Best S&M, Volume 3 Read online

  BEST S&M

  III

  Still More Extreme Stories of Still More Extreme Sex

  Edited By M.Christian

  Copyright

  Best S & M Erotica III: Still More Extreme Stories of Still More Extreme Sex

  M.Christian (editor)

  Published by Logical-Lust, copyright 2010

  eBook ISBN: 978-1905091-64-5

  Digital versions

  Published by Logical-Lust Publications © 2010

  Cover image by Helen E. H. Madden, pixelarcana.com

  © Logical-Lust Publications 2010

  Best S & M Erotica III: Still More Extreme Stories of Still More Extreme Sex is a collection of works of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents are entirely the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or events, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, transmitted, or recorded by any means whatsoever, including printing, photocopying, file transfer, or any form of data storage, mechanical or electronic, without the express written consent of the publisher. In addition, no part of this publication may be lent, re-sold, hired, or otherwise circulated or distributed, in any form whatsoever, without the express written consent of the publisher.

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this or any copyrighted work is illegal. File sharing is an International crime, prosecuted by the enforcement agencies of the United States, UK, and the European Union, in partnership with Interpol. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable to the full extent of the law in the country of the offence.

  Copyright Information:

  “Retribution” by Billierosie is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Billierosie.

  “The Only One” by M.Christian, originally appeared in Slippery When Wet, Sunah Cherwin, editor; subsequently appeared in Tough Girls: Down and Dirty Dyke Erotica, edited by Lori Selke (Black Books).

  “The Guessing Game” by Mykola Dementiuk, originally appeared in Paramour Magazine Volume 3, Issue 3.

  “Empty Vessel” By Shanna Germain is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Shanna Germain.

  “You Awake Ahead of the Alarm” by Oatmeal Girl is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Oatmeal Girl.

  “Monitoring” by Ralph Greco, Jr. is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Ralph Greco, Jr.

  “Shaping Genevieve” by Theda Hudson is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Theda Hudson.

  “Crossed” by Kane is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Kane.

  “The Corpse Washer” by Jan Vander Laenen is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Jan Vander Laenen.

  “Tits for Tat” By Jude Mason is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Jude Mason.

  “Down Below” by Jean Roberta, originally appeared in Slave to Love: Sexy Tales of Erotic Restraint, edited by Alison Tyler (Cleis Press).

  “Shattered Glass” by Jerry Rosen is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Jerry Rosen.

  “Dreams from a Black Chrysalis” by Jason Rubis is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Jason Rubis.

  “Mealtime Trappings” by Craig J. Sorensen is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by Craig J. Sorensen.

  “Halloween” by Cecilia Tan, originally appeared in the MASTER/slave, edited by N. T. Morley (Heat/Berkley/Penguin).

  “Blade, Ink, Steel” by Sharon Wachsler, originally appeared in Best Lesbian Erotica 2009, edited by Tristan Taormino and Joan Larkin, eds., (Cleis Press).

  “Lucky” by Xan West originally appearred in Best Women’s Erotica 2009, edited by Violet Blue (Cleis Press).

  “A Mountain Man in Drag” by PM White is previously unpublished. Copyright © 2009 by PM White.

  Introduction: “More of the Best …”

  How is a writer like a masochist?

  Believe it or not, there actually is an answer. It’s not like Carroll’s “How is a raven like a writing desk?” riddle, which doesn’t have one.

  But before I deliver the punch line, let me welcome you to Best S/M Erotica Vol 3: Still More Extreme Stories of Still More Extreme Sex. As with the previous volumes, I tried to pick stories that reflect not just traditional S/M, meaning sado-masochism or pain-for-pleasure, but also to cover the very wide-ranging world of sex based on power exchange. S/M is weird that way. No, I don’t mean that as a judgment call – I’m of the school that if it’s consensual, it’s okay – but, unlike other sexual themes, S/M can mean different things to different people.

