by Alison Tyler
Brett sneered and gave her the world’s most sexist fanny-grab.
“I know you will, slut. I know you will.”
As Brett led her to the bank of elevators, Megan took one last look to make sure his wife was nowhere to be seen.
It wouldn’t be any fun if Brett spotted Whitney before Megan got his pants off, now, would it?
Well, not as much fun, at least.
And Whit’s cop uniform was convincing—but not that convincing. For one thing, her moustache was crooked.
A is for Anal, Z is for Zenith
By Shanna Germain
Anal, she says. It’s what I want. And who are you to say no?
But…
My protest is silenced by the sharp click of Karin’s tongue. I stand at the foot of the bed, head down, hands behind my back. If I opened my eyes, I would see my cock, high and hard, and I would see Karin, sprawled naked on the bed, that teasing glint in her dark blue eyes. But I don’t open them. She hasn’t said to. Instead, I stand, trying to be patient, trying to behave, while she tells me what she wants.
Clearly, we have some work to do on this obedience thing, she says, and her voice is sharp with play, but also with real power. The kind of power that normally makes me want to crawl to her on my knees. But right now, I’m more scared of what she’s asking than I am of her. Yes, we certainly have some work to do.
Do we? I ask, my voice almost quiet. Hoping not. I’m a well-behaved boy for the most part. I wear my collar. I do as she asks. But I don’t know how to be the submissive one and still give her what she wants. Anal. How do I do that?
Evan, she says, her scold soft. I hear the sound of her shifting across sheets, so I know she’s coming nearer. My cock twitches at the audible brush of skin over cloth—I can’t help it, and I hope she won’t notice. Did you just question me?
Forgive me. It is a whisper, a choke. My hands tighten their grip behind me back. My chin touches my chest as I wait, what seems like forever, for her to offer her forgiveness.
* * *
Granted, she says, finally. I am so grateful for her kindness that I feel the warm swell of tears behind my closed lids.
Her hands circle my cock, the touch sudden and warm, strong fingers tightening around the base of me so that my stomach draws up, catching my breath hard in my chest. To make it worse—or better—Karin’s breath heats the tip of my cock, and then there is her tongue, a flicker, a rasp, the wet warmth of it along my sensitive skin. Only for a second before she pulls away.
I want you to fuck my ass, she says. Can you do that, Evan?
Just because it ends in a question mark doesn’t mean it is a question. It is a command, surrounded in something else, and the tone of her voice alone is enough to make the blood pump through my cock, to make me ache for more of her fingers, more of her mouth.
Karin. Her name falls away before it is fully formed. Her hand tightens, and I swallow away the fear that rolls through me, taste desire as it rises. She asks so much of me, but never, ever has she asked anything that I cannot, that I do not want to give. Yes, I say. Yes I can.
Lovely boy, she says, and her hands and mouth tease me, tease me, tongue and lips, a soft nip of teeth, all the while her fingers tight about me, slow from base to tip. Let’s make you hard. She laughs between tugs of her mouth. Harder, rather.
My cock is already hard, so hard, at the tug of her mouth, but I can’t say that. I can’t say anything, only thrust against her as she’ll let me, searching deeper for the heat of her throat, her mouth. If she doesn’t slow, she’s going to tug my orgasm from me, a roaring thing that I won’t be able to control. I want her to stop—she hasn’t said I can come, and I don’t want to disobey her—but I want her to never stop. She pushes down, so that my tip is deep against her throat and everything rises inside me, swelling, surging....
No, she says. She’s pulled away, hard and fast, leaving me aching and arching, cock twitching upward toward the sound of her breath and words. You know better. I do. I know better. I bow my head, trying to slow my breath, trying to still the orgasm that is barely held, trembling, on the verge.
Open your eyes, Evan, she says. When I do, I see she is holding a bottle of lube in one hand. It’s the lube she usually uses on me, when she bends me down on the bed to fuck my ass, and the sight of it brings a quiet groan from deep in my throat. That’s without even looking at her—my wife, my mistress, her pale curves against the black sheets, her freckled skin, the wicked expression in her green eyes holding me in place.
