Announcing: Table of Contents for Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year Volume 5 (2021)

I have been eagerly waiting to share with you the work from the next Best Lesbian Erotica volume — and I can’t, yet, because it doesn’t come out until December — but here is the table of contents!

Here’s the book write-up:

Testing the boundaries of pleasure and pain… To be so full of longing you ache for release… Coming to climax without a single touch.

The fifth volume of the Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year anthology series explores and expands on the very definition of eroticism with a diverse mix of queer, non-binary, trans, and polyamorous #ownvoices that will have you quivering with delight and wondering what more you can explore—no matter how you identify. More than just steamy sex stories, this volume offers the quiet sexuality of emotional security, the overwhelming thrill of discovering something new, and a tale for every taste—from vanilla to kink to strap-ons and sodomy.

Now more than ever, it is crucial to see unique, underrepresented viewpoints across the literary spectrum. Award-winning author and editor Sinclair Sexsmith delivers in an anthology that is both tender and tantalizing, emotional and evocative.

Here’s the Table of Contents for Volume 5!

1. Max and the Things I Couldn’t Say — Heart
2. On a Hot and Humid Night — Mx. Nillin Lore
3. Whatever I Want, Whatever I Say — Sinclair Sexsmith
4. Pure Energy — Giselle Renarde
5. Three Options — Nicole Field
6. Blood — Anita Cassidy
7. A Night Out — Amanda N
8. The Supplicant — Michelle Osgood
9. Torrent and Tumult — June Amelia Rose
10. The One Penis Policy — Tobi Hill-Meyer
11. The Summer of Strap-Ons and Sodomy — Rain DeGrey
12. Strand of Pearls — Mary Burns
13. Restraint — Kiki DeLovely
14. I Wouldn’t Be the Same Without Her — Kathleen Lamothe
15. Yes Ma’am — K.J. Drake
16. The Estranged — GB Lindsey
17. Owning a Cock — Amy Butcher

I love each & every of these stories. They are very different from each other, but the thread through is a personal empowerment through playing with sexuality, eroticism, power, and BDSM.

Can’t wait for you to read the whole thing!

Call For Submissions: Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year Volume 6 (2022), due October 31, 2020

Editor: Sinclair Sexsmith

Publisher: Cleis Press

Deadline: October 31, 2020 (earlier encouraged)

Payment: $50 and 1 copy of the book within 90 days of publication

Rights: non-exclusive right to publish the story in this anthology in print, ebook and audiobook form. Authors will retain copyright to their stories.

Sinclair Sexsmith is editing the next volume of Best Lesbian Erotica, and is looking for your best sexy stories about queer women.

Representations of queer women, non-binary, and trans women’s sexuality that are not as frequently seen — with ability, race, ethnicity, class, neurodiversity, ace-spectrum, age, religion, or other marginalized viewpoints — are particularly of interest.

Writers who have not previously published are encouraged. Writers of color, particularly Black writers, are encouraged.

#Ownvoices stories are encouraged and will be prioritized.

The anthology is not limited to certain kinds of sex acts. “Vanilla,” BDSM, fetish, ace, and all kinds of sensual and sexual expression are welcome. I will be looking for a wide variety of sexual identities: mommy, mistress, sir, puppy, girl, servant, etc.

I will consider a few reprints published in 2020, but prefer unpublished stories. No simultaneous submissions. No poetry or speculative fiction.

Up to two submissions per author. Stories should be between 2500-4000 words.

Submissions in English required; American English not required, but we will edit it to be in American English eventually. If there are cultural specifics, we’ll work on how to translate them into American English during the editing process.
 
Characters must be a minimum of 18. All stories have to be within legal guidelines, including no incest, beastiality, necrophilia, consent violations, or other illegal acts. If something illegal happens in the story, it should be within a context where it’s understood it’s illegal in some way. 
 
No specific requirements for formatting the text, but the closer you can be to standard publishing formatting, the better for us during the editing process.  
– legible, standard font (times, arial) in a typical size (12ish)
– no underlines or bold, use italics for emphasis
– no specifications for indentations & spacing, as long as it’s legible. I usually do no indents at the beginning of paragraphs and double space after paragraphs, but the final manuscript will be set up by editors at Cleis Press based on their specifications. 

Please submit your work through this Google form: http://bitly.com/blev6

If it does not work to submit your story via this form, please contact Sinclair directly at [email protected] with the subject line “Best Lesbian Erotica submission” and include your story as an attachment in .doc, .docx or .rtf format. Include the story title, your legal name, pseudonym (if applicable), 100-word bio, previous publication information for the story (if applicable), and mailing address.

Queries are welcome; contact [email protected].

First Time With Daddy, Guest Post by Kimberly Dark (Excerpt from The Daddies)

excerpt from The Daddies by Kimberly DarkBrill | Sense (October 24, 2018)
Content: Sex, daddy/girl language, bondage. All characters are 18 years of age or older.

I am interested in finding out what she means. She is articulate and open with a confident stance. She is tall, not particularly attractive, grey-blue eyes and ruddy white skin. Her hair is fluffy, not quite curly, as though it carries its own small wind. Still, she seems strong; she speaks with curiosity and good grammar. She has good posture. These things attract me. I react. I am a spasming muscle; she is the stimulant. We flirt – in that ambiguous way that can never convict us.

I meet her at a university where I am giving a talk. I am the expert on gender for this evening. She is in attendance. It could be any city, any university – but it isn’t. I used to live in this city – Colorado Springs. I have a history here, finished my undergraduate work at this very campus. I have connections here – and here she is, connecting to me.

After my talk on gender roles, she lingers to question, to hold my gaze, to touch my elbow in conversation as we walk together to the parking lot after the event. I want to know what she means when she says, “There are complexities to this butch/femme thing that I wonder how much you know about. Some things I don’t know who to talk to about. The sexual identities…” She pauses, and then continues. “I don’t know how much you know about the leather community …”

She pauses again. It wasn’t really a question; she intended to continue all along.

“In the leather community, I am a Daddy. But because I pass for femme, I don’t get much recognition, much respect. And I think, I could change my appearance, but I don’t want to. I like to be soft too.”

She seems to read my attentive silence, renegotiates her admissions and adds, “but you know, I also used to be a bottom, and I looked a little more butch then.”

This admission is unique – her timing, bold. I am nodding, pondering the creation of balance between appearance and behavior. I could say, “You’re so big and strong, so forward and in control of this conversation. I think you have the credibility of a Daddy, despite the long hair, the eyeliner.”

I don’t say this. I think it. Fascinating. And so it begins, an academic discourse. She is a seeker. I am a teacher. She is a Daddy. I enjoy a considered submission. And so it begins. She watches me, listens, responds, leans in. She uses the same tools of communication I use: disclosure, analysis, physical openness, negotiation, and re-negotiation.

Later, about 5 a.m., I ponder how she presented herself to me. I agreed to have coffee with her, so I will interview us both further on this theme. To what, in me, was she responding, in order to create this response in me? She is remarkably skillful, or perhaps, I don’t know that I am an easy mark for this sort of intellectual and erotic tension. I am an easy mark for curiosity about what “leather daddy” means to her, and how she does that role – what “femme” and “passing” mean to her – what “bottom” means to her.

A few years later, we are lovers – more than lovers – we are something like family. She asks me, “How did the Daddy thing start with us? Did you ask me for it?”

I stare, incredulous. “You brought it up the first time we met.”

“Right, but we were just talking about it. How did we get around to doing it? I mean, we were lovers for a few months before that came up.” She wobbles her hand around the word that, assigning it indescribable meaning.

I am fascinated that she really doesn’t remember, that she really doesn’t know what she chose in me, the first time she laid eyes on me. We have had time to think about this. I have thought about this, but apparently she hasn’t. I don’t recall my exact words – how I gave her permission to do what she did for the first time, but I know I gave permission – the soft, steady reassurance that a violation would be allowed, appreciated.

She stood on the balcony smoking her pipe, watching the light retreat over the city skyline. She was wearing her black bathrobe over her white boxer-briefs – the snug kind that keep the soft-pack in place, hug the thighs, the gluteal muscles. (“I’m developing an ass like a Clydesdale fucking you as much as we do,” she chuckled once, admiring her rear in the mirror.) She stood alone, smoking against the pink sky. We’d been lovers for a few months, but tonight, something was different. Before she walked out, she held me for a kiss, made sure I felt her cock, soft but assertive, against my pelvis.

She was quiet, and felt somehow unapproachable, enjoying her pipe in the warm night air. She was quiet and yet, entirely legible to me and I knew not to say much. I knew to wait patiently. I already loved her and had already begun making sacrifices. I tingled with anticipation that her inflexible ways would soon reward me.

I became small and quiet, a transformation prompted by her rigidity, prompted by my permission, prompted by her assertion, and prompted by my invitation. We fell like dominos, a brutal, beautiful cascade. With a different entitlement in her hands, she felt my breasts, held me around the waist and pulled me in. She kissed me differently, her tongue so deep down my throat, I couldn’t breathe for a moment and I liked it – knew not to speak of it, but I liked it. “Go get in bed, sweet girl. Take off your clothes and wait for me.” She patted my ass and I turned from her, obedient.

I saw moments of her, through the bedroom door, emptying her pipe, methodically stowing it away, washing her hands, and brushing her teeth. My skin tingled beneath the sheet. I saw her change the soft dick for the hard one, long and black, protruding beneath the bathrobe. This part was nothing new, but something was new – and I knew not to speak of it. She joined me in bed. I was on my back, her body next to me. She was propped on one elbow, gentle but assertive, touching my breasts, my belly with tender fingers, pulling me in occasionally for a hard penetrating kiss. The mutuality of our passion suspended, I became shy and waited, thrilled and a bit frightened – could I do it? Was she going to do it? We’d been talking more and more about Daddy. Still abstract, still talking. I could feel it coming. Could I? Stay present and genuine, really do it?

Deep breath. Let the body decide. Breathe. The body is deciding.

Her soft hand still on my breast, she leaned toward my ear and asked, “Are you going to give your Daddy what he wants?”

As she spoke, my throbbing thickened, slipped. The body is deciding. “Uh-huh.” I managed, and my willing embarrassment, face flushing, fueled her. She was on top of me in an instant, her hand holding my wrists above my head and pushing down, hard. I had neither the strength nor will to move and a fear of both truths fluttered gently in my stomach, the sensation drowned out by my slickening need. Her tongue down my throat, my wrists aching beneath her significant strength, she straddled me, pressed her hard cock against my belly. Her body held my legs shut.

“Daddy’s cock is going to be too big for you. Is that going to be okay?” She was speaking into my ear, between kisses. I managed a whimper and she said with a small chuckle, “That’s right, it’s going to be just fine. And afterward, when Daddy’s all done. When I’ve taken all I want, I’ll kiss you better.” She gently kissed my forehead. “I’ll clean you up with my tongue, where I hurt you. I’ll take care of you because every part of you is perfect. Every part of you is mine.” She kissed my cheek and released my wrists with a stern look and said, “Don’t move now.”

Indeed, my wrists were still bound.

My eyes wide, no words, the mind reeled briefly with astonishment. Could she not have started a little slower with the Daddy-thing? But I could feel the answer in her touch. It was too big. She was going all-in. And I would take it just as she gave it. The body was deciding.

She gently knelt between my legs and spread them. “That’s my good girl,” she said, gazing at my glisten. “Legs up,” she said. I obeyed and as she nestled down onto my body, she put one arm around my back and held me, tighter than she’d ever held me, more lovingly than I’d ever felt her. The other hand found her cock, so she could move into me slowly, her forehead against my sternum, she was feeling every moment of her entry. Her first, in a way. She said, “I’m going to go slow at first, but because you’re so good, I won’t be able to hold back once I get started.” And in she went, little by little, “Are you my good girl?” And I was nodding against her head. “That’s so good. You are my good girl.”

And my mind was lost, belly fluttering. Already all in. My body was choosing this. My body was saying yes in every language it knew and she was listening so attentively. It was bringing her so much pleasure; I couldn’t conceive how exponentially mine was multiplied. How could I not have known this joy before? Her pleasure was amplifying and the mind went deaf in the soaring sound of it. Her fierceness and release became one and I felt the holiness of it. How could I not have known?

