In Her Sights

 

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Happy Lupercalia, loves! I didn’t want a holiday that involves whipping and knives to pass without at least giving a nod to such play (spoiler alert: I went with the latter) so here’s an excerpt (or a few excerpts because I’m feeling generous) from my story, “In Her Sights,” published in Alison Tyler’s Bound for Trouble: BDSM Erotica for Women.

 

I once watched an artist painting a portrait of his lover. Witnessed the lascivious nature of his brush dipping into the pigment, the amative blending of colors just so on the palette, before he ever touched tip to canvas. Working assiduously to infuse his lover’s very soul into the eyes; languidly lingering on the lips, introducing sex to the mouth. He studied his subject’s face so intently, so intimately, his lover shackled under the weight of his regard.

I’ve seen that artist’s look in Lux’s eyes, una mirada muy particular, sensed that fixed stare effusive and sumptuous against my surface, and then felt her go deeper. Entering my fleshy sex with her fist, farther still with her gaze.

My clit skips a beat.

I can’t get past the way she’s caught me and holds me captive with that gaze—knowing and profoundly intense. She twists her wrist one last time and my cunt clamps down as I submit to the waves rippling, then ripping, through me. “Mmmmmmm…that’s my good girl.” And then she’s gone. Pulls out of me with not the slightest warning and I cry out, suck in and am left wanting. So painfully wanting. My shyness begging to break away and cast my eyes downward, to bring my hand to my face and deflect at least a small portion of it all. Me muero de la timidez—I might just be the first case known to femmekind who succumbs to shyness. But just as this thought flashes hot across my flesh, her control seeps into my abyss and I’m hooked. Inescapably. Tethered up in her resolve.

 *   *   *

She’s shaking her head back and forth. Slowly. Ever so slowly. Staring into me with eyes that say, Fuck, yes to every last turn my body takes, todas las curvas de mi cuerpo. Something about it—an action that traditionally reads as no when she really means just the opposite—consumes me with desire. She devours me with that look. Captivating in every sense of the word—I am her captive. After our first several days spent together, I felt like watching her do that was so imprinted on my clit that I could come just from having her shake her head at me from across the room. And at the very least, it made my knees give out. It always does.

Lucky for me, she likes me on them.

Lux is detail orientated, as am I; her focus makes it abundantly clear that none of my efforts while down there are lost on her. She relishes the sensuousness of the senses—the wet, lustrous noises of the head of her cock hitting the back of my throat; the sight of me thrusting enthusiastically against the shaft, crimson red lips wrapped around the length of her; the pressure of me fucking her back while she fucks my face; the essence of my ravenous cunt wafting up. She opens her mouth to breathe in every last note, tasting metallic.

*   *   *

What gets her off more than how I deliciously pique her senses is her ability to pierce me with that gaze. Lecherously peering, Lux pries into the depths of me, the heart of me, her dick growing harder at the discovery of something so depraved and pure. Her orgasm mounting hastily at my naive nescience in letting her in. As she pierces me farther, the metallic flavor wraps around her tongue and spills down her throat, filling her up.

I want so badly to watch her watching me, to see the story her eyes tell of how pleased she is with everything happening below, to witness how she possesses me so thoroughly with just a look. But I can’t. My eyelids refuse to open when I’m choking so on su verga tan larga that I can hardly suck in any air while I suck her down. I suppose it’s a question of bodily physics and mine adhere to the shut-eyed-cock-choking phenomenon. I pull her out just momentarily to steal a peek and witness the glorious look of dominating satisfaction carved into Lux’s face.

“Well done, baby girl.” Warmth and pride on her breath. “Now get up.” I long to dig my nails deeper into her luscious cheeks, clutch at the meat of that divine ass while I’m swallowing her whole; but knowing better than to argue with that tone, I rise. Markedly laconic, her words are sparse at times like these but always poignant. Pointed. As sharp as her stare and steel. “Facedown on the bed,” she instructs. Later the words will pour off of her tongue and spill all over me. Flood my mind and my senses. This moment exists almost entirely in the unspoken desire that blazes from her eyes; she descends farther, filling me with more than I thought possible. I’m voluntarily enslaved.

Words cannot circumnavigate these waters.

*   *   *

She regards me with such intensity I feel desperately vulnerable and still somehow safe enough to let her in. Though she needs no invitation. Lux fully knows this is hers for the taking. So she takes it and I accept my role as willing sacrifice, laying my body down before her. I allow her to forge away at her own pace; accept whatever is left when she is done. Her eyes taste every last curve.

