Rapture erotica: “Rapture” by Angela Caperton in Orgasmic: Erotica for Women

May 20, 2011

This is a very timely excerpt from a story I hope you will read in full, “Rapture” by Angela Caperton, from Orgasmic: Erotica for Women.

The comfortable silence that fell between them dragged on until the last glimmer of dusk was swallowed by the night. The moon watched unashamed and Margaret wondered what would happen to it when He came. Would it still be there, or would its wicked pull and maddening shine be cast out of the sky? She hoped not. She’d always liked the moon, liked how its light felt on her skin, how it seemed to turn her to warm mist, and sometimes, when she’d stared at it on long summer nights, she felt its touch in her most private parts. She never told anyone about the odd tightness in her center or the warm wetness between her legs, but she wanted to tell Robert now.

“Sh-should we pray, Robert?” He shifted some, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her closer to him as he braced his feet to hold them in the narrow valley where the gable and the roof met.

“Quietly, I guess. Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors.” The laughter came again, not so deep nor so long, and they grew quiet, lying face-to-face, close enough now for her to see his eyes, like lakes with the rising moon reflected.

He leaned close and whispered against her ear, his lips warm. “Our Father, who art…”

Margaret closed her eyes and echoed his words in hushed whispers. She felt the feather of his breath on her cheek, and then their noses bumped, and she felt his breath on her lips, the prayers almost silent, because her breath was gone.

Her heart pounded as Robert’s mouth closed over hers, firm, moist; he pressed against her, not the chaste peck of Brother and Sister, but a kiss….

Her lips parted, welcoming him, her arms circling him as she felt the first delicious stroke of his tongue along hers. A giddy feeling bolted through her and for a moment, she knew the sense of certain damnation.

Then her arms wrapped around his chest, her fingers grew lost in his hair, and a groan of desire, the most joyous “Amen” Margaret had ever heard, filled her ears.

His hands found her breast under the thin Ascension robe and the shift she wore beneath it. Wetness returned between her legs, along with surging heat and as the moon glittered in the sky, Margaret felt herself under its spell.

She pressed hard against him, their robes tangling. His hands caressed her back, one slipping down over her bottom, impatient with the pale wool. The heat of his palm burned through her linen shift as he worked the dress up her calf, then her thigh. The kiss never relaxed, never ceased to demand and give.

His hellfire hand ran up the bare skin of her leg, lingering at the knee, then climbing, fast and certain, up her thigh to the place no man had ever touched before, but where she had stroked sometimes on the most lunatic of nights.

Read all of “Rapture” in Orgasmic: Erotica for Women.

Winner, 2011 Gold IPPY (Independent Publisher) Award for Erotica!

Purchase Orgasmic from:


Kindle edition

Barnes & Noble (Bn.com)


IndieBound (search for your local independent bookstore!)

Cleis Press

Fresh Fiction reviews and likes Orgasmic

October 13, 2010

From the excellent book review site Fresh Fiction:

Orgasmic springs from a delicious idea — a book of erotica that explores every possible type of orgasm. This highly original concept could only have come from the delightfully dirty (and brilliant) mind of Rachel Kramer Bussel. Oral sensations, digital delights, tricks with toys, and the old bump and grind are all featured, along with many more imaginative ways to bring a lover to climax. By taking the reins, one woman finds pleasure on top; an experimental lover discovers ecstasy with a remote-controlled vibrator; body and soul merge in multiple orgasms through tantric sex. Orgasmic covers it all, from the familiar to the uncharted, opening up a Pandora’s Box of scenarios and techniques to bring readers to new heights of pleasure.

Organic Orgasms by Pamela Madsen

September 24, 2010

Shameless author Pamela Madsen has a post up at Psychology Today about “organic orgasms.” What are they? Here’s her words:

The crux of what we are talking about when we use the term “Organic Orgasm” is an orgasm that is not forced simply for the goal of having it.

Unfortunately, the experience of orgasm is put out as the measure of success of a joyful and meaningful sexual experience. It’s like our culture views sex as a sporting event. Once we get on the playing field of sex, it’s all around running around the bases – with the sole purpose of hitting a home run. Isn’t that what we learned as young sexual beings with that entire concept of “hitting a home run?” Some how, if we don’t get that orgasm we feel like we lost the game.

I have a another good friend that was determined to experience female ejaculation, so she worked with a hands on therapist in a workshop for hours and hours and hours. She was going to experience this type of orgasm no matter what. Well, after far too many hours – she did. To me it sounded like a war. Not an orgasmic experience at all – at least to me.

I contend that being “orgasm focused” can actually work against people having beautiful sexual connections and experiences organic orgasm in all of it’s flavors. It is really NOT about having a “Climax” – even though climax’s are yummy when they happen! It’s really about drinking in the stages and sublime pleasures of arousal, touch and intimacy.

“Not the handjob I was expecting” – Orgasmic guest post by “What’s in a Name?” author Jacqueline Applebee

August 27, 2010

This guest post is by erotica writer Jacqueline Applebee, whose story “What’s in a Name?” is included in Orgasmic: Erotic Stories for Women. Jacqueline is also the author of Erotic Brits.

Not the handjob I was expecting

The first time I had an orgasm in public was also the first time I’d gone out on a date. It was a real pleasure, at aged twenty, to be out doing the sights of London with a man I’d recently met, finding out things about each other, and talking really, really dirty. I didn’t expect to find out something new about myself though. My date held my hand as we sat outside the Natural History Museum in Kensington. He stroked over my fingers, and then he pressed firmly against my lower thumb. I felt a jolt between my legs. I looked at him to see if he could tell what an effect he was having on me, but he seemed oblivious. I sat still as he continued to talk about his life, whilst caressing my thumb and my wrist. I bit my lip, pulled away a little, but this only made him look at me. His eyes widened as he took in the ecstatic expression on my face. He looked down at my hand, and then the little sod just grinned at me. He didn’t stop teasing my hand until I came breathlessly, desperately trying not to cry out loud.