  So here, in these pages, you’ll find light stories, dark stories, powerful stories, subtle stories, fierce stories, and even romantic stories – but all of them deal with the basic idea of consensually giving up, or taking, sexual power and control.

  What really is odd about editing these books is how it makes me feel – and not in a sexual way. Sure, there’s pleasure – if not joy – in finding stories that celebrate the widely varied dimensions of S/M and accomplish that very difficult task with style, beautiful language, fine characterization, and something more than merely sexual passion. But as a writer myself, this pleasure can sometimes be overshadowed by the disappointment I know all too well: the bad part of the job of editing an anthology that comes when you have to tell the folks who – for whatever reasons – didn’t make the cut.

  That’s why, in a weirdly twisted way, being a writer can be like being a masochist. After all, what else would you call someone who has to get some kind of a pleasure out of a thankless job like writing, and submitting, stories?

  Okay, that’s a bit of a stretch – and a bad riddle – but it’s my way of saying that I hope you enjoy this book. I think the writers have each done remarkable jobs of trying to show what S/M can be but also, and more importantly, done it with magnificent literary skill.

  But that it’s also important that you realize that they, and the people who didn’t make the cut, deserve the highest praise any Master, or editor, can give to those who have submitted to them:

  “You’ve done good.”

  – M.Christian, 2009

  Mealtime Trappings

  By

  Craig J. Sorensen

  Carefully rolled white napkins in polished silver rings were poised on opposite sides of the card table in the bedroom. Two matching vinyl chairs awaited; one would be used. Scents of a stir-fry filled the air. Matching purple silk short shorts and tiny camisole waited atop the satin comforter.

  The light in the room across the way was on, so Ying dimmed her bedroom light as she entered the room. She set the dinner on the card table and went in the deepest corner where she quickly peeled off her sweats and then smoothed the drizzle of sweat from her brow down her cheeks. The silk top fell like a stage curtain over her plump nipples.

  She checked the clock as the shorts came to rest on her hips.

  8:02. The action across the way had predictably begun.

  Ying had dubbed him Jeremy for silly reasons. Though he was not a ringer for Jeremy Irons, the man across seemed forged from iron. He was short and muscular. He had a deep chin, a strong brow, and long, wild blonde hair. Despite his stout physique, he had strangely lithe ballerina moves. But what he did was not a dance.

  Every Tuesday and Friday at 8:00 Jeremy entertained a guest of sorts.

  Ying savored the cold vinyl of the chair and drizzled soy sauce from a crystal cruet across the rare prime rib, snow peas, and pearl onions over jasmine rice. She balanced antique carved ivory chopsticks and took a bite.

  Jeremy was clad, shoulder to shank, in formfitting, gleaming black leather. A woman stood framed perfectly by his long window. She was dressed in skintight
black cloth like a burglar. Jeremy wielded a riding crop. The thief remained still, her gloved hands neatly folded in front of her groin.

  A few weeks prior, Ying had looked out her bedroom window to see a nude woman hanging from a hook deep in the room. She picked up her phone and pressed 9-1 and hovered over the 1 button. But the puzzling rapture on the woman’s face, the deliberate presence of a hook mounted to the ceiling, punctuated by the fact the man was wearing carefully fitted, shiny leather convinced Ying to hang up and watch in growing fascination.

  Tonight, Jeremy stripped the mask and the thief’s long, bright red hair spilled out in random curls. Jeremy gripped her cheeks and spoke so close that it could have been a kiss.

  Red shook her head softly as Jeremy grabbed her hair behind her skull and opened her throat. Ying felt a deep pulse in her belly remembering when Marvin Stack yanked her long black hair on the playground, followed by her sudden blinding anger as she punched him and knocked him on his ass, interrupting his career as a puller of girls’ hair. But later, Ying had felt a strange curiosity at the sensations.

  Jeremy forced his mouth over Red’s.