As soon as she pulled back and pushed all the way in, her restraint was spent. She was talking, as she started moving faster, not an apology, but an explanation. Not a request for permission, but a surety, a deservingness that was so beautiful, so beautiful, my mind was blinded by it. “Oh yes, good girl, that’s it. Remember, I’ll kiss it better after.” She said as she fucked me harder. “That’s it. I know it’s big, but you’re doing so good. It’s so good.”

I had to have something to hold onto. And though afraid of breaking the invisible restraints her hands had put upon my wrists, my arms sailed down and I wrapped around Daddy’s thick back and she moved to accommodate. Her one hand around my left breast, squeezing hard for leverage, the other arm still holding me close and solid, she affirmed me. She did not admonish my move to hold her. She affirmed it.

“That’s a good girl. Hold onto your Daddy while I fuck you.” Accommodating my need, she said, “You hold on.” And a warm, tingling light spread through my body, emanating from my pussy, emanating from her piercing. The point of her pounding ready to supernova, she was within herself and still with me. She was within her own pleasure, yet spurred by mine.

“Daddy needs to fuck you hard now, princess,” she said and how could it be any harder? I didn’t know, and everything felt right. I wanted to please my Daddy more than anything, more than anything and my body was choosing. My pelvis was tipping forward to give her all I could and then I had to hold on. The impact was so great, I had to hold on. I had never been fucked so hard before and she was commanding, “You take all of your Daddy.”

And I was screaming, “Yes!” And filling up. “Yes!” I had never felt so full of love before. “Yes!” Her anguish overflowed into joy, and I contained it all. I didn’t spill a drop of Daddy.

And by the time she was done closing my wound with her tongue, licking up her come and mine too, so no one would see, I was exhausted and wordless. I would’ve made my fortune on the business of sleep, if she hadn’t awakened my drifting, her eyes blinking at the ceiling, chewing her lip with worry.

“What is it, baby?” I said when I sensed the shift. I expected the post-Daddy-sex trauma to be mine. She had done this before with a lover. I had not. I was frightened by her urgency, looking for the right answers when she asked, “What do you think about what we just did.”

“It was good.” I offered, dumbstruck by the experience itself, this question, too much.

“Because you know, that’s not just sex for me.” She sat up, cross-legged on the bed, searching my face. I felt suddenly exposed, any move might be wrong and I knew no matter what we called it, I could not lose her. Right then I knew: I would do way too much not to lose her.

“I know.” I said, and I sat up too.

“No, I don’t know if you know.” She was shaking her head. “We have to talk about this, have a talk. Because we’ve been having good sex for the last few months, but that’s not just about sex for me.” She said that with bulging eyes and an emphatic glance toward where my body had lain. She continued. “I mean, I don’t know how that was for you. But for me, right now is the time to decide. We can still say ‘okay, we tried that out and we’re never doing it again.’”

My mind reeled. I had no words yet to discuss what we had just done – no words at all – and now something had to be decided? I chose words carefully and each felt like a failure in my mouth. “If you don’t want to do that anymore with me, it’s okay.”

Perhaps she saw the confusion in my eyes. “But you wanted it?” she asked.

“Yes, I was there with you.” I said, holding her gaze.

“I know you were,” she said simply. “But you have to be sure, because if I go there, it’s all the time. It’s not just sex for me. It’s all the time. It’s in our lives.” She was nodding while she was speaking. “It’s big. For both of us.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I crawled across the big bed toward her seated form. I crawled into her lap as best I could and I felt her worry soften.

“Yes.” I said.

She held me, and rocked me a little bit, soothing herself as much as me, I think. She kissed my forehead and we were silent for a time. Before she loosened her hold on me, she said, “Okay?”

I reiterated. “Yes.”

The gentle teacher, she added, “And you say, ‘Yes Daddy.’”

My whole body tingled. And I whispered it into her ear.

“Yes, Daddy.”

Get your own copy of The Daddies by Kimberly Dark, published by Brill | Sense

Take My Whip: Fantasy Date Night, Guest Post by rife

It’s Friday night and we keep this night blocked off on the calendar. 5:30 rolls around and you send me around the block to walk the dog once I wrap up my work for the day. When I come back, you’re sitting on the porch in your jeans with the leather crotch, a tight new black t shirt and the chest harness. All the deck furniture has been pushed off to the side and your Bluetooth speaker is playing a mixture of jazz and romantic pop music. You are wearing your heavy harness boots and you let your goatee grow out a little.

I giggle, suddenly feeling underdressed in my daytime pajamas and sneakers. I prance over and get up on my toes to kiss you. You let me. “Hi, Daddy! What’s all this?”

“I’m taking you dancing, boy. Go get dressed.”

“Mmmhm. I mean, yes, Sir.” I say softly and pad inside to feed the dog and put on that slinky grey dress you like and my combat boots with the soles that have worn down to slick nothing and the chain wrist cuffs that match my collar that you like to see on me. I wash the work day off my face and scrub dry until I’m pink.

You raise an eyebrow at my outfit choice but you’re smiling underneath it.

We dance for days and days on the porch as night falls and the bats come out to play. Sometimes the tempo is slow and our feet barely remember to shuffle while we kiss with lots of tongue and you run your fingers through my fresh soft buzz cut. The smell of wisteria finds its way to us across the breeze and if our neighbors see us, they pretend not to.

Sometimes the tempo is faster and you throw me across the boards in controlled chaos. It takes every ounce of concentration to just follow, to listen for the cues in your palm on my back, to remind myself of the rock step-triple-step beat, to give over to the music and your direction. There are moments when it is effortless and we are just flying, one creature.

Finally it is fully dark and you press me back against the one oak tree, breathless and sweaty on the warm summer night. Ed Sheeran or some other sensitive white guy is still crooning on but all I can feel is your dick hard against the fly of your jeans against me.

You press me hard enough that I’m sure the rough bark will leave marks, pinning my hands over my head, looping the chains around my wrists into that hook that usually holds the wind chime. I’m impressed by your forethought but the nation is quickly swept away my your hands doubled up on either side of my rib cage, stroking the length of me up and down from exposed armpits to the bottom curve of each hip. I shiver and swoon under your firm big hands that make me feel so small. You inch the bottom of the dress up teasingly slowly. I really hope the neighbors aren’t watching now.

Just when I can feel myself start to squirm and rub my thighs together anxious of the wetness I can feel coming on… you pull back. I whimper a little and sigh involuntarily, which of course is what you want.

“Not now, pet. You’re going to wait.”

“Mmmrf. I mean, yes, Sir.”

Inside, we make pizzas — yours pesto and salami with a cauliflower crust, mine sourdough and jalapeños and onion. They are delicious, but I am distracted thinking of the packer still between your legs. After dinner you tell me to ignore the kitchen mess and follow you, so I do.

You strip my dress off like someone who has done it a hundred times before and nod approvingly at what is revealed: just mounds of tight exposed flesh with no underwear. I feel you press up against me from behind and your arm wraps around my throat.

“You’re going to take my whip, boy, and then you’re going to take my dick.”

“Mmmmmm… ! I mean, yes, Sir.”

The wood of the coffee table is shockingly cold at first and my nipples flinch against it, but I relax into it as you layer gentle strokes with your big fat deerskin flogger all across my back. I moan despite myself as you ramp up in intensity and land a few solid strikes across the curve where ass meets thighs. You always were a leg person.

You pause to lean over me and grow into my ear. “Mmm, beautiful. Good boy. Ten more. Count for me.”

This time, I do not hesitate. “Yes, Sir.”

You step back but your fingers trail across my reddening back like it pains you to be separated. I can still feel the energy of you reach out to me across the room.

Until it is concentrated into a fiery pinprick of the kiss of your single tail.

“One, Sir.”

I try to remind myself it is just sensation. I try to erase pain from my vocabulary and just feel it. Easier said than done.

“Two, Sir. Three, Sir. Oh…! Four, Sir.”

Now we are both flying, drunk on your power. You push me harder to see if you can draw blood and break in this whip. Make it bound to me like i am to you.

The lash falls hot across my shoulder and i squirm hard, but the trickle raised is just sweat.

“Five, Sir..!”

You love me but you quiet that part of yourself with reserve to get what you want. No, it’s not want. You will be nice later. You need blood.

“Fuck! Six, Sir. Seven! Ah!”

I squeak out with difficulty eight and nine. You tell me a hundred times i am a good boy for taking it so nice and it lands every time.

Finally the warm droplets are pooling for you and you can feel your dick hard and straining in your jeans. You laugh aloud as i flinch hard out of habit while you barely tease me with number ten.

“Ten, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

You run the tails and your fingertips over my back and ass, drawing in the red, savoring my flinching as you pass over the already raised welts. My breath is heaving and so is yours, in time, I think.

In a moment your fly is open and you are crammed against me, sliding in easily to the hilt of your open jeans. You pull my hips back into you with both hands and groan as you start thrusting slow and deep the length of you. You wrap your hands around my face and shove your fingers hard against my tongue. You are growling a steady stream of filthy words but my brain isn’t even processing it anymore. I am overwhelmed by you.

“Fuck, that’s so nice. That’s right. You just take it for me, you little whore. That’s Daddy’s slut. Unh, you feel so good. So tight baby. Daddy’s going to give it to you. Fuck…!!!”

I guess I came too, because the next thing I remember: I am in a puddle, dripping into the carpet and high and there is no pain anymore.

You scoop me up and guide me into the shower, lather down my dully aching back with peppermint soap and wrap me in your big soft Daddy robe.

We eat Girl Scout cookies and watch Steven Universe until I fall asleep on your shoulder.

Sugarbutch is #1 on the Kinkly Erotica Blogs and LGBTQ Blogs Lists

Thank you.

I want to write about how I’m on the list of sex bloggers that Kinkly released at the beginning of this month. And about how I’m holding strong at #3 on their ranked overall list — not the annual one, but their database that calculates popularity. And about how this particular year I’m also on their Reader’s Choice list and on their erotica list and on their queer list. And those last two, I come in at number one.

They’ve been putting out this list for six years, so it isn’t new to me to be on it. I saw the results get posted, saw some chatter about it on social media, tweeted about it, emailed a few things about it, and then kept going. Honestly, I didn’t pay much attention to it. But about a week later, it kind of hit me. Wait … this site is ranked number one? In both the erotica category and the queer category? They’re saying that Sugarbutch is the best queer sex blog on the internet? And the best erotica blog?

What?!

Well … Thank you.

I think I want to write this, here, just to let myself sit in the discomfort of acknowledging that for a little bit longer. We don’t usually celebrate our wins enough, you know? And when it hit me, I really wanted to ensure that I “took it in,” somehow. Whatever that means, however you do that.

Sugarbutch is thirteen and a half years old, started in spring 2006 when I was 27. I have grown with it; it has grown with me. Pretty much all the major mistakes of my late twenties & all through my thirties are on here, archived. What I’m doing with it right now is my favorite version of it that has been yet — and, I still don’t know where it’ll go next. I have some ideas, but no set plan; just steering in a direction, aiming for a horizon, and I’ll fine-tune the plan as I go along. The internet is a completely different place now than it was when I started it. If I was starting a project now, this isn’t what I would do. So. I don’t know what’s next, but I’m chewing on it.

The patrons of Sugarbutch know I’ve been chewing on this — this is probably the fourth or fifth time I’ve written about it, and I still don’t have answers. I’m in a transition, though I think that transition is at least five years long, so it’s not immediate.

Being on the Kinkly list again, and being recognized as at the top of the class for what I do, and not being lumped in to all the general sex toy review blogs but being recognized for the particular skills and viewpoint that I bring, is just exhilarating. Thrilling. Gratifying. I’m so grateful. I’m so appreciative that you all keep reading and listening and being curious about the kinds of things I like to study and talk and write about.

So, back to where I started: thank you.

And because sex toy review blogs dominate the sex blog world these days, here are the two supplemental lists from Kinkly focusing on queer and erotica blogs. Check ’em out.

Top Erotica Blogs of 2019

Top LGBTQ Blogs of 2019

If you’re into this, you might also like to take a look at the queer sex blog list I compiled — this features sex blogs with a lot of queer erotica, if not all erotica.