She takes her time and drags the stainless steel slowly across my skin, trailing where her gaze left off, the tip occasionally digging into the plumpness of my thighs, my ass, testing their give. And, oh, do I give. The cold, keen edge gives rise to a chill blushing across my surface and I feel her lust tear into me, shredding any last lingering defenses. I only wish her blade could penetrate me so deeply. Before I can finish wishing and just as I gasp loudly enough for the neighbors to hear, my remaining lingerie hits the floor in pieces and I wonder if I didn’t perhaps wish too hard. Lux’s knife is too sharp for this kind of play, too near to breaking flesh. And if I don’t take control of my involuntary shaking, she will.

 

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Blood in the Rain IV

1183115454Cecilia DuValle and Mary Trepanier have done it again just in time for Halloween! I’m pleased to announce that my story, “Fifty-Fifty,” will be included in Blood in the Rain 4!

They wanted to cringe while getting hot, so I delivered. And so you’ll notice that this story is pure fantasy–the usual rules of BDSM are out the window for added titillation/horror. So keep that in mind: pure fantasy. I was feeling inspired by The Hunger so you might also recognize nods to that vampire lesbian cult classic. Though I like to pride myself on my lesbian vamp being a bit more edgy. ;)

 

“Close your eyes. Now put the glass directly under your nose. Inhale deeply.” I did as instructed, I mean, how could I not? Her inflection was both dominating and sensual—a balance I find irresistible. But I’ll admit to peeking when I heard a clinking noise. My glimpse revealed her placing a long, shallow box filled with tiny glass vials on the table. “I can hear you blinking.”

Bossy and brusque. I kind of liked it. So I acquiesced and squeezed my eyelids shut again.

I felt her turn back towards me, moving closer. “What is this scent?”

“Chocolate.”

“Now take the glass to your nose again. Two short sniffs, one long. Then sip.”

“Oh, wow! I can taste the cocoa!”

She repeated the process several times.

“Dirt?”

“Yes, scorched earth.”

“Licorice?”

“Star anise.”

“Berries…no, cherries.”

“Both.”

“Mmmmmm…violets.”

“Good.”

Then a new clinking noise. One I knew well. The distinct sound of metal on metal. And I could smell it long before it neared my nose. “Ohhhh…leather.” Unable to stifle my obvious arousal.

“Very good. So you are familiar with BDSM.” Her assumptive habit becoming more apparent as she slid her palm down the inside of my elbow. “Safe, sane, or consensual?”

“Ummmm…are you asking me to choose just one? Isn’t it supposed to be all of the above?” She cuffed one wrist, quickly followed by the other. “And I thought we had moved onto risk-aware consensual kink or personal responsabil—”

“Time is up. I choose for you. I will do my best to keep you safe. But do not count on me maintaining a sound state of mind.” Ale jerked my arms together behind my back, locking them in place with the restraints. “And you can forget about giving a green light. All I see is red. And in my world red means I take what I want.”

I won’t lie. It got me wet. It shouldn’t have. But it did.

 

 

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Unspeakably Erotic: Lesbian Kink

1db1b08c-9d57-423e-8aac-7edbbe43f90a_1.3877840507ae0f06d25a7b23392e6334My story, “Use Me,” that appears in Unspeakably Erotic: Lesbian Kink, edited by D.L. King, takes on a different vantage point than you’re probably accustomed to hearing from me. What can I say? I like to stretch my legs from time to time. ;) This anthology is filled with so many titillating stories, a few of my long-time favorite erotica writers, and a couple I didn’t know who surprised me in the best ways possible. Unspeakably Erotic is also up for a National Leather Association International award, was a finalist for a Lammy, and won a gold medal IPPY (Independent Publisher Book Award for Erotica). I hope you’ll pick yourself up a copy and consider giving it a review on Amazon (those reviews really do help with sales). Here’s a little taste to get your curiosities piqued:

“You heard me.” I grab her hand away from her clit, pinning her wrist above her head, pressing my body firmly against her, extending the torture just a bit more by shoving my cunt hard against her ass. I hold her—one hand wrapped around hers above and one hand below, gripping her hip firmly. “Now I want you to take a deep breath and feel the tension disperse throughout your entire body.” She inhales perhaps as deeply as humanly possible in that moment, nevertheless, she’s not going to get off that easily.