Put your cock in me, Evan, she says. I take the lube, marveling at how different it feels this time, holding it, when I know I am going to use it on her instead of on myself. The edge of my orgasm slides away slightly, inside my fear. What am I afraid of, why have I avoided this? Because I don’t know how to top her, how to fuck Karin’s ass while still being her submissive, her toy? Yes, and yes again. I don’t want to be her dom, have never wanted that power. I like to be bent and broken at her feet, to be pushed beyond myself, to hold my orgasm or let go, as she commands it.
Quit, Karin says, as she touches my cheek with her palm. Quit worrying. Her voice is soft, quiet, but also a command. She knows me so well, knows this is hard for me. I want to please her, of course I do. She knows it is what I live for. What I love for.
Ready? she asks, and I nod against her hand, even though I’m not. Karin turns, presents herself on all fours, the wide curves of her ass beckoning for my touch. The length of her back is a beautiful thing, all muscle and flesh, narrowing at the waist before it blooms into hips, into ass. I coat myself with lube until I am slick, not waiting for her command. I know what she wants, what she aches for. We’ve talked about it a hundred times, a thousand. How I will fuck her at her command, enter the soft hold of her ass, let her control the pace, let her control me, even as I’m inside that most tender of places.
Slowly, slowly, I circle my coated fingertips along the pink swirl between her cheeks. She opens for me, so easily, the heat and clench around my fingers. Her fingers are already on her clit, a soft, wet brushstroke, a sound that makes me impossibly harder.
Take me. Fuck, Evan, take me. The command, choked and half-grunted, is all I need. I circle my fingers inside her again, curling them softly, and then I remove them, letting just the tip of my cock rest at the opening of her ass. She breathes out, an exhale that releases her so that I can begin to slide into her, slow, the lubed heat of her body circling me. Her hips arch backward, the curves of her ass are in my hands and I’m sinking inside her, barely holding on, barely, barely.
Under me, Karin is moaning, her voice falling and rising, the keening croons that mean she’s getting close. Her hand faster and faster across her clit, and my cock, sliding into her tight wet clench.
Visions of her is all I can see—the pale skin of her curves, offset by the pink of her ass, the way it deepens to rose as she gasps my name, as she tells me she’s coming, as she finally, finally, gives me permission to come. Now, she says, now, and I release into her with all that I have, the roar of orgasm and the pleasure of her voice, finding its command, telling me what’s next.
Who do you belong to? she asks. Her breath is gasped and broken, her voice a pitch of pleasure that makes my own words almost impossible to find. But I do find the answer, and I say it over and over while we shift and collapse, our bodies falling in an untangled knot of pleasure and release on the bed.
X is what she draws on my chest with my own come, or hers, or ours, a map of ownership, a treasure chest for which she holds the only key. Mine, she says and her voice is purred with possession.
Yours, I say.
Zenith. Perfection. Climax. The high point we all seek. I am hers, and that makes her mine.
All I ever wanted.
How Early?
By Thomas S. Roche
“It’s past my bedtime,” he yawned.
“It’s past everyone’s bedtime,” she yawned. “But…I kind of want to go another round.”
“How many times has it been already?”
“I lost count.”
“So did I. Double digits.”
“No.”
“Maybe?”
“No,” she said. “Not even close. You’re sure I’ve exhausted you?”
“Totally.”
She snuggled. “We’ll pick up in the morning, then.”
“Definitely,” he said, ruffling her hair. He yawned again.
“Do you sleep late?” she asked.
She covered another, smaller yawn while he thought about it. It was the first time they’d ever spent the night together; it had not come up in the six hours since they’d met.
“Well,” he yawned back, his mixed-up inhale—exhale infusing his consciousness with the scent of her sex, which was all over both of them. “Not really. Eleven, twelve. Sometimes one.”
“Oh,” she said, frowning.
“Why?” he asked.
“I wake up early.” She yawned again. “Early,” she repeated, syllables distorted into a faint howl. “Early,” she said a third time, in case he’d missed it in the yawn.
“Okay,” he yawned back. “How early?”
Her hand, wet with spunk, curved around his spent cock. The latter stirred slightly. It puttered like a tortured diesel. He winced; the thing was well used.
She pursed her lips and drew her hand away, sighing sadly. She put her lips to his throat. “Early,” she said.
