still sent shivers along my skin. He was so close I could smell the smoke lingering on his breath and I whimpered. “Can I take your panties off, Rina? Or do you want to do it?”
I had to answer now. I swallowed, then braved a look at him. “You can take them off.” He didn’t just pull them down the sides of my legs. He reached inside and felt that I was wet, felt that my juices had soaked the panties, before he singlehandedly pull them slowly down my legs, making me aware of the sensation of the cotton tugging against my skin, exposing me. He dropped them on the bed and then I was just naked, bright red hair, big eyes, erect nipples. “Come over here for a minute,” he said, then he showed me the biggest collection of handcuffs I’ve ever seen, even now, years later, and I’ve seen a lot. There must’ve been three dozen sets, from metal ones to padded leather to silk to fur-lined. Some had pink hearts, some had shiny black bows, some had Velcro. One pair said BRAT across them. I didn’t even know that handcuffs came in such assortments; I’d truly never given it any thought. I’d barely had anyone even hold me down. I shivered.
“You like what you see, Rina?”
“Yes,” I said softly. Already, he’d taken me down a notch; I wasn’t vulnerable because I was naked, but because this was so new, and I suddenly wanted it so much. Seeing all those cuffs let me know that plenty of other people did these kinds of things too, otherwise there wouldn’t be such an array; manufacturers wouldn’t bother. Silently, that drawer full of restraints spoke to me and calmed my fears. “We’re here for you,” they said. “We want you, we welcome you. We’ll take care of you, even when if feels like we’re not. We need you.” Maybe that was melodramatic, but I’d always felt more kinship with things than people, with the clothing I used to adorn myself, the books I lovingly read and reread, the bike I used to zip as far and fast down the street as I could. But these belongings came with an owner, a man who was quickly making me melt. He was the real force behind what I was experiencing.
I lifted a pair of black leather cuffs, admiring their heft. He reached for them and dangled them before me. “These are ankle cuffs,” he said, “in case I really want to immobilize you. Let’s stick with your wrists for now. I want you to spread those pretty legs wide for me.” His words could’ve sounded dumb or cheesy, but they didn’t. They made me wet.
I reached for a pair of purple padded cuffs; it’s always been my favorite color. They were soft to the touch, nothing menacing about them…nothing except the look on Tyler’s face, like he could read my every pervy thought. Was I that easy? Was every girl’s first time like this? I’d prided myself on being so different for so long, but now, I wasn’t so sure. My heart was pounding as I handed the cuffs over to Tyler.
“Good choice,” he said, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. He paused and just watched me, and I got the impression there was no right answer, but that each action of mine would trigger one of his, would let him know what I was up foræor thought I was up for. His trusting patience, his interest, his sexy eyes watching me, more than anything else, made me relax, even as I became more and more excited. My body was primed for almost anything, but my heart was calm. Tyler would take care of me. I pawed through his offerings, adding to the pile like we were shopping. Pink bondage tape, the cuffs, the clamps…
“What’s this?” I asked, holding up a metal contraption with a wheel full of spikes attached to a silver handle.
“It’s called a Wartenburg wheel. I’ll show you,” he said, then he took it and lightly ran the metal spikes along my arm. It didn’t hurt, and he did it so lightly at first that I didn’t think it could, but then he did it again, a little harder, before turning my arm over and tickling the underside of my wrist with it. “This can be used anywhere.” He let the possibilities dangle in the air.
“I’ll help you get ready.” He hummed as if to himself as he bound my arms behind my back with the cuffs. The first thing I did was tug on them to make sure they were tight enough. He noticed but just stood there, waiting. My breath came heavily as I realized that there was no turning back now. I stood upright, at attention, proudly looking back at him as I offered him my breasts, the nipples now harder than ever. Tyler took the clamps and fastened them one on each nipple. He knelt down before my clit and just stared for a moment, then spread the hood so it popped out. “Are you ready, Rina?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered as he pressed the padded edges of the clamp against my clit, prodding it, teasing it. If such a thing was possible, I was ready. I breathed through my nose, tears aching to surface.
“Don’t breathe through the pain, breathe into it,” he told me.
“Can I tape your mouth?” he asked, holding up the bondage tape.
I surprised myself by moaning. Yes, it all hurt, but even more, it felt wonderful to have my wrists warm and snug in the leather, the heat coursing through all three points of contact with the clamps. It made me focus on the parts of me I could move—my tongue, my head, my toes, my hips—before darting back to that heat, that pain with pleasure edging up underneath. I nodded, then sealed my lips. “You can make noise through the tape, but that won’t be your safeword. Shake your head back and forth three times in a row if you want me to stop,” he said. “Do you understand?” Tyler looked directly into my eyes. I nodded.
I should’ve been nervous and scared, but I wasn’t. I was wet, remembering his promise to make me part my legs. The tape was almost gentle as it sealed my lips. I swallowed hard and without any warning he started shooting. I stared back at him, bold, direct, my green eyes fixed on him, hoping he liked what he saw. Tyler was so focused on whatever he saw through his lens I didn’t know if he even realized all the emotions I was going through. I was wet, turned on, unsure if it was from being bound or because of him or both.
“I’m gonna zoom in, Rina. Show me what you’re feeling. Show me everything.” He made it sound so easy. I didn’t focus too much on being a “good model” but rather thought about all the things the toys were making me feel, all the things my body had clearly been yearning for but would never experience with Eric. They made me want to cry and grin at the same time, to curl up into a ball and to roar like a lion (once the tape came off). Every time panic started to set in, I willed myself to be calm, knowing there was a great reward awaiting me at the end.
I became the brat who wanted to get her punishment, the girl whose body was blatantly exposed to not just Tyler, but the world. I thrust my chest out, pushing my bound wrists behind me and downward as best I could. I shook my hips, smiled, bit my lip. I stepped closer to the camera, wishing I could run my hands up and down my body, give Tyler a real show, but from the constant clicks, I knew he was getting what he needed.
That made me relax. He didn’t want to see me in distress, just to see me. Maybe he was a pervert, but maybe pervert wasn’t such a bad word. Tyler muttered things under his breath like, “Give it to me, Rina,” and “Struggle against those cuffs,” and “Snarl at me,” then other words that rumbled together into a kind of sexy song, like background music. I realized that though he had been the one to physically tie me up and put the clamps on, I was the one bringing the real show. Amidst so much fake glamour, this was real.
I twisted and turned as much as I could, spreading my legs while he zoomed in. While the pain had plateaued after the first rush of intensity, now it was back and I longed to bite my lip, my favorite coping mechanism, but of course I couldn’t. I focused on his mantra to breathe into the pain, and I did, every second of it. The tears came unbidden as I took deep breaths through my nose, walking close to Tyler’s camera until I could toss my hair back, feel it tickle my bound wrists, and expose my clamped nipples right to the eye of his camera. His clicks came fast and furious until they stopped, and he put the camera down and took me in his arms.
First he undid the tape. “I have to do this fast,” he said and tore it right off. My lips were a little numb, but I didn’t mind. He traced a finger over them and then let me rest my head on his shoulder. I could tell he was hard, but he wasn’t trying to simply screw me; our encounter had gone far beyond that. “Now I’m going to take off the clamps, but let’s have you sit down right here on the couch first,” he said softly. “You were amazing. I got so many good shots and I’m going to send them to some bondage and fetish magazines. They’re gonna love you.”
Now I bit my lip, because I knew something big was coming. First the clit clamp came off. I let out a cry as the blood came rushing back. “Good girl,” he said and lightly trailed his fingers over my wetness. I had barely realized it but I was very, very wet. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly, with no trace of the tough guy I’d glimpsed previously. Then the nipple clamps came off. I watched as he eased the lever down on what I now know are tweezer clamps and saw my flattened nubs come to life again.
He dropped the clamp on the floor and leaned down to suck one bud, lightly tracing his tongue against it. The wetness made me squirm, in a good way. His fingers again found my wetness, plunging deep inside. Now I could talk, but I didn’t have anything to say other than a series of insensible moans. There was too much to feel, and I was glad my wrists were still bound. Too much freedom all at once would’ve been a shock to my system.
I rocked against him as he gave me what I hadn’t known I’d been missing, his fingers going deep, his mouth switching from one tormented breast to the other. This was my initiation ritual, my belated birthday present, my kinky debutante ball featuring just the two of us. I gave myself to him as I’d done before and in return, Tyler gave me the best orgasm of my life, one that rocked me from the inside out, spiraling through my body like a tornado. I cried when I came, and he kissed my neck, then my lips, placing his over mine so he could take my breath from me too.
Tyler made me come I don’t know how many times, then he showed me some of the photos he’d taken. Only much later, after I’d had some water and fruit and cheese, after he’d removed the cuffs and shown me another pair, did he even show me his cock. Then it was my turn to select a pair of cuffs for him. I fumbled a little putting them on, but when I got them secured behind his back, I sank to my knees and toyed with his cock, savoring every second of his stern, stiff heat as I discovered that blow jobs could be a lot more fun when I was in charge.