Now I’d had orgasms before, but I’d never had one with another person around, and most definitely never outside of my bedroom. It was a revelation to discover that I could come from just this simple act; to have tourists and sightseers wander past as the world exploded in my head. So I want to thank the man I knew back then, even though the rest of our time together was not good. He put me on the path of thinking outside of the box, of trying new things and boldly going (and coming) in places I’d never thought of before.

Great Orgasmic review at EDGE

August 16, 2010

From EDGE:

The book opens with Elizabeth Coldwell’s “The Waiting Game,” in which a woman who finds that “the more frequently I come, the weaker, less enjoyable and harder to achieve those climaxes become,” is teased by her husband for days before she is allowed to release, until “the pleasure that has been building and building with no outlet for some many days now comes gushing forth.”

A similar scene unfolds in Rowan Elizabeth’s “Hurdles,” when a woman who finds it hard to come gives her lover the explicit instructions needed to send her over the edge. And in Donna George Storey’s “The Big O,” a woman surprises her husband while he is away on vacation by embarking upon a “sexercise” regimen aimed at strengthened her Kegel muscles and improving their orgasms.

In Velvet Moore’s “Chemistry,” a woman’s arousal is triggered by the smells of a science lab, and in Susie Hara’s “Fixing the Pipes,” a woman reaches climax when her husband pretends to be a horny plumber. Voyeurism (and sexy heels) takes a turn in Neve Black’s “Animal Inside.”

Sex toys also play a role in several of the stories. In Lolita Lopez’s “The Chair,” a sexual submissive earns the right to sit in her master’s inventive sex chair, complete with motorized vibrators. In Dusty Horn’s “Share,” two women explore the thrills of the double dong. And a toy robot does the trick in Sylvia Lowry’s “Old Faithful.”

Behind the story: Orgasmic guest post by Sylvia Lowry

August 4, 2010

This is another Orgasmic guest post by contributor Sylvia Lowry.

“Old Faithful” Freaking in the 50s
by Sylvia Lowry

I feel privileged to have my torrid little tale “Old Faithful” appear in Orgasmic alongside so many gifted, free-spirited writers. The story is set in the late 1950s, and the narrator is a frustrated housewife. Irreverent, lusty, blessed with a potent carnal imagination, she seeks release, both sexually and from a banal cultural moment.

Of course, images of suburban repression and malaise are nothing new, but the fifties linger as iconic reminder of women’s social boundaries. There is an overwhelming gulf between the idealized images of the time, the cheerfully totalitarian advertisements promising domestic ease and the reptilian impulses of the brain and loins.

We imagine that these women wanted to cast off their housecoats and brooms and heartily fuck out the cranium of some fantasy consort. We all do, n’est-ce pas?

In my story, there is the banal (cars with tailfins, novelty songs, television flickering into life) as well as the darkly erotic (Chet Baker and hot jazz) as well as a world of technology waiting to repurposed for dirty ends (toy robots, ringer washers, and vacuums). Domestic idleness breeds an overpowering craving for unashamed, vigorous fucking and sucking.

Finally, my heroine bursts from her cage, empowered, relishing the apocalyptic screw that her brain and body deserve. The triviality of the moment is engulfed a feisty, spirited collision of lubricated organs. But will the housecoat and feather duster be there in the morning?

Read the story with two hands. Or one, if you so desire…



Sylvia Lowry is an erotica writer based in Minneapolis. She writes about sex with an enthusiastic fusion of elegance and unbridled explicitness. Privately, she adores straight-up Scotch and the keen, open exploration of both the literary and the carnal. Her work has appeared in Clean Sheets, Blackheart Magazine, Scarlet Magazine, the Erotic Woman, and in Orgasmic: Erotic Stories for Women. Visit her site at http://sylvialowry.wordpress.com.

From her story “Old Faithful” in Orgasmic:

Perspiring, I wiped my face, opening my housecoat as I wandered into the basement. Still filled with my morning laundry, the ringer washer vibrated in darkness, green against black, water cascading violently against its interior, a pure carnal force shuddering viscerally in the blackness. I embraced it, imagining myself joining a mechanical lover of sublime magnitude, grinding my naked pussy into the pulsating steel curvature of the tank, a giant tremulous cock fucking me into oblivion. Its attentions triggered an immediate response and I sensed the reemergence of my thwarted orgasm as I propelled my cunt inward; the trembling steel caressed my clit and entire pussy in a single, awe-inspiring motion. I eased my tits into the embrace, allowing my nipples to achieve intimate contact with the rigid steel, feeling an initial shock of cold contact quickly transfigured into an inverse sensation of scorching heat, a miasma of conflicting impressions that impelled me to gaze skyward, muttering, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” in an attempt to animate the iron beast into pliant flesh.

Purchase Orgasmic from:


Kindle edition (coming soon)

Barnes & Noble (Bn.com)


IndieBound (search for your local independent bookstore!)

Cleis Press

25 women, 25 orgasms in Orgasmic: Erotic Stories for Women

August 3, 2010

That’s the tagline (“25 women, 25 orgasms”) I used in the upcoming Orgasmic book trailer, though of course, there are plenty of partner orgasms in the book too. Here are short story excerpts from all 25 sexy stories in Orgasmic – you can read the full introduction here. Authors’ names are in bold.

