My copies of Please, Sir arrived right before I left; it'll be in stores any day now, and in online stores, so please buy it. I'm calling it "My most important book out right now." I'm spending more money to promote it than any of the others and think it's simply gorgeous. So if you've never bought one of my books, please consider buying this one. Soon the kinky, sexy, red-hot trailer will be posted and in May there's the virtual book tour.
My post title is sortof facetious; buy any Cleis Press title and I get royalties (I do on most of the others, save for the first, I-was-young-and-naive-and-didn't-insist-on-royalties Up All Night), but Cleis is the most direct route to getting me paid, plus has the biggest selection. I will have a few copies for sale this Thursday at In The Flesh if you want an autographed copy.
One of the best parts of AWP was meeting contributors to my books: Lana Fox, who has a story in my October anthology Orgasmic, and R. Gay, whose work I've been reading since before I was editing books and is one of the best erotica writers around (and the editor of this summer's Girl Crush anthology featuring my story "Great Lengths"). It was so wonderful to meet her.
I'll be interviewing cover photographer Christine Kessler (who's also shot a few of my other Cleis Press books and has a sexy book of her own, Nylon Girls out) this week. If you have any questions for her about this cover, let met know at rachelkb at gmail.com (put "Kessler" in the subject line) and I'll ask her.
And because I'm sick of my own cowardice in censoring this blog, here's an excerpt from my story "Your Hand on My Neck." If you like it, buy the book. And yes, there is choking (and spanking and kneeling and bondage and a Wartenberg wheel and more, in the book trailer). For more excerpts and ongoing Please, Sir author interviews, see the official blog.
And yes, for all Amazon links, I get a tiny kickback, but I don't care where you buy Please, Sir from: directly from me at In The Flesh, directly from Cleis, an indie bookstore, Amazon, whatever. It's all good. My goal is to have this one sell out fast. Apparently, my female sub erotica sells best and if it does well, I can hopefully do more...and afford more book trailers. We're finalizing the music right now (I get to call someone whose music got me through law school) and I'll be posting it as soon as it's ready.
From my story, "Your Hand on My Neck," which closes Please, Sir:
Last week, you gave me a special gift: two hands there, each taking half, the pressure greater than one alone could handle. Your dick got even harder as you slammed into me, your weight shifting into your arms, making it hard for me to swallow. The shallow sound of my breath was loud in my ears as I willed you to twist a little. I longed for clothespins, imagined them standing upright on my nipples. You pulled one hand away to slap my clit, and I turned my head to the side, beckoning to the sheet, asking it for something I couldn’t ask of you. You knew, though, and tightening your grip on my neck, you slapped my cheek, the sting ringing in my ear. Slapping my face requires much more precision than spanking my ass. A stray slap down there can be corrected easily; a misplaced stroke can stop everything up above. Maybe because you’ve hit my sweet spot countless times, you know where on my face I crave it most, that fleshy apple bulge of my cheekbone, the part that makes me flinch, my teeth clamped. I look up at you through filmy eyes; I can’t look too directly because that would be too much, for both of us. There has to be a veil for me to let you do this. It’s why you’d stroke my neck across the table at a restaurant, or even lightly pinch my cheek, but would never in a million years slap me like this. Even a tap on the ass can be tolerated in public, but not this. This is more depraved somehow, and we both know it. My lips start to tremble and you lift your hand from my neck to cover them. You wind up covering part of my nose, too, and I force the panic to wind its way back down my throat before you slap my cheek again. Your dick is still inside me, but I wouldn’t say you’re fucking me with it, more like holding me in place, making sure I know you could fuck me at any time.
You switch hands and smack my right cheek, and I make sure my eyes are adamantly shut so I don’t see the blows coming, don’t know what’s going to happen, because that would ruin it a little bit for me. I feel you pull out and fear it’s over, fear you’ve tired of me, are bored by what’s increasingly becoming less of a game and more of a need. But instead your hand lingers on my face, seeing how much of it you can cover. I arch up against you, my back curving, straining to be covered by you. You give me what I want, pinching my nose, just for a minute, but long enough to make my insides seize up. You let go but then your face is right next to mine, the stubble I adore so much brushing against my cheek. I think you’re going to whisper something to me, but instead you bite me there, the fleshy part of my lower jaw. Not hard, but I’m sure it’ll leave an imprint. My clit is aching, but I can’t think about that too much because you grab my hands in yours and then tickle me under my arms. You’re not supposed to do that; tickling is off limits, but you do it anyway, followed by a sharp slap across my face, first one, then the other cheek. I want to ask you to do it harder, but I just think it, wondering if you’d be insulted were I to make such a request.
You take my silence for disinterest and do, indeed, slap me harder. Maybe it’s my imagination but you jab your cock into me when you do it. I’ve only slapped someone’s face in real anger, not like this, so I don’t know what it’s like, but I hope it makes you hard, I hope hurting me gets you off the way lying beneath you does to me. I don’t want to ask because as much as I may imagine what you’re feeling, I’d prefer you to show me with your body rather than your words.