Tyler gave me so many gifts on that first trip, and the photos were, indeed, a hit, necessitating many more trips back to Vegas. It was easier to get there once I moved to L.A. and started a new life, far from Eric and Michigan and the innocent girl I’d once been. Every time I slip into a cage or offer myself up to a lover to bind, there’s still a part of me that remembers the treat Tyler gave me, and what he saw in me before I could see it in myself. I hope every girl is lucky enough to have a Tyler in her life.
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2011 from:
Amazon.com
Kindle edition
Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)
Books-a-Million
Borders
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Midori to write foreword to Best Bondage Erotica 2012
Great news! Midori, author of The Seductive Art of Japanese Bondage, will be writing a foreword to Best Bondage Erotica 2012. Check out the 2011 edition to find out the kinds of stories I'm looking for, though creativity, uniqueness and hotness are always key. The deadline is April 1st, and I've already conditionally accepted a few of the submissions, so getting yours in early is a good idea! (I consider everything received by April 1st, to be clear, but there are more slots open the earlier you get your story in and it makes my life a lot easier to work as I go.) That being said, I'd rather have a killer, typo-free story on April 1st than a lackluster, typo-ridden one today. I'm impressed with the creativity I've seen so far in submissions and am looking forward to a wide array of bondage scenarios.
Click here to see all my current calls for submission.
For those interested in the topic, Midori's book is beautiful:
Best Bondage Erotica 2012
Click here to see all my current calls for submission.
For those interested in the topic, Midori's book is beautiful:
Best Bondage Erotica 2012
To be published by Cleis Press in late 2011
Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel
Best Bondage Erotica 2012 will collect the best bondage erotica stories around, focusing on a range of techniques, implements, characters and scenarios, from newbies to seasoned bondage players and everything in between. Bondage should be a central focus of the erotic element of the story but the plot does not have to hinge on bondage. Bondage plus other sexual activity is welcome (spanking, intercourse, oral sex, teasing, etc.). As befitting the title, I’m looking for the best, hottest, most creative bondage erotica for this collection. All genders/sexual orientations. Original stories strongly preferred, but reprints of work published (or slated to be published) between September 2010 and November 2011 will be considered. All characters must be over 18; no incest or bestiality. Please see Best Bondage Erotica 2011 (http://www.bestbondageerotica.com) or my other kinky Cleis Press anthologies (Bottoms Up, Spanked, Yes, Sir, Yes, Ma’am, He’s on Top, She’s on Top) for an idea of the kinds of stories I prefer.
How to submit: Send double spaced Times or Times New Roman 12 point black font Word document with pages numbered (.doc, not .docx) OR RTF of 1,500-4,000 word story. Indent the first line of each paragraph half an inch and double space (regular double spacing, do not add extra lines between paragraphs or do any other irregular spacing). US grammar (double quotation marks around dialogue, etc.) required. Include your legal name (and pseudonym if applicable), mailing address, and 50 word or less bio in the third person to bestbondage2012@gmail.com. If you are using a pseudonym, please provide your real name and pseudonym and make it clear which one you’d like to be credited as. I will get back to you by September 2011.
Payment: $50 and 2 copies of the book on publication
Deadline: April 1, 2011 (earlier submissions encouraged)
I’ve been seeing numerous recent submissions that do not conform to my guidelines. They are there for a reason. Please read and follow them or risk your submission being rejected or returned for reformatting. If you have any questions, please contact me at bestbondage2012@gmail.com
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Best Bondage Erotica 2011 reviews
I'm bad at keeping track of reviews so just Googled and found a few that I know I hadn't seen before for Best Bondage Erotica 2011. I really liked this one at Sweltering Celt because it got at the heart of what I'm hoping to do with the series:
Imagine my surprise when not only were the stories in BBE11 well written, grammatically sound (hey, that’s important to me) and arranged brilliantly, but they were in fact some of the best I’ve read. I appreciated that some didn’t necessarily speak to my kinks but were still hot. I loved that some stories had my pussy throbbing until I could hardly hold on to the book, and others had me clenching it in my hands, aching for more after the story ended. A rare few had me nearly screaming in frustration, wanting more of the authors’ imaginations to speak to me from the pages. But the common thread among all of the stories was the soul of the characters – the unyielding, concentrated spirit that lives within strong individuals who choose kink...
Finally, the last thing I’m going to say in this short and sweet review is that I am amazed at the diversity of the anthology. Points of view I had never even considered were explored and devoured in BBE11. I could FEEL how a top might have felt in the situation. I could sense a bottom’s excitement and a newcomer’s trepidation. I could put myself in many different shoes and because of that, I gained some incredible new perspectives. I enjoyed that, more than I expected.
Thank you! Another review at EdenFantasys lamented the lack of stories from a dominant POV. I commented there, and have written about this, but there is such a skewed ratio of stories I get, almost always, and my off-the-top-of-my-head-guess is that unless the book is specifically about female domination, for a general anthology about spanking or bondage, I get about 80% of stories with female submissives and male dominants, from the female's POV. I'd love to see that ratio played with, and do my best to seek out and publish stories that don't fit that mold. At the same time, female submission is obviously something that people want to read, because Please, Sir sold out its first printing pretty quickly, and in general, my female submission anthologies outsell the male submission ones. But that being said, I'd love to see some more dominant viewpoints for Best Bondage Erotica 2012. Deadline is April 1st! Trust me, with every anthology I get so excited when someone just nails the topic in a way that is totally fresh, new and hot. It's hard to pin it down more than a vague "I know it when I see it," but I all my calls for submissions are truly open and I look forward to reading the stories that truly stun me with their creativity, the ones I never could've conceived of on my own, the ones that just grab you and don't let go (as long as you stick to the guidelines).
You can read the introduction here.
Want a postcard with this crazy hot cover on it sent to you (US only)? Email bestbondage2011 at gmail.com with "postcard" in the subject and your mailing address - and to those who've requested them, they're coming soon!
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2011 from:
Amazon.com
Kindle edition
Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)
Books-a-Million
Borders
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press
Imagine my surprise when not only were the stories in BBE11 well written, grammatically sound (hey, that’s important to me) and arranged brilliantly, but they were in fact some of the best I’ve read. I appreciated that some didn’t necessarily speak to my kinks but were still hot. I loved that some stories had my pussy throbbing until I could hardly hold on to the book, and others had me clenching it in my hands, aching for more after the story ended. A rare few had me nearly screaming in frustration, wanting more of the authors’ imaginations to speak to me from the pages. But the common thread among all of the stories was the soul of the characters – the unyielding, concentrated spirit that lives within strong individuals who choose kink...
Finally, the last thing I’m going to say in this short and sweet review is that I am amazed at the diversity of the anthology. Points of view I had never even considered were explored and devoured in BBE11. I could FEEL how a top might have felt in the situation. I could sense a bottom’s excitement and a newcomer’s trepidation. I could put myself in many different shoes and because of that, I gained some incredible new perspectives. I enjoyed that, more than I expected.
Thank you! Another review at EdenFantasys lamented the lack of stories from a dominant POV. I commented there, and have written about this, but there is such a skewed ratio of stories I get, almost always, and my off-the-top-of-my-head-guess is that unless the book is specifically about female domination, for a general anthology about spanking or bondage, I get about 80% of stories with female submissives and male dominants, from the female's POV. I'd love to see that ratio played with, and do my best to seek out and publish stories that don't fit that mold. At the same time, female submission is obviously something that people want to read, because Please, Sir sold out its first printing pretty quickly, and in general, my female submission anthologies outsell the male submission ones. But that being said, I'd love to see some more dominant viewpoints for Best Bondage Erotica 2012. Deadline is April 1st! Trust me, with every anthology I get so excited when someone just nails the topic in a way that is totally fresh, new and hot. It's hard to pin it down more than a vague "I know it when I see it," but I all my calls for submissions are truly open and I look forward to reading the stories that truly stun me with their creativity, the ones I never could've conceived of on my own, the ones that just grab you and don't let go (as long as you stick to the guidelines).
You can read the introduction here.
Want a postcard with this crazy hot cover on it sent to you (US only)? Email bestbondage2011 at gmail.com with "postcard" in the subject and your mailing address - and to those who've requested them, they're coming soon!
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2011 from:
Amazon.com
Kindle edition
Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)
Books-a-Million
Borders
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press
Thursday, December 23, 2010
How your bondage erotica gets made: Megan Butcher on "The Apiary" from Best Bondage Erotica 2011
I taught a few classes at Shag in Williamsburg, Brooklyn this year. I always hope my students will submit work to my anthologies, but sadly, it rarely happens. Megan Butcher was an exception, and I'm proud to include her story "The Apiary" in Best Bondage Erotica 2011 and to have had her read at In The Flesh. Because it wasn't financially feasible for me, right now I don't have any erotic writing classes planned, but if you'd like to host one, feel free to contact me at rachelkramerbussel at gmail.com - I am open to arranging these with my 2011 travel plans as well, which include London, Seattle, Denver, Minneapolis, Milwaukee, Madison (Wisconsin), Los Angeles and possibly other cities.
