BDSM Book Reviews gets my taste in bondage, which means more to me than 5 paddles

Who doesn't love a rave review? I'm vain enough to cop to saying that of course I love reviews that say nice things about my books. But not all great reviews are equal. There are some that let you know the reviewer gets what you were trying to do, and as both an anthology editor and book reviewer, I'm not trying to suggest that "what the author/editor was trying to do" is the only way to interpret a book. There is no "correct" one true way of interpreting a work of art (see this post) but in this case, especially as I'm in the midst of editing Best Bondage Erotica 2014, I was thrilled to see that the things BDSM Book Reviews highlighted in its review of Best Bondage Erotica 2013 were precisely the things I look for when selecting stories:

What is really appealing about this book is the creative ways people are bound. The ones where there is a treat of exposure outside are exhilarating. The reader can feel both the excitement and the anxiety of being caught. One of the bondage stories includes walking through a hotel where others could see their sexy restraints before the Domme and her female submissive retires to a lush hotel room. Each one of these stories will appeal to many reader’s fantasies.

More on the book:



Buy Best Bondage Erotica 2013 at:

Amazon

Kindle (ebook)

Bn.com

Nook (ebook)

IndieBound (find your local independent bookstore)

Cleis Press

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

Introduction: Loving Bondage Anywhere and Everywhere

One of the main things I look for when editing the Best Bondage Erotica series is variety. I want a mix of types of people being tied up, a range of implements used to bind, a diverse setting for these kinky scenarios. This year, I got all that and more—much more.

I was especially pleased to see that several authors threw open the bedroom door and took their kinky play outside. In “The Great Outdoors,” “Wheelbarrow Position” and “Tree Hugger,” you’ll find some very creative bondage that borders on exhibitionism, as well as full-on exhibitionism in “A Public Spectacle.” The excitement of being exposed, of baring your body to the elements and not being able to escape should someone walk by, is expounded on with kinky delight in these tales.

The variety doesn’t end there. There are newcomers, whether to bondage or specific types of bondage play, from shibari to a simple rope harness, plastic wrap to handcuffs to a chastity tube. There are sex toys, all manner of them, from a special pink ribbon to a Hitachi Magic Wand, and they come into play in ways that will surprise and delight you, but what I’m most thrilled about with this collection is what the men and women feel once they are tied up, bound, restrained, at someone else’s mercy. Here’s a sampling:

“…this is a stranger for whom I want to be the very best toy ever.” (“The Moons of Mars”)

“She focused on her breathing. Taking slow, deep breaths, she stared back at him, daring him to do his worst.” (“The Longest Afternoon”)

“The blatant hunger on his face almost made up for the last year of neglect. But he was struggling against his bonds now, and that just wouldn’t do.” (“Lights Out”)

“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.” (“Foot and Mouth”)

These characters find themselves appreciating even the discomfort of bondage, trading their autonomy for something greater, something that sets them free—from convention, from daily life, from their usual roles. It’s that freedom to exult, straight, mouth off, give and take pleasure that I hope comes across the strongest in these pages. For while these stories take place in a variety of settings, using all sorts of implements and household items, what they have in common is desire, curiosity and a willingness to pursue them, even when you’re not sure where the journey will take you. I hope dedicated bondage fans, newcomers and those of you who share that curiosity about the thrills of being tied to a tree or a chair or a bed, will keep this book handy and be inspired to dream up, and live out, your own fantasies.

Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City

And here's a bonus of 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?