A Moaning Mess of a Girl, Guest Post by Kiki DeLovely

I wake with a start, reaching for my phone. 5:35am. Shit, which way is it again? Could be either 2:35 or 8:35 where you’re at. This should be quick and easy math in my head but I keep going back and forth between adding the threes for you and subtracting them for me. Both of these options seem like impossible times in my hazy, dream-laden mind. Subtract the three. Yes, it’s definitely subtraction on my end. But it doesn’t matter. Both of these preposterous times mean that you’re probably asleep…and I unquestionably ought to be as well. I roll over and barely have a minute of self-indulgent pouting before I realize something is vibrating in my hand.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

I blush, curling into a tiny ball, beaming into the phone. Your voice is cracked, raspy with slumber heavy on your tongue, honey to my ears. My lugubrious lips quickly arc upwards, forming the sweetest smile.

“Good morning, handsome.”

“Do something for me.” You politely await my reply even though this favorite line of yours has long since ceased being a question. Really, more of a call and response because my answer is always the same:

“Anything.”

“Roll over. Touch yourself for me. Be a good girl for Daddy.”

I can tell from the tone in your voice how hard you are already. The desire drips from each slow syllable. And these few simple words have an immediate, palpable effect on my body. My clit began to throb before you completed that first sentence. My pussy quivers, glistening so soon. I can barely form words when you talk to me like that. You know how to make me so fucking shy. Delighting in it. Add to that my mounting orgasm and I’m a non-verbal, moaning mess of a girl. Lucky for me, you’re perfectly content to hear nothing but those inarticulate melodies as I come for you, writhing in between my crimson sheets. And then again.

My butch Daddy, your unique flavor of female masculinity and dominance was set to high heat the moment you laid eyes on me, stirred to a quick boil that first night we spent in your precariously lofted bed, bubbling up and spilling all over my body every day since. I feel blessed to witness you coming into your own so thoroughly, to get to experience it firsthand. Mmmm…your hands. How I long for them. So rough and strong, you never knew to have pride in them until I purred under your touch as you stroked them down my exposed back, cupping my ass. I cooed my craving into the curve of your neck, letting you know just how much the ascendancy of those hands turn me on. My femme instinct smelled the butch all over you long before you ever used the word to describe yourself. I sensed it burning inside of you, eagerly awaiting a femme like me to show you just how desirable female masculinity can be. To express how it’s one of the many parts of you I honor and cherish. To prove to you that I just can’t get enough. And even with all the distance between us now, we don’t let that get in our way. We simply search out other methods to stay connected.

Email, Facetime, mobile-to-mobile, texting (sexting), voicemail. Damn, you’ve got me going against everything I believe in. I detest technology. In all of its many, varied forms. Yet here I find myself. Sleeping with my phone turned on in case you call, sending endless fantasies on the tiniest keyboard until my thumbs cramp up, last night you even put me to bed over the computer. I normally resist sleeping in the same room with anything electronic, let alone something connected to wifi. But I’ll admit that the sound of your voice singing me to sleep and that of your shallow breathing when I awoke in the middle of the night was so sweetly comforting. And such a turn on. Instead of waking you though I let you sleep.

This time. Next time you’re going to be roused with quite the little show. I decide to pour all my mid-night lust into mid-day distractions that’ll make your hours at work fly by faster.

2:57pm. Subtract the three. Noon is just as good a time as any to get this started. Text is my weapon of choice today.

I lick my lips. Slowly. You groan, fighting hard against your instinctual impulses. My mouth is watering, Daddy. May I please give you a little kiss?

The minutes crawl by too slowly as I impatiently check my phone for the hundredth time. I want to keep going but I can’t. Not without your express permission. So I squirm around in my bed, jilling off lazily, feeling more and more desperate for your response. Proud of myself for only sending one frantic pleading message in the meantime as I wait out each of those torturous, interminable forty-seven minutes before you reply.

Lick your lips again and kiss Daddy.

I nearly come when you send me such lascivious demands. But I can’t be distracted now. My aim is to distract you.

 I bend forward and gradually lower my mouth. My pretty little mouth that you so love inching closer and closer to your hard-on, the tip of my tongue gliding across my upper lip. Looking up at you with big brown eyes, I pucker my lips and kiss the head of your cock. An electric volt of desire starts there, shooting straight through you, making your whole body jump.

The current running through your body is so intense that you don’t even notice until it’s too late that I’ve gone and gotten greedy, wrapping my hand around the base of your cock and going in for another kiss. Sans permission. Bad girl. It’s not until your feel the warmth of my lips opening a little wider this time that you realize. You feel the pressure of my tongue ease across the tip of your cock. Very bad girl. So you grab me by the back of my hair with such force that I cry out.

You drag me up and throw me down on the bed. Your patience was bound to break and I pushed you over the edge sooner than you’d have liked. So now I’m gonna get it. Fear and desire shine in my eyes, a lustful tempest in yours, as you shove my legs apart. You hear the lace of my panties ripping as you tear them to the side, not giving a fuck what you tear. You drive your cock into me, taking me rougher than ever before. Taking it all in one single thrust. Taking what’s yours.

I look down at my phone, grinning and gratified at having ruined you for the rest of your day.

*       *       *

I can feel my phone trill in my pocket but I’m in the middle of a story, surrounded by my family. Receiving anything from you while I’m around them makes me nervous. So I wait until an opportune moment presents itself to make my way to the bathroom. Closing the door while fumbling with the touch screen, I see the little red circle above “Mail” has increased in number many times over. Most of them are photos – which I love, don’t get me wrong, my eyes drinking in every pixel of you, the beauty you’ve encountered in your journeyings – but it’s your words that do me in:

I look into your eyes, your wanting eyes, and return the gaze with mine. Bending you over slowly, you grip your ankles for support as I take my cock in hand and place it between your legs. But I don’t go inside you, I don’t touch anything, actually. I hold it there beneath your pussy and wait, like waiting for raindrops. Opening your pussy with my right hand, I exhale with satisfaction. It is as I hoped. You are wet enough for this. Your wet is all over my cock now, dripping onto it as I hold it at your hole. It’s running up to your clit, it wants to make its way to your inner thighs. This. This is what I wanted. I pull away from you and run my hand all over your juices. All over me. I can feel it all over me.

These words go straight to my cunt and now I’m unbuttoning my jeans one-handedly, struggling to get to my clit fast enough. Fuck, I’m so fucking wet. Just like in your fantasy. Rereading it two and a half more times before I’m coming hard and fast, I wash my hands and rejoin my sisters, hoping they won’t smell how much I need you.

God, my jaw is aching. You make me too happy. The muscles in my cheeks are out of practice. It seems like my head is constantly thrown back these days – either in a fit of laughter or of passion. I suppose the jaw-ache could also be all the blow jobs I’ve been giving you. Still I can’t stop myself. I glance at the hands on the wall. Quarter to four. You’re off at 3:00pm today. Add the three. That gives me plenty of time to get myself going and leave you a voicemail.    

Before dialing yours, I call mine and search out my very favorite message. I want to be so close when I call so that nerves don’t take over and I’m actually able to orgasm. I know you’ll hear the difference if I don’t. Hitting the four, I replay your words once more. “That’s my good girl. Oh, I’m so close. Fuck. You get me so hard. I’m gonna take my cock out and come all over your pussy. Ohhh, I’m coming for you. Fuck. So fucking hard. All over you. Reach down and put that cum in your pussy now. Do it for me. Do it for me, babygirl. Shove it in with your fingers. Now rub it up all over your clit. You like that? I want my cum all over you.”

Despite being quite the filthy girl, I had never imagined myself getting off to such a thought. And you never dared dream a dyke would find your secret fantasies so arousing. Yet here we are. Reveling in every last drop. And you know my screams are genuine when you skip out of work early to take a listen. Leaving you throbbing the rest of the day.

I wake with a moan, clutching at the covers. You know I’m yours, all of me, so you’re allowed to take whatever you want, whenever you want it. And so you do. 4:44am. Subtract the three. You must be just getting home from your gig. Horny. We both sleep weird and few hours. Fewer and fewer since we first met. The unpredictable hours kept by a musician and a writer. Between band practice, random deadlines, my insomnia on top of yours, we’re lucky if either of us gets more than a few hours’ sleep at any given time. Still you can’t help yourself. Or rather, you do. You help yourself quite generously. There may be 2,818 miles between us, but I still know when you’re jacking off to me. You take me in my dreams, I awake with the sheets soaking wet.

I wake with a start, reaching for my laptop. 5:51am. I don’t bother with the math – it’s not you I need to write this time, it’s a story that needs to surface. Fuck, it’s been too long since I woke with a story itching at my fingertips. And this one is all you. You and me. Us. I’ve been waiting for you for so long. I need to give it a voice. One of my favorite love stories of all time. One that’s so brimming with lust it pours out all around us. Unlike so many of my fantasy-filled favorites that exist only between the covers, this one is real. So painfully and beautifully real. Plagued with writer’s block for frustratingly drawn-out months, you came along and broke the spell.

Thank you, my muse, my butch, my Daddy. I whisper a blessing of gratitude to whomever is listening. Hoping you hear me as well. Knowing you’re feeling me. Because I’m feeling you.

Frisson, Guest Post by Kathleen Delaney-Adams

Content: this post contains a gang bang, possessive language, name calling, sex, whips, and a public scene.

Wrists and ankles trussed together, Delilah fought to stay on her feet. Her arms and legs ached from effort, her exposed pussy slick with hunger. She moaned softly, struggling not to wiggle her ass in the air like she was begging for it. She heard murmurs of approval at her position, felt the stares of strangers raking over her flesh. God help her, she was begging for it. But she had been ordered to wait, to hold herself upright and still. She waited.

An hour earlier, Delilah had wandered the club, somewhat disenchanted, definitely bored. The scenes that night were lukewarm at best, amateurish to her seasoned experience. She played hard, she played long, and she was not the sort to bow down to any old Top in the room. The crew tonight seemed to expect that of her, and she kept her distance. Choosing to bide her time and keep her eyes peeled for potential in the midst of greenness, she circled the outskirts of the room.

When she spotted Von across the sea of inexperience, her heart leapt into her throat. A salt and pepper butch with volumes of confidence and expertise, Von was the sort to make a girl want to roll over onto her back and spread her legs as soon as she swaggered into the room. Damn, but Delilah was hot for her. She had observed Von’s skills at many a party, had even enjoyed a choking and gagging blow job with her in the back seat of her car on one memorable occasion. She had grown to respect and admire Von, and considered her a friend. Taking care to swish her ass provocatively as she crossed the room, Delilah greeted her warmly when she arrived at her side.

Von tossed an arm casually around her shoulders as Delilah sparkled up at her.

“You look gorgeous,” Von murmured appreciatively, and Delilah all but purred.

After several moments of small talk, Von perused the room thoughtfully, then turned her attention back to Delilah.

“Up for it tonight?” She queried.

“Yes!” Delilah’s immediate and enthusiastic answer drew a laugh.

Their negotiations were brief, thorough, and easy with the understanding of some shared history.

“I will take care of you for the evening, and in return I expect that you will be completely honest with me if I cross a line or go too far. Other than that, you are entirely mine for the rest of the night and will do all I ask. Do you understand?”

Delilah nodded, trusting both Von and her own limits.

Von shook her head. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I understand,” Delilah’s face was open, an invitation. And with those few words she placed herself into Von’s capable hands.

Von undressed her slowly, her eyes never leaving Delilah’s face. Sliding the straps of her slip from her shoulders, Von kissed her skin with a tenderness that surprised her.  She shivered deliciously as the slip dropped to her ankles. Von lifted her legs one at a time, and kicked the slip aside. She crouched down to trace the lace edge of Delilah’s stocking with one finger until she was quivering.

“Mmm. These are nice. You may keep them on.” Von winked.

She cupped Delilah’s tits in her hands, working them over gently. Her nipples became erect the moment Von put her hands on them, and Delilah arched her back, granting Von greater access to her. When Von lowered her head to Delilah’s nipple, her mouth was greedy, sucking and tugging on her tit until she was gasping for breath. When she suddenly used her teeth to tear into Delilah’s tender breast, she cried out in pain.