Here she is at Venus Envy:
The story had its genesis in a writing class I took with Rachel in Brooklyn last February. I walked in thinking that the class would be huge and I'd be able to lose myself a bit if I didn't want to stick out. It was in a nice little shop called SHAG. I walked down the steep and narrow stairs into a white-washed, low-ceilinged basement and saw 5 chairs ranged behind two perpendicular tables. Oh boy.
It was great, though it passed in a bit of a blur. Mostly I remember what I saw in my mind during the 5 minute writing exercises. It was during the first one, I believe, that we were to write something about a chair, and The Apiary was born.
Here she is at Venus Envy:
The story had its genesis in a writing class I took with Rachel in Brooklyn last February. I walked in thinking that the class would be huge and I'd be able to lose myself a bit if I didn't want to stick out. It was in a nice little shop called SHAG. I walked down the steep and narrow stairs into a white-washed, low-ceilinged basement and saw 5 chairs ranged behind two perpendicular tables. Oh boy.
It was great, though it passed in a bit of a blur. Mostly I remember what I saw in my mind during the 5 minute writing exercises. It was during the first one, I believe, that we were to write something about a chair, and The Apiary was born.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Free BDSM erotica: "Vegas Treat" by me from Best Bondage Erotica 2011
For those who've already read Best Bondage Erotica 2011, I'll have to come up with something else, but for the rest of you, as a little holiday treat (ha ha), here is my story "Vegas Treat," which you can also read about (and see a photo of me tied up) at CulturePOP by Seth Kushner and hear more about live at In The Flesh and Heeb Storytelling. Obviously the story is copyrighted, so don't steal it, but feel free to link here.
Vegas Treat
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
I fingered the metal clamps, my body already seizing up in reaction to them. “You want me to wear…all of them?” I asked softly. I’d been the one to volunteer for the bondage photo shoot, it was true. I’d never done anything quite like that before, but when he’d seen me strolling around Las Vegas while on vacation with the boyfriend I was pretty sure I wanted to break up with, Tyler had picked me out and approached me. I felt like a modern-day Lana Turner, but instead of a drugstore counter, I’d been approached at a slot machine where I was well on my way to losing many quarters.
I guess I’d looked the part of bad girl gone wrong: bright red hair, freshly dyed; eyeliner galore; black rubber bracelets circa Madonna 1984; dark, tight jeans and a white tank top with a flimsy black bra; hot pink platform sandals and an I-could-care-less look. Well, the look wasn’t just an affectation; I wasn’t really into the whole Vegas mystique, but Eric had offered to pay to get us out of Michigan for the weekend, flush from a win at Internet poker and eager to try his hand at the real thing. When I told him a stranger wanted to photograph me, maybe nude, he merely grunted and asked me to get him another soda from down the hall. I stalked off to get his soda and run some ice over my neck. The room was air-conditioned, but I was bored. So I pulled out my phone and hit DIAL after letting my finger hover over Tyler’s number. We should’ve been celebrating my twenty-first birthday three months before, but Eric’s not the type to notice anything like that; I’d been drinking with him for the last two years and had the fake ID to prove it. I didn’t want a surprise party, but a little attention would’ve been nice. The slot machines were kind of fun, but not enough to make up for feeling like I was so undesirable my boyfriend was more interested in money than me.
And that’s how I wound up topless, wearing just my skimpy white panties with pink flowers on them, one of the most girly items I owned, while Tyler dangled a pair of nipple clamps in front of me. Actually, it wasn’t a pair, it was a trio, because there was a clamp to go on my clit. I wasn’t a virgin or anything, obviously, but maybe I’d been meeting the wrong men because none had ever proposed so much as a threesome, let alone bondage and sex toys.
Here was Tyler, barefoot, in a ripped black Violet Femmes T-shirt and holey jeans,, assessing me like I was a piece of meatæa very sexy, tender, juicy, delicious, lucky piece of meat. And just then, I wanted to be the rarest cut of all, the one whose taste lingers not just on your tongue but all through your insides long after it’s been swallowed and discarded. I didn’t want to fall in love with Tyler and live happily ever after, but I wanted to make my mark, wanted him to remember me not just as some random girl who spread her legs for his lens. I was sick of guys looking right through me, or seeing only what part of me they could grab, use and walk away from.
Tyler seemed to be hungry for a part of me that he couldn’t get just by fucking me, As if he wanted something deeper and, full of youthful bravado, I wanted to give it to him. “Now, Rina, you know this is going to hurt, right? It’s going to hurt a lot…maybe not at first, but when I take them off, the blood’s going to rush back to your nipples and clit. It’s going to look so hot; trust me,” he said, then flashed me the grin that had made me talk to him in the first place. “And I have a feeling you’re going to like it. You have something about you that tells me you need a little pain to rile you up. Not to tame you, because nothing could do that, but to somehow give you back all the energy you bring to your life.” That was deeper than I was expecting from a twenty-five-year-old UNLV dropout, but I liked it. I was sick of people treating me like a baby, assuming that I had nothing going for me simply because of my age or how I dressed. Even if Tyler was just bullshitting me, it made me feel good, like maybe this photo would catapult me out of my small-town, dead-end life and going-nowhere relationship.
“How’d you know I’d never done this before?” I asked. I could’ve been referring to the modeling or the clamps, but he went right ahead and answered.
“I just know. Girls who’ve done this before just roll right with it. They don’t look at the clamps the way you are.” Did I look scared? Was I scared? I was so used to being bored that scared never even entered into it. Maybe I looked scared and that was a good thing; maybe he wanted me to look scared, to make a better image. I didn’t think about it too much; after all, he hadn’t asked me to act, but to model. I wasn’t sure if he was paying me, but I didn’t really care. I was doing something I was sure no girls back home were doing.
“Relax,” he said and touched my arm, sending sparks the likes of which I’d never felt before shooting along my skin. I hated feeling young and naïve usually, and anyone who suggested I was either would get a scowl and the finger. But Tyler didn’t sound like he was laughing at my inexperience. He was more like a teacheræa very sexy teacher. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, and if you don’t like it, we’ll stop and do something else. But something tells me you’re going to like it, Rina,” he finished, then stood and stared at me, his face so close and bold and open, I had to look away after a few seconds. No one had ever looked in my eyes like that, not even Eric. They looked at my body or my face or my hair, they looked long enough to know, maybe, that my eyes were a murky hazel, that I could win a staring contest, that I was tough on the outside, but not enough to see beneath that brash surface. Tyler saw and asked for me to peel it away to give him something else, something deeper. Tyler seemed to want to know everything, even though this was supposed to be a work thing for him, and all of a sudden my nipples were standing at attention, getting ready for their journey. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to see all of me, but it turned me on that he wanted to, so I decided to go with it.
His voice was so sensual, so smoky and intense, the aural equivalent of rich Texas barbecue, that I melted into it the way barbecue melts on my tongue. “Now this is a cute little outfit,” he said, fingering my panties, “but I think we need to take these off. Maybe I can stuff them in your mouth later,” he said. His voice was deadpan but it still sent shivers along my skin. He was so close I could smell the smoke lingering on his breath and I whimpered. “Can I take your panties off, Rina? Or do you want to do it?”
I had to answer now. I swallowed, then braved a look at him. “You can take them off.” He didn’t just pull them down the sides of my legs. He reached inside and felt that I was wet, felt that my juices had soaked the panties, before he singlehandedly pull them slowly down my legs, making me aware of the sensation of the cotton tugging against my skin, exposing me. He dropped them on the bed and then I was just naked, bright red hair, big eyes, erect nipples. “Come over here for a minute,” he said, then he showed me the biggest collection of handcuffs I’ve ever seen, even now, years later, and I’ve seen a lot. There must’ve been three dozen sets, from metal ones to padded leather to silk to fur-lined. Some had pink hearts, some had shiny black bows, some had Velcro. One pair said BRAT across them. I didn’t even know that handcuffs came in such assortments; I’d truly never given it any thought. I’d barely had anyone even hold me down. I shivered.
“You like what you see, Rina?”
“Yes,” I said softly. Already, he’d taken me down a notch; I wasn’t vulnerable because I was naked, but because this was so new, and I suddenly wanted it so much. Seeing all those cuffs let me know that plenty of other people did these kinds of things too, otherwise there wouldn’t be such an array; manufacturers wouldn’t bother. Silently, that drawer full of restraints spoke to me and calmed my fears. “We’re here for you,” they said. “We want you, we welcome you. We’ll take care of you, even when if feels like we’re not. We need you.” Maybe that was melodramatic, but I’d always felt more kinship with things than people, with the clothing I used to adorn myself, the books I lovingly read and reread, the bike I used to zip as far and fast down the street as I could. But these belongings came with an owner, a man who was quickly making me melt. He was the real force behind what I was experiencing.
