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You can hear Stephen Elliott read TONIGHT from his anthology Sex for America: Politically Inspired Erotica at my reading series In The Flesh at 8 pm, Happy Ending Lounge, 302 Broome Street, NYC. 21+ and it’s FREE and I have free porn DVDs to give away, plenty of free food, including chips, candy, and mini cupcakes, and…a free copy of Sex for America to one lucky attendee! (You can also purchase books from Mobile Libris tonight.)
Here’s a teaser from his story “It’s Cold Outside” in Yes, Ma’am: Erotic Stories of Male Submission. And guess what? Books have arrived at my publisher’s office, so should be in stories next week. That means you only have a few days to pre-order and save 5% on Amazon, or you can also order directly (free shipping!) from Cleis Press. Yay! if you haven’t gotten a Yes, Ma’am postcard yet and want one (and are in the U.S.), email me your mailing address to yesantho at gmail.com and I’ll send it out – while supplies last.
“You were so good,” she told me. I wanted to smile but the sock was still in my mouth and my jaw hurt and I was dizzy with dehydration. “We’re almost done, okay?”
I nodded my head.
“I’m going to take this gag off you, but I don’t want you to say anything yet. Can you handle that?” I nodded again and she peeled the duct tape off and I didn’t scream and then she pulled the sock out of my mouth and held my head and gave me water from a glass. It was the kind of glass that comes in sets of twelve at Target. Everything seemed so ordinary. After I drank the whole glass I started to cry again. I cried a lot and she didn’t make any move to comfort me but she didn’t try to get me to stop either. I thought she would gag me again or slap me but she didn’t.
When I stopped crying she undid the line connecting my ankles to my wrists. She slowly pulled my legs straight and rolled me from my side onto my back. She pulled the pins out, then washed me with peroxide, water, and a sponge. She paid a lot of attention between my legs, holding the sponge against the tip of my penis, pressing on my balls.
“I’d like you to eat me out. Could you do that?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said, though I wasn’t sure she wanted a verbal answer.
“Can I eat you out, please?” I said, and she lifted her skirt and sat on my face. I was enveloped in her, her pubic hair brushing my lips, ass pressing on my cheeks. I pushed my tongue as far into her as it would go. She tasted sour and thick. I tried to do a good job because I didn’t want her to get off of me. I went down on her for a long time and she ran her nails gently across my wounds.
Next week I’m getting in some Yes, Ma’am: Erotic Stories of Male Submission postcards (and books should be here next month!) and if you’d like one, just send your name and mailing address to yesantho at gmail.com – U.S. only! Thanks for your support and for pre-ordering the book from Amazon – it’s already on their top 100 erotica bestsellers list! You save 5% if you pre-order it too – and while the official pub date is March 28th, I have a feeling they might be in a little sooner. I promise this book is going to be as yummy inside as the cover photo is.
So as it turns out, I have…a LOT of extra She’s on Top postcards. Like, thousands. And I need to make room for the pretty new Yes, Ma’am ones I’m getting. So if you’re in the U.S. and would like a She’s on Top postcards, just send your name and mailing address to me at rachelkramerbussel at gmail.com with “She’s postcard” in the subject line and I’ll mail it right out. Thanks!
NRAMA: Next, in August, you’re launching Dominatrix, a title you described as “T&A meets CIA.” You’re giving the world its first dominatrix superhero?
GS: Dominatrix came to me in a flash. Comic books, and pop culture in general, have always toyed around with the leather/rubber-bound heroine. It’s sexy and kickass. They always skirted the sexuality issue. I decided to meet it head-on (so to speak…). First, I wondered if Dominatrix (the title) was available as a trademark. Surprisingly, it was. Then, I took a semi-real dominatrix I know socially (not in that way) and after talking with her about the lifestyle, combined it with clandestine, Manchurian Candidate/Nick Fury-Hydra stuff… oh, yes, and pills. Special pills.
Who or what is THE COMPANY?
And, who are THEM?
And, what do they want?
More about all of this in the pages of Dominatrix.
This is one of many awesome and sexy pieces of art by Eve Poland, who has an exhibit of her artwork up at London’s wonderful sex toy shop for women, Sh! I went there today and bought an “eco-flogger” (flogger made out of recycled tires) and perused all their kinky offerings. Definitely check out Eve’s other artwork, and stop by Sh! to buy some for yourself (or, even better, for your mistress).
Here’s an excerpt of an excerpt from Susan Winemaker’s Concertina: An Erotic Memoir of Extravagant Tastes and Extreme Desires, out January 8th in the U.S. from St. Martin’s
It’s 11:25 a.m. and I’m sitting on and suffocating Bernie. I’m wearing a black rubber skirt that looks like a ballerina’s tutu and in my hands are ten pence coins with which I’m rapidly flicking his nipples. In thirty-six seconds, by a matter of inches, I will suddenly lift from my sitting position which releases the seal from my rubber clad crotch, and listen to his fitful gasps for air. Together with Mozart’s piano concerto in E flat, these are the sounds that fill the tiny room. And today I can add the maniacal whine of a remote-controlled toy car and the shouting of boys in an otherwise sleepy suburban street. I can see my reflection in a wall of mirrors. There’s a pair of scissors by my left and a clock with the seconds hand to my right.
The unknown is an instrument of control full of endless possibilities—which is half the reason I blindfold Bernie. Of course he knows what’s coming, but he never knows exactly when it’s coming. There’s no time for him to prepare, to fill his lungs when suddenly I shift from a squat position to my full weight on his mouth and nose. Bernie has never dictated my style, nor has he ever acknowledged its effectiveness. It’s me that imagines the unknown makes suffocation more frightening and exciting.
Blogger Unsepeakable Axe, who describes himself as “A New York submissive, masochist and romantic, “wookin’ pa nub” and trying to have fun along the way..,” asks “Am I A Masochist?”
Some define a masochist as someone who can take a lot of pain, others say its someone who can have an orgasm from it.
I’ll say, from my limited experience with caning, that I’m more of the former. But then again, I’ve never been caned by someone I was really into.
One of the hottest experiences in my life was when I was out on a date with someone, we were making out and she dug her fingernails deep into my side (so deep I had marks in my side for months and months afterwards).
I was in heaven. She whispered in my ear “I love that you’re a pain-slut”. It wad one of the sexiest things anyone has ever said to me. Sadly that was as far as it went with her.
I do know that, when it comes to caning, I can usually take a lot of pain. I friggin’ love it. I love taking it for that person, feeling their power and….ok I guess I am getting turned on by it.
I also love the emotional release. I’ve only had one really really good beating and I ended up crying because of it (and because while in deep subspace I thought heard the voice of the woman I was desperate for at the time).