“How early?”
“I wake up horny.”
“Um,” he said. “How early?”
“Incredibly horny,” she said, her naked body all over him. She writhed and squirmed and humped atop his sweat-moist form, her tongue trailing, juicy, over his fuck-sweaty neck. She nipped at his earlobe. She undulated dancerlike on his body. Her tits caressed his chest, nipples hard. She spread her legs. She straddled him, her sex descending until it nuzzled his soft cock. “I mean incredibly horny,” she positively purred. “I may just have to take advantage of you.”
“Oh,” he said, “Ha, ha, um—”
“Is that all right?” she sighed into his ear.
He cleared his throat. “Oh, ha,” he said. “Well, you can’t take advantage of the willing.” He tried to laugh. It sounded more like the sound of a choking victim finally expiring.
She issued a small yawn, warm against his neck, and put her full lips up to his ear.
“Oh,” she sighed. “I think I can.”
She cuddled hard and soft atop him, spread, her sex nuzzled up to his, caressing.
He said, “How early do you wake up, again?”
She yawned. “Early,” she said.
Then she was asleep. She breathed softly in his ear.
He felt his cock ache as it rested against her thigh. There in the dark and the scent and the heat of her, he stared at the ceiling and watched the clock change and felt his cock throb, pained, against her still-moist flesh.
He thought, How early…?
* * * * *
About the Authors
John Albert grew up in Los Angeles. As a teenager, he co-founded the cross-dressing “Death Rock” band Christian Death, then played drums for a stint in legendary punk band, Bad Religion. He has written for the Los Angeles Times, the LA Weekly, Fader, and Hustler among other publications, winning national awards for sports and music writing. Essays have appeared in anthologies including Reality Matters, The Show I’ll Never Forget, SLAKE, The Enlightened Bracketologist: The Final Four of Everything and others. The film rights to his book Wrecking Crew (Scribner), chronicling the true-life adventures of his amateur baseball team comprised of drug addicts, transvestites and washed up rock stars, have been optioned four times, most recently by the esteemed actor Philip Seymour Hoffman.
Janine Ashbless has written short stories for Spice, Cleis Press, Ellora’s Cave, Black Lace, Nexus, Rubicund and Ravenous Romance—most are not as short as the ones in this anthology however! Her Harlequin Spice stories appear in Alison’s Wonderland and With this Ring I Thee Bed, both edited by Alison Tyler. She lives in the U.K. with two greyhounds who would love to chase hares but aren’t allowed, and blogs at www.janineashbless.blogspot.com where she enthuses about mythology, Victorian art and minotaurs.
Vida Bailey is a teacher and mother who aspires to be a real writer someday. She lives in Ireland and loves the way that stories will sometimes play themselves out in her head when she needs them to. She does also struggle with deadlines. She thinks that sex is a subject that holds the key to most of our emotions and that’s why she likes to write about it. And also because it’s hot. She has previously published stories in Alison Tyler’s Hurts So Good and Sommer Marsden’s Dirtyville. You can find her naughty little musings at www.heatsuffused.blogspot.com. Come visit!
By day, Jax Baynard is a financial investment advisor. By night, she makes her own (and her clients’) fantasies come true. This part-time dominatrix’s short fiction has appeared in With This Ring, I Thee Bed, as well as in Pleasure Bound, online and in several literary journals.
Violet Blue (tinynibbles.com), a Forbes Web Celeb, is regarded as the foremost expert in the field of sex and tech, and a media pundit (MacLife, Oprah). Violet has many award-winning, best selling books and is the editor of the long-running award-winning series Best Women’s Erotica. Her newest nonfiction book is Total Flirt. A ZDNet/CBSi columnist, she headlines about sex at conferences including ETech, LeWeb, Gnomedex and Google Tech Talks at Google, Inc.
Heidi Champa has been published in numerous anthologies including Best Women’s Erotica 2010, Playing With Fire, Frenzy and Alison’s Wonderland. She has also steamed up the pages of BUST Magazine. If you prefer your erotica in electronic form, she can be found at Clean Sheets, Ravenous Romance, Oysters and Chocolate and The Erotic Woman. Find her online at heidichampa.blogspot.com.