Purchase Orgasmic from:


Kindle ebook edition

Barnes & Noble (Bn.com)

Nook ebook edition

Google Play




IndieBound (search for your local independent bookstore!)

Audible audiobook edition

Introduction: Let Me Count the Ways…

The Waiting Game Elizabeth Coldwell

I’ve never been one of those women who want–or need–orgasm after orgasm. Indeed, I’ve found the more frequently I come, the weaker, less enjoyable and harder to achieve those climaxes become. Whereas if I haven’t come for a few days, the release is so strong, so all consuming that it leaves me spent and thoroughly satisfied. I once mentioned this to Danny, early on in our relationship, and while it’s usually meant that he’s never tried to bring me to a second orgasm in a night, knowing I’m completely happy with the first, now he’s using that information to take our sex play to an entirely different level.

“And are you going to give me any idea how long I might have to wait?” I ask.

He shakes his head, an evil smile crossing his handsome features. “It might be before the end of the holiday–then again, it might not. All I will say is that by the time I do let you come, you’ll be wanting it more than you ever have.”

I think that’s the end of it for the time being, but then he adds, “Now, I want you to go into the bedroom and get that little vibrator of yours. I know you’ve brought it with you, so don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. Bring it back here, there’s a good girl.”

The emphasis he places on the words “good girl” makes me shiver, and I wonder how long Danny has actually been thinking about making something like this happen.

What’s in a Name? Jacqueline Applebee

“We just kissed at first when we were at a party,” I gulped. “He had this way of devouring me with his kisses. I always felt trapped by his lips and his delicious mouth whenever we smooched.”

“Like now?” Eric tugged my hands over my head. I nodded, aware of how my nipples had become hard and aching with need. “What else did you do?”

“He talked dirty; he was the first man who ever spoke to me that way.”

“What did he say?” Eric shoved my knees apart with his. He gazed down at my pussy. I knew I was wet, glistening and hungry for his cock.

“He called me a slut.” Even saying that word now made a wonderful tremor pass through me. “He said he could smell my cunt, and that it was the best perfume in the world.”

“I agree,” Eric said with a smile. I arched up wanting him inside me, but Eric increased his grip on my hands. The delicious pressure made me whine. My sensitive wrists felt heavenly. I was desperate for this man.

Chemistry Velvet Moore

Smell is the sense tied most closely to human memory. So when I sense any use of potassium chlorate; a white, crystalline compound well stocked in science laboratories and often used for combustion; I remember how it feels to have the fire of orgasm sizzle its way through my body and melt a liquid path down my legs. The chemical’s odor singes my nostrils and flashes me back to the sensation of a chilly, marble countertop pressed against my back, to the press of fingers digging into my supple thighs, to the slick pressure of rounded glass slipping in and out.

And it’s what I remember most about him.

The Chair Lolita Lopez


Cal’s instruction sent white-hot shock waves through her core. Lily’s nipples stood at attention. She inhaled a shuddery breath and took a tentative step forward. Skimming her fingertips over the smooth wooden arm, Lily appreciated the beauty and craftsmanship of the chair. Only a hedonist like Cal would think to commission such a hybrid piece of furniture. Part bondage device and part sex toy, it was legendary among his rather kinky circle of friends.

Before Cal, Lily had only dabbled in the lightest of kink: A silk scarf binding her wrists to a headboard. An ice cube between her lover’s lips gliding over the swell of her breast. A few stinging smacks on her bottom in the heat of passion.

But then Cal had appeared in her life and introduced her to the sometimes painful but always exhilarating world of BDSM. That first night he’d broached the subject, Cal had taken her to his playroom and talked her through the various toys and implements. When he’d shown her the chair sitting in the corner on a raised platform, Lily’s curiosity had been piqued. What was hidden beneath the panels spanning the distance between the chair’s legs? And why did the platform require a power source? In that instant, she’d decided to accept the experience Cal offered and earn the privilege to sit on his prized piece.

Fixing the Pipes Susie Hara

He leaned over and softly placed the head of the hammer on the skin just below her collarbone, where her nightgown fell open. He caressed her with the cool metal head, drawing patterns that sloped gradually down toward her breasts. She was breathing hard. She looked him in the eye as he continued his circling, until the hammer rested in the valley between her breasts.

“It has been so long since I have felt a hammer between my breasts,” she said. She watched the corners of Scott’s mouth twitch, as he stifled a laugh. He methodically moved the hammer to her left nipple, moving it around and around, which caused her to shiver and close her eyes. Her book dropped to the floor. It was quiet for a time, while he traced the cool metal around each of her nipples, which were now puckered and pointing straight up. She grabbed him and pulled him on top of her in one motion.

Share Dusty Horn

I spread my fingers wide, place my hand on your ass and lift the skin tightening across your muscles, and the flap of your labia pulls reluctantly away; an anomaly, a novelty in a body and personality that is so uncommonly masculine. My love for you is located in your pussy as you swallow your pride, arch your back and offer yourself to me. The contrast between your boyish charms and this intoxicating sticky elegant peach is more beautiful than anything that has ever corresponded. Fuck correspondence. The only things that should be corresponding are my dick and your cervix.

In my fantasy I slam you harder than you would allow me, and that is what fantasy is for, after all. I get the most wonderful show now; the show of you enjoying yourself, getting off, getting fucked. Whatever it is that fills us with the love of being penetrated, you are feeling it now and whatever inspires our fascination with watching others love to love the love that loves is washing over me now.