I lifted a pair of black leather cuffs, admiring their heft. He reached for them and dangled them before me. “These are ankle cuffs,” he said, “in case I really want to immobilize you. Let’s stick with your wrists for now. I want you to spread those pretty legs wide for me.” His words could’ve sounded dumb or cheesy, but they didn’t. They made me wet.
I reached for a pair of purple padded cuffs; it’s always been my favorite color. They were soft to the touch, nothing menacing about them…nothing except the look on Tyler’s face, like he could read my every pervy thought. Was I that easy? Was every girl’s first time like this? I’d prided myself on being so different for so long, but now, I wasn’t so sure. My heart was pounding as I handed the cuffs over to Tyler.
“Good choice,” he said, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. He paused and just watched me, and I got the impression there was no right answer, but that each action of mine would trigger one of his, would let him know what I was up foræor thought I was up for. His trusting patience, his interest, his sexy eyes watching me, more than anything else, made me relax, even as I became more and more excited. My body was primed for almost anything, but my heart was calm. Tyler would take care of me. I pawed through his offerings, adding to the pile like we were shopping. Pink bondage tape, the cuffs, the clamps…
“What’s this?” I asked, holding up a metal contraption with a wheel full of spikes attached to a silver handle.
“It’s called a Wartenburg wheel. I’ll show you,” he said, then he took it and lightly ran the metal spikes along my arm. It didn’t hurt, and he did it so lightly at first that I didn’t think it could, but then he did it again, a little harder, before turning my arm over and tickling the underside of my wrist with it. “This can be used anywhere.” He let the possibilities dangle in the air.
“I’ll help you get ready.” He hummed as if to himself as he bound my arms behind my back with the cuffs. The first thing I did was tug on them to make sure they were tight enough. He noticed but just stood there, waiting. My breath came heavily as I realized that there was no turning back now. I stood upright, at attention, proudly looking back at him as I offered him my breasts, the nipples now harder than ever. Tyler took the clamps and fastened them one on each nipple. He knelt down before my clit and just stared for a moment, then spread the hood so it popped out. “Are you ready, Rina?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered as he pressed the padded edges of the clamp against my clit, prodding it, teasing it. If such a thing was possible, I was ready. I breathed through my nose, tears aching to surface.
“Don’t breathe through the pain, breathe into it,” he told me.
“Can I tape your mouth?” he asked, holding up the bondage tape.
I surprised myself by moaning. Yes, it all hurt, but even more, it felt wonderful to have my wrists warm and snug in the leather, the heat coursing through all three points of contact with the clamps. It made me focus on the parts of me I could move—my tongue, my head, my toes, my hips—before darting back to that heat, that pain with pleasure edging up underneath. I nodded, then sealed my lips. “You can make noise through the tape, but that won’t be your safeword. Shake your head back and forth three times in a row if you want me to stop,” he said. “Do you understand?” Tyler looked directly into my eyes. I nodded.
I should’ve been nervous and scared, but I wasn’t. I was wet, remembering his promise to make me part my legs. The tape was almost gentle as it sealed my lips. I swallowed hard and without any warning he started shooting. I stared back at him, bold, direct, my green eyes fixed on him, hoping he liked what he saw. Tyler was so focused on whatever he saw through his lens I didn’t know if he even realized all the emotions I was going through. I was wet, turned on, unsure if it was from being bound or because of him or both.
“I’m gonna zoom in, Rina. Show me what you’re feeling. Show me everything.” He made it sound so easy. I didn’t focus too much on being a “good model” but rather thought about all the things the toys were making me feel, all the things my body had clearly been yearning for but would never experience with Eric. They made me want to cry and grin at the same time, to curl up into a ball and to roar like a lion (once the tape came off). Every time panic started to set in, I willed myself to be calm, knowing there was a great reward awaiting me at the end.
I became the brat who wanted to get her punishment, the girl whose body was blatantly exposed to not just Tyler, but the world. I thrust my chest out, pushing my bound wrists behind me and downward as best I could. I shook my hips, smiled, bit my lip. I stepped closer to the camera, wishing I could run my hands up and down my body, give Tyler a real show, but from the constant clicks, I knew he was getting what he needed.
That made me relax. He didn’t want to see me in distress, just to see me. Maybe he was a pervert, but maybe pervert wasn’t such a bad word. Tyler muttered things under his breath like, “Give it to me, Rina,” and “Struggle against those cuffs,” and “Snarl at me,” then other words that rumbled together into a kind of sexy song, like background music. I realized that though he had been the one to physically tie me up and put the clamps on, I was the one bringing the real show. Amidst so much fake glamour, this was real.
I twisted and turned as much as I could, spreading my legs while he zoomed in. While the pain had plateaued after the first rush of intensity, now it was back and I longed to bite my lip, my favorite coping mechanism, but of course I couldn’t. I focused on his mantra to breathe into the pain, and I did, every second of it. The tears came unbidden as I took deep breaths through my nose, walking close to Tyler’s camera until I could toss my hair back, feel it tickle my bound wrists, and expose my clamped nipples right to the eye of his camera. His clicks came fast and furious until they stopped, and he put the camera down and took me in his arms.
First he undid the tape. “I have to do this fast,” he said and tore it right off. My lips were a little numb, but I didn’t mind. He traced a finger over them and then let me rest my head on his shoulder. I could tell he was hard, but he wasn’t trying to simply screw me; our encounter had gone far beyond that. “Now I’m going to take off the clamps, but let’s have you sit down right here on the couch first,” he said softly. “You were amazing. I got so many good shots and I’m going to send them to some bondage and fetish magazines. They’re gonna love you.”
Now I bit my lip, because I knew something big was coming. First the clit clamp came off. I let out a cry as the blood came rushing back. “Good girl,” he said and lightly trailed his fingers over my wetness. I had barely realized it but I was very, very wet. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly, with no trace of the tough guy I’d glimpsed previously. Then the nipple clamps came off. I watched as he eased the lever down on what I now know are tweezer clamps and saw my flattened nubs come to life again.
He dropped the clamp on the floor and leaned down to suck one bud, lightly tracing his tongue against it. The wetness made me squirm, in a good way. His fingers again found my wetness, plunging deep inside. Now I could talk, but I didn’t have anything to say other than a series of insensible moans. There was too much to feel, and I was glad my wrists were still bound. Too much freedom all at once would’ve been a shock to my system.
I rocked against him as he gave me what I hadn’t known I’d been missing, his fingers going deep, his mouth switching from one tormented breast to the other. This was my initiation ritual, my belated birthday present, my kinky debutante ball featuring just the two of us. I gave myself to him as I’d done before and in return, Tyler gave me the best orgasm of my life, one that rocked me from the inside out, spiraling through my body like a tornado. I cried when I came, and he kissed my neck, then my lips, placing his over mine so he could take my breath from me too.
Tyler made me come I don’t know how many times, then he showed me some of the photos he’d taken. Only much later, after I’d had some water and fruit and cheese, after he’d removed the cuffs and shown me another pair, did he even show me his cock. Then it was my turn to select a pair of cuffs for him. I fumbled a little putting them on, but when I got them secured behind his back, I sank to my knees and toyed with his cock, savoring every second of his stern, stiff heat as I discovered that blow jobs could be a lot more fun when I was in charge.
Tyler gave me so many gifts on that first trip, and the photos were, indeed, a hit, necessitating many more trips back to Vegas. It was easier to get there once I moved to L.A. and started a new life, far from Eric and Michigan and the innocent girl I’d once been. Every time I slip into a cage or offer myself up to a lover to bind, there’s still a part of me that remembers the treat Tyler gave me, and what he saw in me before I could see it in myself. I hope every girl is lucky enough to have a Tyler in her life.
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2011 from:
Amazon.com
Kindle edition
Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)
Books-a-Million
Borders
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press
Vegas Treat
by Rachel Kramer Bussel
I fingered the metal clamps, my body already seizing up in reaction to them. “You want me to wear…all of them?” I asked softly. I’d been the one to volunteer for the bondage photo shoot, it was true. I’d never done anything quite like that before, but when he’d seen me strolling around Las Vegas while on vacation with the boyfriend I was pretty sure I wanted to break up with, Tyler had picked me out and approached me. I felt like a modern-day Lana Turner, but instead of a drugstore counter, I’d been approached at a slot machine where I was well on my way to losing many quarters.