Von lifted her head and slapped Delilah’s face. Hard. Delilah bit her lip to keep from crying out again.

“Did I say you could make a sound?” Von growled.

She shook her head.

“Answer me when I ask a question.” Von’s tone brooked no argument.

“N-no. No.” Delilah felt a twinge of her first real fear.

“Then keep quiet. You may do nothing until I tell you to. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Good.” Von nodded, apparently satisfied for now, and Delilah felt herself relax again.

Von removed a coil of hemp rope from her bag.

“Bend over. Grab your ankles.” She commanded, and Delilah complied. It was that easy.

Von positioned Delilah’s legs slightly apart, stabilizing her on her spiked heels before working the rope between her legs and around her wrists. The hemp was abrasive and smelled like damp earth, and her head swam with longing.

Von tugged on the knots, running her fingers under the rope to ensure it wasn’t too tight. When she judged all to her standards, she straightened and placed her hands on Delilah’s waist. Her touch was a light caress, just enough to drive her mad. Von’s hands explored her, sampling her round bottom, opening her pussy and rubbing her clit teasingly, kneading her thighs. Tears of desire coursed down Delilah’s cheeks at this inspection, her thighs sticky with her juice. Von’s hand was in her cunt now, pumping slowly in and out of her until her hips rocked in response. Just as she was driven to an edge she felt she could not bear to cross, Von abruptly withdrew her hand.

“Oh.” It was barely a breath, but when Von heard her utter it she smiled to herself. She had Delilah where she wanted her.

“Tell me you are mine,” she hissed. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I am yours,” Delilah breathed, her voice thick with desire for it. For Von to belong to her. Yes. She meant it with her entire being. For this scene, for tonight, for the next 20 years — at this moment in time, Delilah wanted it all.

“Tell me you are my whore.”

Delilah stammered. “I am your whore.”

“Tell me you would do anything for me.”

“Anything. Anything.” The word reverberated in the air between them.

Von snapped her fingers. Delilah felt it before she glimpsed out of the corner of her eye a small crowd moving in closer around them, a crowd she had not even been aware of until that moment. A handful of queers now leering at her lithe, naked body, their desire for her obvious and disconcerting. A ripple of wolf whistles and catcalls pierced the otherwise all too quiet room. Were all these people with Von?

Delilah’s fear was back, her body trembling with anticipation and a twinge of anxiety.

“Von?” It wasn’t so much a question as a searching for something, perhaps comfort. Delilah wasn’t entirely certain, her nerves fraught.

“Shh. Close your eyes.” It was a command, not a request, but spoken kindly. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited.

The waiting was the worst. Moments, hours, she had no concept of time. Her limbs strained with the effort of holding still, of staying upright on her now wobbly legs. And yet, more than her fear, more than her pain, more than anything else she wanted to please Von. As she realized that, took it in and allowed herself to relish it, her pussy ached with need. She gave herself over to that need, embraced it, and with that, began to thoroughly enjoy herself and the attention she knew was focused on her.

When she felt hands roving over her skin, she shuddered as much from revulsion as from excitement. Although she had been expecting it, she felt completely unprepared for the vulnerability of so many strangers pawing at her flesh. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and oh so powerful. Basking in that power, Delilah raised her ass higher, opening herself up and giving her audience a better view. Her subtle move was met with a round of applause, and a deep chuckle from Von.

“Enjoying yourself, are you? Such a whore.” Von slapped her ass hard enough to leave an instant red welt. Delilah lifted her ass even higher, seeking more.

The first lash of the whip struck her in the tender spot between her firm cheek and the top of her thigh, just above her stocking. She rocked on her heels before collecting herself for more. After that initial, almost flirtatious lick of leather, the blows of the whip came fast and strong. Delilah writhed beneath the lashing, a mix of pain and pleasure. She was on fire, both her cunt and her cherry red bottom a fury of liquid heat. It was delicious, the whip her favorite instrument of torture. Did Von know this? Her mind struggled to remember if Von had witnessed her submit to whip play in the past, or if this was merely one of the many implements with which she was so skilled. No matter, Delilah relinquished all thoughts and embraced the physical sensations assailing her. Pain, arousal, surrender, the deepest desire and pleasure — she succumbed entirely. Her pussy and thighs were soaked with juices. Delilah felt sure she could come at any moment from the intensity of this experience alone.

Jolted out of her state of pure feeling by the cessation of the lashings, Delilah moaned softly. Her tender flesh hurt, her legs and arms in agony from holding her position for so long. As if she could read Delilah’s mind, Von reached down to untie the rope that bound her. She loosened the knots, untangling the rope and letting it fall to the ground. She gently massaged the blood flow back into Delilah’s ankles and wrists, then wrapped her arms around Delilah and pulled her to her chest. She melted into the strength she found there, and closed her eyes, resting. Her respite was brief, however, as moments later Von straightened her and held her at arm’s length.

“I’m not done with you yet, whore. Can you take more?”

Delilah nodded immediately, then recalling earlier instructions, answered, “Yes.”

“I’ll allow you to stand for this, give you a bit of a break. But you must not open your eyes. If you do, we will be done with you. Eyes stay closed, arms stay out to your sides. Ready?”

Delilah assumed the position, her arms held out in a way that left her feeling completely exposed to the room. Again, the hands of strangers grabbed at her, pinching and caressing her skin simultaneously. It was almost too much, and she was dimly aware of the tears on her cheeks. Her breasts were handled roughly, twisted and pulled at until she felt raw and bruised. Her nipple was sucked into someone’s mouth, teeth nibbling at it mercilessly.

Someone’s hands grabbed her thighs, prying her legs open even wider. The cold air on her heated pussy rendered her weak with lust, and she wiggled her cunt despite her best intentions of holding absolutely still. She was rewarded with a hard slap to her sex, but the torment of her captors continued without interruption.

The sudden thrust of a rubber cock into her ass was so startling she screamed. She was pinned for a moment, immobilized by pain. Then whoever was inside her began to move, thrusting herself in to her base and out again, ripping her ass open. Pumping hard into her, grunting in her ear, her hands a steel vice on Delilah’s waist holding her on her feet while she claimed her. It was brutal and beautiful agony, being fucked like that by god knew whom, and she began to thrust back in time with the rhythm, squatting a bit lower so she could better take it.

She pulled out of Delilah before she came, so abruptly Delilah nearly toppled over. Delilah’s hair was twisted in strong fingers, and her head jerked back. Someone — Von? — hissed in her ear.

“I’ll have every hole before I am done with you.”

“Please.” Delilah had only that word. “Please.” Uttered again and again. She needed to come. She was terrified Von would not let her.

A large hand slid inside her cunt to the wrist. Delilah opened easily, ready for it, and moved against it, trying to rub her engorged clit on it. Someone laughed cruelly, the hand withdrew, and Delilah splashed onto her own legs and the floor. Her arms were lowered and pulled behind her back, thrusting her tits upright. They were slapped with increasing force as Delilah squirmed, with hands or a paddle she could not be sure and dared not peek. She did not want this to end, and would not risk the displeasure of her tormentors.

Again, that cruel laughter.

Delilah was hoisted into the air in strong arms, her legs wrapped around someone’s waist. She heard the sound of a zipper, a sound she considered the utmost in foreplay, and the tearing of a condom wrapper. Her thighs and stomach were slapped and battered by another rubber cock. It was demeaning. It was divine. She arched her back, moving her pussy closer.

“Oh, I’ll give you more, whore. You are going to take every inch of me.” She recognized Von’s voice and cheered inwardly, craving her inside her cunt.

Anticipating the cock that pierced her pussy did not take away from the thrill when it happened in the least. The contrary. Long and swollen with hunger for her, Von’s cock took her slowly at first, with a languid thrust that left her feeling she would die without more.

“Please.”

Again, that one word. Delilah was rewarded instantly, the cock ramming her, tearing into her with thrust after jackhammer thrust. Riding that cock, she begged for more, begged to come, shouting nonsense beseechingly, her pussy keening with need.

“Yes. Come, whore. Come now.”

And she did, her desire spilling over, her body wild with it, jerking and flailing against the people who held her down. She sagged briefly, panting, then came again with no less force.

Completely and utterly spent, satiated, Delilah could barely move as Von finished herself off before pulling out. Delilah felt empty immediately.

She was laid on the floor gently. Someone brought a pillow, lifted her head to slide it under her. One of the women stroked her hair tenderly, another held her hand and kissed it. She was soaked with sweat and sex, and thoroughly exhausted. Her eyes still closed, she felt rather than saw that the crowd was thinning. It must be over. Both relieved and disappointed, she focused on regaining her breath. Although the hands stroking her were soothing, she shivered, her muscles still contracting.

“Open your eyes.”

She did, to find Von standing over her, her cock still in her hand. She stroked it casually, a sexy smile on her face. Delilah could not help but smile back in return. God, she wanted Von all over again, even now.

Delilah’s eyes widened when Von unrolled a fresh condom and covered her cock with it in one smooth motion.

“I said I intended to take every hole, remember? I will own you, whore.”

Delilah gasped and attempted to raise herself up on her elbows.

Von gently put her boot in the center of Delilah’s chest and nudged her back down.

“Stay where you are. Don’t move. And open that pretty little mouth for me.”

Delilah traced her tongue over her lips to moisten them, unaware that the simple gesture caused Von to swell all the more. She knelt over Delilah and slid the tip into her mouth, just enough for her to suck at the head. Delilah lapped and licked at it, surprised to once more be incredibly aroused. How could she be this greedy for yet more? But she was, and she drew Von in to the base of her throat, gagging on the girth. Von moved slowly, relishing every flick of Delilah’s tongue, every pull of her lips, allowing her need to build with Delilah’s.

Von fucked Delilah’s mouth deeply, savoring her, and she choked on her cock, tears in her eyes, aching to come once more. As if Von could again sense her thoughts, she reached one hand back and ran her fingers lightly over Delilah’s clit. Delilah spread her thighs open for Von, and she worked her back up to the edge. She exploded against Von’s hand, crying out as she came, never breaking the momentum of what she hoped was the blow job of Von’s lifetime.

Delilah could smell herself on Von when she grabbed her face in both her hands and held her still. Von stopped sliding herself in and out of Delilah’s mouth, stopped moving altogether. Pinned beneath Von, unable to move, Delilah raised her eyes to meet hers. Von smiled down at her as she came. Delilah wanted to drink it in, take it inside her, and although it caused her to choke all the more, she laughed with pure joy.

Von sagged for a moment, gasping. Her cock dangled in the air above Delilah’s face. Emboldened by the obvious thrill she just gave Von, Delilah kissed the tip of her dick lightly. Von opened her eyes, raising her brows at Delilah’s daring move. When Von winked at her, Delilah relaxed visibly.

“You were a good girl.” Von smiled at her as she pushed herself to her feet. Delilah had the grace to blush.

Delilah remained on the floor, limp with exhaustion, while Von conferred with the handful of observers left. Just as she began to slip into sleep, she felt hands behind her back raising her to her feet. She stood, blinking in the suddenly glaring light at the faces smiling at her.

“You may thank everyone now.” Von nudged her forward with a firm hand on the flat of her back.

Head bowed in deference, Delilah moved from person to person, kissing a hand if it were held out to her, accepting the generous embraces a couple of folks offered. She was surprised to discover that she was not merely acting out a scene anymore. She felt profoundly grateful to have been used by strangers, gorgeous even, like a work of art the group had created. She could not recall ever having felt so moved by a public scene.

When Delilah came to Von, she knelt gracefully before her, tears in her eyes. It was a presentation of sorts, an offering. She held her breath, praying she would be accepted, petrified of disapproval, rejection. The events of the last two hours had shifted something inside her, and she knew instinctively there was no going back. She felt decidedly sure she was ruined for anyone else.

Von’s hands reached for Delilah’s face, lifting her head. She brushed her mouth tenderly with her own and smiled.

“Yes.” One simple word from Von. It was that easy. Delilah’s heart soared.

