Tag: Cleis

Best Women’s Erotica 2015

BWE 15 There are certain brass rings that I wanted to grab when I started writing erotica. Getting a story in the Best Women’s Erotica series was, for the longest time, the biggest of those brass rings. I feel very fortunate to say that I was able to cross this goal off my list when my story, “Star Fucker,” was accepted into Best Women’s Erotica, 2015 – the last of the series that will be edited by Violet Blue.

Far more than the title though, I feel extremely lucky to have my work included in an anthology with stories by so many authors whom I both respect and admire, including Tamsin Flowers, Valerie Alexander, Rachel Kramer Bussel, Lana Fox and J.T. Louder. To see the full table of contents, pop on over to Tamsin’s blog – she has one up, in addition to an excerpt from her contribution, an f/f take on Cyrano de Bergerac called “Roxanne”.

In the meantime, I want to share a short excerpt from “Star Fucker”. It’s a lot lighter than most of the stories I’ve written recently, but damn was it fun to write, and not just because it’s about a writer, a famous actor and a mirrored elevator. It also features a character that has become one of my all time favorites – see if you can guess which it is. Hope you enjoy! xx.M

Excerpt from “Star Fucker”

“Star fucker.”

I barely look up. “Star fucker” is one of Jane’s favorite insults. It’s gotten a lot of play recently—almost as much as “useless douche.” But “star fucker” is special. If “useless douche” were a pair of granny heels, “star fucker” would be stilettos. Jane’s virtuosic scorn twists and hardens the r’s so that it sounds more like Strrrr Fuckrrrr by the time it leaves her mouth.

“Strrrrr Fuckrrrr.”

She says it again. For emphasis. Jane is good at scorn. She always has been. I think she’d shrivel up without it. She’s an agent, after all—balls and scorn have fueled her career. But then, of course, you know that. Jane is your agent. And the girl, the Strrrrr Fuckrrrr, who has been judged not once, but twice with enough scorn to kill a Borgia, is hanging off your arm.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she says, shoving her drink at me. “Viv, I’ll be right back.”

I nod, and take a sip. I’m not really paying attention. This party isn’t how I’d have chosen to spend my last evening in town, but unless you’re into celebrities, Hollywood isn’t paradise to begin with. I’m mostly immune to celebrities. Mostly. There is one exception. But then, you know that too.

I scan the busy bar, looking for Jane. She might be 5’1, but her presence is huge. It’s only a second before I see her, bearing down on a man whose back is to the room. Her shoulders are set like a boxer’s. Our grandma would be proud. Meanwhile, her target is disentangling himself from a slinky, little blonde. The Strrr Fuckrrrr, I presume.

The blonde pouts in the parody of a come-on—hips cocked, breasts pert, no underwire needed. The man regretfully shakes his head just as Jane the Mighty arrives. Apparently delighted, the man swings her up like a rag doll until she whacks him on the arm. The blonde slinks away as he laughs and puts her down. And that’s when I see his face—your face—clearly for the first time.

Michael Spencer.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I nearly drop Jane’s drink. You are the exception to my celebrity thing. I am not immune to you.

Best Women’s Erotica, 2015 is available HERE in trade paper and ebook formats.

Audible Orgasms

TBBOOSo, the title of this post isn’t really fair.. or, at the very least, it’s possibly, slightly, potentially misleading. This post is not, in fact, about loud, orgasmic sex, though what I have to say may serve as inspiration.

The Audible I’m talking about is the Amazon audio book company, and the orgasms I mentioned are the subject of The Big Book of Orgasms: 69 Sexy Stories. Yesterday, the little collection that could was released in audio book format, available now through Audible.com (see what I was doing there with the title? Clever, I know…).

The entire anthology is narrated by the incomparable Rose Caraway, hostess of The Kiss Me Quick’s Erotica Podcast, which, for me, only adds to the thrill, because hearing my story, “Hard Knocks”, read by one of my favorite authors is a bit of a surreal thrill. Eventually, I’ll end up writing a review for the audio version of the collection, (and while I can’t promise to be impartial, I can say that I’ll be honest). In the meantime, here’s short excerpt of “Hard Knocks” to whet the appetite.  Rachel Kramer Bussel brought together a group of talent for this thing that can’t be topped. My story notwithstanding, it’s a honey of a collection. I hope you check it out 😉

Update 4/10/14 – You can read my Audible.com review here!

Excerpt: “Hard Knocks”

“You absolutely cannot make someone come just by spanking them.”

I say this with an authority that I, admittedly, don’t possess. Still, the idea that you could orgasm just from having your ass sufficiently smacked seemed ludicrous  – the stuff of erotic stories and porn. Max is completely undisturbed by my lack of faith.

“Yes. You can.”

Max leans back in his chair, long-legged and lean, the shadow of a smile pulling his mouth. It’s easy to miss, but I’m a very observant girl and I like observing Max.

“Really,” I say, skepticism quirking my mouth.

“Really,” he replies. His eyes flicker over my plump bottom lip, but he doesn’t take the bait. He lights a cigarette instead.

“Well, I suppose if you do a little extra work in addition to the spanking – the clit is a magical thing….”

“No,” Max says, stubbing out the cigarette after only three drags. (Yes, I noticed how many drags. Like I said, I’m observant. Max and I had only been dating for a month and there was still quite a lot to observe).

“Just spanking,” he continues, calmly holding my gaze. “If it’s done right.”

Something flashes through his gray eyes, and I suddenly have the feeling that he knows what he’s talking about. I’m intrigued and nervous and a little bit scared. And surprisingly turned on. I lean back in my chair.

“Show me,” I say.