Portia Da Costa is a British author of romance, erotic romance and erotic fiction, and she loves creating stories about sexy likeable people in steamy situations for her dream publisher, Harlequin. She pens short contemporary and historical tales for Spice Briefs and has a full length Victorian-set erotic romance—In the Flesh— in the pipeline for Harlequin Spice. Portia lives in West Yorkshire in the United Kingdom with her husband and her beloved cats, and when she’s not writing she loves reading and watching TV. You can read excerpts of her writing at http://www.portiadacosta.com and find out more about her at http://wendyportia.blogspot.com and http://www.twitter.com/portiadacosta.
Dante Davidson wrote The Secrets for Great Sex after 50, when he was 28 years old. He is the co-author with Alison Tyler of Bondage on a Budget. His short stories have appeared in Sweet Life, Volumes 1 and 2, Naughty Fairy Tales from A to Z, Bondage, and Naughty Stories from A to Z, and on the web sites www.goodvibes.com and www.tinynibbles.com.
Jeremy Edwards is the author of the erotocomedic novel Rock My Socks Off and the erotic story collection Spark My Moment. His quirky, libidinous tales have appeared in over fifty anthologies, including three volumes in the Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica series, and he has read his work live at New York’s In the Flesh and Philadelphia’s Erotic Literary Salon. Jeremy’s greatest goal in life is to be sexy and witty at the same moment—ideally in lighting that flatters his profile. Readers can drop in on him unannounced (and thereby catch him in his underwear) at www.jeremyedwardserotica.com.
Justine Elyot has written about lust, lashes, love and leather for publishers including Black Lace, Cleis Press, Xcite Books, Total E-Bound, Noble Romance and Carina Press. As well as numerous short stories, she has produced the full-length books On Demand (Black Lace) and The Business of Pleasure (Xcite Books). The more she writes, the more she wants to wr
ite.
Shanna Germain has a thing for short and sweet, from knee-tremblers to mini-bites to micro-fiction. Her work of all lengths has appeared in places like Alison’s Wonderland, Best American Erotica, Best Bondage Erotica, Best Gay Romance, Best Lesbian Romance and With This Ring, I Thee Bed. Come for a visit at www.shannagermain.com.
Emma Hillman never plans her stories. She just lets the characters have fun and hopes the ending will make sense. It usually does. Her first book, Location, Location, Location (eXcessica, August 2009), garnered a 5-star Top Pick review from Night Owl Reviews, who said it “was a memorable, remarkable and phenomenally scorching read.” Besides being a multi-published author of erotica and romance, she works full-time and lives in Paris with a (nice) husband, a (cute) little girl, and two sweet but (very) loud pets. She also reads far too much as the postman (and her banker) could attest, but shhhh.
Victoria Janssen’s most recent erotic novel is The Duke and the Pirate Queen, from Harlequin Spice. It’s a sequel to The Duchess, Her Maid, The Groom and Their Lover. The Moonlight Mistress, an erotic paranormal historical set during World War One, was nominated for an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award. She’s a member of SFWA, RWA, and Novelists, Inc. She lives in Philadelphia. Find out more about Victoria and her writing at victoriajanssen.com.
Georgia E. Jones graduated with an MFA from Mills College. Her stories have appeared in Alison’s Wonderland, the Santa Barbara Review and the literary magazine Estero. She lives in Northern California.
Ashley Lister is the pseudonymous author of more than two dozen erotic fiction titles, countless short stories, as well as two non-fiction titles exploring the secret lives of the U.K.’s swinging community. Aside from working as a performance poet, he currently teaches creative writing in North West England.
Kristina Lloyd is the author of three erotic novels including the controversial Black Lace publication, Asking for Trouble. Her short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies and her novels have been translated into German, Dutch and Japanese. Kristina kinks for female submission, bondage and dark, dangerous men, and her fiction reflects this. She’s written on sex and feminism for The Guardian and was co-founder of Erotica Cover Watch, a popular blog campaigning against sexist book covers in erotica publishing. She has a master’s degree in twentieth-century literature and has been described as “a fresh literary talent” who “writes sex with a formidable force.” She lives in Brighton on the south coast of England. For more, visit http://kristinalloyd.wordpress.com.