Are You Game? Guest Post by Dilo Keith

Moments before my boss arrived on Friday, I sent her a message about an especially troublesome client. It was no longer awkward thinking of Lisa as “boss,” though it had seemed damn weird at first. I had almost asked for a transfer when they assigned me to her team three years ago, but it turned out we functioned better as co-workers than romantic partners. Now we were getting along so well that we had talked about having sex again, or at least exchanging massages. Such intimacies, however, required the permission of her wife-to-be Morgan, otherwise known as “Master M.”

My relationship with Morgan had vastly improved since the day we met. I could recall little about our first encounter other than my embarrassment at calling her “Sir” and the fact that she bore an uncanny resemblance to my senior year math professor, Mr. Foxman. I’d swear she wore the same hat. After they returned from lunch that day, Lisa told me Morgan actually enjoyed being called “Sir”, but didn’t elaborate until weeks later.

Lisa was late and wearing a familiar expression that told me her tardiness had nothing to do with snarled traffic. Damp locks on her forehead suggested she’d been up to something that had required a quick rinse afterwards. I shook my head to clear memories of sweaty morning sex with her curly, mocha brown hair tickling my breasts.

“I hate to wipe that smile off your face,” I said, “but Mr. Harrison left three voice messages.”

“Fuck. I wish he wasn’t a priority.”

The rest of the day was uneventful, enabling Lisa to finish the Harrison project and leave on time. I stayed late to make up for a long lunch break, but was almost out the door when Harrison called with “critical” changes. I hastily assured him we could make them over the weekend, only to realize as I hung up that this meant I had to find Lisa.

She didn’t answer my calls or texts, so I emailed what I could and stuffed the relevant hardcopies into an envelope. Considering her house was on my way home, dropping them off would be quicker than scanning and emailing everything. Two cars were in front of the house she now shared with Morgan, but the doorbell went unanswered. After trying the land line and cell again, I decided this qualified as the sort of emergency in which Lisa wouldn’t mind my using the spare key, something I’d done before. Neither woman answered when I called Lisa’s name from the front hall, and there was no sign of anyone on the first floor. Weighing the urgency of the Harrison project against Lisa and Morgan’s privacy, I cautiously headed upstairs. I assumed they’d be in the bedroom and the most obvious place to leave the folder would be right outside their room.

The bedroom door was closed, fortunately, and I was startled to hear the unmistakable cracks of something solid striking naked flesh, a paddle or maybe a hand. The sound didn’t surprise me intellectually – Lisa’s more intense interest in BDSM was one reason for our incompatibility – but I hadn’t expected to actually hear it right then. Sharper sounds, probably from a whip or crop, followed. I scrawled a note on the envelope and bent down for a discreet delivery that had almost succeeded when my phone slid out of my pocket and thumped against the door.

“Anna – that you already?” Morgan called out, referring to a weekend guest I knew they were expecting.

Shit. “It’s Kylie. Sorry to bother you, but something came up at the office. I was leaving some files.”

“Sounds important. Hold on.” After several seconds, Morgan said, “Come in.”

Knowing Lisa’s proclivities didn’t prepare me for the sight of my beautiful, olive-skinned ex kneeling naked at Morgan’s feet, her wrists in leather cuffs clipped together behind her back. Two stripes across Lisa’s reddened ass confirmed my suspicions regarding what I’d heard. Morgan was fully dressed, the severe uniformity of her black clothes broken only by a splash of color from the bright purple cock sheathed in Lisa’s mouth. I’d frequently imagined myself with Morgan in relatively vanilla versions of this sizzling scene.

Lisa tried to pull back, but Morgan twisted her hand in her dark curls and pulled Lisa more firmly onto her cock. “Lisa’s having trouble speaking at the moment. Go on.”

“I… uh… I mean…” I felt my face warming. “I’m really sorry. It’s Harrison again. I stupidly promised we’d make more revisions this weekend.”

“You were right to come. Do you need Lisa now? Can she call later?”

“Later’s fine. Sorry about this.” I turned to leave.

“Wait,” Morgan said. “I could use a second sub tonight. Interested?”

“Me? A sub?” What had Lisa told her? In our mismatched attempts at kink, I had topped. Even so, something about Morgan’s confidence made obeying her seem perfectly natural. It didn’t hurt that she was solidly built, with muscled arms that I could imagine pulling me into an inescapable embrace, or that she was almost twice my age. Her cropped hair walked a fine line between butch and femme, and her square jaw added an extra hint of toughness.

“I think you’ll do fine.”

No matter how hot she was, I had no interest in getting beaten. “Thanks… no… um, I mean, you know I don’t really do that sort of thing.”

“You don’t even know what ‘sort of thing’ I’d require.”

“I have the general idea.”

“Don’t be so sure.”

She might be right, but, fuck, Lisa’s my boss now, and this looks damn private. “Won’t Lisa mind?”

She stroked Lisa’s cheek. “I won’t include Kylie without your consent.”

Lisa nodded – as best she could with a mouthful of dick – and pressed her face into Morgan’s hand.

“Are you sure?”

Lisa glanced at me.

“Is it awkward, considering Kylie works for you?”

Lisa shrugged and nodded. That probably meant “a little”.

“Kylie?” Morgan prompted.

“Nothing will change at the office, boss,” I assured Lisa quickly. “If I join you, that is.”

Lisa nodded again and Morgan caressed her head approvingly. That seemed like my cue.

“Okay, I guess I’m game. I get a safe word or something, don’t I?”

Morgan chuckled. “Sure, but I doubt you’ll need it.”

“How does this work?”

“Follow instructions and be respectful. I won’t hurt you. You may not do anything to Lisa without my permission. She’s not allowed to speak at all. Try not to talk unless I ask you a question or give you an order that requires feedback. If necessary, say something like ‘Please, may I speak?’ You don’t need a safe word – if you’re uncomfortable, say so. Call me ‘Master M’ or ‘Sir’. Clear?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Then strip. Any delays or interruptions will result in punishment for Lisa, regardless of who’s at fault. Lisa, don’t forget you’re to remain completely silent unless I say otherwise.”

As I hastily peeled off my clothes, Morgan led Lisa to the bed and patted the mattress. “Kneel up here.”

That left Lisa facing away from us, below a pair of chains hanging above the bed. Morgan unclipped Lisa’s cuffs and pointed at one dangling chain. “Hand me the end.”

Morgan attached the snap hook on the chain to Lisa’s cuff while I did the same on the other side. “Bring me that blindfold,” she said, pointing to where it was laid out with other toys on the dresser.

“Stroke her gently, anywhere you like except her cunt.” Morgan blindfolded Lisa and double-checked her restraints while I fondled her lovely breasts and smoothed my hands across her toned torso. She pressed her body into my hands appreciatively, and I forced myself to veer away from the forbidden zone. The treasures of her back side weren’t explicitly prohibited, but I limited myself to palming the delectable curves of ass.

During my lustful explorations, Morgan had stripped down to underwear, a black compression tank and silk boxers. She quickly closed the distance to the bed and shoved the side of her hand between her lover’s legs. Lisa made a visible effort to suppress a moan as she ground onto Morgan’s hand.

“I could forbid you to move,” Morgan said with a wicked smile. Lisa froze. “But not now; I’m not that sadistic. Not with company, anyway.” Morgan allowed Lisa a few more thrusts before withdrawing her hand.

Morgan stood and pressed her body against Lisa’s back. Her lover’s sharp intake of breath was loud enough that I wondered if it would count as a noise, but Morgan let her off with the warning, “Careful, love.” She kissed the back of Lisa’s neck and reached around to pinch her nipples. Lisa leaned into Morgan’s hands and parted her lips in a silent moan when Morgan squeezed harder.

“Kylie, bring me the short flogger.”

I touched the nearest implement and glanced wordlessly at Morgan, who was still playing with Lisa’s breasts.

“No, two over. Yes, that one. Bring the one to the right of it, too, but leave it on the bed.”

The first item was a soft, medium-sized flogger that I imagined Lisa would enjoy, unlike the one I’d put aside. Lisa had tried explaining that submission sometimes meant doing unpleasant and painful things. I had no problem with the light play we’d been doing, but it suddenly occurred to me that Morgan might make Lisa suffer for real at some point, something I didn’t care to see.

Morgan gradually reddened Lisa’s skin from the base of her neck to her knees, soft and hard strokes following one another with no obvious pattern. Lisa met the leather with her body, tensing and relaxing in an erotic rhythm that left little in the room but the beauty of two women in perfect harmony. Shockingly, Morgan turned to me and said, “Here, you try.” She handed me the flogger. “Nice and gentle to start.”

I held it, not moving.

“Go on. I know you’ve done this before. Lisa thought you had potential.”

“Really? I thought she was just –”

“Quiet,” Morgan ordered.

So I wasn’t supposed to answer that? Subbing is harder than it looks. I landed light strokes on Lisa’s ass until I felt comfortable enough to strike more forcefully.

“Very good. Harder now,” Morgan said.

Lisa seemed to welcome every blow, and Morgan eyed me approvingly before climbing onto the bed. She played with Lisa’s nipples and caressed her breasts as I plied the flogger. When Lisa seemed lulled by the sensations, Morgan slid her hand between the wet lips of her cunt. Lisa swallowed her low moan quickly, but not entirely.

“Earning a punishment so soon, slut?” Morgan wiped her fingers on Lisa’s hip.

Punishment?! Oh, right, for noise.

Morgan continued, “Since you weren’t expecting the distraction of company tonight, you get a little break. You’ll receive all six, but you don’t have to be silent.” She motioned for me to fetch the short whip – or whatever the harsh-looking single-tailed thing was called. Morgan must have noticed my unease because she said firmly, “Lisa knew this could happen. Stand back.”

Thwack.

Lisa yelped, and a long, red stripe appeared. I winced, but didn’t look away.

Morgan delivered another hard lash to Lisa’s ass and two to her back, evoking stoic grunts each time. Next was an even harder lash to the base of one ass cheek, the sensitive spot just at the top of the thigh, and another on the opposite side.

“You did well. Try not to misbehave again.”

Morgan directed me back to the bed and laid a gentle hand on my neck. “You’re doing well too, and you’ve earned a little treat. Face down.” She stroked my back and ass, traced the ridge of my pelvis, and continued across my groin, lingering close to where I most wanted her. Did she say “treat” or “tease”? Begging for relief for my throbbing cunt was probably unacceptable, and I didn’t want to do anything that would cause Morgan to stop. As I was about to try a suggestive whimper, she snaked a finger into my bush and stroked my clit. Despite my most encouraging moans, it was over far too soon. I could hear the amusement in the blonde sadist’s voice when she said, “Get up,” and held out her other hand for the softer flogger.

She struck Lisa harder this time, and after several lashes, positioned me in front of Lisa. “Keep her from moving around too much. Suck her nipples and use your hands anywhere you like.”

Lisa stiffened delightfully in my mouth as the blows of Morgan’s flogger forced her breasts into my face. I explored her body, glad I didn’t have to avoid the treasures between her legs but not quite daring to delve inside. Instead, I slid my fingers across her swollen clit and around her slick folds, holding her by one hip. Lisa trembled, but managed to remain silent. When Morgan stopped the flogging, I shifted closer to get a solid handful of Lisa’s now-unobstructed ass. She moaned, and we both froze.

Morgan, her hands full of condoms, gloves, and a bottle of lube, exclaimed, “Kylie! What did you do to her?”

“I’m sorry, I leaned in to fondle her ass. Maybe it was my, um, tits?” Lisa had always loved their feel, and she was highly sensitized at present.

“I told you to use your hands, not your boobs. It was a simple instruction.” She glared at me sternly.

“It was an accident, Sir. Please don’t hurt her.”

“The rules don’t change when something unexpected happens.”

I asked, “May I say something else?”

“You may.”

“I volunteer to take her punishment, Sir.”

“Lisa’s willing to go by the rules.”

“I don’t like being responsible.”

“You’re not. Plus, I’m in charge, remember?”

“But Lisa –”

“Quiet. Lisa, tell her. Briefly.”

“I’m fine with the rules, and it’s more… um… interesting with you here.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks.”

Morgan said, “Since you’re feeling responsible, I’ll reduce the sentence. A second offense normally gets double the first, but I’ll deduct three. Stand over there. Lisa, no noise.”