  Ying took another bite of her meal. Rules were rules. She could not join in until she had finished.

  Jeremy engulfed Red’s wrists in his left hand and bound them with plastic zip cuffs.

  Ying savored how her pussy slid. She took another bite, and then another, and then finally stopped just short of shoveling like a longshoreman after a twelve-hour shift. She twirled her chopsticks over and under each other feigning patience.

  Jeremy hung Red’s wrists on the hook. The front of his pants filled.

  Ying took another bite from her half-full plate. Her defiant hand dipped into her silk shorts and caressed the edge of her downy pubic hair. She returned the rogue hand back on the table and took two more fast bites.

  Jeremy yanked the skin-tight top up Red’s chest and groped her breasts harshly.

  The weekend after she had first seen Jeremy and Red, Ying aggressively seduced her boyfriend Ronny. He seemed to like it as she pulled his stiffness from his pants. She tossed his balled up T-shirt toward the coffee table, covering the head of the gold Buddha.

  Her fresh desires grew irresistible when she was fiercely turned on; it stood to reason that Ronny be the same. She took it further and squeezed his cock hard. “Ying! Ow!”

  She crawled over his knee.

  “What?”

  “Spank me!” She lifted her short skirt and lowered her panties.

  “Gawd Ying!” Ronny deflated like a clown’s balloon after an incompetent attempt at an animal sculpture.

  Jeremy peeled off Red’s tight pants. He shoved one gloved hand down the front of her black G-string. Red began to writhe. He tugged her nipples hard with his other hand then circled her and pressed tight her butt. Red’s mouth gaped.

  Ying quickly retrieved a pair of brown leather gloves from the closet, inhaled the last of her meal, and wiped her chin on her wrist just above the top of her glove.

  Both rolled up napkins lay unmolested.

  Jeremy pushed the back of Red’s G-string down then spanked her butt hard. His other hand, still down the front, steadied her. He teased with little pats and then sudden, powerful pops that Ying was sure she could hear.

  The scrape of the glove’s seam against Ying’s clit made her gasp, but she knew that this time it would not be enough to just masturbate hard. She looked at her other gloved hand, and then out across the way as Jeremy swatted Red.

  Ying’s stomach turned over as she pulled her silk shorts down one hip and raised her hand. She’d never felt more than a playful swat.

  Jeremy reached up, it seemed in slow motion, and Ying looked up at her hand. As his hand traveled down, Ying mimicked the stroke. A huge, almost orgasmic grunt from her own throat surprised Ying as the sting spread. Each time Jeremy swatted Red, Ying swatted herself as if she were doing a sound effect track for a movie.

  It was most convincing.

  The gloved fingers in her cunt slid like skates on ice.

  Jeremy suddenly pulled Red’s hands down from the hook and shoved her deep into the room. The bulge at the front of his pants was as sharp as a flagpole in shrink-wrap.

  Ying gasped. “Please, please take off your pants, Jeremy.” Her fingers continued to pump and she spanked herself a couple more times for good measure.

  Jeremy walked deeper into the room.

  Ying knew the show was over. She raced to the bed and fell face down. Her legs sprawled wide. She alternated hands, spanking and masturbating until her waist clenched like a vise. She stopped breathing as a great weight in her waist expelled in an orgasm like she’d never felt, one that gave her goose bumps on her skull. She laughed convulsively.

  She was embarrassed, defiled, powerful, excited.

  Her butt felt like festive champagne, only better.

  For the next show Ying upped the ante. A new outfit shimmered atop her bed like fresh fallen snow on a sunny winter morning. She dimmed the lights and stepped into the depth of the room and undressed. Just the scent of the new leather made her moist.