I guess I’d looked the part of bad girl gone wrong: bright red hair, freshly dyed; eyeliner galore; black rubber bracelets circa Madonna 1984; dark, tight jeans and a white tank top with a flimsy black bra; hot pink platform sandals and an I-could-care-less look. Well, the look wasn’t just an affectation; I wasn’t really into the whole Vegas mystique, but Eric had offered to pay to get us out of Michigan for the weekend, flush from a win at Internet poker and eager to try his hand at the real thing. When I told him a stranger wanted to photograph me, maybe nude, he merely grunted and asked me to get him another soda from down the hall. I stalked off to get his soda and run some ice over my neck. The room was air-conditioned, but I was bored. So I pulled out my phone and hit DIAL after letting my finger hover over Tyler’s number. We should’ve been celebrating my twenty-first birthday three months before, but Eric’s not the type to notice anything like that; I’d been drinking with him for the last two years and had the fake ID to prove it. I didn’t want a surprise party, but a little attention would’ve been nice. The slot machines were kind of fun, but not enough to make up for feeling like I was so undesirable my boyfriend was more interested in money than me.
And that’s how I wound up topless, wearing just my skimpy white panties with pink flowers on them, one of the most girly items I owned, while Tyler dangled a pair of nipple clamps in front of me. Actually, it wasn’t a pair, it was a trio, because there was a clamp to go on my clit. I wasn’t a virgin or anything, obviously, but maybe I’d been meeting the wrong men because none had ever proposed so much as a threesome, let alone bondage and sex toys.
Here was Tyler, barefoot, in a ripped black Violet Femmes T-shirt and holey jeans,, assessing me like I was a piece of meatæa very sexy, tender, juicy, delicious, lucky piece of meat. And just then, I wanted to be the rarest cut of all, the one whose taste lingers not just on your tongue but all through your insides long after it’s been swallowed and discarded. I didn’t want to fall in love with Tyler and live happily ever after, but I wanted to make my mark, wanted him to remember me not just as some random girl who spread her legs for his lens. I was sick of guys looking right through me, or seeing only what part of me they could grab, use and walk away from.
Tyler seemed to be hungry for a part of me that he couldn’t get just by fucking me, As if he wanted something deeper and, full of youthful bravado, I wanted to give it to him. “Now, Rina, you know this is going to hurt, right? It’s going to hurt a lot…maybe not at first, but when I take them off, the blood’s going to rush back to your nipples and clit. It’s going to look so hot; trust me,” he said, then flashed me the grin that had made me talk to him in the first place. “And I have a feeling you’re going to like it. You have something about you that tells me you need a little pain to rile you up. Not to tame you, because nothing could do that, but to somehow give you back all the energy you bring to your life.” That was deeper than I was expecting from a twenty-five-year-old UNLV dropout, but I liked it. I was sick of people treating me like a baby, assuming that I had nothing going for me simply because of my age or how I dressed. Even if Tyler was just bullshitting me, it made me feel good, like maybe this photo would catapult me out of my small-town, dead-end life and going-nowhere relationship.
“How’d you know I’d never done this before?” I asked. I could’ve been referring to the modeling or the clamps, but he went right ahead and answered.
“I just know. Girls who’ve done this before just roll right with it. They don’t look at the clamps the way you are.” Did I look scared? Was I scared? I was so used to being bored that scared never even entered into it. Maybe I looked scared and that was a good thing; maybe he wanted me to look scared, to make a better image. I didn’t think about it too much; after all, he hadn’t asked me to act, but to model. I wasn’t sure if he was paying me, but I didn’t really care. I was doing something I was sure no girls back home were doing.
“Relax,” he said and touched my arm, sending sparks the likes of which I’d never felt before shooting along my skin. I hated feeling young and naïve usually, and anyone who suggested I was either would get a scowl and the finger. But Tyler didn’t sound like he was laughing at my inexperience. He was more like a teacheræa very sexy teacher. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, and if you don’t like it, we’ll stop and do something else. But something tells me you’re going to like it, Rina,” he finished, then stood and stared at me, his face so close and bold and open, I had to look away after a few seconds. No one had ever looked in my eyes like that, not even Eric. They looked at my body or my face or my hair, they looked long enough to know, maybe, that my eyes were a murky hazel, that I could win a staring contest, that I was tough on the outside, but not enough to see beneath that brash surface. Tyler saw and asked for me to peel it away to give him something else, something deeper. Tyler seemed to want to know everything, even though this was supposed to be a work thing for him, and all of a sudden my nipples were standing at attention, getting ready for their journey. I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to see all of me, but it turned me on that he wanted to, so I decided to go with it.
His voice was so sensual, so smoky and intense, the aural equivalent of rich Texas barbecue, that I melted into it the way barbecue melts on my tongue. “Now this is a cute little outfit,” he said, fingering my panties, “but I think we need to take these off. Maybe I can stuff them in your mouth later,” he said. His voice was deadpan but it still sent shivers along my skin. He was so close I could smell the smoke lingering on his breath and I whimpered. “Can I take your panties off, Rina? Or do you want to do it?”
I had to answer now. I swallowed, then braved a look at him. “You can take them off.” He didn’t just pull them down the sides of my legs. He reached inside and felt that I was wet, felt that my juices had soaked the panties, before he singlehandedly pull them slowly down my legs, making me aware of the sensation of the cotton tugging against my skin, exposing me. He dropped them on the bed and then I was just naked, bright red hair, big eyes, erect nipples. “Come over here for a minute,” he said, then he showed me the biggest collection of handcuffs I’ve ever seen, even now, years later, and I’ve seen a lot. There must’ve been three dozen sets, from metal ones to padded leather to silk to fur-lined. Some had pink hearts, some had shiny black bows, some had Velcro. One pair said BRAT across them. I didn’t even know that handcuffs came in such assortments; I’d truly never given it any thought. I’d barely had anyone even hold me down. I shivered.
“You like what you see, Rina?”
“Yes,” I said softly. Already, he’d taken me down a notch; I wasn’t vulnerable because I was naked, but because this was so new, and I suddenly wanted it so much. Seeing all those cuffs let me know that plenty of other people did these kinds of things too, otherwise there wouldn’t be such an array; manufacturers wouldn’t bother. Silently, that drawer full of restraints spoke to me and calmed my fears. “We’re here for you,” they said. “We want you, we welcome you. We’ll take care of you, even when if feels like we’re not. We need you.” Maybe that was melodramatic, but I’d always felt more kinship with things than people, with the clothing I used to adorn myself, the books I lovingly read and reread, the bike I used to zip as far and fast down the street as I could. But these belongings came with an owner, a man who was quickly making me melt. He was the real force behind what I was experiencing.
I lifted a pair of black leather cuffs, admiring their heft. He reached for them and dangled them before me. “These are ankle cuffs,” he said, “in case I really want to immobilize you. Let’s stick with your wrists for now. I want you to spread those pretty legs wide for me.” His words could’ve sounded dumb or cheesy, but they didn’t. They made me wet.
I reached for a pair of purple padded cuffs; it’s always been my favorite color. They were soft to the touch, nothing menacing about them…nothing except the look on Tyler’s face, like he could read my every pervy thought. Was I that easy? Was every girl’s first time like this? I’d prided myself on being so different for so long, but now, I wasn’t so sure. My heart was pounding as I handed the cuffs over to Tyler.
“Good choice,” he said, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. He paused and just watched me, and I got the impression there was no right answer, but that each action of mine would trigger one of his, would let him know what I was up foræor thought I was up for. His trusting patience, his interest, his sexy eyes watching me, more than anything else, made me relax, even as I became more and more excited. My body was primed for almost anything, but my heart was calm. Tyler would take care of me. I pawed through his offerings, adding to the pile like we were shopping. Pink bondage tape, the cuffs, the clamps…
“What’s this?” I asked, holding up a metal contraption with a wheel full of spikes attached to a silver handle.
“It’s called a Wartenburg wheel. I’ll show you,” he said, then he took it and lightly ran the metal spikes along my arm. It didn’t hurt, and he did it so lightly at first that I didn’t think it could, but then he did it again, a little harder, before turning my arm over and tickling the underside of my wrist with it. “This can be used anywhere.” He let the possibilities dangle in the air.
“I’ll help you get ready.” He hummed as if to himself as he bound my arms behind my back with the cuffs. The first thing I did was tug on them to make sure they were tight enough. He noticed but just stood there, waiting. My breath came heavily as I realized that there was no turning back now. I stood upright, at attention, proudly looking back at him as I offered him my breasts, the nipples now harder than ever. Tyler took the clamps and fastened them one on each nipple. He knelt down before my clit and just stared for a moment, then spread the hood so it popped out. “Are you ready, Rina?” he asked.
“Yes,” I whispered as he pressed the padded edges of the clamp against my clit, prodding it, teasing it. If such a thing was possible, I was ready. I breathed through my nose, tears aching to surface.
“Don’t breathe through the pain, breathe into it,” he told me.
“Can I tape your mouth?” he asked, holding up the bondage tape.