I delight in pushing her and this will indeed be quite the demanding task. Nothing seems to excite her more than a challenge. And nothing gets me hotter than her living up to it. An endlessly licentious cycle.

“Deeper,” I whisper with an intentional hot breath in her ear, reveling in its effect on her body as all her little hairs stand on end and every inch of her skin prickles with goosebumps. “I want you to use the energy of that orgasm…” (so close to the surface, we can both still nearly taste it) “…and push it into the farthest reaches of your body. Feel it pulsating down your legs, all the way into each toe, sensing the tingle and intensity of all that fervor.”

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Corrupted

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I’m particularly proud of my story, “The Fetters of First Love,” that appears in Corrupted: Erotica and Erotic Romance for the Modern Age, edited by Charlie Powell. It’s all about women reclaiming their power and resisting the myth that that which liberates them also corrupts them. And my story features a femme who thoroughly enjoys her butch lovers but ultimately finds true love in herself.

Here’s a little snippet of my story for you:

Marielos had taken a class on rope bondage at the local, feminist-owned sex toy shop and practiced doing plenty of different ties on herself at home as well. But this would be the first time she had attempted to restrain herself while getting off. Ensuring her safety scissors were nearby in case of an emergency, she began by hitching the lengths of rope through the steel bars of her headboard. Then, with meticulous precision, she wrapped the hemp cords around her lower calf and upper thigh, bending her knee so that they were touching. Careful that each pass lay flat and did not bind too tightly when she flexed, she continued to loop around her forearm. In her practice sessions, Marielos had become quite the expert at creating ties without the use of both hands. Making good use of her mouth, she clenched the rope with her teeth, cinching her knee closer to the bed post, leaving herself spread wide.

Ready.

Wanting.

And then she forced herself wait.

The anticipation compelled her to squirm and drip, her teeth digging into the fibers. Only once she had passed the point of no longer being able to take it, did she slide in her first finger. Slowly. Searchingly. Making herself want it even more, teasing her pussy just so. And then pulling out completely, leaving her hole longing all the more. Releasing the rope from her mouth, she finished her self-bondage by curling the remaining tails around her long, black braid such that when she moved her head, she was pulling on her own hair. A most exquisite sensation indeed.

Folks often ask me how they can financially support my writing, if I get a cut of the profits off the final product and usually I don’t (normally I get paid a flat fee) but in the case of this book I get paid royalties so, YES!, you will be helping independent writers by buying this book. Please get yourself a copy of Corrupted today! And thanks, as always, for your support!

 

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Blood in the Rain III

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Blood in the Rain 3, edited by Cecilia DuValle and Mary Trepanier, is on sale this week for only 99 cents! I’m proud to have my story, Give Me A Penny, included in this anthology as well as another story in Blood in the Rain 2 too! (Only sad that I didn’t know about the first in the series before it came out!) Here’s a snippet from my story to entice you:

Trejú seemed to thrive off of sex, blood-feasting, and vengeance. When she wasn’t engaging in at least one of those acts, she was plotting a new and creative way to do so. I assume that’s why she first began presenting me with knives.

She stood on my doorstep, displaying the bundle proudly as if it were a bouquet of roses. “Handmade by authentic gypsies!” Trejú only ever used that racial slur to refer to her people in jest, usually when she wanted to make fun of gadge’s stereotypes of the Roma. Consciously or not, we who do not possess Roma blood have many negative assumptions about Romani, and she would often choose humor as a way of dispelling them.

“Give me a penny.” Trejú kissed my cheek and walked right past me, letting herself in.

I closed the door and turned to face her. “Why?”

A storm surfaced in her gaze. “Prikaza. Bad luck to give a knife as a gift. You must pay me for it.” Slipping her arms around my waist and pulling me firmly against her body, my cunt already hot against her thigh. “The cost? One cent. Plus whatever else I can take from you before the night is through.” She grinned at her own cleverness.

Just as her gift was far too dangerous in my hands, so was her mercurial nature.

I’m particularly proud of this story because it’s the first I’ve written that includes a Romani character (at least explicitly stated). Writing characters of color into my erotica is important to me because all too often erotica features mostly white characters or fetishizes the skin color of and/or stereotypes about people of color. In this story I also consciously chose to have my Roma character be queer. Perhaps because of the stigma within our own culture, I’ve never seen a queer Romani character represented in books, movies, or TV shows and I wanted to prove that, yes, we do exist! Where have you seen positive media representations of Romani characters? I’d particularly love to hear about queer Romani characters! Please educate me in the comments!