The side of your face is smushed against the sheet and your arms are flopped to the sides. You are wailing a single note, and too bad I don’t have perfect pitch or I would write you a song in that key. Our pussies have a tin-can telephone now.

Hurdles Rowan Elizabeth

What do I need?

I run my palm over my right breast and nipple. It feels nice, but just nice. So I give my nipple a good squeeze. That could work, though I know my nipples are not the path to orgasm for me.

I pad through my apartment to my bedroom and dig around in my bottom dresser drawer. I find my favorite vibrating dildo and a tattered copy of a Portia Da Costa book and make my way to my bed. It’s a little section of the book where the heroine gets buggered for the first time that always gets to me.

I begin gently rubbing my pussy as I read, dipping my fingers into the folds and bringing out the wetness. I run my finger over my clit, barely making contact, and it makes me shiver. It’s so easy to do for myself.

Then it hits me. I just need to remember what gets me going in detail and then guide Alan through it. Show him, I decide. I just need to show him.

I slide my curved dildo inside of me and begin rubbing in earnest. I come with bursts of color behind my eyes and a plan hatching in my head.

Seeing Stars Louisa Harte

Tonight I want something differentæI want to be alive in the moment.

I flick open my eyes and tune in to the energy of the environment, feeding off its earthy vibes. A smile on my lips, I hunker down in the grass and slide my hand into my pajama pants to play with my pussy. I gasp, surprised at my wetness. Swirling my fingers in my juice, I coat each one before stroking my slit. My clit strains, hard and eager for attention. I graze it with my thumb. Stroke it. Tease it a little. I love playing with myself, building that familiar ache until it becomes an overwhelming desire that takes over my body. I’ve always loved wanking, being the one in control, timing my pleasure to perfection. Only tonight I have a surprise participantænature. Goose bumps prickle my skin as the wind gusts over my bare tits. It lifts my hair and throws it across my face like a kinky blindfold. I moan with pleasure and wiggle my hips, shoving my ass deeper into the sodden grass in response.

Old Faithful Sylvia Lowry

Perspiring, I wiped my face, opening my housecoat as I wandered into the basement. Still filled with my morning laundry, the ringer washer vibrated in darkness, green against black, water cascading violently against its interior, a pure carnal force shuddering viscerally in the blackness. I embraced it, imagining myself joining a mechanical lover of sublime magnitude, grinding my naked pussy into the pulsating steel curvature of the tank, a giant tremulous cock fucking me into oblivion. Its attentions triggered an immediate response and I sensed the reemergence of my thwarted orgasm as I propelled my cunt inward; the trembling steel caressed my clit and entire pussy in a single, awe-inspiring motion. I eased my tits into the embrace, allowing my nipples to achieve intimate contact with the rigid steel, feeling an initial shock of cold contact quickly transfigured into an inverse sensation of scorching heat, a miasma of conflicting impressions that impelled me to gaze skyward, muttering, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” in an attempt to animate the iron beast into pliant flesh.

Paying It Forward Kendra Wayne

“Feel how wet I am,” she hissed.

“Damn, you are,” he said, sounding surprised and pleased. He slipped his fingers between her lips and coated them with her juices. Then he painted her anus and licked her clean. She hadn’t even had to ask. He was a quick learner, this callus-fingered bassist.

She smiled, told him to get the lube.

He was appropriately gentle, sliding one finger into her, then two, stretching her out a little.

“Now the beads,” she said. Did she sound like she was begging? Maybe she was, just a little.

He greased them up, carefully slipped them in. She shivered, savoring the sensations, each little pop of pleasure ratcheting her arousal higher.

She rolled off the pillows onto her back and spread her legs. Simon knew what to do. Lips and tongue and fingers, tasting and teasing, flicking and sucking. He even tugged on the string, smart boy, and she clenched and released around the beads.

Thighs tensing, belly quivering, teetering on the edge, she moaned, “Pull them out.”

The Big O Donna George Storey

Who would have guessed that the circle would begin in the ladies’ lounge at the Claremont spa? Yet there I was, sipping cucumber-infused water and leafing through women’s magazines, when I happened upon a peppy two-page article that would change my life.

The Sexercise Prescription: A Stronger Secret You in Six Weeks.

At first the headline made me snicker, but then a deeper stirring–call it a presentiment of destiny–made me fold back the page and begin to read. Of course, I’d heard of Kegel exercises before. I’d even tried them once or twice. I never kept it up though, because it always struck me as somehow perverted to exercise my muscles down there. That was for strippers, chicks that had to pick up twenty-dollar bills with their pussies, not ordinary market research analysts like me.

Moon Tantra Teresa Noelle Roberts

We fall silent again and almost still, watching the changing face of the moon. The shadows move faster now. Soon, all but one sliver in the upper quadrant is obscured. I mean to say something poetic, but you move inside me at the same time. The thought flees as I start to shudder.

It’s not exactly an orgasm, but it’s ecstasy in its own right. First my belly muscles quiver, tiny, rapid contractions that spread throughout my torso. I feel my breasts shake against your hands. Then my legs begin to tremble in the same way.

The quivering in my belly moves deeper, from the muscles of my abdomen to my cunt. Release and yet not. The pleasure takes me to a higher plane of want even as it gives some relief to the building pressure.

“Wow,” you breathe. “What was that?”

“I’m not sure,” I say when I can talk again, “but I liked it.” I relax against you, looking at the disappearing moon.