I surprised myself by moaning. Yes, it all hurt, but even more, it felt wonderful to have my wrists warm and snug in the leather, the heat coursing through all three points of contact with the clamps. It made me focus on the parts of me I could move—my tongue, my head, my toes, my hips—before darting back to that heat, that pain with pleasure edging up underneath. I nodded, then sealed my lips. “You can make noise through the tape, but that won’t be your safeword. Shake your head back and forth three times in a row if you want me to stop,” he said. “Do you understand?” Tyler looked directly into my eyes. I nodded.
I should’ve been nervous and scared, but I wasn’t. I was wet, remembering his promise to make me part my legs. The tape was almost gentle as it sealed my lips. I swallowed hard and without any warning he started shooting. I stared back at him, bold, direct, my green eyes fixed on him, hoping he liked what he saw. Tyler was so focused on whatever he saw through his lens I didn’t know if he even realized all the emotions I was going through. I was wet, turned on, unsure if it was from being bound or because of him or both.
“I’m gonna zoom in, Rina. Show me what you’re feeling. Show me everything.” He made it sound so easy. I didn’t focus too much on being a “good model” but rather thought about all the things the toys were making me feel, all the things my body had clearly been yearning for but would never experience with Eric. They made me want to cry and grin at the same time, to curl up into a ball and to roar like a lion (once the tape came off). Every time panic started to set in, I willed myself to be calm, knowing there was a great reward awaiting me at the end.
I became the brat who wanted to get her punishment, the girl whose body was blatantly exposed to not just Tyler, but the world. I thrust my chest out, pushing my bound wrists behind me and downward as best I could. I shook my hips, smiled, bit my lip. I stepped closer to the camera, wishing I could run my hands up and down my body, give Tyler a real show, but from the constant clicks, I knew he was getting what he needed.
That made me relax. He didn’t want to see me in distress, just to see me. Maybe he was a pervert, but maybe pervert wasn’t such a bad word. Tyler muttered things under his breath like, “Give it to me, Rina,” and “Struggle against those cuffs,” and “Snarl at me,” then other words that rumbled together into a kind of sexy song, like background music. I realized that though he had been the one to physically tie me up and put the clamps on, I was the one bringing the real show. Amidst so much fake glamour, this was real.
I twisted and turned as much as I could, spreading my legs while he zoomed in. While the pain had plateaued after the first rush of intensity, now it was back and I longed to bite my lip, my favorite coping mechanism, but of course I couldn’t. I focused on his mantra to breathe into the pain, and I did, every second of it. The tears came unbidden as I took deep breaths through my nose, walking close to Tyler’s camera until I could toss my hair back, feel it tickle my bound wrists, and expose my clamped nipples right to the eye of his camera. His clicks came fast and furious until they stopped, and he put the camera down and took me in his arms.
First he undid the tape. “I have to do this fast,” he said and tore it right off. My lips were a little numb, but I didn’t mind. He traced a finger over them and then let me rest my head on his shoulder. I could tell he was hard, but he wasn’t trying to simply screw me; our encounter had gone far beyond that. “Now I’m going to take off the clamps, but let’s have you sit down right here on the couch first,” he said softly. “You were amazing. I got so many good shots and I’m going to send them to some bondage and fetish magazines. They’re gonna love you.”
Now I bit my lip, because I knew something big was coming. First the clit clamp came off. I let out a cry as the blood came rushing back. “Good girl,” he said and lightly trailed his fingers over my wetness. I had barely realized it but I was very, very wet. “You’re beautiful,” he said softly, with no trace of the tough guy I’d glimpsed previously. Then the nipple clamps came off. I watched as he eased the lever down on what I now know are tweezer clamps and saw my flattened nubs come to life again.
He dropped the clamp on the floor and leaned down to suck one bud, lightly tracing his tongue against it. The wetness made me squirm, in a good way. His fingers again found my wetness, plunging deep inside. Now I could talk, but I didn’t have anything to say other than a series of insensible moans. There was too much to feel, and I was glad my wrists were still bound. Too much freedom all at once would’ve been a shock to my system.
I rocked against him as he gave me what I hadn’t known I’d been missing, his fingers going deep, his mouth switching from one tormented breast to the other. This was my initiation ritual, my belated birthday present, my kinky debutante ball featuring just the two of us. I gave myself to him as I’d done before and in return, Tyler gave me the best orgasm of my life, one that rocked me from the inside out, spiraling through my body like a tornado. I cried when I came, and he kissed my neck, then my lips, placing his over mine so he could take my breath from me too.
Tyler made me come I don’t know how many times, then he showed me some of the photos he’d taken. Only much later, after I’d had some water and fruit and cheese, after he’d removed the cuffs and shown me another pair, did he even show me his cock. Then it was my turn to select a pair of cuffs for him. I fumbled a little putting them on, but when I got them secured behind his back, I sank to my knees and toyed with his cock, savoring every second of his stern, stiff heat as I discovered that blow jobs could be a lot more fun when I was in charge.
Tyler gave me so many gifts on that first trip, and the photos were, indeed, a hit, necessitating many more trips back to Vegas. It was easier to get there once I moved to L.A. and started a new life, far from Eric and Michigan and the innocent girl I’d once been. Every time I slip into a cage or offer myself up to a lover to bind, there’s still a part of me that remembers the treat Tyler gave me, and what he saw in me before I could see it in myself. I hope every girl is lucky enough to have a Tyler in her life.
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2011 from:
Amazon.com
Kindle edition
Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)
Books-a-Million
Borders
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Guest bondage post: "Charting Pleasure" by Angela Caperton
A guest post today...
Charting Pleasure
by Angela Caperton
A nautical chart hangs on the wall of my living room, a very special piece of personal history and a beautiful work of art. This chart isn’t an antique parchment with tattered edges or fanciful pictures of sea monsters curling through finely inked waves. It’s a precise coastal map that stretches from the Gulf of St. Lawrence on the Atlantic side of North America to the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the Pacific, then south to encompass Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean as well as parts of coastal Venezuela and Columbia. This isn’t a map that annotates borders or elevations, it notes inlets, marks the depth of the ocean in fathoms, and in simple felt pen, documents the many adventures I had while cruising on my family’s sailboat.
It was during those adventures that I grew to appreciate charts in a way that really didn’t make sense to me until I was much older. On the boat, I loved looking at the squiggly lines that marked coasts; I loved tangling my tongue around the name of foreign gulfs and bays; and I loved watching our progress as we sailed, our positions marked on the charts daily when we took sun readings with a sextant (this was before the advent of GPS). The charts showed where our boat had been and they showed where we would go. Dangerous reefs were noted; safe ports were named. Each drawn circle was another small chapter in my life that shaped who I am today.
Years removed from those early adventures, I never forgot the charts, or lost sight of the metaphors inherent in them as I lived my later life. As my sexual experiences expanded, as I embraced new relationships and stretched my horizons, I wasn’t surprised to find myself one night staring at the chart on my wall and seeing my sexual journey as clearly as I saw the drawn circles over foreign ports.
It was then I invented the cartographer…
“The Cartographer” is my addition to Best Bondage Erotica 2011, and tells the story of a Dom with a love of nautical charts, and a sub with an open mind and willing heart. As I wrote the story, I found myself captivated by Paul’s dark obsession and by Sabrina’s desire to help him express his appreciation, and above all, I thoroughly relished chronicling the voyage they take together.
There is a tradition of maps and charts as expressions of moral space, visual descriptions of picaresque journeys. By making a chart of skin and ink into an act of sexual submission, I like to think I have added my own unique kink to this tradition.
I hope you enjoy “The Cartographer”, and I am immensely proud to have it included in this collection. It is in great company! Even if my story doesn’t speak to your particular bondage interest, I’m sure some of the others in the book will.
Stay Sexy!
Angela Caperton
And below is an excerpt from "The Cartographer" by Angela Caperton; read the whole thing in Best Bondage Erotica 2011.
He stood by the table and ran his hands over my body, cupping my breasts, tracing each hollow of my ribs, splaying his fingers wide over the center of my belly. My blood rushed to heat beneath his touch, my nerves alert to the pressure and possession. He traced the outline of the small tuft of hair that crowned my pussy, and when his fingers again slipped inside me, I gripped the sides of the table and arched against his hand. My clit, already sensitive from his previous manipulations, bloomed anew as he circled and teased it. Orgasm floated nearby, bobbing like a cork just beyond my grasp.
“This is the last, Sabrina,” Paul whispered as he kissed me tenderly and continued to explore my wet pussy.
“Yes,” I breathed, my heart stabbed with a dark ache even as my body sang at the edges of ecstasy. The last, and as Paul slid his long index finger into my pussy, pumping and grinding, adding another, then a third, I knew he’d make this last one something I would never forget. I came hard, sweat tacking me to the table, the muscles of my stomach vibrating with the force of it.
He prepped me in silence, my eyes squeezed shut by his command. My stomach and left side were cleaned and stenciled and soon the hum of the gun echoed in the room and in my blood.
