Email: rachelkramerbussel at gmail.com



 

Lusty Lady

BLOG OF RACHEL KRAMER BUSSEL
Watch me talk about my debut as an author, Sex & Cupcakes: A Juicy Collection of Essays, in this Q&A with my publisher Thought Catalog Books

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Bondage erotica BOGO offer through October 31st

Today, October 14th, through October 31st, I'm doing a special giveaway - if you're in the U.S. and pre-order my birthday month book, Best Bondage Erotica 2013, from Amazon, I'll send you a free signed book (it says December 13th there but it will be out in November). You can buy the Kindle ebook or paperback, as long as your purchase is made by October 31st and you forward me your receipt by November 1st to bestbondage2013 at gmail.com with "BOGO" in the subject and your book selection, I'll send you one of the following books, signed (to you or whoever you request): Peep Show, Irresistible: Erotic Romance for Couples, Suite Encounters: Hotel Sex Stories or Anything for You: Erotica for Kinky Couples. I'd also love it if you'd click "like" here and here - yes, it sounds silly, but it really helps my books and I hope to have the honor and privilege of editing the Best Bondage Erotica series for a long time! If you can't pre-order but plan to buy it from Amazon, then hold off until my birthday, November 10th, because for those who order the book from Amazon ON November 10th, I'll be holding a special contest. If you're wondering why I'm doing this, it's because the more pre-orders a book gets, the more orders Amazon will place, which is great for my book and the future of the series. The table of contents is below and I will be posting my introduction soon.



Foreword: Uncomfortable Truths Graydancer
Introduction: Loving Bondage Anywhere and Everywhere
An Introduction to Shibari Elizabeth Coldwell
This Is Me Holding You Annabeth Leong
Tying the Knot Tiffany Reisz
The Great Outdoors Teresa Noelle Roberts
What Vacations Are For Thomas S. Roche
Lights Out Mina Murray
Feeling the Heat Lucy Felthouse
You Can Look… Evan Mora
The Moons of Mars Valerie Alexander
Interlude for the Troops Louise Blaydon
Hot in the City Sommer Marsden
Passion Party Purgatory Logan Zachary
Steadfast Andrea Dale
Tree Hugger Giselle Renarde
A Public Spectacle D. L. King
Seven More Days N. T. Morley
A Bit of a Tangle Monocle
Wheelbarrow Position Danielle Mignon
The Longest Afternoon Medea Mor
Plastic Wrap Shoshanna Evers
Wiped Kay Jaybee
Foot and Mouth Rachel Kramer Bussel

And here's a bonus - I hope this is at least worth you "liking" it on Amazon. Here's a few paragraphs of my story "Foot and Mouth," a very sex toy filled tale!
"Foot and Mouth" by Rachel Kramer Bussel

Shiny silver bondage tape. Dangling bells at the ends of matching nipple clamps. A black leather paddle. A Wartenberg wheel, that tiny, mean, metal medical implement. Pink feathers. And an evil grin. I shiver not so much because Bennett has those sadistic items in his hands, save for the last, which he sported on his lips, but because I can already feel the sticky heat of the tape trapping my mouth, the brush of the light feathers against the overly sensitive skin under my arms, the wheel winding its maddening way along my tender, ticklish soles. Even more than those inanimate objects that my man loves to animate, though, it’s him who makes me shiver. Bennett knows even better than I that he and he alone can make me stay stock-still, can make me tremble in fear and arousal so closely combined I have no idea where one starts and the other stops.

My entire body strains toward these kinky accoutrements, and toward him, the pull so deep I can barely remember a time before I was at his mercy, even though I know there exists such a time. Now it’s just me and him and however he wants to use me. Sometimes he only wants my mouth, sometimes my ass, sometimes my pussy, sometimes my mind. Sometimes I put on shows for him, sometimes I tell him stories, sometimes I bend over.