Blood in the Rain 3 will cost you less than a dollar only until December 18th…so hurry! Maybe use that extra penny to buy a knife off someone? ;)

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Get it! Getting It!

gettingitHere’s an excerpt from my story, Taking the Toll, in the newly released Getting It: A Femdom Anthology edited by S.B. Roark and Sienna Saint-Cyr, published by SinCyr Publishing.

Normally I’m coming right now, thrashing about in the sheets, my body a creature of habit, after so many years it’s more than difficult to control. My lover staring down at me, grinning wickedly as she reads it all over my body—witnessing just how hard it is for me to stave off that orgasm. I’m her own personal open fuckin’ book and she’s enjoying the read just a little too much.

“Go put on your uniform.” Before I can even protest, drop to my knees, do anything to distract her (she’s getting to know me a little too well), she gives me that stern look that always makes me weak (obedient) and raises her eyebrows with the Am I really going to have to say it again? look and I’m up, heading towards the closet. Looking over her shoulder with a smirk she adds, “You remember your safeword, angelita?”

“Sí, claro. Red, yellow, green.”

“Good girl.” She eyes me one last time all I’m thinking is green, green, green.

Creative as hell when it comes to this stuff and quick as fuck, I can tell her mind has taken off into a full sprint as she leaves the room to collect whatever props she can find that will help bring the swiftly mounting fantasy in her head to life. She looked into my mind through my body’s divulgences, revealed my secret, and immediately ran with it. Didn’t even hesitate for a second. If she had, I would have feared judgment; instead I feel completely at ease, protected and cherished. Her presence and demeanor make this place safe for me. Of course she wants to go there with me. She gets it. She gets me.

Wondering just what she’ll come up with, I finish pulling off my red lacy thong (definitely not part of the uniform) and I’m about to switch it out with the white cotton panties when it hits me and I slide the more scandalous version back on. Sure, we’ve played around with the naughty school girl fantasy plenty but never before have we done any specifically catholic play, and I have a feeling this defiance might just bring it to another level.

This is my first time publishing with SinCyr and I’m especially excited about doing so because their values align beautifully with mine. Their tagline is “Shifting rape culture one sexy story at a time” and their mission statement is “To provide sex-positive, body-positive, and sexually empowered characters and content to readers of our erotic and romantic fiction. To educate on topics ranging from non-traditional relationships to BDSM, consent, healing trauma, and more, for readers of nonfiction.”

Wanna get Getting It? Buy it here! (Free for folks with Kindle Unlimited.)

In the past I’ve always been paid a flat fee for my stories and I’m happy to say (for those of you who have asked) that I’ll be receiving royalties for this anthology! I’m so very appreciative of you purchasing a copy because it will directly support me and my work!

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Blood in the Rain II

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Wanna win a free copy of Blood in the Rain II, edited by Cecilia Duvalle and Mary Trepanier that contains one of my stories?

Enter here!

There’s even a quote from my story featured on the back cover!

Here is an excerpt of my story, First Bite:

She had folded me over and abandoned my needs centuries ago, time and space falling away, but I would not move until she willed it. Desperation had set in when I felt my panties fall to the floor in one swift motion. I hadn’t sensed her approach, I startled and jumped, the blood coursing wildly through my veins. The chilled, sharp tip of something keen-edged traced its way from my ankle up to my inner thighs, pausing achingly close to my cunt just before she grabbed the skirt that was gathered at my hips and used it to yank me up and around. By the time I was facing her, it was cut in two and I had just a glimpse of the black fabric in my peripheral vision as it fell away.

The knife clattered against the concrete, spinning across the floor. Her tongue invaded my mouth. Her hands all over my naked flesh, mine digging into her leather, clawing to grab a hold. She lifted me deftly onto the back of the chair; I wrapped my legs around her waist, our tongues battling to go deeper, and suddenly I was being carried across the room, slammed up against a wall. We wrestled our way around each other’s bodies, I tried to tear off as much of her clothing as she would allow, and no matter how much I pressed up against her, how entwined our bodies became, I still needed her closer.

And then she was inside me, and I was gasping for air. I took her fist because she offered nothing less.

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