  As she stood nude, the sight of her shiny skin in the mirror reminded her of a game she’d once played with her Barbie and her older brother’s G.I. Joe: she bound Joe into a pink Barbie chair with black twist ties. She hadn’t thought about what Barbie might do to her quarry. The possibilities made her dizzy. But her brother caught her, called her “freak,” and liberated Joe. The fantasy was left to germinate like an acorn in the depths of a lotus garden. Joe escaped to the safety of hard-core hand-to-hand with his nemesis Cobra.

  The elastic laces down the legs of her pants stretched to accommodate her shapely thighs and calves, while clinging perfectly to her trim knees and ankles. The lace-up corset formed perfectly around her breasts and squeezed her ribs tightly. She topped the outfit off with elbow-length white leather gloves.

  The white outfit underscored her short-bobbed silky black hair and deep olive skin. A strip of her dark stomach incised the corset and pants. She’d never felt sexier.

  Across the way, Jeremy circled Red who was in a crisp business suit, but he was not in his customary leather. His tan uniform was nondescript. He leaned his head to one side and looked in Red’s down-turned eyes. Both seemed uncharacteristically fidgety. Red obediently took something off after each noncommittal swat from Jeremy until she stood in her underwear. She reached for the clasp of her bra between her breasts.

  Jeremy shook his head and gripped her hand. Any hint of menace drained away as he spoke gently to Red. Her head tilted like a curious puppy. He held the riding crop, handle out, like the careful presentation of a stiletto.

  She cradled it like a long-stemmed rose.

  Ying spread her legs and crushed the seam at the crotch to her hard clit.

  Jeremy went to the hook and grabbed it. Red gently tapped the riding crop into her hand. Ying defied the empty plate rule and squeezed her hand into her tight pants. “Go for it!”

  Red dropped the crop and folded her arm over the front of her bra. She shook her head and backed away. Jeremy seemed angry at first and then appeared to plead; his iron suddenly drooped as if it had been returned to the forging fire.

  Red quickly put on her blouse and pinched it at the clasp of her bra. She grabbed the skirt and disappeared from view.

  Jeremy raced after her.

  Ying sat, legs spread, hand limp in her tight leather pants. Her other hand dangled like the motionless hook in the room across the way.

  The two now were in his living room. Ying rushed down the hall to get a better view as if her presence might encourage a favorable outcome.

  Red shoved the tail of her blouse into her skirt and Jeremy took one of her hands in his. It looked like he might drop to one knee in a cliché marriage proposal. He stroked her knuckles and continued to speak. Red was motionless, absorbing. Jeremy bit his lip and looked outside.

  Strange, but Ying had never seen either of them look outside. S
he suddenly realized how bright her living room was, and her gleaming leather outfit must look like sun-drenched binocular lenses in a war movie. She jumped from view and then peered around the curtain after a few moments. Jeremy was focused on motionless Red again.

  Red’s head shook side to side. Jeremy said something, and Red eased her hand from his and walked toward the front door of his apartment. She held up her hand to stop him from following. As the door shut behind her, his shoulders slumped. He disappeared from view.

  Ying felt a letdown deeper than the day G.I. Joe got away. But after a few minutes, she felt a strange wave of relief. She’d already sacrificed her relationship with Ronnie when she tried a second time to get him to spank her.

  Ying rushed to her dim bedroom, closed the curtains, changed into safe sweats, dismantled her impromptu table and chairs, and relegated all the accoutrement of the meal-time trappings into the corner of her closet. She ate her cold meal in the dining room, staring blankly at the nondescript painting of a field of daisies on the wall.

  Ying unzipped her tan skirt and reached deep into her closet. She brushed smooth leather and the scent filled the air. “No reason I can’t enjoy how it feels.” Ying had spent a small fortune on it. She’d not had sex or even masturbated in weeks, since seeing Red walk out on Jeremy. She was starved to feel sexy.

  There was a sense of comfort even well worn sweats could not rival as the white cocoon encased her nude body. The curtains in her bedroom hadn’t been open in weeks. What was wrong with being seen, looking as sexy as she had ever felt? She opened them.