The first cool touch of his gloved hand on my belly balled anticipation in my whole body, and with the first glorious bite of the needles, a flood of relief ran down my spine to flow out of my pussy.
His breath caressed the abraded skin, blew comfort over the hot lacerations, each vibrating puncture another eternal branding of him on my soul. The dull, pressured pain radiated through my skin, into my veins. It sailed across my chest to ache in my nipples and turned my cunt hot with the pounding pulse of expectation. Suspended in time and in the skin of desire, the mechanical whine of the gun became an anthem, the stroke of gauze over the new marks, a prayer. When Paul’s lips and tongue ravaged my breasts, the blast of arousal nearly bowed my back to breaking. He pushed me back down.
“Be still,” he commanded, and with considerable effort, I complied. He licked each nipple again, cruel in the challenge, and my pussy watered, my heart thudded.
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2011 from:
Amazon.com
Kindle edition (coming soon)
Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)
Books-a-Million
Borders
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press
And Best Bondage Erotica 2011 just got a great review over at Erotica Revealed, where Kathleen Bradean writes:
Janine Ashbless offers an interesting tale where the man is bound, but he still manages to get inside of the head of a young woman on the verge of discovering her sexuality in “The Ingénue.” “Reasoning” by Tenille Brown is a stand out story of a woman simply fed up with her boyfriend's behavior. Lisabet Sari's “Wired” is another tale of a woman dominating a man, with some ingenious use of workplace items for bondage. In the “Lady or the Tiger” by Bill Kte-pi, who is dominating who is up for you to decide. Jennifer Peters finds an inventive use of saran wrap in the delightful “Sealed for Freshness.”
Charting Pleasure
by Angela Caperton
A nautical chart hangs on the wall of my living room, a very special piece of personal history and a beautiful work of art. This chart isn’t an antique parchment with tattered edges or fanciful pictures of sea monsters curling through finely inked waves. It’s a precise coastal map that stretches from the Gulf of St. Lawrence on the Atlantic side of North America to the Strait of Juan de Fuca on the Pacific, then south to encompass Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean as well as parts of coastal Venezuela and Columbia. This isn’t a map that annotates borders or elevations, it notes inlets, marks the depth of the ocean in fathoms, and in simple felt pen, documents the many adventures I had while cruising on my family’s sailboat.
It was during those adventures that I grew to appreciate charts in a way that really didn’t make sense to me until I was much older. On the boat, I loved looking at the squiggly lines that marked coasts; I loved tangling my tongue around the name of foreign gulfs and bays; and I loved watching our progress as we sailed, our positions marked on the charts daily when we took sun readings with a sextant (this was before the advent of GPS). The charts showed where our boat had been and they showed where we would go. Dangerous reefs were noted; safe ports were named. Each drawn circle was another small chapter in my life that shaped who I am today.
Years removed from those early adventures, I never forgot the charts, or lost sight of the metaphors inherent in them as I lived my later life. As my sexual experiences expanded, as I embraced new relationships and stretched my horizons, I wasn’t surprised to find myself one night staring at the chart on my wall and seeing my sexual journey as clearly as I saw the drawn circles over foreign ports.
It was then I invented the cartographer…
“The Cartographer” is my addition to Best Bondage Erotica 2011, and tells the story of a Dom with a love of nautical charts, and a sub with an open mind and willing heart. As I wrote the story, I found myself captivated by Paul’s dark obsession and by Sabrina’s desire to help him express his appreciation, and above all, I thoroughly relished chronicling the voyage they take together.
There is a tradition of maps and charts as expressions of moral space, visual descriptions of picaresque journeys. By making a chart of skin and ink into an act of sexual submission, I like to think I have added my own unique kink to this tradition.
I hope you enjoy “The Cartographer”, and I am immensely proud to have it included in this collection. It is in great company! Even if my story doesn’t speak to your particular bondage interest, I’m sure some of the others in the book will.
Stay Sexy!
Angela Caperton
And below is an excerpt from "The Cartographer" by Angela Caperton; read the whole thing in Best Bondage Erotica 2011.
He stood by the table and ran his hands over my body, cupping my breasts, tracing each hollow of my ribs, splaying his fingers wide over the center of my belly. My blood rushed to heat beneath his touch, my nerves alert to the pressure and possession. He traced the outline of the small tuft of hair that crowned my pussy, and when his fingers again slipped inside me, I gripped the sides of the table and arched against his hand. My clit, already sensitive from his previous manipulations, bloomed anew as he circled and teased it. Orgasm floated nearby, bobbing like a cork just beyond my grasp.
“This is the last, Sabrina,” Paul whispered as he kissed me tenderly and continued to explore my wet pussy.
“Yes,” I breathed, my heart stabbed with a dark ache even as my body sang at the edges of ecstasy. The last, and as Paul slid his long index finger into my pussy, pumping and grinding, adding another, then a third, I knew he’d make this last one something I would never forget. I came hard, sweat tacking me to the table, the muscles of my stomach vibrating with the force of it.
He prepped me in silence, my eyes squeezed shut by his command. My stomach and left side were cleaned and stenciled and soon the hum of the gun echoed in the room and in my blood.
The first cool touch of his gloved hand on my belly balled anticipation in my whole body, and with the first glorious bite of the needles, a flood of relief ran down my spine to flow out of my pussy.
His breath caressed the abraded skin, blew comfort over the hot lacerations, each vibrating puncture another eternal branding of him on my soul. The dull, pressured pain radiated through my skin, into my veins. It sailed across my chest to ache in my nipples and turned my cunt hot with the pounding pulse of expectation. Suspended in time and in the skin of desire, the mechanical whine of the gun became an anthem, the stroke of gauze over the new marks, a prayer. When Paul’s lips and tongue ravaged my breasts, the blast of arousal nearly bowed my back to breaking. He pushed me back down.
“Be still,” he commanded, and with considerable effort, I complied. He licked each nipple again, cruel in the challenge, and my pussy watered, my heart thudded.
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2011 from:
Amazon.com
Kindle edition (coming soon)
Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)
Books-a-Million
Borders
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press
And Best Bondage Erotica 2011 just got a great review over at Erotica Revealed, where Kathleen Bradean writes:
Janine Ashbless offers an interesting tale where the man is bound, but he still manages to get inside of the head of a young woman on the verge of discovering her sexuality in “The Ingénue.” “Reasoning” by Tenille Brown is a stand out story of a woman simply fed up with her boyfriend's behavior. Lisabet Sari's “Wired” is another tale of a woman dominating a man, with some ingenious use of workplace items for bondage. In the “Lady or the Tiger” by Bill Kte-pi, who is dominating who is up for you to decide. Jennifer Peters finds an inventive use of saran wrap in the delightful “Sealed for Freshness.”
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Bondage, Vegas and cupcakes in my photocomix profile in Seth Kushner's CulturePOP
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Friday, November 12, 2010
Best Bondage Erotica 2011 is out now!
Best Bondage Erotica 2011 just hit bookstores, online and off, and is one of my favorite books I’ve edited so far, plus the start of a sizzling new series. Next week I’ll be sharing a special collaboration I worked on with photographer Seth Kushner for CulturePOP, where I’m tied up and my story “Vegas Treat” gets the star treatment. So stay tuned for that and more, but for now, a little bondage teaser...excerpts from all the stories coming soon.
Postcards are on their way. Want one? Send your US address (sorry, I can't afford to send them internationally) to bestbondage2011 at gmail.com with "postcard" in the subject line.
Best Bondage Erotica 2011 is edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and published by Cleis Press
Stay tuned for the book trailer and erotica excerpts.
Introduction: The Joy of Restraint
The Long Way Home Elizabeth Coldwell
His Little Apprentice Jacqueline Applebee
Foreign Exchange Evan Mora
The Ingénue Janine Ashbless
Reasoning Tenille Brown
Subdue Dusty Horn
Relative Anonymity Emerald
Closeted Emily Bingham
Vegas Treat Rachel Kramer Bussel
The Cartographer Angela Caperton
The Apiary Megan Butcher
Wired Lisabet Sarai
How the Little Mermaid Got Her Tail Back Andrea Dale
The Lady or the Tiger Bill Kte’pi
Sealed for Freshness Jennifer Peters
Stocks and Bonds Rita Winchester
Helen Lay Bound Suzanne V. Slate
The Rainmaker Elizabeth Daniels
Do You See What I Feel? Teresa Noelle Roberts
Truss Issues Lux Zakari
Introduction: The Joy of Restraint
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised to find, when putting together this anthology, that about 75 percent of the story submissions involved the submissive’s, or bottom’s, point of view. When it comes to bondage, the feeling of giving in, surrendering, allowing oneself to be placed at someone else’s mercy, comes alive on the page, and these authors certainly know how to vividly depict that appeal. Though there are stories here from a top’s perspective, told by dominants who delight in the thrill of watching a lover squirm, struggle and submit, most of the stories here go the other way.