Today I know it’s not about what I want or can do for him at all; he wants to hurt me, and therefore he will, and I will like it, because that’s how I respond to him. My nipples can already feel the press of the clamps, the deep heat that seems to burn its way through me, and stays there. Bennett’s smile is a little mysterious, small, playful, which usually means his mind is concocting grand plans to torture me. If he could read my desire for pain, for service, for full immersion in being completely his from day one, then now, well past day one thousand and one, it’s like he knows me better than I know myself.

He’s not the kind of person you can ever tell what you want straight on. Or you can, but it doesn’t do you any good, not as a sub. Or more accurately, it doesn’t do me any good. Bennett gets a perverse pleasure out of denying me what I crave, out of only giving in when he knows I’m so mad with desire I almost no longer want it. Then he unleashes every ounce of sadistic determination on me, but not a moment sooner. He’s not interested in the “You like to be spanked, therefore I’ll spank you” kind of equation. Too straightforward, too boring. He’s told me as much. “If you just want some man to play Dom, or play Daddy, go find someone else,” he told me on our first date. I hadn’t intended to tell him all about my kinkiest fantasies; the ones I’d never told anyone, even the men I let tie me up and have their way with me. I hadn’t ever truly gone there, hadn’t even realized where “there” was until, without even a drop of wine, Bennett coaxed the truth out of me. The very naughty truth that made my cheeks burn, as I whispered it across the flickering candles and elegant tablecloth and forgotten meal.

It’s not just because he’s a genius, literally, and his mind moves too fast for that to be at all interesting to him. And it’s not the wealth of lovers he’s had before me on whom he’s honed his Dominant skills, either. It’s that he wants each time to be better than the last. He wants it to matter. He wants me to feel it not just on the tender surface of my skin but inside, deep down, all the way, where it counts. When he takes out his knife and traces it along the swell of my breast, he wants me to wonder, even for a split second, if he’ll be careless⎯or, worse, careful⎯and break the skin. He wants me to wonder, when he tells me he is bringing guests while I’m all trussed up, if he really is, and how many. He wants me to be uncertain whether he’d actually try to get his gigantic fingers inside my tight but eager ass without lube. Maybe it’s because I’m a sucker that I fall for it every time. Maybe I just want to. But when I see and hear him taking out the duct tape, I squirm in anticipation. I know I will miss the chance to mouth off, or to simply tell him basic things like, “Yes!” or “Fuck,” or “Please,” or “More.” We are both attuned to the verbal nuances of power play, so it’s rare that he takes away my power of speech. He does like to see me drool, but gags aren’t his style. He’s more the type to shove four fingers in my mouth and wait until the saliva starts to spill down my throat, or hand me a particularly large cucumber and insist I take it as far as I can.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know that a part of him, and, yes, a part of me, is already thinking about how the tape will feel coming off, how it will rip at the tender skin of my upper lip, my chin, my cheeks. Will it leave red marks? Will my lips burn? I whimper as the future pain whispers to me, and he looks down at me with what would typically be called contempt, except I know it as love. That’s his way, and when he pinches my lips closed with his fingers, I instinctively spread my legs. Trust me, we have plenty of truly tender, TLC moments, but not when we’re about to indulge our deepest desires. I’d say “do a scene,” but there is nothing of performance art about this.

“You want the tape, don’t you, Sophie?” he asks, even though it’s not really a question. He peels the shiny silver tape so close to me I hear its separation from the roll loudly. When I nod, he frowns at me.

“Yes, Bennett, I do, I want the tape. You know I want the tape.” Except it’s not about knowing, it’s about acknowledging these truths, saying them out loud, admitting them.

In 12-step programs, they say that admitting it is the first step, but in kink, at least my kink, admitting it is not about disowning it, but the very opposite: owning every ounce of what makes me so perverse as to want that tape on my most tender parts. It’s a good thing I’m so clear on my own perversions, because that’s the very next question Bennett asks me. “Where do you want the tape?” Oh, but is that ever a trick question. Do I want it on my nipples⎯and will I want it when it comes off my nipples? Do I want it binding my ankles together? Do I want it wrapping my wrists together so that I can see myself like a glinting Christmas present, all wrapped up and waiting for its proud owner to tear apart?

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