Lisa managed, impressively, to remain quiet for the first several strokes. When one landed on Lisa’s inner thigh, a barely audible “fuck” escaped her lips. Oops. Morgan shoved the whip into my hands and sprang onto the bed.

“No swearing.” She slapped Lisa’s face.

“I’m –” Lisa started.

“And you haven’t been given permission to speak!” Morgan slapped the other cheek, harder this time. “For that, you’ll get the remaining lashes from the original twelve – five more. Be grateful you don’t get another punishment for talking.”

I stood in place, wide-eyed. Despite her clear preference for stricter command than I had ever offered her, Lisa’s earlier assurance of consent wasn’t very comforting. Morgan got off the bed and approached me determinedly. I slowly handed her the whip, this time looking away as the strokes bit into Lisa’s tender thighs.

“Help her down onto the bed.”

Morgan rubbed Lisa’s neck soothingly. “If you endure what’s coming next in silence, I’ll allow you to make noise for the rest. I know having Kylie here makes it more difficult.” She removed the blindfold and ran a finger over Lisa’s lip dented from her efforts at silence. “And don’t hurt yourself. That’s my job.”

“Kylie, on your back in the middle of the bed. Knees up, and spread ’em.” I scrambled into position.

“Lisa, put that talented mouth to work. No hands.”

Lisa crawled between my legs and, without preamble, lapped a broad stroke across my cunt before flicking my clit with her tongue.

“Omigod!” It had been far too long since Lisa – or anyone – had done that. Toys are terrific, but there’s nothing like the wet heat of a woman’s mouth. Her tongue danced around my cunt, not always on my clit, which was good since I didn’t know if I was allowed to come. Should I ask? I also didn’t know if I could touch her, so I clutched the blanket and concentrated on staying in position, not wanting to dislodge Lisa’s sublime tongue. Through the haze of arousal, it occurred to me there was a pattern – she was tracing letters on my pussy. My name, twice, then… I tried hard to follow…“I miss you.” I almost laughed aloud.

“Lisa, stop that for a moment. Kylie, stay put.”

Damn — did she see my face and detect Lisa’s covert naughtiness? I hope it’s just a moment. But it wasn’t. She spanked Lisa for what seemed like a full minute before telling her, “Get back to it.” My guess was that Morgan had warmed Lisa’s ass just because she could.

Far too soon, Morgan ordered Lisa to stop for good, leaving me panting in combined arousal and frustration. She tossed a glove and the lube in my direction. I ignored them and watched Morgan fingering Lisa’s lubed ass, which had Lisa shoving her face into the mattress to keep quiet.

“Very good,” Morgan said when three fingers slid in effortlessly. “You may speak from now on.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Morgan discarded her gloves and gave Lisa a passionate kiss. “Kylie, too,” Morgan said, and Lisa kissed me almost as thoroughly before returning to her place on the bed.

“Kylie, would you like to fuck this gorgeous ass?”

It was tempting, but I said, “Honestly, Sir, I’d rather watch you take her.”

Morgan chuckled and shook her head. From the bedside drawer, she extracted a small butt plug that she had me cover with a condom before she stuffed it into Lisa. “That’ll hold you, girl. Now, on your back like Kylie was.”

Morgan explained, “She’s not allowed to come yet, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to make her. Anything you want.”

I lost myself in Lisa’s familiar, delightful taste and smell, barely reacting when Morgan plunged her fingers into me and rubbed circles around my clit with her thumb.

“Is something wrong?” Morgan asked as she slid her hand out.

What? Why? Put it back! “No, just concentrating,” I managed.

“Well, concentrate on this.” She shoved her cock in, driving my face into Lisa, and went after my clit again. “Kylie, you may come anytime.”

I did, sooner than I’d hoped, clenching around Morgan’s cock and gasping for air as I tried not to suffocate myself in Lisa’s cunt. Morgan guided me down next to Lisa, who whimpered with need.

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You’ve been a lot of fun, but I’ve detained you long enough.”

Dismissed already? “I have nowhere else to be. Please, Sir?”

After a nod of permission from Morgan, Lisa said, “We need to finish here. Thanks for understanding.”

“Sure thing, boss. I guess I’ll see you Monday. Let me know if I can help with Harrison.”

Morgan pressed a finger to Lisa’s lips. “She will, and she’ll definitely call you about a play date.”

Although the sentiment seemed inadequate for the trust and intimacy we’d shared, I said only, “Thanks .. for everything.”

_________________________

Author’s note: Thanks to Meghan for permission to use portions of her lovely whipping scene from Mon Corbeau.

Call for Submissions: Best Lesbian Erotica Volume 4

PEOPLE I have exciting news!! Cleis Press asked me to edit the next edition of Best Lesbian Erotica, volume 4 (aka 2019)! I’ve had such a good time putting together anthologies — Say Please, Best Lesbian Erotica 2012, and the forthcoming Erotix: Literary Journal of Somatics through Body Trust — and I am really thrilled to do another one.

In 2016, for the 20th anniversary of Best Lesbian Erotica, I posted a personal history of it, with some of my favorite volumes and what they have meant to me. My essay “Why Lesbian Erotica is Valuable Activism” was in the edition I edited, Best Lesbian Erotica 2012, and it’s also on Sugarbutch here.

Here it is! I would especially love submissions from you folks who read a lot of erotica and maybe have secretly tried your hand at it … I’d love to have a variety of stories by people who have never been published before.

Best Lesbian Erotica of the Year Volume 4 (Best Lesbian Erotica 2019)

Editor: Sinclair Sexsmith
Publisher: Cleis Press
Deadline: August 31, 2018 (earlier encouraged)
Payment: $50 and 1 copy of the book within 90 days of publication
Rights: non-exclusive right to publish the story in this anthology in print, ebook and audiobook form. Authors will retain copyright to their stories.

Sinclair Sexsmith is editing the next volume of Best Lesbian Erotica, and is looking for your best sexy stories about queer women.

Representations of queer women, non-binary AFAB, and trans women’s sexuality that are not as frequently seen — with ability, race, ethnicity, class, neurodiversity, ace-spectrum, age, religion, or other social justice politic viewpoint — are particularly of interest. Writers who have not previously published are encouraged.

The anthology is not limited to certain kinds of sex acts. “Vanilla,” BDSM, fetish, ace, and all kinds of sensual and sexual expression are welcome. I will be looking for a wide variety of sexual identities: mommy, mistress, sir, puppy, girl, etc. I will consider a few reprints published in 2018, but prefer unpublished stories. No simultaneous submissions. Up to two submissions per author, between 2000-4000 words. No poetry or speculative fiction please.

Send your double-spaced, Times New Roman black font submission with the subject line “Best Lesbian Erotica submission” to [email protected] as a Google document (preferred), or as an attachment in .doc, .docx or .rtf format. Include the story title, your legal name, pseudonym (if applicable), 150-word bio, previous publication information for the story (if applicable), and mailing and email addresses on the first page.

Queries are welcome.

How I Became A Daddy

I came to be a Daddy in a dominance/submissive context somewhat reluctantly. For years, I’d heard about this kind of play in kinky relationships — particularly among my gay male friends. I felt a certain charge about it whenever it came up in conversation, but my charge mostly felt very negative: Why would people play with that? How was it sexy? Wasn’t it glorifying incest? How was it not about child abuse, on some level?

I remember very clearly the first direct conversations about it, which was about fifteen years ago now: my friend Greg was giving me a ride home, and somehow it came up in conversation. He was (probably still is) notoriously slutty, and always chatty about his sexcapades and adventures. In my memory, he’s the one who brought it up, but it could’ve been me — I’ve often been the one to eagerly stick my foot in my mouth around kink, asking all kinds of personal questions no matter how appropriate. But I like hanging out with other folks who like to talk about kink, and generally, they answer my questions.

“What is up with all this daddy stuff!?” I asked him. “I mean, how is it not about incest?”

Greg, level-headed and at least fifteen years older than me, answers slowly: “Well … it kind of is about incest. But it’s also about having an older male figure, in the gay boy communities. About having a positive male role model, and how so many of us lacked that as young boys, and how we still crave it.”

I sat with that answer for a good eight years, devouring all the lesbian erotica I could find, my favorites of which had daddy/girl overtones. Why do I like this so much? I’d ask myself. This isn’t something I want, it’s just something I like to read about, for whatever reason. My dirty little secret, the erotica I would never tell other people that I like. It’s wrong, I can’t justify it. But still … I must like it, I keep coming back to it.

For a while, a close friend of mine was a femme girl looking for a butch daddy. I remember those conversations with her clearly, too — and I was still pushing, asking poking questions. It seems obvious now that I was deeply drawn to the dynamic and couldn’t look away, but that I was also trying to work it out for myself.

“But what is it about the daddy/girl dynamic that makes it, you know, not incest?” I’d ask her incessantly.

“It’s just different,” she’d answer, somewhat vaguely. “It’s not about that, for me. It’s about power, and strength, and feeling taken care of, and submissive.”

That language, at least, I could grok. She’s the one who insisted I read Carol Queen’s book The Leather Daddy and the Femme, and that helped me get it even more.

Then, a conversation with a femme who identified as a babygirl I had a few brief dates with helped cement it for me. “Think of it as two different definitions,” she told me. “Like the word baby. We don’t mean literally ‘you’re a baby’ when we call our lovers ‘baby.’ But we invoke the sweet tenderness that word implies. Same with daddy. We don’t mean definition one: the man whose sperm helped conceive you, we mean definition 2: a masculine person who nurtures and cares for you, usually in the leather communities, where sex may or may not be part of the exchange.”

As a word person, it helped to parse the two definitions apart. It helped to start conceiving of this whole separate definition of what a “daddy” is, and how that relationship dynamic worked.

That babygirl femme and I didn’t date long, but our conversations around those concepts were a big turning point for me. I knew I wanted to explore them more. I finally thought, oh, I think I like that, that’s why I’ve been so drawn to slash repulsed by it all this time. Amazing how repulsion and desire can sometimes be two sides of the same coin.

So when Sarah and I got together, shared a lot of our fantasies with each other, and started to explore the realms of kink that we’d always wanted to or hadn’t yet, being a daddy came up for me early on.

“I know it’s something that I want,” I told her. I was dating other people when we got together, and I told her I was interested in exploring polyamory. “I’m not saying that it’s something we have to do together. But I am saying that it’s something I want to figure out if I like, and how I like it. I know it’s something I want in my erotic toolbox, so to speak. If that’s not something you feel willing to play with me, that’s totally okay, but I might want to do it on my own elsewhere.”

It wasn’t an ultimatum, but I did think that it might end up being a dealbreaker.

“I just don’t get it. I mean why would I want to invoke my dad during sex?!” she said.

“It’s not about that. It’s only about you and me. And, in my opinion, we already have the kind of sex and play that I’m talking about. I nurture you, I call you baby and girl and sometimes little girl. You like all that stuff.”

“Yeah. I really do,” her eyelashes fluttered. “Really a lot.”

I grinned. “Honestly I think the only difference between what we do now and what I’m asking for is that one word: daddy.”

She looked pensive. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

The next time it came up, in a different discussion about kinks and explorations, and I mentioned again that I was interested in exploring it, she said, “I’ve been thinking about that. And I think I might just … say it, during sex, sometime.”

I had thought it was never going to happen with her. She’d been pretty clear about her disinterest.

She looked at me sideways, slyly. “We’ll see.”

It was a tease, but it totally worked.

A few weeks later, she did it: just casually let it slip from her mouth into my ear while she had her arms and legs wrapped around me, fucking her slow. It tipped me over the edge and I shuddered inside her, grabbing at her hair, toes curling, coming hard.

After catching my breath, she giggled. “I guess we know what you like!”

It was almost embarrassing, so vulnerable to be known and seen like that. To be splayed wide open, even in front of someone I trusted most in the world. But her eyes were warm and I could see that she liked it, too, and that we were in this together.

Five Blow Jobs on the Me & My Boi blog tour

Sacchi Green’s new erotica anthology Me & My Boi is finally out! It’s been multiple years in the making, and it includes one of my favorite stories (about rife), Five Blow Jobs.