Feet on the Dashboard Rachel Green

Elizabeth lunged, her mouth hungry for kisses, and Jane tasted the sweet aroma of whiskey on her breath as she twisted awkwardly in the seat to return the passion. There was fire in those kisses and Jane could feel her knickers getting wet as her desire increased, the flood of lubrication sudden and unexpected. She cupped her hand behind Elizabeth’s neck and pulled her closer, their lips pressed tightly together and their tongues exploring each other’s mouth. Jane’s senses were swimming in hot desire as Elizabeth’s perfume became heady in her nostrils. Lips became bruised as teeth scraped across them, and they paused for a moment to pull away and look at each other, then dove back as if one were a drug the other had become instantly addicted to. Elizabeth’s hand fumbled in the waistband of Jane’s jeans then shot upward to cup her breast. Jane gasped and flooded again, dipping her head to plant kisses on the bared flesh of Elizabeth’s neck and shoulder then pulling her dress down over one shoulder to expose her breast completely. Taking it into her mouth to suckle and teaseto erection, she held it gently between her teeth as she flicked her tongue over the tip, causing Elizabeth to shudder with delight.

The car began to steam up, and they were enclosed within a womb of warmth; two women exploring each other for the first time. Jane’s hand dropped to Elizabeth’s legs and burrowed under the short black skirt, finding with delight that her new lover wore no knickers, and feeling the heat and dampness of a cunt desperate to be fucked. She slid a finger inside and Elizabeth moaned. “Fuck me,” she breathed, “Fuck me now.”

Frosting First Lana Fox

He scoops up some of the glaze on his knife then holds it up so you can lick along the blade. You do so, knowing how he loves it when you use your mouth. As the lemon icing tingles, tart on your tongue, he gives a jerky sigh, raises his jaw, and you let the frosting dribble from your lips so it slowly trails your throat. From there, it runs across your breast and he watches its path with a breathy moan. The way his lip seems to snarl at the corner says this won’t be tame. “I’ll make a cupcake of your pussy,” he tells you.

In the next room, you can hear Rose disapproving of her sister’s miniskirt, so you wink at your man and ask him how much cupcake he can handle.

But his finger’s in the bowl and next thing you know, he’s holding it toward you. “Swallow,” he tells you.

You suckle his fingertip, lips rubbing round the joint, as your tongue flicks the sweet-sharp sugar from his nail. Then, with your free hand, you reach between his thighs, pressing his hard-on. He drops his head back, half shuts his eyes. “So dirty,” he groans, pushing against you, as you massage his perfect length. You long to unzip him, take him in your mouth.

Then again, you also want him in control.

All She Wanted Andrea Dale

Dan settled himself into a chair and ordered us to strip each other, slowly. I fought back feelings of self-consciousness, and Lauren’s murmured approval of my newfound impressive cleavage helped. Dan warned her about how overly sensitive my breasts were even as he encouraged us to play with each other. We both understood that it was a show for his benefit; coming without permission was not an option.

With hands and mouth, she whispered and tickled across my nipples, a flick of a tongue here, a brush of a thumb there, a butterfly kiss. My belly contracted as I tangled my hands in her silky hair and watched, fighting the need to let my eyes flutter shut.

My pussy lips slickened. Already I could smell our joint arousal, the sweet spicy scent of mingled desire. I wanted to taste her, but only if Dan okayed it.

Making Shapes Lily Harlem

I bounced its substantial weight in my palms and a new thought popped into my head. Would it fit in my mouth? I didn’t know if my jaw could stretch that wide, if my teeth would part sufficiently to house such a beast.

I glanced at the door leading to the shop front. It was a little ajar, but anyone shouldering the weather and passing my display windows wouldn’t see into the studio, and I’d locked the front door earlier when I’d shut the shop. I swept my tongue over my lips, curiosity eating me up the way I wanted to eat him up. I would give it a quick try here, just to see.

I lifted the dick to my face, slit upward. It shone like marble in the stark overhead lights and reflected the steel shelves to my left. I closed my eyes and let the cool head press against my top lip, poked out my tongue and rimmed the groove of skin under the base of his glans. I tried to remember Theo’s heady mix of pheromones swirling around me to imagine his flavor: musky and manly, erotic and hot.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I stretched my jaw wide and slid the head onto my tongue. My jaw gave a soft click as he smoothed in. My knees turned weak and I pictured his face contorted with the effort of not coming: eyes squeezed shut, teeth dragging at his lip and his breaths sharp and shallow. I sent a hand to my breast as I slid him to the back of my throat and tweaked my nipple to a painful point through my sweater. He hit delicate flesh and as I struggled with my gag response I imagined his hands on me, fondling my breasts, cupping the nape of my neck, stroking the corners of my poor stretched lips.

Rapture Angela Caperton

He broke the kiss and she lunged at him, caught his jaw between her teeth, clenched a moment and then kissed upward, nuzzling his ear, while his hand continued its slow assault, parting the folds, playing at the secret center of her pleasure until a tide washed over her. She shivered and bucked slowly against him, astonished that any touch should feel so good and that a man might know the manner to bring about such ecstasy.

Margaret cried out, and the moon spun in heaven.

She saw it then, His gift. The perfect beauty of the sky, the silver circle, the shattered crystalline splendor of the stars; the whispering wind, its breath cool on her bare, wet thigh; this pleasure.
This love.

Trembling, she turned, moving against him, her robe an impediment now. She cast it away, only the shift between her and the sacred night, and she reached under his robe. His hands played on her arms and shoulders and she felt the heat of his gaze, though his face lay in shadows.

She heard the whisper of his hastened breath like a new hymn.

