Dungeon Crawl - Penelope's Suitors

Publishers like to categorise. Perhaps readers like it too. I mean, 'BDSM' has to be your first requirement. After that, you know where you are if you opt for a bit of femdom or male dom, if you're going for f/m, f/f or m/m. Or maybe you don't because you're like me and you're searching for some indefinable something, some essence of kink that defies categories. I'm awkward like that. Anyway, welcome to this week's Dungeon Crawl, brought to you by Romancing the Kink, and to an excerpt from the third and final story in my little collection, Miranda's Tempest. 

It imagines what life is like for Penelope in the long years of her husband Odysseus' absence, while 108 suitors lord it up in her household, each trying to persuade her that her husband is dead and she should marry him instead. Yes, we're talking Homer. Ancient Greece. And the statue of a goddess that comes to life, and some lesbian menage, and some voyeurism, and some feminisation, and some prostate milking, and some loom bondage. All those things. Don't forget to check out the other authors in this week's crawl, but without further ado, here's a little something to tease:

‘Though I love my maids, I have also missed my husband and welcome his safe return home. He is the only man I will ever share my bed with. For you, I can offer something you may think little better than slavery, but it will allow you to serve me in a far more personal manner than a kitchen boy.’ I am almost ashamed of the way I toyed with this earnest youth as he knelt at my feet. But I think he enjoyed it. His mouth was open and his breath audible. ‘Should you pass the test, I would have you become one of my personal servants. Join my maids in keeping me from loneliness when my husband is absent, which he no doubt will be again. You will have to hide your masculinity: shave your body, wear women’s garments and control your cock. In return, you will get to serve me as my maids do and bring me pleasure. Do you accept?’

‘Yes my lady. Willingly.’

‘Then it is time to administer the test. The other suitors were told that if they passed once they would undergo this treatment each night until my weaving was finished. As you can see, my cloth is barely begun, but I tire of it already. And there is no longer a need for this trickery. I will not make it a condition for you. But I will repeat the test when it amuses me to. Now remove your robe and stand facing my loom.’

Leontes rose and did as he was bidden, turning his lean back to me and my companions. The loom’s large, upright frame was fixed to the wall with batons to allow room for the bar of the heddle to move, separating the warp threads for me to weave between them. The thicker yarn I had spun to secure each suitor now hung permanently from the frame. I told Leontes to raise his arms and fastened his wrists wide apart above his head. I had him open his legs and stooped to tie his ankles to the lower corners. His torso tautened and his cock rose, parting the warp threads. The horizontal heddle pressed into his upper thighs, raising his rear. He was so much calmer than the others, though his breathing had quickened. His response seemed one of arousal rather than the consternation the others had shown.

‘Are you ready?’ I asked.

‘Yes, my lady,’ he whispered, turning glossy eyes towards me over his shoulder.

I dipped my hand into a bowl of oil and rubbed it between my fingers and over my knuckles. I pressed my fingertips to the top of Leontes’ crack and allowed him a moment to become accustomed to my touch.

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Dungeon Crawl: The Gingerbread House

Hi and welcome to this week's Dungeon Crawl, brought to you by Romancing the Kink.

The Gingerbread House is the second story in my little collection, Miranda’sTempest. As you might guess, it's a retelling of the Hansel and Gretel fairytale, although in my version they are not siblings but young lovers who meet in the forest. It's the least subtle tale in the book, full of kinky accoutrements from start to finish! Oh, and it's unambiguously femdom too. Here's a snippet (and don't worry; it all works out just fine in the end...):

Hansel shifts his wrists to ease the pressure of the shackles. The iron digs into his flesh and already the skin is reddening. His legs are cramped and he longs to stretch them out straight. But his cage is no more than three feet long and he can barely move. His hands hang beside his head, the cuffs chained to bars above him. His helplessness amplifies every twinge in his joints into a thousand tiny points of discomfort. He shifts his weight as far as the metal around him will allow.

‘Be still,’ the witch says.

Hansel’s body freezes. Her voice holds an absolute power over him. The only movement he can manage now is the rising of his chest as his breath deepens in fear. He gazes up at the creature. And at his darling Gretel, standing meekly behind her, caught in the same enchantment.

‘Don’t pretend you’re hating this,’ the witch says in a deep, alluring tone. ‘My spell works only on the naturally submissive. It has always been your deepest desire to be controlled and dominated by a strong, beautiful woman.’