The first part goes like this:

I.

After the workshop. I haven’t had enough of you (will I ever get enough of you) and strip you bare, glove my hand, slide two fingers inside you, sideways on our huge bed. The lamplight is different than the bright white of this room during the day, more warm, orange-yellow-gold and more full of shadows, and the shadows and the gold fall onto your skin like paint. In the car on the way back I couldn’t resist (can rarely resist, it’s so hard to resist when part of our dynamic is built around taking what I want) and slide your small fingers into my mouth. You miss the exit. Your fingers are blunt and I trace your jagged nails with my tongue, suck the salt from the pads, taste the day on your skin. I pull your wrist down to your pelvis and take two fingers in my mouth again when my two fingers are inside you, gently pressing, not a lot of motion, and I start to suck you off. Up and down your fingers like a cock. I hold your g-spot and feel it quiver in my fingers. I let your fingers out of my mouth so you can touch your clit, and keep my tongue on the back of your hand. You shudder and convulse against my mouth, your cunt grips my fingers. You slide your fingers back in my mouth, eager, and I taste you, just a little, at the tips, and I do it all over again.

The book is particularly special to me because there’s so little butch-centered erotica out there, and this is one of the rare ones. I believe it’s not exclusively butch/butch erotica, but includes masculine-of-center identities of all kinds, whether they use the word ‘butch’ or ‘boi’ or don’t use labels at all.

As Sacchi writes, in the introduction:

This book is a celebration of all things boi, butch, masculine-of-center, in those who include lesbian as a part of their identities. These are stories of people we love, and people we are, who put their own personal spins on the gender spectrum. Bois who like girls, bois who like bois, bois who like both; those who don’t label themselves boi or butch at all but can’t stand to wear a skirt; screw-the-binary free spirits of many flavors. Cool bois, hot bois, swaggering bois, shy bois, leather bois, flannel bois, butch daddies, and the femmes and mommas and tops and bottoms and even girls next door who wouldn’t have them any other way.

The anthology includes a lot of my favorite queer erotica writers with new works … I can’t wait to read the entire thing!

Blog Tour

June 12—Sacchi Green—www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 13—Annabeth Leong—http://annabethleong.blogspot.com
June 14—Anna Watson— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 15—Sinclair Sexsmith—www.sugarbutch.net
June 16—Jove Belle— https://jovebelle.com/
June 17—Tamsin Flowers— www.tamsinflowers.com
June 18—Victoria Villasenor— https://breywillows.com
June 19—J, Caladine—www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 20—Victoria Janssen— http://victoriajanssen.com
June 21—Dena Hankins—  http://denahankins.net/my-summer-of-boi/
June 22—D. Orchid— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 23—Pavini Moray— https://emancipatingsexuality.com/
June 24—Melissa Mayhew— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 25—Jen Cross— http://writingourselveswhole.org
June 26—Kyle Jones— www.butchtastic.net
June 27—Gigi Frost— www.facebook.com/gigifrost
June 28—Aimee Hermann— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 29—Sommer Marsden—www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
June 30—Axa Lee—www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com
July 1— Kathleen Bradean— www.sacchi-green.blogspot.com

Oh and also, there’s a BOOK GIVEAWAY

Anyone who comments on any of the posts will be entered in a drawing for one free copy of the anthology. You can comment on more than one post and be entered more than once. The winner will be announced and notified by July 5, if not sooner.

Pick up Me & My Boi from your local feminist queer radical bookstore, directly from Cleis Press, or, if you must, from Amazon.

A Personal History of Best Lesbian Erotica

Best Lesbian Erotica 20th Anniversary Edition is out now, and I’m part of the blog tour editor Sacchi Green has organized on it’s behalf. The story of mine that is in this collection, Luscious & Wild, is here on Sugarbutch already, so I thought I’d take you back into the Best Lesbian Erotica series in celebration of it’s 20th.

Personally, I started collecting them in 2001. I fancied myself a lover of smut and a sex-focused person, but frowned at my itty bitty erotica collection at home. So I started frequenting the lesbian erotica section of my favorite used book store, Twice Sold Tales, on Seattle’s Capitol Hill, which was an equally itty bitty shelf near the floor. The ‘Gay and Lesbian’ section towered in the shelves above it, but I was looking for the bottom-shelf stuff. The dirty stuff. I bought every edition I could find, eventually filling in my collection by ordering the few volumes I was missing online, and still order the newest edition the minute it comes out.

The series now spans 20 volumes with as many different guest editors. It can be hard to pick just which ones to read, or where to start. So, here are three of my favorites.

Best Lesbian Erotica 1998

ble98The first one that got me really hooked was Best Lesbian Erotica 1998. The story by Karlyn Lotney (also known as Fairy Butch, if you remember On Our Backs and other late 90s sex/dyke activism) called “Clash of the Titans” remains one of my favorite erotica pieces ever, and blasted open what I thought erotica could be or do. For example, it could be complex emotionally, it could contain activism and politics, it could show switching, it could show vulnerability. Not that I didn’t know that, exactly, I just didn’t … realize it until I read this story, and this whole book. (I wrote about it in this week’s new View From The Top column, titled The First Time I Knew I Was A Top.)

She cut a swath through my flat like Moses parting the Red Sea, and made me feel like a man: all big and dumb and panting. I felt my internal butch cock harden and start its invisible levitation, and the part of my brain that concerns itself with floral arrangements, oranges, and perfect living rooms fell away. Another part took over, the part that found its genesis in my father’s collection of late sixties’ issues of Playboy, benches two-ten, and answers to “Daddy.”
—”Clash of the Titans” by Karlyn Lotney, from Best Lesbian Erotica 1998

The other piece that made me speechless (and come) was “Ridin’ Bitch” by Toni Amato. That story—that includes a hard femme who jacks off a butch’s strap-on shamelessly while they ride from the bar to the butch’s apartment on a motorcycle—was part of what completely convinced me that I loved strap-on sex.

Best Lesbian Erotica 2006

ble06Best Lesbian Erotica 2006 included the first erotica short story I ever published. I have read that edition over and over, mostly because my story is in it, and it thrilled me to no end to see my name in print. (It’s under my legal name, by the way, not under Sinclair.) 2006 was the year I started Sugarbutch as well, but that actually came after this publication was accepted, and I thought Sugarbutch would be a little private side-project, not become my next big thing.

BLE ’06 also includes a beautiful story by Peggy Munson, and one of my absolute favorites by S. Bear Bergman, called ‘Silver Dollar Afternoon.’

I fall in love with her when anyone asks her why she doesn’t wear her beautiful long hair all the way down and she says, with just a hint of coolness: “A woman’s hair is for her husband,” which makes me remember every time she has unpinned her hair for my delighted eyes and even if I’m not quite a husband I still shiver in my blue jeans without fail.
—Silver Dollar Afternoon by S. Bear Bergman, Best Lesbian Erotica 2006

Best Lesbian Erotica 2012

ble12The 2012 edition is probably my favorite, but that’s because I’m the guest editor and so I got to pick all of the stories. I actually went back to Kathleen Warnock, the series editor then, to request more stories after I read all the picks she’d sent me and I didn’t have as many as we needed. They just weren’t dirty enough—she’d picked me really good stories, with characters and plots and development and such, but I want that AND a really excellent, dirty, kinky sex scene. It is largely butch/femme heavy, but I tried to get a good mix of other character types and pairings in there, too.

The introduction that I wrote for Best Lesbian Erotica 2012 is about why lesbian erotica is valuable activism, and it’s here on Sugarbutch if you’d like to dive into my thoughts on that more.

These books of lesbian erotica are not fluff. They are not nothing. They are not frivolous or useless. For queers coming out and into our own, they are a path.” —From Why Lesbian Erotica is Valuable Activism

And now: Best Lesbian Erotica 20th Anniversary Edition

BLEOfTheYear_approvedSince Tristan Taormino left, the series has gone through a few different editor’s hands, and I’m excited that Sacchi is responsible for this one. She’s edited many of my favorite lesbian erotica anthologies.

Thanks to Cleis Press for keeping this series going all these years!

I highly recommend picking up a copy of Best Lesbian Erotica 20th Anniversary Edition at your local queer, feminist, women-centric, activist-oriented bookstore, or, only if you must, from Amazon.

Here’s the rest of the blog tour, which features the different authors in the book and our story titles. Click around & follow along!

Feb 10, Sacchi Green, Introduction
Feb 11, Rose de Fer, “Dust”
Feb 12, Louise Blaydon, “Ascension”
Feb 13, Megan McFerren, “The Royalty Underground”
Feb 14, Harper Bliss, “Reunion Tour”
Feb 15, D.L. King, “Hot Blood”
Feb 16, Jean Roberta, “Tears from Heaven”
Feb 17, Sinclair Sexsmith, “Luscious and Wild”
Feb 18, R.G. Emanuelle, “Smorgasbord”
Feb 19, Rose P. Lethe, “A Professional”
Feb 20, Anna Watson, “Easy”
Feb 21, Valerie Alexander, “Grind House”
Feb 22, Annabeth Leong, “Give and Take”
Feb 23, Frankie Grayson, “Mirror Mirror”
Feb 24, Cheyenne Blue, “The Road to Hell”
Feb 25, Emily L. Byrne, “The Further Adventures of Miss Scarlet”
Feb 26, Sossity Chiricuzio, “Make them Shine”
Feb 27, Teresa Noelle Roberts, “Tomato Bondage”

PS: Comment on any of these posts for a chance to win a free copy of Best Lesbian Erotica 20th Anniversary Edition. The drawing will be held by February 28th and the winner announced by March 5th.

The Last Night (Asher & Jesse #5)

The envelope from UT Houston stayed hidden in Jesse’s file cabinet for a week before she even had the nerve to tell Asher it had arrived. The other rejection letters from Seattle Pacific University and Seattle University and University of Washington were thinner, only containing one page and a quick ‘thank you for your application,’ a band-aid ripped off clean and swift—but this one from UT was thick. That had to mean something, right? That was a good sign. Jesse wasn’t really even sure she wanted an MFA when she applied, but then when there was more than no chance at all hiding in her very own drawer, she is pretty sure she wants nothing else in the world more.

Except …

“Asher, call me back when you get this. Love you baby.” Jesse leaves a voice mail. Asher is probably still with clients, 6pm on a Tuesday, but it was worth a try before Jesse goes in for her shift at the store.

Would Asher go with her? Would she want to? What if they got married? Is that crazy? What if they broke up? How would sex ever be this good with anyone ever again?

Jesse’s mind raced with stress and change and all the options in the history of options that ever there was. She finally stripped her jeans and boxer briefs off and dropped them next to her bed, pulling her vibrator out from the box on the bookshelf that held her harness, Shilo packing and playing cock, and the nipple clamps that she’d brought from Asher’s house, and she pulled back the covers and slid between the sheets. The bed had a chill underneath the fabric, something that turning up the heat never seems to help, as if the bed had a secret draft that is always letting out warmth. Maybe that’s why they always stay at Asher’s house.

Jesse put a pillow over her forehead and eyes to block the light, wanting to only feel and let her mind think and wander. She turned on the vibrator and touched it to her cunt, using the broad side of it to work the wet out of her and ease her into wanting.

She thought about Asher, whose dresses and layers of skirts and fluff of fabrics make her mouth water and palms sweat. And that one shirt of Asher’s, thin as the skin of dried grass, the one she always wears with extra bright colored bras under so everyone knows it’s on purpose. Jesse thought of that time she’d crawled under the table, dug through the layers of crinoline in Asher’s princess-cut dress, and worked her mouth up Asher’s stockings until she reached the wet between her legs and lapped and lapped until Asher banged on the table and squeezed Jesse’s head with her thighs so hard that Jesse couldn’t hear anything. Jesse was so dizzy with lust and permission, so intoxicated by Asher’s bold shamelessness, so in love. Just the memory made her almost spill over the edge of orgasm, so it only took another minute for Jesse to put the vibrator in exactly the right spot, and come.