Belted Rachel Kramer Bussel

Is it the belt that makes you come? The leather, the thrash, the pain, the jolt? Is it the force behind it? Is it the noises he makes as he does it, the hitches of breath that are nothing like your shuddering sobs but are music to your ears nonethelessæis that what makes you finally go over the edge? Is it him holding you down, him promising you pain that may or may not come?

Maybe it’s all of it, all the forces combining to make the orgasm nothing like what you were expecting, the kind where your body bonds with the belt, giving back some of its life force, only to have it beaten back into you. Though you know that logically, rationally, it’s impossible, you hope the belt has absorbed some of your tears, has taken them and held on to them for next time, has put the pain that you mostly wanted, but kind of didn’t, somewhere for safekeeping, somewhere he can hold next to his skin any time he desires.

Oh, it’s not like you really have time to think all that or think anything, not then. The belt is reminding you, lash by lash, that you must stay open, stay ready, stay through the moments when you don’t know how you will get through it, stay through the times you don’t have a chance to take a bracing breath or perform any other magic tricks to turn the pain into something else. By now even the light touches, the strokes of the belt’s rough edge against your fleshy inner thigh, the dance of the musky leather against your cheek, are enough to make you shudder, like when he raises his hand to smack you but stops right before his fingers reach the finish line. The effect is the same.

Rise and Shine Heidi Champa

“Come on, open your eyes. It’s time to wake up.”

His breath was hot on my ear, but not as hot as the tongue sliding over my earlobe. With it caught between his teeth, he pulled at my skin, urging me to finally look at him. I moaned but kept my eyes shut. I wanted just a few more moments. I wasn’t ready to wake up yet. His teeth sank into my neck, a sucking bite a bit lower, a bit harder. My hands dug into the hard muscle of his shoulders, my nipples tightening against his chest.

“I won’t fuck you until you open your eyes.”

He moaned the ultimatum into my mouth, before plunging his tongue back inside. I made one last effort to ease his cock inside me, but he remained elusive. He had left me no choice but to abandon the misty miasma and join the real world. I let my eyelids flutter open, seeing his straining blue eyes above me for the first time.

“Good morning.”

The words left his throat in a gasp as he slid inside me.

Taking the Reins Vanessa Vaughn

The boys don’t understand. Not really.

I know for a fact that Jon doesn’t love it the way I do.

As I straddle the seat and slowly lower myself down, I feel a familiar tingle of excitement deep inside. I can sense the monstrous size of the body between my thighs, the large chest expanding and contracting broadly with each breath. The smell of fresh, conditioned leather smothers my sensesæwell, that, and also the slight musky tinge of sweat. It is a raw smell mixed with rich, dark dirt.
It has become impossible for me to separate the scents of this place from the anticipation twisting inside me. They are connected. Now, the sights and sounds of one inevitably trigger the other. Just a glimpse of a dusty black velvet helmet, or of fingers clenched between thin leather gloves, makes my breath quicken. Then again, just the smallest peek at a man’s muscled shoulder or of his rippled abs makes my thoughts turn to this, to the curve of a thoroughbred’s slender neck or the solid bulge of a horse’s muscular chest.

A slight hint of alcohol hangs in the air today, high above the other smellsæno doubt from the metal cleaner I used on some of the tack. My spurs jingle a little as I slide my toes up against the stirrups.

First Date with the Dom Noelle Keely

She looked around. The street was deserted except for a couple of men having a smoke outside the restaurant on the corner. They were apparently having a heated conversation, unlikely to pay attention to something happening up the block. Still, it seemed a little public. Being pantyless wasn’t the problem; no one would ever know for sure under her full-skirted sundress unless she tripped or had some other accident so spectacular that lack of underwear would be the least of her worries. It was getting them off gracefully.

She hesitated, half of her screaming to obey Jack and see what further adventures it led to, the other half too embarrassed to move.

“Problem?” he asked, in a tone she couldn’t read.

Serena nodded, then shook her head. Why was this so hard? She’d slithered out of wet bikini bottoms under a skirt before; it was the same principle.

“We haven’t talked about limits yet, or set any ground rules. You can say no. I’d just want to know why if you do, if it’s a hard limit or just something you’re not ready for tonight.”

And knowing that she could say no somehow made it easier to say yes, and to work the panties down while leaning on him for balance.

Animal Inside Neve Black

Like a doctor performing surgery, I inserted the tweezers around the foam’s outer edges. The foam was nicked and scraped from where the tweezers had greeted it in the past. I pulled the foam out about an inch, until my thumb and index finger could easily grasp onto the tube and pull it all the way out, announcing the hole’s presence.

The hole in the wall was much more than just a peephole between the two bathrooms. It was a portal to the animal inside me. The world I lived in didn’t allow for creatures unless they were on a leash and restrained. In room 252, animals were given permission to roam freely.

I stepped in closer, closing one eye, while pressing my other eye to the hole, peering into the room next door. I was looking into the familiar, but the unknown at the same time. I felt my pussy getting wet. I felt my clit begin to ping, and the animal inside me stretched and yawned, waking up from a slumber.

I gazed into the hole, and my eye searched the bathroom, a mirror image of the one I was standing in. Because of the hole’s size and depth, I couldn’t see the bathroom panoramically; I could only see one small and specific area at a time.

The London O Justine Elyot

We stepped off the escalator and I made a concerted effort to try and walk normally, notwithstanding the exquisite pressure on my clit and the large fake cock wedged in my pussy.

“It’s giving you a sensational wiggle,” said Lloyd admiringly, falling behind me to survey my swaying backside. “It looks so obvious that your pussy is stuffed. But I suppose I know it is, which makes a difference. Maybe nobody else would guess.”

