Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica will be coming out in April of 2012, but please pre-order now! Pre-order sales determine how many copies Amazon will keep in stock and help the book become a greater success. (And besides, it’s less than ten bucks right now!) I have no doubt the book will be a success, but most especially because it’s Sinclair’s first anthology, I want it to be an absolutely smashing success!
Amazon’s blurb (it had some typos that I had no choice but to correct):
Sinclair Sexsmith presents a cornucopia of lesbian kink — tantalizing tales rich in variety and saucy details of girls put in their place — and held there firmly. A girly-girl reaps a sweet punishment for refusing to mess up her oh-so-pink lipstick and a well-equipped top takes charge. Whether readers dream of surrendering to a lover or of taking control, Say Please offers plenty of erotic inspiration and gives readers exactly what they want!
In “The Cruelest Kind,” Kiki Delovely’s naughty narrator gets her just deserts from her butch girlfriend with some fierce back alley bondage while D.L. King’s domme makes her submissive strip before an unseen audience, binds her to a bench, and gives her a good strapping in “A Public Spectacle.” Anna Watson’s bored housewife gets more than she bargains for in “The Keys” when she follows a lesbian animal trainer out to a queer bar and anything goes in Xan West’s sexy “Strong” when a transgender butch and genderqueer sub engage in some very tough love.
The editor, Sinclair Sexsmith, says: “Keep an eye out for a blog tour, book release party in New York, review copies, and readings around the country, including (but hopefully not limited to) New York City, Seattle, Portland, Durham, and Boston.”
Durham. Durham! The place I love so dearly! The place that I call home! (For a year and some weighty change now.) So very exciting. I love bringing queer literary events to the South. Despite being on the east coast, and perhaps because we’re situated farther south than what might be considered convenient, we often get overlooked for book (and other kinds of) tours. So I’m elated that this time around Durham will be getting its just deserts.
Speaking of just deserts…because the blurb misspelled it ‘desserts’ I’ll make a quick public service announcement about that saying. Although pronounced ‘desserts’ the idiom actually comes from the word ‘deserve’ as in ‘to get what one deserves.’ I wrote a story that included this saying and an explanation behind it, but today’s excerpt is from my story “The Cruelest Kind” that appears in Say Please: Lesbian BDSM Erotica:
I can almost feel the corners of Her lips curling up, happy to have left me so vulnerable and needy that it hurts. This makes my need to squirm all the greater, so I attempt to push myself up, pull myself together, anything, to regain a sliver of dignity. Then, without warning, I suddenly stop. Call it female intuition. Or perhaps more like survival instinct. I just know.
“You know what you’re gonna do?” She asks slowly, a particular flavor of serenity in Her voice. One could almost mistake it for sweetness. That is, if one didn’t know any better. Her tone, cadence, even Her energy have completely shifted in these brief moments and the calm of it all leaves me frozen in mid-air. She has regained a firm, undeniable upper-hand. “You’re going to press your palms up against that brick wall in front of you and you’re not going to move a single, solitary muscle, not an inch, not even one millimeter.”
Mental bondage. The cruelest kind. A kindness and a cruelty twisted together into a sick, sadistic love child. Sure, I love to struggle, fight back, purposely act out, and behave inappropriately. I day-dream for hours on end, plotting new and creative ways to fuck with Her head, wanting to earn every blissful moment of agony and ecstasy. But disobey a direct command? I simply cannot. And She knows this. Tether me to a pole and whip me relentlessly–I can writhe around uncontrollably, my body flailing violently with very little repercussion, rejoicing in my tremulous dance. Here I must display complete control with every breath, cautious not to neglect for even half a second that I am utterly confined by invisible shackles. The ultimate subjugation. This. This intellectual and physical mind fuck. This is what torture is really all about. The pain is in my head, the pleasure in my body. And when one becomes too much to handle, they switch places.
She stands back for a minute to watch it all sink in. Satisfied but not yet sated, She decides I haven’t experienced sufficient humiliation and degradation, so She bends me over farther still. Meticulously following Her orders, I’m careful to only move of Her volition–the palms of my hands scrape against the brick as She poses me exactly to Her liking. The cerebral hold She’s got on me far from necessitates any physical assistance, but it pleases Her to leave me as exposed, tormented, and defenseless as possible. So She uncoils a length of thinly-gauged, crimson red rope from Her saddle bag and kicks my legs apart. Even more challenging to obey now that I have been deprived of practically any sense of balance; my body wants to give out but my arrogant nature can only be characterized as quite the determined, little brat who never backs down. So I steel my perseverance on the inhale, revel in my suffering on the exhale.