After Jesse got off, she fell asleep, dreaming that she was swimming out to an expansive horizon on a perfectly calm sea. Her swimming was easeful, as simple and known to her body as walking, as calm as laying in the grass under dappled sunlight through bright green leaves. She woke refreshed and clear, and put the envelope and looming decision out of her mind, holding instead to the expanse of blue as she squeezed back into her tightest and stretchiest skinny jeans, and headed to work.

Jesse knows she’s not supposed to want Asher to beg her to stay, but she hopes she does. She’s not supposed to want Asher to drop her whole life here and come with her, but she wants that too. Maybe she’s supposed to want to stay, but she doesn’t. She’s been in Seattle her whole life. It’s comfortable, easy, simple. But since Asher, and since the kind of sex she’s been having with Asher, Jesse’s world has been split open—like it was thrown off of something really tall. So why not reassemble it in a new configuration? She hates the dreary rain, hates that she can never quite get warm and always ends up shivering in the dark under clouds splashed orange with city streetlight glow. She wants tropical fruit and thunderstorms and a thriving metropolis. She wants to discover who she’ll be when she’s states away from her narcissistic step-mom who has never quite allowed Jesse to separate, and who still expects “this gay thing” to be a phase. What would happen then? What if Jesse could remake herself from scratch? The idea feels like a betrayal somehow, a secret she shouldn’t reveal for fear of being so shamed she’ll never share herself, even to herself.

“Got your message. Meetings ran late. Still coming over after work?” Asher texts Jesse after her shift starts, so she doesn’t reply until she’s off the floor for her break.

“Sure. Be there around 10, I’m closing.” Jesse texts.

“Bring your dick, I really wanna get fucked hard tonight,” Asher replies right away. Jesse hesitates. She doesn’t have it, will have to go home to pick it up. She isn’t sure she can get it up to fuck, but then again, Asher always seems to be able to inspire her, even after almost a year together. But sometimes it feels like it doesn’t matter that Jesse is the one fucking her, that as long as Asher gets fucked, that is the real desire.

When Jesse goes back to her apartment, past where the neighbors doors are always leaking pot smoke, up the stairway with the lamp out and around the dark dark corner where Jesse always holds her breath, slides her key into the lock that always sticks, she grabs the strap-on and the harness, the nipple clamps, and the thick envelope from its hiding place in her file cabinet, and pulling the hood of her sweatshirt up, she heads back out into the grey Seattle night.

*

Two hours later, Asher is worn out and giddy with endorphins and Jesse is sleepy but still wet and swollen. Asher works her mouth on Jesse’s clit, sprawled naked between Jesse’s open thighs, sheets and blankets long tossed onto the floor, tangled around the bed. Asher bends her own knees to lift her feet in the air, parting Jesse’s cunt gently with her fingers, and expertly uses the smooth inner parts of her own mouth to suck.

Jesse is having trouble letting go and relaxing, but coaxes herself through it gently in her own head. It’s okay. You’re safe and you can do it. Just focus on how good it feels. It feels so good. Give her direction if you want more or less of something. She’ll listen. It’s okay.

She doesn’t need to change what Asher does, once she can relax. Asher has done this before, not tons, but probably a dozen times in the last year, and enough to get a feel for what Jesse’s body craves and how she likes to be touched and tongued and held. Asher works her mouth, gently sucking, flicking her tongue over Jesse’s clit, tugging and parting and opening. It feels to Jesse like it is taking her a very long time to get off, and she tries not to let her brain yell at her for being so slow, so unresponsive. It’s okay to take a while. This isn’t a race. Nobody’s in a hurry, Asher’s not in a hurry, she tells herself.

When Jesse finally comes, Asher’s arms are underneath Jesse’s thighs, Jesse is pushing her cunt hard into Asher’s mouth, her hands on Asher’s head and tangled in her hair. Asher is sucking and flicking with her tongue and pulling with her fingers. Jesse feels all that tension well up and up and up in her, until her pelvis feels so full of pressure from all sides, inside and outside and all around, until something gives way and it pours open, her whole body shuddering, crying out, gasping, moaning Asher’s name.

Asher softens her touches and rests her head on Jesse’s thigh for a minute, then wipes some of the wet from her mouth and slides up next to Jesse, tucking her head onto Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse kisses her, tasting her own musky sweetness and just some hints of Asher’s orange and cream lip gloss.

“Was that … okay?” Asher asks finally, in a small voice.

“So good,” Jesse moans out the words, limbs still liquidy and soft. “I love how you use your mouth. I love how you hold me so well. Thank you. That was … just right.”

Asher snuggles closer. “Good. I want to do it how you like it.”

“I know,” Jesse yawns, body spent, wrung out, tired from her retail shift and from staying up late last night finishing an essay. She wants to bring up the envelope, the future, what they’re going to do. She wants to ask Asher what she thinks, what she wants, what kind of life she could possibly envision them having together, what her next tattoo is going to be. She wants to hear Asher brainstorm about places they could live or adventures they could take, elaborate meals they would make together for brunch on the weekends, what kind of TV shows they would watch while they were winding down from their jobs and lives and stresses of being queer in the world. She wants to brainstorm herself about poems she’ll write, essays she’ll submit to online magazines that will go viral and say important things, teachers she’ll work with, kinky conferences they could attend together. She wants to do all these things. With Asher. Asher, the girl who lit a fire inside her pelvis and told her exactly where it belonged. Asher, who instigates and entices, with a flip of the hair or the way she turns her knee in or how she spreads her legs. Asher, who isn’t shy, and isn’t afraid of looking at the truth.

“Goodnight,” Asher whispers, and puts out the light, kissing Jesse on the cheek and settling back in. Asher’s thick blanket has magically been pulled up over them both.

Jesse can’t get her mouth to open and her eyes to wake enough to form words, let alone to say them aloud, but she is ready to talk to Asher in the morning. Jesse starts drifting to sleep even as she’s imagining what she’ll do: She’ll get the envelope out, she’ll tell Asher it arrived, they’ll open it. And they’ll figure out what will happen next. Together.


Featured image from Crash Pad Series Episode 89: Hilt & Rusty Nails.

Why Lesbian Erotica is Activism

Introduction to Best Lesbian Erotica 2012

I know what I want.

I knew exactly what I was looking for when I read the submitted stories for this anthology: dirty, smutty, smart about gender, smart about power, packed full of sex with the bare necessary descriptions of setting and context, and, oh yeah, good writing. It doesn’t have to be dirty in my personal favorite ways—with sultry accoutrements and costuming like stockings and strappy sandals, or with strap-ons and lots of fucking, or with blow jobs and dirty talk. I like stories where the characters are so turned on and lusty that I feel it too, even if it is not my particular kink or pleasure. I like stories with unique descriptions and rolling prose and insatiable narrators and rising and falling action. I like stories where I want to recreate the action for myself, when I am inspired by the delicious positions and settings and words.

Yes, and the words, let’s not forget the words. That’s what these kinds of books are all about, really. If you wanted a quick, easy turn on, you could load up any of dozens of queer porn sites—there is no shortage of real, good queer porn out there these days. But for some of us that is too crass, and a well-done turn of phrase gets us swooning and biting our lips and rubbing our thighs together even more than a dirty video.

I didn’t always know what I wanted. When I was coming out in the late 1990s, though there was a serious lack of queer porn in the video stores, there were plenty of people paving the landscape for what would become the blossoming queer porn of the 2000s. Diana Cage, On Our Backs magazine, Good Vibrations, (Toys in) Babeland, Annie Sprinkle, Susie Bright—and, of course, Tristan Taormino. It was Tristan’s 1998 Best Lesbian Erotica anthology that for me clicked something into place, something I could no longer pretend wasn’t there. I would hide the book in the back of the shelves at the bookstore where I worked so it wouldn’t get purchased, and I’d sandwich it between two others and sneak it into the stock room to read when it was slow. I wore creases into the spine with Toni Amato’s story “Ridin’ Bitch” and Karlyn Lotney’s story “Clash of the Titans.” I was genuinely confused as to why I liked these stories so much. What was this affect they had on me? Why did I love them so much? What did it all mean?

I began to find other books, short stories, and essays that helped move my budding baby dykery along: Nothing But the Girl—oh, swoon. That essay by Anastasia Higgenbotham in Listen Up: Voices From the Next Feminist Generation. Cunt by Inga Muscio. Breathless by Kitty Tsui. And the Herotica series, which was erotica for women before Rachel Kramer Bussel’s prolific erotica editing career.

I bought one of the Herotica books at a little indy bookstore—now gone—on Capitol Hill in Seattle when I visited one summer, before moving there. But it proved to be too threatening to my boyfriend who, enraged some night after yet another argument about my sexuality, stabbed that book and two other lesbian erotica books with the wide-handled screwdriver which I’d used to masturbate since I was a teenager.

These books are filled with three powerful things: 1. women, who are 2. empowered, 3. about their sexuality (which, by the way, does not involve men). Even the books themselves are threatening.

These books of lesbian erotica are not fluff. They are not nothing. They are not frivolous or useless.

For queers coming out and into our own, they are a path.

Fast forward a few years and I’ve managed to snag myself a lesbian bed death relationship, going out of my mind with desire and disconnection. I stopped writing, because the only thing that I was writing was how miserable I felt, how much I wanted out of that relationship—a reality I wasn’t ready to face. I decided that to work off my sexual energy, I would either go to the gym or I would write erotica. Well, I ended up writing a lot of erotica, rediscovering this tool of self-awareness and self-creation that had led me to smut in the first place, and I began writing myself back into my own life, back into the things that I hold most important: connection, touch, release, holding, witness, play.

My first published smut story was in Best Lesbian Erotica 2006. Between the time I wrote it and the time the book came out, I was beginning to end the bed death relationship, in no small part because I’d reminded myself of the value of the erotic, of my own inner erotic world, of erotic words. Between the time I wrote it and the time it came out, I started Sugarbutch Chronicles, which has carried me through these last five plus years, often being my sanctuary, support circle, best friend, and confidant.

Writing these stories, for me, has not been frivolous. They have not been nothing. They are not fluff or useless.

For me, they were a path back to myself when I got lost.

When I was lost, I had no idea what I wanted, aside from the basic daily survivals: work. Eat. Pay bills. Sleep. Shower. But when I wrote, when I connected with my own desire, I felt a little piece of me bloom and become in a bigger way. I felt more like myself.

I turned again to the great books of smut to help me find myself, to help me find a way back to a partner, a lover, a one night stand—hell, even an hour with a Hitachi was sometimes enough. The Leather Daddy and the Femme. Mr. Benson. Switch Hitters: Gay Men Write Lesbian Erotica and Lesbians Write Gay Male Erotica. Back to Basics: Butch/Femme Erotica. Doing It For Daddy.

And Best Lesbian Erotica, always Best Lesbian Erotica. I still eagerly buy it every year to see what the guest editor’s tastes are, to see what the new trends are, to read the emerging new writers, to get my rocks off.

I rediscovered what I wanted through reading smut and writing it. Through carving myself a path in connection with a lineage of sex positive dykes and sex radicals and queer kinksters and feminist perverts.

After six years of writing and publishing erotica, I am thrilled to be a guest editor for the series which sparked me into queerness in 1998, thrilled to be choosing stories for the same series that published my very first piece, “The Plow Pose,” in 2006, which helped spark me back to myself. It is so exciting to be contributing to this queer smut hotbed that Cleis Press has helped nurture all these years, and I’m so glad to continue to be part of it in new ways.

I know what I want, now. And lesbian erotica, or as I prefer to call it, queer smut, has helped me not only visualize what is possible, but create a path toward getting what I want.

The stories in tis book reflect my taste, my favorites, my personal hot spots, certainly, but also the best-written stories from a large pile of well-written stories by some of my favorite authors, like Kiki DeLovely and Xan West and Rachel Kramer Bussel. There are some less-well known writers in here whose work you may not be familiar with, yet, but who will leave an impression on you, writers like Anne Grip and Amy Butcher. I found dozens of moments of signposts, signals directing me toward myself, words illuminating my own meridians of ache. With each story, with each act of lust, with each dirty command or submissive plea, I rediscovered my own want.

I hope you find some of what you want within these pages, too.

Pick up a copy of Best Lesbian Erotica 2012 via your local queer feminist independent bookstore, or, if you must, through Amazon.