I was convinced that everybody knew it as we headed on to the platform. Every passerby, from the teenage youths clicking teeth and sucking back high-energy sodas to the elderly suited man reading his Telegraph, was perfectly cognizant of the fact that I was wearing vibrating knickers, the crotch soaked, my pussy wrapped around a plastic cock, because I was a dirty slut who loves to
come and can’t get enough orgasms.

Lloyd kept putting his hand into his jacket pocket, teasing me with the fear that he might be about to activate the vibrator, causing me to clamp my thighs together and clench my pelvic-floor muscles. By the time the train came roaring through the tunnel, though, he had still not pressed the magic button.

The train was about three-quarters full, and we could not find a seat together, so I sat in the center of one row while he took a place by the door, at the end of the opposite bank. Sitting like that, with a highly-perfumed lady on one side and a gay punk on the other, I was suddenly sure that people might be able to see up my skirt somehow, even though it was knee length and didn’t even give away the fact that I was wearing stockings ordinarily. I decided to cross my legs, but this pushed the nubbed rubber even farther into my swimming clit, and made my pussy feel even fuller, an inescapable sensation. I squirmed against the seat cushion, unsure whether to uncross my legs again–and Lloyd chose that moment to flip my switch.

Fight Charlotte Stein

She can’t hate him for the point he wins with his tongue swirling and sliding through her slit. Her entire body sobs when she comesæhard enough to cream all over his face and make dents in the edges of the table where she’s gripping.

But she can hate him for winning a third point, when he stands too suddenly and sinks his thick cock all the way in. Just a few short, well-aimed thrusts, and she stutters into orgasm again.

However, the haze of pleasure doesn’t rob her of reason or the aim of the game. She waits for him to settle, to ease into a false sense of security–still lodged in her pussy but unaware of the danger.

And then she forces herself back, until he’s trapped between her body and the kitchen counter.

Of course he tries to squirm away. But it’s difficult when your girlfriend has her legs on either side of yours and her pussy’s squeezing tight around your cock. She knows it is, because he grunts and groans and tells her No fair.

Switch Jade Melisande

His first touch is tentative, careful, but my body jerks in shock anyway, the pain/pleasure is so intense.
He stops and looks up at me. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“Yes,” I pant. “Yes, please…just…long, flat strokes,” I say. “Remember? Like before.”

I do not usually instruct him on what I like–he’s very good at paying attention to my body’s signals–but something has taken me over and I need to have him do it and do it now, just the way I want him to.

And he does. He strokes a flat, wet, warm tongue from my swollen pussy lips all the way up to my tender, throbbing clit. Over and over, long, slow strokes until I am panting and wriggling against his mouth. Intermittently, he takes my clit, hood ring and all, into his mouth and sucks at it gently.

I am riding the waves of pleasure, giving myself over to them, floating and drifting, feeling the ring slide against my clit and his tongue playing with it, building, building toward an orgasm. His fingers tighten on my thighs as he recognizes my excitement building.

Orgasms and erotica writing – guest post by Lana Fox

July 24, 2010

This guest post is by Orgasmic: Erotica for Women contributor Lana Fox.

There’s No Place Too Posh for an Orgasm, Baby
By Lana Fox

Before I’d even thought of writing erotica, I had a London friend who threw incredibly posh parties. People would swan towards you in cocktail dresses, with a glass of chilled champagne, introduce themselves with a flick of the hair, and ask you what you did. Back then, I was a teacher, but this answer never seemed to impress them. In fact, I often left the conversations feeling I simply wasn’t preened enough, wealthy enough or successful enough.

Then a mate of mine came up with an idea. “You know what you should do, just for a laugh? Tell them you’re an erotic writer!”

What a brainwave! I’d always loved reading erotica, and this was a way of taking control and saying, “Screw you, snooty, if you don’t like who I am!” And the first time I told this lie and saw the resulting shock on a prim-lipped face, I felt utterly fantastic. “Orgasms,” I’d say. “That’s what it’s all about.” (That bit, I might add, wasn’t a lie!).

I honestly think this game of mine had something to do with my decision to start writing erotica. There’s nothing so wonderful as creating a gorgeous sex scene that makes you hot behind the collar and squirmy in your seat. Orgasms, orgasms…I want the world to be having as many as possible. It loosens us up, makes us humane, puts us in tune with ourselves.

And every time we read or write a sex scene, we’re giving those snooty folks the finger.

Sex is wild and beautiful. And I’m honored to read and write it.

Lana Fox is a Brit living near Boston. Her stories will appear in Orgasmic: Erotic Stories for Women and Passion: Erotic Romance for Women, both edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel. She also has a piece forthcoming in Best Women’s Erotica 2011 edited by Violet Blue, and you can find one of her fairy tale stories in Alison’s Wonderland, edited by Alison Tyler. Lana blogs at: lanafox.com

Hear Lana Fox read from Orgasmic October 21st, 8-10 pm, at Orgasm Night, In The Flesh Reading Series, Happy Ending Lounge, 302 Broome Street, NYC.

Below is an excerpt from “Frosting First” by Lana Fox.

Well, put it this way: what’s sexier than dinner with guests; discussing wine, books, or the state of the nation; while the hottest man you’ve ever met kneels beneath the table biting the straps of your garter belt? Or, take it one step further. His tongue’s right inside you, dipping in and out, circling sublimely, and there you are gripping the arms of your chair, pursing your lips to stop yourself from moaning; you begin to shudder, his hands are on your thighs, as your head falls back and your eyelids flutter. You can’t keep from gasping as he finds the perfect rhythm, and you’re close–so close!–to losing it completely.