My chin lifts a notch in challenge. Max smiles, this time a full, real smile that reaches all the way up to his eyes, warming the wintery gray.

“Stand up,” he says warmly, lovingly, as if he’s asked me to an especially fabulous dinner.

“Wait, now?”

I’m ashamed to say that “now” comes out a bit of a squeak. Very undignified. Not my best moment, but I’m wishing I hadn’t gone there – up to this point, I’ve had lots of deviant vanilla sex, but never crossed the boundary to anything like S/M.

“Now,” he says, smiling like the big bad wolf. “Don’t worry, Jen. I’m not going to eat you. Not yet.”

Review: Best Women’s Erotica 2014

BWE'14 Best Women’s Erotica 2014, edited by Violet Blue. Cleis Press. (December 2013). ISBN: 1627780033

For those unfamiliar with the Best Women’s Erotica annual series, it has become a benchmark in excellence as far as women’s erotica is concerned. While the standards are always high at Cleis Press, each installment of Best Women’s is, arguably, the cream of the cream, so when I say that Best Women’s Erotica 2014 is one of the strongest in recent years, this is no small thing.

Before I go on, I’d like to share an excerpt with you, so you can see what I mean. This is from one of my favorite stories in the collection, “Monsoon Season” by Valerie Alexander.


He came over the next night like a proper date. Clean T-shirt on and a bottle of wine in his hands, which I accepted before saying, “I don’t want to open it right now, though.”

Colton looked disappointed. I couldn’t explain that I needed him sober, needed to know how willing and ready he really was for all the dark magic spells I wanted to unleash on him. Bossing him around, pulling him over my knee and spanking him, slap- ping his beautiful mouth just before he came. I had no logical reason for thinking he was sexually submissive, or that he’d done anything like that before, but then again, our animal hearts know what they know.

“Where would you like to go to dinner?” He was formal and polite.

I leaned back on my enormous black couch. “We can go out later. If we’re hungry.”

He looked at me with suspicion and uncertainty. I remembered that he was over a decade younger than me and probably nervous. So I patted the sofa and ordered him to sit with enough authority that he instantly obeyed.

His lean, rangy body felt like my property already. Like it was a time-lapse error that I hadn’t officially fucked him yet. I looked over his dark hair and sun-bronzed cheekbones, his hard tattooed forearms. My hormones careened like drunken fireflies.

“I’m going to have my way with you now, and you’re going to obey and do everything I say,” I told him. “Understand? If you have any objections, say them now.”

His body was so stiff. His voice the whisper of an echo as he said, “No objections.”

I unwrapped him like a present, pants off first, followed by his navy boxer-briefs. His thigh muscles were almost as rigid as his cock. I could guess at the kind of sex he was used to having, the masterful young seducer, suave in his technique and just a little more detached than the girls wanted him to be. Which was why his poker face was so tight with control now as I pulled the front of his T-shirt up and behind his head and then down his back to bind his arms at his sides.

Now he was porn: the naked and half-bound boy with a hard, scarlet cock. I wanted to take his picture, but we weren’t there yet. Instead I climbed onto his lap and pulled up my dress.

“Consider this an audition,” was an arrogant thing to say as I pushed my pussy into his face. But his mouth ransacked me with feverish thirst, confirming that just maybe he did like to be bossed around by dominant women. I spread my knees open as his tongue pushed inside me with such energetic desperation that I suspected it would ache later. His arms struggled against the shirt until I rapped his ear in admonition. “None of that,” I said. “Mouth only.”

His hands clenched helplessly at his sides. I pushed his head back against the sofa and pulled my hood back from my clit. I leaned back just enough to make him work for it, a test of the agility and control of his tongue, and then gripped his hair and rode his face, a dreamy euphoria melting through my cunt. Brief, searing waves broke through me, blotting out the world for a few seconds.

I fell back on the cushions and caught my breath. His eyes searched my face for a sign of approval. His cock was so hard it looked painful.


What makes this collection such a stand-out is that it mixes sex and literature seamlessly. While the stories are all, undeniably, sexy, there is a deeper, emotional resonance to them, as well.

Because the collection is so consistent, there are literally no weak links – every story deserves to be there. As such, it’s impossible to choose the best of the bunch, so instead, I’m going to give you an overview a few of my personal favorites. In addition to “Monsoon Season,” which really is a stunner, “I Hate Sex” by Tamsin Flowers stood out, not just because it involves a daring, sex-in-public scenario, but because it really is about a woman’s relationship to sex and how it changes. I liked Oleander Plume‘s “Out in the Open” for a similar reason. In it, the painfully shy protagonist exercises her sexuality online before engaging in an impromptu, RL interaction. “Toys” by Jade A. Waters is a charmer of a story about a woman with a boxful of sex toys in her closet and the man she finally gets to use them with, while “The Cake” by Ingrid Luna absolutely surprised me. At first it seems like a story about a woman playacting the role of a 50’s housewife, but it quickly flips the reader’s expectations about power, dominance and control. And yes, it prominently features a perfect, beautifully iced cake.

I could go on and on – they really all deserve a mention – but I’ll leave you with just one more, the unexpectedly beautiful and affecting “Chrysalis” by Nikki Adams. It’s about a high-powered attorney who never allows her female lovers to spend the night, until she enjoys a heated encounter with a beautiful trans woman named Zhanna. The story is both incredibly hot and sweetly tender, all while gently subverting standard gender norms.

As with the rest of the stories in the collection, “Chrysalis” displays a depth, sensitivity and prescience that prove, irrefutably, that erotica can be beautiful and powerful reflective of real experiences in real life. Based on that alone, I recommend Best Women’s Erotica 2014 – the title really says it all.

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