Hansel’s cheeks flush. He is deeply afraid of what this woman could do to him. She is no hag, but her beauty is dark and menacing. A shiver of arousal rushes through his pelvis as she speaks, and his cock twitches.

‘Let Gretel go,’ he whispers. ‘Do what you want with me, but let her go.’ It is a struggle even to get these few words out without being commanded to speak. But he has to try to help his beautiful Gretel to escape.

‘You are in no position to make a bargain,’ says the witch. ‘And don’t speak again unless I expressly tell you to.’

Hansel’s jaw clamps shut. Her power is terrifying. A bead of cool sweat runs down his temple.

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Dungeon Crawl: Miranda's Tempest

I love Shakespeare. The first story I had published, in the Xcite collection Past Pleasures, features the bard himself submitting to the whims of a girl who has to dress as a boy to play a girl on his stage. Since then, I've written a queer, sci-fi take on As You Like It, in Storm Moon Press's Shakespearotica, and I've imagined the things The Tempest's Miranda, Caliban and Ferdinand might get up to together in my collection of three stories from House of Erotica - Miranda's Tempest: Three Classic Tales with a Kinky Twist.

For this week's Dungeon Crawl, I'm bringing you an excerpt from Miranda's Tempest. There's a whole debate to be had about whether fantastic stories really need a re-telling, but the story is not simply the original with added saucy bits. It's a re-imagining in which Caliban and Miranda enjoy a D/s relationship and then add the prince Ferdinand into the mix when he is washed up on their island. So, happy crawling, and without further ado, here's my excerpt:

‘My love,’ she said to Caliban. ‘I have waited long enough. I would claim my punishment now. And my reward.’

She stood and Caliban pulled off her dress. He bent her over the king’s bed, her face pressed into sumptuous furs and linens. He ran a finger between her legs and brought it to her mouth to taste. ‘So wet my little one, I will enjoy bringing you to delicious climax. But first I must spank your power-drunken spirit into submission. Ferdinand, I would have you palm your cock into stiffness then come onto the bed and push it deep into Miranda’s mouth while I beat her.’

Ferdinand pumped his shaft until it grew large and positioned himself at Miranda’s face. He guided his cock to her lips and slid it inside. Miranda moaned. Caliban landed his first blow, a stinging slap to the underside of her right buttock. He brought down his hand over and over as Miranda squirmed, muffled cries escaping around Ferdinand’s flesh. Caliban breathed harder as he put his strength into every spank. On and on went the blows. Miranda’s head swam. Her feet scrabbled on the wooden floor. Her fingers grasped the bedcovers. She felt Ferdinand’s hands at her wrists, pinning them down. Her face was hot, hair stuck to her sweating cheek, while the youth’s shaft filled her gaping mouth.

Tension drained from her body, muscles melting into the soft mattress. Her feet slowed their desperate, twisting march. Her cries turned to moans. She ceased to flinch at every blow, instead raising her ass in plea for more. Her skin burned. Caliban stopped. She groaned in frustration. But finally she felt his cock. Impossibly hard. It slid up her slit and came to rest at her entrance. Her cunt pulsed, beckoning it in. But Caliban took her slowly, so slowly. She raised her haunches, pushing back onto him, but he moved with her, drawing away. Gradually, he fed his head inside her. She wanted to scream but Ferdinand’s cock stifled the sound. Her flesh stretched around her lover, inch by inch. He slid the shaft inside in tiny increments. Finally, his head ground against her womb and he pulled out. All the way out, to pierce her afresh. The emptiness was torture. Miranda was a whimpering mass of longing, desperate to be fucked hard and fast.

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Smut for Good: Curves Rule!

It’s here! It’s the Smut for Good: Curves Rule blog hop with masses of voluptuous flesh and prizes galore. I’m sharing an excerpt from my story, Six Lengths of Red Hemp, from the charity anthology Coming Together With Curves. 

I’m also giving away a paperback copy of Best Bondage Erotica 2014 to one lucky visitor who posts their email address and a brief comment by midnight GMT on April 13. I’ll post worldwide. Read on for some saucy curvaceous bondage fun, but first a little more about the charity appeal:

Smut for Good: Curves Rule is a blog hop with prizes galore to raise funds for Parkinson’s UK as this is Parkinson’s Awareness Week. To find more curves, and more prizes, please visit http://smutters.co.uk/smut-for-good and if you can take a minute to visit the Smut for Good: Curves Rule Just Giving page and donate whatever you can to help us reach our target of £100 to raise awareness of Parkinson’s and to support the charity Parkinson’s UK who help those with the disease learn to cope with the challenges, give out information and search for a cure.