“Are you all right?” asks your neighbor, fondling her pearls. “You’re rather flushed. I’ll get you some water.”

“Please,” you say.

She rises from her seat.

“You’ve turned quite a color,” says her husband, from the other end of the long oak table.

“I’m sure.”

You part your knees farther, arching as you come. “Sweet Jesus,” you moan, your hands beneath the table, grabbing handfuls of your lover’s hair.

Read the whole story in Orgasmic: Erotica for Women.

Purchase Orgasmic from:


Kindle edition (coming soon)

Barnes & Noble (Bn.com)


IndieBound (search for your local independent bookstore!)

Cleis Press

Orgasmic: Erotica for Women will be published in August 2010

April 8, 2010

Orgasmic: Erotica for Women is an anthology edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel, which will be published by Cleis Press in August 2010. Contact Rachel at rachelkramerbussel at gmail.com

There will be readings from Orgasmic October 21st at In The Flesh Reading Series in New York City.

Orgasmic is available for pre-order from Amazon.com.

Introduction: Let Me Count the Ways…

The Waiting Game Elizabeth Coldwell
What’s in a Name? Jacqueline Applebee
Chemistry Velvet Moore
The Chair Lolita Lopez
Fixing the Pipes Susie Hara
Share Dusty Horn
Hurdles Rowan Elizabeth
Seeing Stars Louisa Harte
Old Faithful Sylvia Lowry
Paying It Forward Kendra Wayne
The Big O Donna George Storey
Moon Tantra Teresa Noelle Roberts
Feet on the Dashboard Rachel Green
Frosting First Lana Fox
All She Wanted Andrea Dale
Making Shapes Lily Harlem
Rapture Angela Caperton
Belted Rachel Kramer Bussel
Rise and Shine Heidi Champa
Taking the Reins Vanessa Vaughn
First Date with the Dom Noelle Keely
Animal Inside Neve Black
The London O Justine Elyot
Fight Charlotte Stein
Switch Jade Melisande


Let Me Count The Ways…

Orgasm: like sex, it’s one word that means many different things to many different people. For many women, it’s the center of their sexual life, a daily occurrence; something to look forward to, experiment with. For
some it means a gushing rush of pleasure, for others it’s a little wave they delight in cresting.

Every woman who orgasms may describe it differently.

Yet there are many women, myself included, who find orgasm not so easy to achieve much of the time (yes, it’s trueæI love sex, and get turned on, but coming is a bit more complex for me). In “Hurdles,” Rowan Elizabeth writes of such a character: “I can’t win this. And it’s my hang-up, too. I feel like there’s something I’m just not doing right. Maybe if I tighten my legs a little more or squeeze my eyes shut harder, then we’d get there together.”

Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary defines orgasm as “intense or paroxysmal excitement; especially: an explosive discharge of neuromuscular tensions at the height of sexual arousal that is usually accompanied by the ejaculation of semen in the male and by vaginal contractions in the female.” It comes from the Latin and Greek (orgasmus/orgasmos), from organ “to grow ripe, be lustful.” I like that description, though what it leaves out is that for women, orgasm can stretch beyond the boundaries of ejaculation, can continue on and on, can be drawn out for as long as the woman (or her partner) wants to indulge in the experience.

In Lolita Lopez’s perfectly kinky story, “The Chair,” sex toys and submission go hand in hand with orgasm for the protagonist. “Lily’s orgasms changed from separate events to one long and unending oscillation of bliss.” Her “punishment” at the hands of Cal is one she’s very, very happy to absorb.

There are countless articles and books telling you how to have a bigger, better orgasm. I don’t want to add to the clamor of the voices saying, You must orgasm now. Instead, I want Orgasmic to be a fictional showcase of some of the reasons, methods and delights women bring to their orgasms. I want these red-hot stories to help get you warmed up, primed, aroused. I want them to make you squirm with desire, identification, curiosity. I want you to read these stories aloud to a lover…or someone you wish were your lover.

I did my best to capture an array of big (and little) Os, moments where the world feels like it’s exploding in your body, orgasms that rock more than just your world. These stories capture the ferocity, intensity and power of women’s orgasms, however they’re achieved. I couldn’t include every way women come in this book, or it would be much longer than it is now, but I wanted to include a varied look at what gets women off, which means it’s not always a man or another woman, or even a machine that does the trick. Vanessa Vaughn taps into a classic route with “Taking the Reins:”

As I straddle the seat and slowly lower myself down, I feel a familiar tingle of excitement deep inside. I can sense the monstrous size of the body between my thighs, the large chest expanding and contracting broadly with each breath. The smell of fresh, conditioned leather smothers my sensesæwell, that, and also the slight musky tinge of sweat. It is a raw smell mixed with rich, dark dirt.

Speaking of orgasm how-tos, in “The Big O” by Donna George Storey, she both skewers the omnipresent women’s magazine sex advice and adds a saucy twist as her protagonist puts into practice “The Sexercise Prescription: A Stronger Secret You in Six Weeks.”

The women in Orgasmic climax from tantric sex, role-playing, piercing, G-spot play, sex toys and even chemistry–the scientific kind. They delight in food, God and handymen. They create their own objects of pleasure; they spy, tease, obey, command, argue, submit. Some are shy about their orgasms and some are bold as can be.

They come, and come and come again, and they do it in some of the hottest, most creative ways you can think of. Visit me at orgasmicbook.wordpress.com if you just can’t get enough…orgasms, that is.

Rachel Kramer Bussel
New York City