Take “The Rainmaker,” by Elizabeth Daniels, in which Amy, a bit uncertain, allows herself to overcome her fears and get tied up:
Darkness and the ropes enfolded Amy like a chrysalis. Her mind was clear, finally at peace. After months of agonizing over every step of foreplay, after sex that consisted of checklists and flow charts compiled from hours of research, for once, she did not need to think or plan. Like extradark chocolate, such dependence was not something she would want every day, but for the moment, it was a bite of bitter bliss.
I especially appreciate the stories here that illuminate the leap of faith one needs to make to allow someone else to bind him. In “Truss Issues,” Emy repeatedly tells Samir that she’s not into bondage, doesn’t want to be tied up and yet, somewhere inside, she knows that isn’t totally true. “To her surprise, her body didn’t sync up to her beliefs. She felt a warm liquid rush flood her cunt… Cursing her body for its betrayal, Emy nestled her teeth in her lower lip and forced her breathing to remain calm, to not come out as a needy whimper.” What happens when she surrenders teaches her that she doesn’t have to give up all of herself to enjoy the sweet friction and emotional journey that submission to bondage can incur.
In the lesbian scene in Dusty Horn’s “Subdue,” the narrator finds herself, finds the core of her submission and learns how to be patient.
After what seems like eons without touch, her hot hand on my chin is electrifying. She lifts it up and back, pressing something against my smooth exposed throat. Tugging firmly up on the hair at the nape of my neck, she wraps the rest of the mystery object against the top of my spine where my still body meets my busy mind.
“This is mine,” she hums to me as she slides a metal clasp into place. “This is not your collar. It’s mine, for you to wear.”
The collar bulges around my neck, a leather halo engorged with blood.
Other stories stand out for their unique scenarios. In “The Ingénue,” by Janine Ashbless, a young woman finds a bound man outside in the yard, and goes to investigate this curious vision. “How the Little Mermaid Got Her Tail Back,” by Andrea Dale, puts a kinky twist on a beloved fairy tale. In “Sealed for Freshness,” Mitchell pays for his disobedience with a flogging against his plastic-wrapped skin, while in “Stocks and Bonds,” some historical role-play at a Renaissance Festival leaves Kerri begging for mercy.
I was looking for stories that spanned the world of bondage, and boy did I get that! Here, you’ll find rope and handcuffs, as you might expect, but you’ll also find cling wrap, Ethernet cables, stocks and bonds, silk ties and other implements whose creators probably didn’t intend them to be used in kinky play. There’s bondage at the office, bondage onstage and under a red turtleneck sweater dress. There are bondage beginners and seasoned pros, men and women who offer up their wrists, ankles, necks and other body parts to those just itching to play with them.
This is a book for anyone who wants to know what’s so arousing about being tied up. Whether you’ve ever experienced bondage or not, these authors boldly take you along as they negotiate what they are and aren’t willing to give up, and illustrate the blissful beauty that can take place, inside and out, when you make the choice to give up some of your freedom and mobility in order to access the world from a new perspective.
If what drew you to this book was the stunningly sexy image on the cover, I can assure you that the stories you’ll find inside is just as hot—possibly even hotter. They are about so much more than simply what one looks like while tied up: for instance, what it feels like to wait, longing for release while also hoping the joy of restraint never ends. That push/pull is at the heart of bondage, and that is what you will experience along with the characters, those brave subs, brats, bad girls and naughty boys who offer themselves up so their masters and mistresses—and you, the reader—can savor them, one click of the handcuffs at a time.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2011 from:
Amazon.com
Kindle edition (coming soon)
Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)
Books-a-Million
Borders
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press
Postcards are on their way. Want one? Send your US address (sorry, I can't afford to send them internationally) to bestbondage2011 at gmail.com with "postcard" in the subject line.
Best Bondage Erotica 2011 is edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and published by Cleis Press
Stay tuned for the book trailer and erotica excerpts.
Introduction: The Joy of Restraint
The Long Way Home Elizabeth Coldwell
His Little Apprentice Jacqueline Applebee
Foreign Exchange Evan Mora
The Ingénue Janine Ashbless
Reasoning Tenille Brown
Subdue Dusty Horn
Relative Anonymity Emerald
Closeted Emily Bingham
Vegas Treat Rachel Kramer Bussel
The Cartographer Angela Caperton
The Apiary Megan Butcher
Wired Lisabet Sarai
How the Little Mermaid Got Her Tail Back Andrea Dale
The Lady or the Tiger Bill Kte’pi
Sealed for Freshness Jennifer Peters
Stocks and Bonds Rita Winchester
Helen Lay Bound Suzanne V. Slate
The Rainmaker Elizabeth Daniels
Do You See What I Feel? Teresa Noelle Roberts
Truss Issues Lux Zakari
Introduction: The Joy of Restraint
Perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised to find, when putting together this anthology, that about 75 percent of the story submissions involved the submissive’s, or bottom’s, point of view. When it comes to bondage, the feeling of giving in, surrendering, allowing oneself to be placed at someone else’s mercy, comes alive on the page, and these authors certainly know how to vividly depict that appeal. Though there are stories here from a top’s perspective, told by dominants who delight in the thrill of watching a lover squirm, struggle and submit, most of the stories here go the other way.
Take “The Rainmaker,” by Elizabeth Daniels, in which Amy, a bit uncertain, allows herself to overcome her fears and get tied up:
Darkness and the ropes enfolded Amy like a chrysalis. Her mind was clear, finally at peace. After months of agonizing over every step of foreplay, after sex that consisted of checklists and flow charts compiled from hours of research, for once, she did not need to think or plan. Like extradark chocolate, such dependence was not something she would want every day, but for the moment, it was a bite of bitter bliss.
I especially appreciate the stories here that illuminate the leap of faith one needs to make to allow someone else to bind him. In “Truss Issues,” Emy repeatedly tells Samir that she’s not into bondage, doesn’t want to be tied up and yet, somewhere inside, she knows that isn’t totally true. “To her surprise, her body didn’t sync up to her beliefs. She felt a warm liquid rush flood her cunt… Cursing her body for its betrayal, Emy nestled her teeth in her lower lip and forced her breathing to remain calm, to not come out as a needy whimper.” What happens when she surrenders teaches her that she doesn’t have to give up all of herself to enjoy the sweet friction and emotional journey that submission to bondage can incur.
In the lesbian scene in Dusty Horn’s “Subdue,” the narrator finds herself, finds the core of her submission and learns how to be patient.
After what seems like eons without touch, her hot hand on my chin is electrifying. She lifts it up and back, pressing something against my smooth exposed throat. Tugging firmly up on the hair at the nape of my neck, she wraps the rest of the mystery object against the top of my spine where my still body meets my busy mind.
“This is mine,” she hums to me as she slides a metal clasp into place. “This is not your collar. It’s mine, for you to wear.”
The collar bulges around my neck, a leather halo engorged with blood.
Other stories stand out for their unique scenarios. In “The Ingénue,” by Janine Ashbless, a young woman finds a bound man outside in the yard, and goes to investigate this curious vision. “How the Little Mermaid Got Her Tail Back,” by Andrea Dale, puts a kinky twist on a beloved fairy tale. In “Sealed for Freshness,” Mitchell pays for his disobedience with a flogging against his plastic-wrapped skin, while in “Stocks and Bonds,” some historical role-play at a Renaissance Festival leaves Kerri begging for mercy.
I was looking for stories that spanned the world of bondage, and boy did I get that! Here, you’ll find rope and handcuffs, as you might expect, but you’ll also find cling wrap, Ethernet cables, stocks and bonds, silk ties and other implements whose creators probably didn’t intend them to be used in kinky play. There’s bondage at the office, bondage onstage and under a red turtleneck sweater dress. There are bondage beginners and seasoned pros, men and women who offer up their wrists, ankles, necks and other body parts to those just itching to play with them.
This is a book for anyone who wants to know what’s so arousing about being tied up. Whether you’ve ever experienced bondage or not, these authors boldly take you along as they negotiate what they are and aren’t willing to give up, and illustrate the blissful beauty that can take place, inside and out, when you make the choice to give up some of your freedom and mobility in order to access the world from a new perspective.
If what drew you to this book was the stunningly sexy image on the cover, I can assure you that the stories you’ll find inside is just as hot—possibly even hotter. They are about so much more than simply what one looks like while tied up: for instance, what it feels like to wait, longing for release while also hoping the joy of restraint never ends. That push/pull is at the heart of bondage, and that is what you will experience along with the characters, those brave subs, brats, bad girls and naughty boys who offer themselves up so their masters and mistresses—and you, the reader—can savor them, one click of the handcuffs at a time.
Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City
Order Best Bondage Erotica 2011 from:
Amazon.com
Kindle edition (coming soon)
Bn.com (Barnes & Noble)
Books-a-Million
Borders
Powell's
IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)
Cleis Press