In my excerpt, Daniel has just presented Louisa with her birthday present – an album of pictures taken of them indulging their love of bondage in a photographer friend’s luscious, Japanese-inspired garden:

When she met him, he already had a collection of art that included Botticelli prints and a replica cast of the little Venus of Willendorf statue with her round belly and full breasts. His print of Woman After Bathing by Renoir was the one he loved the best, the long slope of the woman’s back under her piled-up hair. Louisa soon realised she didn’t have to settle for the hope that her personality would dazzle him into forgetting she wasn’t built like a supermodel. Dan had first struck up a conversation precisely because of that fact.

Most of all, he loved to blindfold her, then tie her in intricate shibari in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom. The ropes would vibrate against Louisa’s body as he pulled each length through, the weave rubbing against itself and thrumming through her skin. She would try to guess where the rope would be wound next and when she would feel its embrace against her pussy. It wouldn’t take long for her mouth to fall open and the little gasps of longing to start in her throat. She struggled to remain still, fighting the desire to writhe against the restraints. Dan would take his time, and then, when he was completely satisfied with his work, he would draw off the blindfold and allow Louisa to study herself in the mirror.

Now she had other images to study. The photographer, Jonas, a pal of Daniel’s, had provided them with a beautiful, leather-bound album of pictures. Flicking through, Louisa saw herself bound to the trunk of a big old sycamore, dangling on tip toes from a branch, hogtied on a slick slab of wet slate, bent over a mossy stone bench with her ass red from spanking. But the piece de resistance was a four foot by three foot framed, glossy print of Louisa in a stunning suspension, her body curved gracefully backwards as it hung from a maple in the spray of a rocky waterfall.

So, if that’s whet your appetite, get commenting for a chance to win a super collection of more bondage stories.

Dungeon Crawl - Karada!

Hello and welcome back to my corner of the Romancing the Kink Dungeon Crawl blog hop. This week, I'm turning my attention to Best Bondage Erotica 2014, edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel and published by Cleis Press. Whatever your taste in bondage, there's something here for everyone. My story, Tight Rope Walker, involves a Sunday stroll in the English countryside. Spiffing. Oh, and a quantity of rope.

“Why don’t you tie me into a harness I can hide under my clothes while we go out for a walk?” I’d said to him earlier that week, fed up of waiting for grey January skies to clear and the warmth of the sun to return. “You could even put on my collar and cuffs. If I wear a scarf and gloves no-one will see a thing. But it will make me horny as hell all the time we’re walking. And then it will be there, ready, when we get home again.”

Me and my big ideas. “Hmm, sounds like a plan,” he’d said. “Forecast’s dry for the weekend. We should do it on Sunday. We’re going to my mother’s for dinner Saturday, remember?”

I remembered. It felt like a very long evening of nodding in the right places and laughing and saying, “oh yes, I know what you mean,” rather than “oh just shut up so I can fantasize about rope.”

We’d got up late and had a big cooked breakfast, as befits a lazy Sunday morning. Then, around noon, Jake said to me, “Pajamas off. Time for our walk.” God, I’d thought that moment would never come and was out of my PJs in seconds and standing, waiting, in the middle of the living room rug.

He put the collar around my neck first, as always. My collar. One-inch thick leather that buckled into place. No lock, because I would never dream of attempting to remove it myself. But it did have four D-rings placed around it to cater for all eventualities. He put similar leather cuffs on my wrists, then my ankles. These ones had simple karabiner-type clips to attach them to each other. If I was feeling brattish, I could escape them. Not easily but it wasn’t impossible. That’s why Jake always used rope if he wanted me properly helpless.

Anyway, he moved on to the karada next. It had its usual effect on me, making my pussy pulse and my knees weak from the moment I felt the rope draped down the front of my body. As Jake pulled each wrap through the vertical strands, the vibrations went straight to my clit. I rocked my hips, smiling at the utterly delicious pressure there. He was careful not to tie it too tight. Once he’d done I put on my walking outfit, all sensible shower-proof fabrics, sturdy shoes with big grips and my winter woolens – hat, scarf, gloves. No panties though. And I pulled on a sporty crop top instead of trying to do up a bra strap over the ropes around my ribcage. As I moved around the house, up and down stairs and from room to room, I felt the harness hug my pussy snugly and imagined it doing so on our walk.

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